Authors: Elizabeth Lynn Casey
Death Threads (16 page)
“You don’t have to. Your face said it all.” Margaret Louise pointed at the covered dish she’d set on the coffee table. “If you don’t mind, could you grab a fork and a small plate and give this a taste? I need an opinion.”
She leaned over the casserole and stared at two distinctly separate lumps of something mushy. “What is it?”
“My Sweet Potato Pie.”
She clapped her hands together as a squeal left her lips. “Is this the one that caught the eye of that magazine guy?”
Margaret Louise nodded as she put a name to Tori’s generalization. “William Clayton Wilder. And yes, it is.”
“Why does it look like that?”
“He wants me to make it uniquely southern if he’s goin’ to feature it in his magazine. I’ve been swappin’ things out and addin’ new things one ingredient at a time since Sunday. I’ve tried so many different combinations that I’m not sure what I’m doin’ anymore.”
“So these are two different variations?” Tori asked.
Margaret Louise nodded once again.
“I’ll be right back.” She spun around and headed back into the kitchen. “How’s it going in here, Lulu?” She peeked over the child’s shoulder. “Oh, sweetie, that’s wonderful.”
“No looking, Miss Sinclair. It’s a s’prise.” Flipping the coloring book over, Lulu looked up at Tori accusingly. “You can’t see it ’til it’s all done . . . okay?”
“Okay.” She bent down, planted a soft kiss on the little girl’s forehead, and then yanked open the silverware drawer.
“Your Mee-Maw wants me to be her taste-tester. Do you know what that is?”
Lulu nodded. “I’ve already been one. Lots and lots and lots of times this week. Mee-Maw says I’m the best taste-tester ever.”
“I’m not surprised.” And she wasn’t. While most eight-year-olds flitted from one thing to the next, Lulu Davis was the kind of kid who soaked up everything around her, remembering details most adults forgot. Reaching into a cabinet to the left of the stove, Tori extracted a small plate and started toward the doorway.
“Don’t forget a cup of water,” Lulu said as her foot thumped against the leg of her chair.
“Water?”
“Uh-huh. To clean your plate.”
She laughed. “I’ll clean it at the sink when I’m done.”
“No, not your plate. Your”—the child’s eyes rolled upward as she searched for the right word—“pa-late.”
“You mean
palate
?”
palate
?”
“Yeah, that. Mee-Maw says you need to wipe your tongue’s memory before you try something new.”
“And, as usual, your Mee-Maw is absolutely right.” She walked back to the cabinet, retrieved a small glass, and filled it with water from the tap. “Am I ready now, Lulu?”
“You’re ready.” The child nodded her head with absolute seriousness then flipped her coloring book over. “I have to get back to my work now.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.” She looked over her shoulder one last time before rejoining her friend. “I love that child so much.”
Margaret Louise dropped onto the love seat behind the coffee table. “I know you do, Victoria. And she loves you every bit as much.” With a nod at the glass of water, she continued. “I see you’ve been a taste-tester before.”
“No. You just have a brilliant granddaughter.”
A loud hearty laugh filled the room as Margaret Louise leaned back into the sofa’s cushions. “Of course. She takes after her Mee-Maw.”
“I think—if your sister was here—she’d take this opportunity to point out that Lulu has some of her genes as well.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “That’d be like sayin’ she can sew because I do. And you and I both know that’s a cotton-pickin’ lie.”
Tori perched on the edge of the armchair. “What are we going to do about that? She is more than a little reluctant—she’s downright ornery.”
Shrugging, Margaret Louise leaned forward and scooped a spoonful of sweet potatoes onto Tori’s plate. “I’m too plumb busy plannin’ where I’m goin’ to take Melissa and Jake while she babysits.”
Tori laughed. “Can you even imagine that? Those poor children would be locked in their rooms the entire time.”
“Jake Junior is an expert lock picker. Now here . . . try a taste.”
She took the plate from Margaret Louise’s outstretched hand and extracted a generous forkful.
