Needle and Dread (3 page)

Leona reared back to answer but stopped as Rose put out a hand and maintained control. “It still
is
that way, Ms. Goodwin. That is why your every whim has been placated, your every complaint addressed, and your mind-blowing rudeness overlooked since the moment you
shoved your way off the bus. But when your rudeness crosses into abusive, you no longer have my respect.”

A trio of snaps just over Tori's shoulder was followed by Charles's distinctive voice. “You tell her, Rose Winters! Tell her good!”

“I'll have your job!” Opal shouted at Rose.

Rose's lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile. “Considering the fact that I'm co-owner of this shop, I doubt you'll have much success.”

“Then I want to talk to your partner!”

Leona eased Rose away from the table and then took her place front and center. “Yes? How can I help you?”

Opal's eyes narrowed to near slits. “
You're
her business partner?”

“That's right.” Leona inhaled sharply and then took a moment to give a pleasant nod to each of the guests before turning her attention back to Opal. “My business partner and I have worked hard to make this event nice for everyone. And, from what I can see, the other members of your group are enjoying their project, the food, and the company of my friends. The only blight I can see is
you
, Ms. Goodwin—you and your refusal to be satisfied with anyone or anything. In fact, I suspect that's why you look as if you're frowning all the time.”

“Oh, most definitely. The position of one's wrinkles can tell
a lot
,” Charles interjected. “Happy people age happily. Unhappy people age unhappily.”

Leona took her gaze off of Opal long enough to engage Charles. “The right makeup artist can always work wonders, though . . .”

“So-very-true,” Charles snapped out. “You should see my neighbor—Arianna.” He looked from side to
side and lowered his voice. “Hmmm . . . how should I describe Arianna? She's . . . um . . . well . . .”

“Ugly?” Leona prompted.

Charles paused for a split second and then nodded. “But I have to tell you, Leona, when Bruce, my other neighbor, gets her in the chair and works his magic, she looks positively bea-u-ti-ful.”

“Bruce is your friend who gave you that magical under-eye concealer?”

“No. That was my old roommate, Michael Anthony,” Charles corrected. “Bruce is a true artist. He is to the human face, what Michelangelo was to the Sistine Chapel.”

“We must meet.” Leona air-kissed Charles's cheek and then turned back to a gaped-mouth Opal. “Anyway, you will not be getting a refund, nor will we be paying for your hotel, your meals, or any of the other ridiculous demands you made. We promised a project and food, and we delivered in both areas. So, unless you want to go back home tomorrow evening with nothing to show for your efforts, I suggest you get back to your sewing, Ms. Goodwin.”

*   *   *

“Is the diva almost done?”

Tori looked up from the logbook Leona had created for the shop's special events and shrugged. “I'm not sure, Charles, but you could certainly check . . .”

“I don't want to know
that
bad, Victoria.” Charles pranced his way to the front window and peered out onto Main Street. “I just know I've watched everyone else go
into that room to retrieve their project at some point over the last thirty minutes, yet still no sign of . . .
her
.”

“That's because my twin shamed that woman into shuttin' her trap and finishin' what she started.” Margaret Louise transferred the remaining cupcakes from the leaf-etched plate into a domed plastic container Debbie had found in her car. “And she had it comin', you know.”

Dixie finished returning the unused inventory to its correct locations around the shop and then straightened, her hands firmly planted on her hips. “If
I
was running the show around here, Opal would have been shown the door. She didn't deserve the courtesy of being able to finish
a yawn
let alone a project she had nothing good to say about.”

“And if you did, she'd find the closest computer and let everyone know how horrible your shop was,” Leona countered as she closed the door behind Travis and made her way into the center of the room.

Rose emerged from behind the register, her sweater pulled tightly against her upper body despite the room's comfortable temperatures. “You say that like it's not something she's going to do anyway.”

“She probably will, Rose. And you need to prepare yourself for that.” Leona took a quick look at Tori's numbers and then focused on Rose once again. “But by allowing her to finish the project, we won't have to wonder if we could have done something different.”

It made sense. It really did. Yet Tori couldn't really wrap her head around anything other than Rose's palpable sadness. SewTastic was supposed to be the thing that lifted the elderly woman's spirits and kept her feet moving. And,
since the sewing shop's grand opening two weeks earlier, it had done exactly that. Suddenly, Rose's feet hadn't shuffled quite so much when she walked, and the often crippling pain from her arthritis seemed incapable of keeping her down. Instead of focusing on the end of her life, Rose was motivated by the experiences still to come . . .

