Deadly Notions (5 page)

Melissa jumped off her chair and shoved Sally forward in the child’s direction, nervous panic taking over where relief had been. “Ashley . . . Penelope . . . we’re so happy you made it.”

“We are?” Dixie hissed through teeth that were suddenly clenched.

Ashley Lawson looked past Dixie as if she wasn’t even there, her gaze traveling, instead, down Melissa’s choice of jeans and a cotton blouse before skipping to Sally’s birthday dress. “Happy birthday, Sally, don’t you look . . .
quaint
.”

Tori grabbed hold of Margaret Louise as the woman lunged forward. “Not now,” she whispered.

“I saw the little picnic table outside. Your paper products look so . . .
cute
, Melissa. So—so
homey
.”

Rose’s lips pursed.

Dixie’s mouth gaped.

Margaret Louise’s hands fisted at her sides.

“Did your Mommy and Daddy have your cake shipped in from Belgium, too?” Penelope asked as she swayed from side to side, her fingers holding out her royal blue dress as if it were made from spun gold. “They really do have the best chocolate, don’t they, Mother?”

Ashley smiled behind her flawlessly manicured hand. “They most certainly do, Penelope. But Sally’s cake won’t be shipped in from Belgium, precious. They can’t afford the kinds of things that Daddy—well, it’s just simply too costly.”

“Where is that cake?” Rose hissed beneath her breath.

Tori forced her attention from the pampered pair in front of her and focused it on her elderly friend. “Why? I’m sure it’ll be here soon—”

“I hope Debbie’s made a duplicate.”

“A duplicate?”

The woman’s gray head bobbed. “The first one really ought to be shoved—”

Tori shot a hand across Rose’s mouth, successfully cutting her off mid-sentence. “Not now, Rose,” she hissed. “Today’s about Sally, remember?”

“It’s a good thing it is or
I’d
be fixin’ to—”

Melissa cleared her throat, cutting Margaret Louise’s tirade short. “Sally’s cake is from right here in Sweet Briar and she’s gonna be tickled when she sees it, isn’t that right, Mee-Maw?”

Margaret Louise nodded then grabbed hold of her granddaughter’s hand. “That’s right. She is.” Turning on the soles of her Keds, the plump woman addressed the party guests. “Who’s ready to have fun?”

“I am!”

“Me, too!”

“I like fun, Mizz Davis.” Jackson Calhoun turned to the birthday girl. “Sally, I’m sure glad you invited me. This is gonna be the best birthday party ever.”

Ashley Lawson gasped. “Why Jackson Calhoun, don’t you remember coming to Penelope’s party last spring? With the elephant rides and the clowns?”

“I do. But this looks even funner. And besides, Sally is always nice to me. Sometimes Penelope can be kinda—”

Tori stepped forward, closing a hand over Jackson’s shoulder as Ashley’s face grew pale. “Shall we look through the books Sally’s mom has chosen and decide which ones we want to act out?”

Eleven little bodies jumped up and down, their feet clad in everything from sneakers to patent leather party shoes. Or, in Penelope’s case, miniature versions of something that looked an awful lot like Prada. Falling in line, one behind the other, the children followed Sally’s grandmother into the children’s room like eleven obedient little ducklings.

Pulling her shoulder bag higher on her arm, Ashley thwarted Melissa’s move to follow suit. “I’d prefer that Penelope not be placed beside Jackson Calhoun. That little boy is trouble.”

“Trouble?” Melissa asked as she exchanged looks with Tori. “Jackson Calhoun? You can’t be serious.”

“Yes, trouble. And yes, Jackson Calhoun. Didn’t you hear him just now? The way he tried to disparage my daughter? I simply won’t stand for that.” The woman turned on her own Pradas. “I’ll be right back. I must get Penelope’s costumes from the car.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.” Tori stepped forward and extended her hand in Ashley Lawson’s direction. “We have costumes to go with all of the stories Melissa selected for the party. All your daughter has to do is choose the story she wants to act out and then find the costume that goes with that part.”

