Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 10 - Wedding Duress (14 page)

“So it was Sam then, yes?” Leona said. “He’s positively smitten with me—”

“Actually, Leona, it’s me!” With one final push of the door, Charles’s hands started waving wildly in the air as Leona matched his squeal with one a bit throatier.

“Charles! What a wonderful surprise!”

He jogged over to the side of Leona’s bed and planted a dramatic kiss on her forehead before pulling back to study her from head to satin sheet–covered toes. “I hear a hottie rescued you after your fall.”

“You have no idea,” Leona purred. Then returning the favor, she started her inspection at the top of his hazelnut-colored, spikey-haired head, took it down to his black and gold high-top Converse sneakers, and then returned to her starting point. “I can’t believe you came all this way just for me.”

Margaret Louise snorted from the open doorway. “He came for the weddin’, Twin.”

Leona’s excitement drained from her face as she
noticed her sister standing in the doorway. “Margaret Louise.”

“Leona.”

Desperate to see some sort of truce between the sisters, Tori stepped around Margaret Louise to stand in the empty space between them. “Margaret Louise just got back from the airport with Charles”—she looked to the upright sister for confirmation of her words and, at the woman’s nod, swung her gaze in Charles’s direction—“and Charles asked her to come straight here so he could see you.”

“Actually, when you didn’t answer your door, Victoria, I called Milo and he said he’d reckon we’d find you here.”

Leona’s shoulders slumped back against the headboard. “So you’re not here to see me . . .”

Charles waved away Margaret Louise’s explanation and then positioned his hands atop his hips. “I’m not here to
see
you, Leona. I’m here to
stay
with you.”

It was Tori’s turn to clap, and clap she did. “You’re going to stay here?”

“Little-known fact about
moi
.” Charles fluttered his hand at the base of his neck and then plopped down on the bottom of Leona’s bed, crossing his legs for emphasis. “For a while, before the bookstore, I entertained the notion of being a caregiver. In fact, I was going to start my own business and call it Care with Flair.”

“And?” Tori prompted, laughing.

“I went into the bookstore to do some research and the owners fell in love with me.” He pulled his hand away just long enough to flutter his fingers in Leona’s direction. “Of course, you understand such a curse, don’t you, Leona?”

“I’ve never known anything different.” A flash of pain pushed Leona’s eyes shut and nudged Margaret Louise away from the door frame.

“Twin? You okay?”

Slowly, Leona’s natural lashes parted to reveal a mixture of emotions Tori could only guess at.

Hurt?

Sadness?

A sprinkle of irritation?

A dash of satisfaction?

“I’ll be good as new in no time,” Leona finally said. “Knowing I have Victoria, Charles, and Paris caring about me helps.”

Charles jumped up from the bed and looked around. “Where
is
Paris?”

Leona and Tori pointed in unison as Margaret Louise backed her way against the door frame. “There’d be lots of people carin’ ’bout you if you weren’t so mean, Twin.”

Lifting her head from its resting place against the headboard, Leona unfolded the edge of the sheet where it rested against her lap and then refolded it just as quickly. “Victoria, I sure do appreciate you stopping by this evening. On your way out with my sister, would you please put a set of clean sheets on the bed across the hall for Charles?”

Charles marched over to Paris, plucked her into his arms, and shook his head. “Oh no . . . I didn’t come all this way to be relegated to a guest room. Oh-no-I-did-not. I’ve heard too many tales of slumber parties from the two of you”—he pointed between Leona and Tori—“not to sleep right here on the floor between your bed and Paris’s. Besides, we’ve got lots to talk about.”

A smile lifted the corners of Leona’s mouth and nearly stole Tori’s breath in the process.

Charles was there . . .

Leona was going to be all right . . .

Tori took a deep breath, savored its calming effect on her nerves, and then moved in to bestow a good night kiss atop Leona’s forehead. “Don’t stay up all night talking, you hear? You need your sleep in order to heal.”

They weren’t even halfway down the front steps when the question finally came.