“So what if Opal gives the shop a bad review?” Tori asked as she closed and put away the logbook once and for all. “There were four other crafters here for the same event, and every one of them seemed to have a good time. And I know that everyone who has walked through those doors since you opened two weeks ago has had nothing but good things to say . . .”

“I wanted
everyone
to love this place,” Rose said between noticeable swallows.

Debbie finished helping Margaret Louise with the food cleanup and turned to face Rose. “I know from Colby's novels that one bad review against dozens of good reviews always stands out as suspect. It's either a wannabe writer jealous of his success, or someone who's a generally unhappy person. For people who make it a habit to read reviews, it's easy to pick those out and discard accordingly. The same will hold true with whatever Opal says. Especially when it's up against nothing but positive accounts of the same event.”

“You really think so?” Rose asked, her gaze lingering on Debbie's for a moment before seeking Tori's for added confirmation.

“Debbie is right. One bad review is hardly front-page news.” Tori came out from behind the front counter and slipped a reassuring arm around Rose's frail shoulders.
“Now, let's get this event done and over with, shall we? I promised Milo I'd be home at a reasonable time.”

Charles stopped nibbling on a hangnail and looked up. “Hear! Hear!”

“Charles?” Tori asked, laughing. “Do
you
want the honor of looking in on Ms. Goodwin and telling her that Miranda and the rest of her group are sitting on the bus waiting for her to finish up?”

Leona's hand shot up. “No, no. I'll take this one. It'll be my pleasure . . .”

Sagging against the wall, Charles mouthed his love for his fellow fashionista and then followed it up with an air-kiss as she passed.

“Why don't you wrap things up for Opal the same way Daddy wrapped things up whenever somethin' was goin' on too long,” Margaret Louise said as Leona reached the mouth of the hallway and stopped to take a breath. “Just tell her it's time to pee on the fire and call it a day.”

A slow smile inched its way across Leona's mouth just before she disappeared from their collective sight.

“Leona was always Daddy's girl,” Margaret Louise said, dropping onto a nearby chair. “Why, when she was not much higher 'n my knee is now, she used to—”

A bloodcurdling scream from the far end of the hallway extinguished the rest of Margaret Louise's memory and sent Tori racing for the project room.

Tori looked down at the perfectly grilled slices of London broil and did her best to shove the afternoon's horror from her thoughts long enough to thank the man seated directly across the kitchen table. Her husband of just over six weeks, Milo Wentworth had a way of knowing when to step up to the plate, and for that and so many other things, she was beyond grateful.

“Thanks for pulling this together,” she said in lieu of the smile he deserved. “I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a fog that just won't break, you know?”

Reaching across the table, he encased her hand with his. “I wish you would've called me when this first happened. I'd have been there in a heartbeat.”

“In a clear-headed state, I know that, Milo. But in the moment, all I could really think about was Leona and whether she was okay. And then, when I realized
she wasn't hurt and I really looked around the room, it took a few seconds to register what I was seeing.”

He quieted the gathering emotion in her voice with a squeeze and then pulled his hand back beside his plate. “I can't get over the fact that someone strangled this poor woman with a power cord.”

“From a sewing machine of all things,” she mumbled. She closed her eyes against the image of Opal Goodwin slumped atop her sewing machine, the white power cord tasked with making it operate wound around the woman's neck. It was an image she suspected she'd revisit many times in the coming days. But as difficult as that sight was, it was the undaunted hum of Opal's machine as Leona's screams finally ceased that still chilled Tori to the core three hours later. “Milo, it was awful. I mean, I tried to save her, to unwind the cord as fast as I could, but it was too late. Opal was already gone.

“And then . . . when it hit me what had happened, I sent Margaret Louise to call the police chief, Charles to try and head Rose off at the pass, and everyone else to get Leona out of the room and to a place where she could sit down.”

He met her eyes and gestured toward her plate. “You need to eat, Tori.”

“I just don't know who could have done this. I mean, we were all in the store the whole time.” It was, essentially, the same thing she'd said to Sweet Briar Police Chief Robert Dallas when he arrived on the scene with two of his officers in tow.

“How long was she in the project room alone?”

She picked up her knife and fork, cut off a few bite-sized pieces, and then simply stared down at her plate. “A half hour. Maybe forty-five minutes. Tops.”

“And you never saw anyone go in the room?” Milo slipped a piece of steak into his mouth and chased it down with a sip of ice water.