The woman’s chin rose into the air. “And
you
are?”

Despite everything she’d witnessed since the Lawsons’ arrival, she still found herself taken aback by the woman’s rudeness. It was unnecessary and more than a little uncalled for. Yet, as she herself had reminded Rose, it was Sally’s birthday. And for Sally she would find the restraint she needed to address her classmate’s mother. “My name is Victoria Sinclair and I’m the head librarian here.”

“Oh. That’s why I don’t know you. I prefer bookstores over libraries. The books are new and there isn’t that”—Ashley raised her nose into the air and sniffed—“musty smell that libraries always seem to have.”

“Then suit yourself,” Rose interjected, her voice dripping with ice. “We’ll show your daughter to a chair so she can wait for you to return with suitable costumes.”

“Thank you.” And with that, the bane of the kindergarten birthday circuit was gone, the only remnant of her presence the hint of her five-hundred-dollar-a-bottle perfume.

And her daughter.

“Just who does that woman think she is?” sputtered Rose.

“She’s Ashley Lawson.” Melissa inhaled deeply, squaring her shoulders as she did.

“No, she’s rude. With a capital
R
.” Rose pulled the flaps of her sweater still tighter against her frail body and shuffled her way into the room, the sound of happy laughter doing its best to dispel the tension that still hung like a cloud over the hallway. “C’mon, Dixie, let’s make ourselves useful.”

“Do you think Miss High and Mighty would have a fit if she knew her precious daughter was inhaling bona fide library air just the other day?” Dixie mumbled as she fell in step behind Rose.

Tori turned to join them only to stop as the back door shot open and Beatrice entered with her charge, the nanny’s eyes moist with tears. “Beatrice? What’s the matter? Is everything okay?”

“I thought so. Until I saw that woman in the parking lot.” Beatrice handed a brightly wrapped package to Luke and gave him a gentle shove toward the children’s room. “Run along now, Luke, I’ll be outside helping Jackson’s mum if you need me.”

When the little boy was out of earshot, Tori tried again, the tension hovering around Beatrice’s body too hard to ignore. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Beatrice, you look like you’re on the verge of crying.”

“I really shouldn’t complain. It’s not like I was the only one.”

“The only one what?”

“To have a run-in with Penelope’s mum.”

“What are you talking about?”

Beatrice pointed through the window in the center of the door, her finger trained on two women and two little girls. The children were peering at the cake over Debbie’s shoulder while the women paced around the outdoor party table. “You know Caroline Rowen and Samantha Smith, right? The little redhead, Zoe, belongs to Caroline, and the brunette belongs to Samantha. We all arrived at virtually the same moment . . . just as Ashley Lawson was heading out to her car to fetch a few outfits.”

Tori stared out the window, her gaze seeking and finding Penelope’s mother, who was removing a large garment bag from her trunk. “Did something happen?”

“She commented on Zoe’s hair, said she could provide the name of a good hairstylist when Caroline finally decided to do something about that wretched color. That’s what she said . . . that
wretched
color.”

Without taking her eyes off Ashley, Tori posed the question that was begging to be asked in light of Beatrice’s shaky demeanor. “And what did she say to you?”

The nanny rummaged around in her purse and pulled out a tissue. Quickly she dabbed at each eye, her voice barely more than a trembling whisper as she leaned against the door. “I opted not to have Luke get dressed up since I figured he’d be wearing a costume for much of the party. I considered asking his mum what she thought but she left early this morning for a breakfast meeting.”

“Okay . . .” Tori turned and looked into the party room, locating Luke in quick fashion. “He looks fine, Beatrice.”

“I thought so, too. But Ashley doesn’t agree.”

She stared at the woman. “Ashley doesn’t agree?”

Beatrice shook her head, her mouth tugged downward with worry. “No. She said I should be ashamed dressing him like . . .” The nanny’s words trailed off as she shifted from foot to foot.