“So when do we start investigatin’?”

“Investigating?” she asked.

Margaret Louise stopped, turned, and using her elbows and her girth, blocked Tori from going any farther. “You said if I reached out to my sister, I could get in on your investigation.”

“And that was reaching out?”

“I went into her room, didn’t I? I delivered Charles to her, didn’t I?” Without waiting for a reply, Margaret Louise continued, dropping her elbows flush with her sides as she did. “So tell me what we got so far ’bout Miss Gracie and this supposed push.”

She swatted at a mosquito on her forearm and another on her hand and then gestured toward their cars parked
alongside the curb. “Why don’t you follow me back to my house and we can talk over a hot chocolate or whatever I can scare up in my almost completely packed pantry?”

“Packin’ your things to move in with Milo?”

She nodded then followed her friend down the rest of the steps and onto the sidewalk. “It’s slow going, but I’m getting there. Milo helped a lot this afternoon before he had to call it quits to go to his bachelor dinner.”

As they reached the side of Tori’s car, Margaret Louise’s demeanor brightened immeasurably. “Debbie’s is open for ’bout another hour or so. Why don’t you hop in my car with me and we can head over there. That way, we can have ourselves a treat while we’re hatchin’ our plan.”

Any momentary disappointment over not being able to put on her slippers was quickly drowned out by the notion of eating something chocolate and sinful. “Okay, you’re on.”

Five minutes later, when their should-have-been-a-
ten
-minute-drive was over, Tori unbuckled her seat belt and looked across the wide bench seat at her friend, the stepped-up pace of her heart making it difficult to catch her breath let alone think straight. “Um, did Charles say anything about your driving, by chance?”

Margaret Louise’s smile widened with pride just before she stepped from the car and met Tori en route to the front door of Debbie’s Bakery. “Charles actually said my drivin’ rivals that of any taxi driver in New York City. Can you imagine that?”

Tori slid her hand around her neck and did her best to knead away some of the effects of her friend’s driving skills. “Wow. That’s”—she searched for the nicest way to complete her sentence—“um . . .”

“Flatterin’, ain’t it?” Margaret Louise finished. “Well, here we are.”

The bell-mounted door announced their arrival as Margaret Louise’s nose lifted into the air. “Mmmm . . . I smell chocolate and peanut butter. Debbie must be bakin’ those tarts you love, Victoria.”

“Want to split one with me?” Margaret Louise stopped so suddenly, Tori thumped into her back. “Oh. Hey. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to stop like that.”

“And I wasn’t expectin’ you to say somethin’ like that!”

“What?”

“The splittin’ part. Why, as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been a girl after my own heart, if not my size, when it comes to eatin’.” Margaret Louise held the back of her hand to Tori’s forehead, only to pull it away with a frown. “Nope. No fever. Is your tummy hurtin’?”

“My tummy is fine. If anything, it’s protesting my request every bit as much as you are.” Tori sidestepped her friend and headed over to the glass-fronted cabinet that showcased all of the day’s scrumptious desserts. Sure enough, on a doily-topped plate on the left-hand side of the top shelf, were four chocolate and peanut butter tarts. Her stomach grumbled despite the hand she pressed against it in hopes of quieting the sound. “But I have a very special dress I’m supposed to be able to get into a week from today and eating one of those might make it so I’m forced to wear a tent instead.”

Debbie emerged from the small office behind the counter with a dish towel in one hand and a plate of chocolate-covered caramels in the other. “And if Victoria is unable to fit in that dress, Rose Winters will have my
head for making the treat and
your
head, Margaret Louise, for bringing her here to begin with.”

“I’d like to say I ain’t afraid of Rose Winters, but I am.”

“As am I.” Debbie slid open the back wall of the case and deposited the plate of chocolate-covered caramels onto the middle shelf. “Which is why I’ll cut one of those tarts right down the middle and plate it that way if you don’t want to split one with Victoria.”

“
You
could always split it with me, Debbie,” Tori suggested. “It’s pretty quiet in here for a Saturday evening.”