“I know her fellow tour members all went into the room at some point or another to retrieve their projects, but, for the most part, they were checking out the main room, partaking in the remaining treats, and making mental notes of the various things Georgina insisted they do before heading out of Sweet Briar tomorrow night.”

“And that was it for the people who went into that room during the time this woman was in there sewing?” Milo asked.

“Well, you know how Beatrice is—no matter how much tough love everyone else wanted to impart on Opal, Beatrice still felt the need to hand deliver a plate of pretzels at one point. And I know Charles even peeked in a time or two as well, but other than that, yes.”

“Is there a chance someone came in through the back door when everyone was otherwise occupied?” He took another bite of meat and then switched to the creamed spinach he'd popped into the microwave during the last few minutes of grilling time. “Don't forget, there is an alley that runs behind all the shops on that side of the street.”

“But this is
Sweet Briar
, Milo,” she protested. “People don't lurk in alleys here waiting to strangle old women with sewing machine cords.”

He pointed his empty fork in her direction and then lowered it to include her still-uneaten dinner. “Sweet Briar or not, someone killed that woman. And
you
still need to eat.”

“The chief had one of the officers lift prints off the cord, but I can tell you right now that mine are going to be all over it.” Stabbing a tiny morsel of meat with her fork, she brought it to her lips. “I guess we can hope my prints didn't block out the killer's.”

“I don't think it works that way, but I guess we'll know for sure soon enough.” He looked at her over the rim of his water glass, the amber flecks in his brown eyes muted by concern. “You
did
tell the chief that you touched the cord, right? I mean, he knows you were trying to save this woman, right?”

She heard the worry in his tone and did her best to smile it away. “If you're worried he's going to pin this on me, there are five witnesses who will swear they saw me take that cord off her neck and try to resuscitate her—Charles, Margaret Louise, Debbie, Beatrice, and Leona . . . assuming, of course, Leona can still remember her name, let alone what
I
was doing. Especially in light of the fact she was in the process of passing out when I ran into the room.”

“Leona passed out?” Milo repeated. “Are you serious?”

“She did, but it was okay. Charles caught her before she hit the ground. Or at least that's what I heard Debbie telling the police.” She stabbed a second piece of meat and popped it into her mouth. “I tell you, that boy can think awfully fast under pressure.”

Milo ate some more spinach, obviously considering his next question as he chewed. When he was ready, he placed his fork on the edge of his plate and leaned back against his chair. “So where were these people from the tour when this all went down?”

“On the bus. Waiting for Opal. The plan was to head
over to that bed-and-breakfast on the edge of town and check in before dinner.” She took a sip of water and then pushed her plate forward. As much as she loved when Milo grilled, she just didn't have the stomach for more than a bite or two at the moment. “That's why Leona went into the room. To tell Opal it was time to wrap things up and join her group on the tour bus.”

A rhythmic knock at the front door brought Milo to his feet. “Try to take another bite or two and I'll see who that is.”

“Milo, I can't eat. I'm sorry.”

“Then I'll wrap it for you for later.” He stopped, kissed her temple softly, and then ventured out into the living room and toward the front hallway beyond. Soon, the opening pop of the door was followed by a familiar voice and her own answering smile as it crept across her lips.

“Based on my nose—which never,
ever
leads me astray—I get the sense you're eating dinner,” Charles said as he followed Milo into Tori's sight line. “And, I'd bet ten to one it's London broil . . . cooked on the grill . . . with a seasoning that incorporates some black pepper and”—he lifted his nose into the air and sniffed again—“a little garlic.”

Shaking his head in awe, Milo gestured Charles into the kitchen and toward the empty chair next to Tori. “Take a seat. We've got plenty of food to go around, Charles, especially since my wife is
not eating
.”

“Not eating?” Charles echoed as he dropped onto the seat and instantly rested a hand atop Tori's forehead. “You don't
feel
warm.”

“Because I'm not sick.” She looked down at her plate
once again, but still, she couldn't eat. “I guess everything that happened kind of squashed my appetite, you know?”

“Uh-oh. Not you, too, love . . .”

She looked up. “Me, too?”

He shoveled three strips of meat onto his plate and inhaled sharply. “Mmmm . . . Milo, this looks amazing.” Then, pointing his still-empty fork at Tori, Charles addressed her question. “Leona had an ice pack on her head for close to an hour this evening.”

“An ice pack? Why?” Milo lowered himself back down to his own chair and then shot his hands up in surrender. “Wait. Don't answer that.”