“Only put half of that in your mouth.” Margaret Louise scooted over on the sofa, closing the gap between them with ease. “Savor it. Slowly.”
She nodded at the directions and then slid the fork into her mouth, her lips closing over the halfway point of the fork. “Mmmm, wow. This is amazing . . .”
The woman beamed. “Good. Good.”
Tori pointed at the casserole dish with her now empty fork. “Why are you trying anything else? It can’t possibly be better than this.”
“Just try it. This is one I just put together today. Lulu hasn’t even tried this one.”
She handed her plate back to the woman and watched as a second scoop of potatoes was heaped into the center. “How do you know what to try? I’d be so afraid of putting together a hideous combination.”
“It’s second nature, I guess. Like books are to you.” Margaret Louise handed the plate to Tori once again. “Take a swallow of water first and swish it ’round your mouth a dab before you try this one.”
“What inspired this one?” She took a sip of water and swished it around her mouth as she’d been told, Margaret Louise’s cheeks turning a soft shade of red as she did. “What? What did I say?”
“Nothin’. Just try it.”
“Margaret Louise, are you trying to poison me?”
“Just try it.” The woman leaned closer as Tori slipped the fork into her mouth, her eyes closing as an explosion of taste made her groan. “Oh, Margaret Louise. This is mind-blowing.”
“You rightly think so?”
She dug into the remaining lump on her plate and stuck a second forkful into her mouth, nodding as she did.
“Are you absolutely sure?”
She nodded again, the potatoes sliding down her throat as she turned her fork onto its side and chased every remaining remnant around the plate. “What did you put in this one? It’s . . . well, mind-blowing doesn’t even do it justice.”
Margaret Louise flopped against the back of the sofa, the back of her hand covering her forehead. “It hit me while I was”—she clamped her mouth shut only to open it again a few seconds later. “Anyway . . . cover story here I come.”
Tori set the plate on the coffee table and settled back into her own chair. “What’s this Wilder guy like?”
“Willy?” The woman sat up, repositioned her plump form on the sofa, and then nestled into its soft cushions. “Famous. A little full of himself—you know, one of those men who thinks the world exists just to hear him crow.”
“Which explains Leona’s interest . . .” she muttered under her breath only to feel guilty the second the words were out. “Margaret Louise, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“No, you’re right. My sister is hankerin’ for wealth and importance. Which is fine, I’ll do my part to help.”
“Your part?” Tori reached for the glass and took a small sip.
Margaret Louise nodded, her gaze straying to the casserole dish as a mischievous smile stretched across her face. “When he comes back to try this”—she pointed at the sweet potatoes—“I’ll arrange to have Leona there as my assistant.”
Tori coughed as a second sip of water hit her throat at the same time Margaret Louise’s words registered in her mind.
Jumping up, Margaret Louise pushed Tori forward and began smacking her back. “Arms up in the air, Victoria.”
She shook her head but did as she was told, the coughing subsiding almost as quickly as it had begun. “Th-thanks.” Tori looked up at her friend as she swallowed once again. “You’re going to make Leona your assistant? In the kitchen?”
“It’ll be pretend, Victoria. Like one of those poor things at those car shows that travel ’round the country. They don’t know any more ’bout cars than Leona knows about cookin’.”
“True.”
“If it makes Leona happy, I’ll do it. That’s what sisters are for.” Margaret Louise walked over to the alcove that doubled as Tori’s sewing room. Lifting the sample gift bag from the top of her sewing table, she spun around. “What’s this?”
Tori stood, closing the gap between them in mere seconds. “It’s an idea I have. I’d like to make about thirty of these and use them to fill book orders from the nursing home. That way, instead of just handing them a book, they get something cheerful looking, too.”
“What a wonderful idea.” Margaret Louise turned the bag over in her left hand as the fingers of her right played across the stitching. “This would be a great project for the circle.”
“I was hoping it would be.”