“Which is what I’m going to do, only I have to eat it in back while I wade through a few bookkeeping reports.” Debbie pulled out a tart, grabbed a knife from the rack behind her, and cut the tasty treat right down the middle. When she was done, she put Tori’s half onto one of the bakery’s trademark powder blue plates and handed it to Tori across the top of the counter. “I imagine you want a hot chocolate to go with that, too?”

At Tori’s nod, the bakery owner turned her focus to Margaret Louise. “I tried out a new Mississippi mud pie recipe if you’re interested.”

A few minutes later, plates and mugs in hand, the pair made their way across the dining area to their favorite table in the front corner—a table that afforded both a view of the street, and the dining room as a whole, in the event they ran out of conversation of their own. They were still steps from their seats when Margaret Louise started in. “The whole time I was waitin’ for Charles’s plane to come in, I was thinkin’ ’bout what you said ’bout somebody pushin’ Miss Gracie.”

“
Possibly
pushing,” she cautioned. “This is all just speculation. Remember that.”

Margaret Louise placed her Mississippi mud pie and large coffee onto the table and hoisted herself up onto the lattice-backed stool closest to the window. “Victoria, if I’ve learned one thing ’bout you these last few years, it’s . . .” The woman’s voice trailed off as a group of twenty-somethings walked into the bakery and sat down at a table on the other side of the dining area, their attention divided between whatever they were whispering about and the temporarily unmanned bakery counter.

“Margaret Louise? Is something wrong?”

“Not yet. But I’m a-watchin’.” Margaret Louise turned her attention back to Tori and continued where she’d left off. “Anyway, as I was sayin’, if I’ve learned one thing ’bout you, Victoria, it’s that you’re a mighty good sniffer.”

Tori laughed at the description. “A good sniffer? What on earth does that mean?
You’re
the one who knew what dessert I was going to order the second we walked through the front door.”

“I’m not talkin’ ’bout that kind of sniffin’. I’m talkin’ ’bout the kind that has you knowin’ somethin’ is wrong before anyone else does.” Margaret Louise took a sip of her coffee and a forkful of her pie before retrieving the empty fork from her mouth in order to point it at Tori. “If it weren’t for your sniffin’, we’d have come back from New York City without Dixie.”

“Well, that wasn’t going to happen.” She took a sip of her own hot beverage, savored the caramel sauce Debbie had drizzled across the whipped cream, and then set it back down on the table between them. “And you need to know that I’m not the one questioning Miss Gracie’s death. That’s Beatrice.”

“If you didn’t think there was a chance she was right,
you wouldn’t be payin’ it any mind. But I know you are. I can see it in your eyes.”

Tori took a bite of her tart and groaned. “Oh my. This is so good.”

“I hope Milo knows the sacrificin’ you’re makin’ to look so purty for him on your weddin’ day.” Margaret Louise took a few more bites of her pie and then pushed the nearly empty plate off to the side of the table. “But let’s get back to our investigatin’ and what you’re always sayin’ ’bout who stands to gain from the death.”

“Okay . . .”

“I know from watchin’
Cops and Criminals
on Wednesday nights, it’s not always ’bout gainin’. Sometimes it’s ’bout other things.”

Tori tried to nibble back her amusement so as not to offend but it was hard. Especially when the scrunch of her friend’s brow showed just how seriously the matter at hand was being taken. “Go on . . .”

“Sometimes people murder for other things like greed, and jealousy, and even flat-out revenge.” Margaret Louise wrapped her pudgy hands around her mug and squeezed it so tight Tori was actually afraid it would explode. “It’s the last two of them reasons that seem to make the most sense on why someone might push Beatrice’s friend.”

She replayed Margaret Louise’s list in her head then brought the last two items back into the conversation. “So who do you think was jealous of Miss Gracie?”

“That one’s easy.” After a lengthy sip of her coffee, Margaret Louise looked back toward the table of twenty-somethings and then lowered her voice to as much of a whisper as her normally booming volume would allow.
“Cynthia Marland. The one who got the boot so Miss Gracie could take care of Jim and Julie’s little girls.”