“Seriously, Milo, I've never seen Leona so thrown by anything in her life,” Tori said by way of agreement. “Although I find it highly doubtful an ice pack can help with that.”

“It was off by the time I was getting ready to head over here. In fact, she was on the phone, walking someone through every detail of her trauma, when I left.” Charles sliced off a piece and took a taste. “Mmmm, as good as it looks.”

“A
male
someone, I take it?” Tori prodded.

Charles flashed a knowing smile. “She freshened her mascara before she made the call . . .”

“Mystery solved . . .” It felt good to laugh, even if the moment disappeared as fast as it came. “I wish Rose could rebound that fast. But I just don't see that happening. This shop means so much to her. I mean, from the moment she and Leona first made the announcement, Rose has been nonstop energy and smiles. It's like she's had a new purpose, something to fill her days. I just can't believe this has happened. At
her
store, no less.”

“With all of us in the same building the entire time,” Charles reminded before he moved on to his second slice. “Hard to fathom, for sure, but at least we have all of our suspects in a neat and tidy little bundle, à la Agatha Christie.”

“Our suspects?”

“Of course. The ones on the bus tour with Opal. It has to be one of them.” Charles accepted a roll from the bread bowl Milo passed him and quickly broke off a piece. “All we need now is a notebook and a pen.”

“For what?” Tori countered.

“To list our suspects and the answers we need to unearth on each and every one.” He chewed a moment in silence and then continued, his eyes wide with unrestrained excitement. “The only question now is whether we go this alone, or bring in Margaret Louise, who'll have our heads if we don't.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She scooted back her chair and stood, her focus shifting from Charles to Milo and back again. “Charles, I can't get involved with this. I mean, sure, I'm going to be there to get Rose through this, but I'm married now. I can't get wrapped up in another investigation.”

Charles looked to Milo for help. “You don't mind, do you, Milo?”

“Tori, he's right.” Milo stood and made his way over to Tori. “The sooner the person who did this is behind bars, the sooner Rose can get back to being happy again.”

She tried his words on for size and then leaned against the wall. “She
did
make my wedding dress . . .”

“And helped put together your bridal shower at a time
I was able to come,” Charles added, the hope in his voice unmistakable.

“You really don't mind, Milo?” she asked.

He pulled her in for a hug, his arms warm and welcoming. “Of course not. I love Rose, too. You know that.”

“Then it's settled.” Charles swiped another roll from the bread basket and rose to his feet. “Now, where can I find a notebook and pen?”

Milo kissed Tori's forehead and then pointed toward the far cabinet. “Top drawer for a pen and I'll be back with a notebook in a second.”

“Wait a minute, Milo.” She stopped her husband with a hand to his chest and narrowed her eyes on Charles. “You're leaving tomorrow morning. We can't possibly solve this before bedtime.”

Charles floated over to the drawer, secured a pen, and air-traced his favorite triangle position, sans snaps. “I'm. Not. Leaving.”

“Oh?”

“I can't. I've been ordered to stay.”

“Ordered?” Tori asked. “By whom?”

“Chief Dallas, of course. In fact, everyone connected to what happened today has to stay. Which includes yours truly,
and
every member of Opal's tour group.”

“He's making them stay?”

“He is, indeed.”

Milo nodded at Charles. “It'll be good to have you around here a little longer. As for me, I'll go get that notebook right now.”

“He is a doll, sugar lips,” Charles declared as he watched Milo disappear into the living room. “You did
a good job picking that one out, that's for sure. Then again, Mr. Milo did pretty well for himself, too, and don't you forget it.”

There was no denying it. Tori was positively elated at the thought of having Charles in Sweet Briar for a few more days. He was, as Rose often said, a breath of fresh air. The fact that he also had a really good head on his shoulders and was one of the most observant people she had ever met only served as an added bonus under the current circumstances.

Seconds later, Milo was back with the notebook. “So who gets it?”

“I'll take it.” Charles liberated the spiral-bound book from Milo's hand and carried it into the living room. “So we have four possible suspects—Lucinda Penning, Gracelyn Moses, Samantha Williams, and Minnie Randolph. Six, if you add in Miranda and Travis.”

She watched him write each name on the top of a separate piece of paper, her limited bits of knowledge mentally filling in a tidbit or two for each person. But really, what did she know beyond inconsequential small talk? Being an avid reader didn't make one a murder suspect any more than a brief stint in England or a love of current events did. Which meant they really had nothing to go on, a point she shared with Charles.