Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 08 - Remnants of Murder (25 page)

Rose was the wisest person she’d ever known, next to her great-grandmother, of course. And at that moment, more than anything else, Tori needed the benefit of her wisdom. Especially when it came wrapped in the kind of heartfelt affection she felt for and from the retired schoolteacher. It was, in many ways, like still having a living, breathing extension of her great-grandmother.

“Oh, Rose, you don’t need me showing up on your doorstep with my sewing box and an unending list of problems.”

“All I’ve listened to over the past two years is how much I’ve brought to your life, Victoria. You say you enjoy sewing with me and talking to me and having me take you under my wing with gardening.”

She filed away the momentary wince on Rose’s face as they each shifted their position on the couch to afford direct eye contact. “And it’s all true, Rose. You’ve been a godsend.”

“That hasn’t been one way, Victoria.”

“What are you saying?”

Slowly Rose lifted her hand to Tori’s face and smoothed back her hair. “I’m a spinster, Victoria. A spinster who has long outlived her parents and her siblings and even a few of her earliest students. That gets lonely sometimes.”

“You have everyone in the sewing circle, Rose.” She captured Rose’s hand between her own and held it gently. “They’ve been a part of your life for years. They adore you.”

“I think Leona would remove herself from that generality.”

She couldn’t help but laugh if only for a brief moment. The ongoing feud between Rose and Leona was superficial at best. No matter how many insults they hurled at each other at any given sewing circle, the simple fact that Patches—Paris’s offspring—resided inside Rose’s home spoke volumes. So, too, did the special project the two had undertaken together in the name of a little boy and his father over the holiday season. “I suspect you’ll be getting a reprieve from her angst for a while on account of the fact she’s furious with me.”

“You?” Rose’s eyes narrowed behind her bifocals. “Did you wear the wrong color mascara?”

“If only it were so simple …” She shook her head, forcing herself away from a slope that was much too slippery for a lighthearted conversation. “No, Leona is angry because she feels like I’m somehow ruining her image around town. But I’m not … or I’m not trying to anyway. But forget about that. Truly, Rose, everyone adores you.”

“Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. But it’s different with you, Victoria.” Rose tugged her hand from between Tori’s and pulled the flaps of her sweater more closely against her frail body. “It’s like … it’s like I have a granddaughter of my own with you. Seeing you so troubled worries me.”

Tori blinked back the tears that threatened. “Oh, Rose, please don’t worry about me.”

“Tell me what’s on your mind and I won’t need to worry.” Rose met Tori’s gaze and held it with an air of authority. “Is it the wedding?”

She started to shake her head then stopped. “Some, I guess. But not in the way you think. Between trying to find a dress I can actually afford and ironing out everything else, I guess I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed with some of the details is all.” It was on the tip of her tongue to confide her sadness over her great-grandmother’s absence, but she let it go. The last thing she wanted to do was make Rose feel as if
her
presence wasn’t good enough.

“It’s going to be hard not having her there, isn’t it?”

Her gaze skirted across Rose’s wrinkled face and down to her own hands. Rose was sharp. Too sharp at times. “I should have known you’d put the pieces together. But honestly, I didn’t even know why I was dragging my feet myself until I started looking through the bridal magazines and dress catalogs last night.”

“Did you find one you liked?” Rose asked gently.

“I did … until I saw the price tag and eliminated it immediately. But Rose, you should have seen this dress. It was elegant and romantic and classy and exactly what I wanted my great-grandmother to help me into before I walked down the aisle.” Feeling the tide of emotions starting to tug her under, Tori held up her hands. “I’m sorry, Rose, I can’t talk about this right now.”

For a moment she thought Rose was going to argue, the woman’s keen eyes searching every nuance of Tori’s face. But in the end, Tori’s request was granted. “If you didn’t put two and two together until last night, then what else is going on? Beatrice said she saw you at the park yesterday and you were so preoccupied you didn’t even acknowledge her repeated waving.”

The park …

The park …

“She said she almost went over to see if you were okay until Lulu ran over to you and got you to sit down and talk.”

Ah, yes. The park …

“Yesterday I was feeling the effects of being on everyone’s most hated list.” Tori turned her shoulders square against the couch and let her head drop back. “It’s not exactly a fun place to be, I’ll tell you that much.”

“I suspected that would happen if Dixie was right about Clyde.”

Without lifting her head, she addressed her friend. “I don’t get this place sometimes, Rose. The only person who should be upset by what Dixie and I did is the person responsible. So why do I feel like public enemy number one right now?”

“Things don’t stay quiet around here for long, you know that. People saw Clyde’s death as the key to getting what they wanted. His death being classified as murder will surely push that objective back even more. Add to it the general anxiety that comes from anticipated scrutiny and, well, people are anxious. And when people are anxious, they lash out at the perpetrator.”

“With that perpetrator being me, of course …” She didn’t need to look at Rose to know the woman was nodding. Everything her friend said made perfect sense. The key was to find the person responsible for Clyde’s murder as quickly as possible so all that unnecessary anxiety could go away. Or find another target.

“Dixie tells me you were right about the poison.”

She scooted to the edge of the couch and stood, the same wheels that had been churning in her head all day kicking into high gear once again. “My gut tells me it was slipped into one of three foods.”

When Rose said nothing, she took them both through her suspicions. “According to Clyde’s friend, Kate, he told the Nirvana Resort people he’d prosecute them for trespassing if they showed up on his property again. That was in early February. Then Councilman Adams, who’s been touting this project as part of his reelection strategy, began showing up with a brand-new tactic.
Pies
.”

“He figured he could soften Clyde up by way of his stomach?” Rose asked.