“And you think she’d kill because of that?”

“She wouldn’t be the first person to get her undies in a bunch on account of gettin’ the boot from a job.” Margaret Louise took another sip of her coffee and then plunked her cup down on the table with a thud. “Need I remind you ’bout all those nasty looks and comments Dixie made to you after she got the boot at the library?”

“Looks and comments, sure. But that doesn’t mean she’d have killed me.”

“I’m bettin’ she killed you a time or two in her dreams those first few months.” Margaret Louise matched Tori’s lean and raised it with one of her own. “But Cynthia is cut from a different bolt of cloth than Dixie.”

Her interest aroused, Tori shoved her drink to the side and leaned her head closer to her friend. “Do you know Cynthia?”

“I know her people.”

“And?”

“They’re lazier than a two-legged dog.”

“A two-legged dog?”

Margaret Louise waved Tori’s question aside and continued on, the excitement in her voice bubbling over into everything from the way she shifted in her seat, to the way she licked her lips in anticipation of sharing everything she’d thought about while waiting for Charles to deplane.

“I don’t know if you’ve seen where she lives, but her room at the Bradys’ was probably bigger than her whole house. Goin’ back to nothin’ after livin’ like somethin’ would be an awful bitter pill, don’t you think?”

It was the same line of thinking she’d already been entertaining on her own, but still, it was validating to hear it from someone else.

“I’ve been thinking that, too, but every time I do, I come back to the same thing. Killing Miss Gracie shouldn’t mean Cynthia would get her job back. I mean, the Bradys fired her for a reason, right?”

“Maybe she just did it for that flat-out revenge I told you ’bout.”

“Maybe . . .”

But still, it seemed too easy.

Then again, murder committed in a fit of rage didn’t have to be complicated, did it?

The jingle of the front door pulled Tori from her thoughts and turned her attention to a familiar face standing in the doorway. Next to Beatrice stood a little boy with wide eyes.

“Well, lookee who’s here.” Margaret Louise’s hand shot up into the air. “Woo-hoo. Beatrice, Luke . . .”

Beatrice tightened her hand on Luke and made a beeline for their table. “Oh. Victoria. I stopped by your house and you weren’t there. So I took a chance I might find you here even though Luke said he didn’t see your car in the parking lot.”

“That’s ’cause I did the drivin’,” Margaret Louise proclaimed, patting the vacant seat to her right for Luke, and the one to her left for Beatrice. “Now that you found her, you might as well sit for a spell and visit.”

Tori watched as Beatrice made sure Luke got onto his stool safely and then remained standing by his side. “Beatrice? Is something wrong?”

When the nanny didn’t answer, Tori followed her wary
gaze to the only other occupied table in the dining room. “Do you know those girls, Beatrice?”

“I do. But that’s not why I’m here.” Beatrice lowered her voice so as not to be heard by anyone other than Tori and Margaret Louise. “Luke overheard something on Monday night that I think you need to hear.”

Something in the way Beatrice spoke made Tori lean toward the pair with her full attention. “Is this about Miss Gracie?”

Beatrice’s eyes closed for the briefest of moments and then opened along with a slow nod and a gentle pat on Luke’s shoulder. “Go ahead, Luke, tell Miss Sinclair what you shared with me while we were working on your arithmetic lesson this evening. Only let’s use our whisper voice, okay?”

Luke peeled his gaze from the last remaining bites of Tori’s tart and fixed it instead on Tori, a mixture of apprehension and confusion on his round face. “We wanted to watch cartoons, but Miss Amanda and Miss Stacy wanted to watch a big person show.”

“Who are Miss Amanda and Miss Stacy?” Tori asked Beatrice.

“Two of the other nannies from the Nanny Go Round Agency.”

“One of which is sittin’ right over there.” Margaret Louise pointed at the table that had claimed her attention earlier. “Amanda is the redhead and she’s a Willey.”