“Dressing him like what?” Tori prompted.

Looking slowly from side to side, Beatrice’s voice grew softer, her cheeks sporting a slight shade of crimson. “Like . . . . . . like one of the Davis kids.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Like a”—Beatrice released an audible sigh—“a commoner.”

“You mean like a normal kid?” she spat.

“I don’t know, Victoria. I just know that Ashley Lawson and Luke’s mum socialize from time to time. I can’t afford to lose this job.”

She reached out, rested a reassuring hand on Beatrice’s shoulder. “If Luke’s parents were to fire you, that little boy would never forgive them.”

“I hope you’re right.” Beatrice jumped forward as the door opened against her back. “Oh . . . Mrs. Lawson, can I help you with those?”

Mustering up every ounce of goodwill she could find, Tori closed the gap between them, her hands seeking to lighten the woman’s load. “Yes, please, let us help you with that.”

Ashley waved off Tori’s assistance, opting instead to toss the heavy garment bag into Beatrice’s waiting hands. “Penelope, of course, will need privacy for any and all costume changes.” Beckoning the nanny to follow, Ashley strode into the children’s room, firing off orders over her shoulder. “And we’ll need to adjust the lighting before Penelope takes the stage.”

“Yes, Mrs. Lawson.”

Tori jogged forward until she was in step with Beatrice. “What are you doing? You don’t have to take orders from her.”

“She’s friends with Luke’s parents and I’m their employee.”

“Beatrice!”

“It’s okay. Really.” Beatrice touched Tori’s arm then continued on, following Penelope’s mother to the clothing rack.

For a moment Tori considered marching over to the rack as well, her desire to put Ashley Lawson in her place more than a little potent. But, in the end, she resisted, the sight of Sally Davis prancing around in a white eyelet Bo Peep costume enough to convince her it was neither the time nor the place for such a confrontation.

“You remembered to put away the rope, right?”

Tori nodded, the sound of Melissa’s voice in her ear bringing a much needed smile to her lips. “I assumed you were overreacting, painting this woman as some sort of monster.”

Melissa released a tired snicker. “And now?”

She glanced across the room in time to see Penelope’s mother shoo the other party guests from her more elegant and elaborate costumes, the momentary hurt on their tiny faces tugging at her heart. “I’m surprised strangulation is the only method Margaret Louise considered.”

Tori couldn’t help it, she’d fallen far harder for Milo Wentworth than she’d ever intended, especially in light of her post-Jeff vow to steer clear of anything resembling serious. It was a vow she’d made with good reason and a vow she’d intended to keep . . .

Until Sweet Briar Elementary School’s third grade teacher swept her off her feet with his kind ways and even kinder heart.

Suddenly, it hadn’t mattered that her former fiancé had cheated on her in the coat closet of the very hall they’d rented to celebrate their engagement with friends and family. Sure, the sting from such a humiliation was still there—probably always would be. But somehow, some way, Milo had made her believe in love and honor again.

“I stopped by the bakery and bought you a brownie today.” Milo disappeared into his kitchen only to return with Debbie’s trademark white bakery bag with the powder blue cupcake emblem emblazoned on the front. “I was torn between the brownie and the caramel cake for a while but, in the end, the brownie won out.”

She smiled up at him from her spot on his sofa, her gaze riveted on the man who’d stolen her heart before she had a clue what was happening. Handsome in the same quiet, understated way he moved through life, Milo sported a crop of burnished brown hair that complimented his amber-flecked brown eyes. “Tell me again how I found you?”

“You didn’t. I found you.” Placing the bag on the coffee table, he bent his leg at the knee and dropped onto the sofa beside her. “And it just gets better all the time.”

And it was true. It did. What had started out as a shy attraction between two people had blossomed into the kind of relationship that was almost too good to be true—a rare example of give and take that had propelled them firmly into keeper status. For his part, he was an amazing listener, remembering the things that mattered to her and making her feel special—always. For her part, she was supportive of his teaching career and his need to spend time together.