“Do you have the fabric?”
Tori yanked open a drawer and pulled out a stack of fabric in varying designs and colors. “These I already had. But I’m sure we can get more.”
“Could you handle having all of us here on Friday night?”
“Friday night? Our next meeting is Monday . . . at Rose’s house.”
Margaret Louise set the bag down on the desk. “Group projects call for a special meetin’.”
She warmed to the idea quickly. “Okay. Should I call everyone tonight?”
“I’ll take care of it. How ’bout we say seven?”
“Seven works.” She looked down at her hands and then back up at her friend. “Do you think Debbie would come? It might get her mind off things for a little while.”
“I think that’s a wonderful idea.” Margaret Louise gestured toward the open window. “She might be more easily persuaded if we billed it as a way to get Suzanna and Jackson out of the house, too.”
“Could you ask Melissa to bring Lulu and the others?”
“I’ll have her bring Jake, too. He can watch them outside . . . keep ’em out of our hair.”
“You don’t think he’d mind?” Tori heard Lulu skip into the room and turned to smile at the child. “Hey, sweetie, did you finish?”
The little girl nodded, dimples forming in her cheeks. “I did. Wanna see it?”
“There’s nothing I’d rather do.” She tucked her left arm through Margaret Louise’s, took hold of Lulu’s hand with her right. To her friend she said, “You know . . . I think getting everyone together to work on these bags is a great idea. Debbie could really use the distraction.”
“And so can you.”
Tori blinked back the sudden moisture in her eyes, her mouth unable to find the right words.
“Everything will be alright, Victoria. I just know it.” Margaret Louise brought her mouth close to Tori’s ear as they headed toward the kitchen and Lulu’s completed coloring page. “It’s like Ella May said yesterday. You and Milo have somethin’ special just like she has with Willy—I mean, Billy . . .” Her voice trailed off as they both sucked in their breath simultaneously.
“Wait . . . You don’t think it’s the same person, do you?”
Margaret Louise giggled with glee, a sound that ricocheted around Tori’s cottage. “She said he’s famous, right? That’s he’s travelin’ all the time with his job.”
“But she calls him Billy.”
“Billy, Willy . . . it’s the same, ain’t it?”
“Jefferson changes his name on the playground when he’s being a superhero,” Lulu piped in as they rounded the corner into the kitchen. “He calls himself Jeff when he’s got powers. But we all know it’s still him.”
Tori looked at Margaret Louise, saw the confirmation in her pale brown eyes. “He was here on Sunday for the festival and she was looking at wedding cakes with Debbie on Monday . . .”
“Victoria, I think we’ve just gone and solved the mystery of Ella May’s man.”
“I’m good at solving mysteries, too, Mee-Maw.” Lulu stopped beside the table, her tiny hand sweeping across the carefully colored picture of Cinderella and her prince. “Even Miss Sinclair thinks so, don’t you?”
Tori nodded as she bent over the picture, her eyes memorizing every detail. “Oh, Lulu, you did a wonderful job. I can’t wait to see everyone’s face when they see it hanging on my refrigerator on Friday night.”
Lulu squealed with pleasure then skipped off into the living room as her grandmother leaned her stout frame against the kitchen counter. “And me? I can’t wait to see the look on my sister’s face when she realizes the wealthy bachelor she’s schemin’ to meet is plain taken . . . by Ella May Vetter.”
Chapter 12
There were a lot of things about Sweet Briar, South Carolina, she didn’t understand. Mostly because she hadn’t grown up in the close-knit town the way so many others had. But still, she had Leona to guide her along, making sure she had the lowdown on southern expressions, proper southern etiquette, and who was and wasn’t available from a dating perspective.
That was the easy stuff.
It was the unwritten stuff that seemed to change with the wind that made Tori want to pull her hair out. Stuff like who the important people were and who the
really
important people were. And why loyalty to one another only ran so deep.
really
important people were. And why loyalty to one another only ran so deep.
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