“Something like that. Round about that same time, Shelby Jenkins started adding pamphlets about her father’s resort company to Clyde’s long-standing order for hand-dipped chocolate cherries.” The second Tori stopped to take a breath, she found her thoughts traveling back to Debbie’s Bakery and the happy-go-lucky college student who knew Tori’s order before she even reached the counter.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

She wandered over to the large plate glass window that overlooked Rose’s flower garden and stared out at the brightly colored bulbs and flowering plants that would put even the most seasoned of landscapers to shame. “For the past four years, Clyde’s son, Beau, has been showing up at his dad’s house for tea and scones a couple of times a week when his work allows. It was a tradition Clyde used to have with his wife and Beau decided to continue it once she died.”

The flowers blended into a blur of pinks and yellows and whites as the stress of the past few hours resurfaced. “Anyway, Emma is the chief scone maker at the bakery …” She let the words trail from her mouth as the enormity of what she was about to say threatened to sink her where she stood.

“And Emma is Granville’s daughter.”

Tori swallowed. “She knew as well as anyone that Beau picked up scones for his father twice a week. She knew because she made them and she was the one who bagged his order and handed it to him across the counter.”

“You’ll figure this out, Victoria. You always do.”

“But what happens if it’s Emma?”

Rose bent forward, releasing a loud cough that shook the woman from head to toe. “Seems to me that unless Emma knew exactly which scone was Clyde’s, Beau would show signs of being sick by now, too.”

She looked from Rose to the window and back again, the woman’s words hitting her like a blast of cold water. “Yes! That makes sense. Dozens of people come into that bakery each morning for scones. There’d have been no way Emma could have known which scone Beau would pick for his dad.” Taking a step to the side, she slumped against the edge of the window and took a deep breath. “Wow. I don’t think I realized just how much the thought of Emma being involved was bothering me.”

Rose patted the spot Tori had vacated and smiled when her invitation was accepted. “It’ll all work out okay, Victoria, just you wait and see.”

“Now if Leona could only see that I’m trying to find the truth rather than destroy her image, I might actually believe that.”

Taking Tori’s hand in hers, Rose held it tight. “Give Leona a little time. She hurts more easily than she lets on. But she’ll come around sooner or later.”

She looked down as her hand began to tremble inside Rose’s. Her great-grandmother had been a gift. So, too, was Rose. Their time together could go on for another decade or it could be gone the next day. The only way to counteract that was to treasure each moment. “You’re a special lady, Rose Winters.”

“So are you, Victoria. So are you.” Rose released Tori’s hand from her grasp and retrieved the stack of precut fabric from the coffee table. She placed one piece on her lap and handed another to Tori. “Let’s get started on our placemats before Milo arrives to take you on your date.”

Chapter 25

Tori yanked open the passenger side door, tossed
her purse onto the floor, and lifted her chin toward the vast openness that was Margaret Louise’s backseat.

“I take it she’s still mad at me?” she asked before sliding into the seat and reaching for the seat belt.

Margaret Louise wrapped her hands around the steering wheel and threw the powder blue station wagon into gear, sending Tori’s head slamming against the seat rest as she did. “That sister of mine only has two speeds—mean and meaner. Right now, you’re in the path of the second.”

Tori grabbed the armrest to keep herself from being thrown across the seat as Margaret Louise sped around the corner and headed toward town. “None of this is her fault … or mine. I wish she could see that.”

“Don’t you mind none about Leona, Victoria.” Margaret Louise reached up, adjusted the rearview mirror, and made a hard right toward the town square, the potholes and speed bumps that littered the road no match for the twenty-year-old car or its driver. “Arguin’ with her is like a bug arguin’ with a chicken. It won’t do me or you or anyone else any good to try. But one of these days she’s goin’ to have to face the fact that Clyde Montgomery didn’t poison himself.”

“I think she gets that. It’s really more a case of her having brought me to that meeting on Monday. Her fellow shopkeepers are now linking her with me.”

“My daddy used to say you can’t blame the cow when the milk goes sour.”

“I’m not sure I qualify as the cow in this situation,” she said. “But I definitely think I’m being viewed as some sort of troublemaker.”

Margaret Louise slowed as they approached the line of shops that bordered the eastern end of the town square. “I still can’t believe Shelby Jenkins closed her shop in your face the other day. I always thought it was just her father who was all vine and no taters. Guess I was wrong.”

“All vine and no taters?” she echoed.

“Means he’s full of himself.”

“Ahhh, got it.” She’d learned a lot about southern etiquette from Leona over the past two years and some of it was even true, but it was Margaret Louise’s colorful expressions she enjoyed most of all.

“Now you let me do the talkin’, okay? I’ve known Shelby Jenkins a long time and she’ll think twice before she’s rude to me.” Margaret Louise pulled into a parking spot closest to the sweetshop and cut the engine, the car’s answering shudder not much different than Tori’s. “You don’t think I drive like a maniac, do you, Victoria?”

What to say … what to say …

She found her breath and slowly released her seat belt. “A maniac?”

Margaret Louise pushed open her door and waited for Tori to join her on the blacktop. “That’s what Leona said the other day when I took her to the grocery store to get some carrots for Paris.”

“I … I—”

“I told her to quit her gripin’ but she got me wonderin’, I guess. I mean, no matter how many times I offer to bring Rose somewhere, she turns me down. And Dixie? She ain’t been in the car with me since our girls’ weekend in the mountains last summer. Anytime I’ve asked her, she gets all pale.”

She looked at Margaret Louise over the top of the station wagon and waved her hand toward the sweetshop. “From what I can see, it doesn’t look like Shelby’s place is all that crowded right now, so maybe we should table this until after we do what we need to do.”