Pinned for Murder (10 page)

“I warned you, didn’t I?” Margaret Louise elbowed Tori in the side. “It’s a sight, ain’t it?”

“That’s one word,” mumbled Leona from the front seat as Beatrice took her spot behind the wheel.

“Is everyone buckled in?” Beatrice reached up, adjusted the rearview mirror, and slowly backed from their parking spot. “Even though I think Luke will be just fine with Dixie, we mustn’t dillydally at Rose’s home.”

“Of course not.” Margaret Louise leaned forward between the seats, her seat belt digging into her middle. “I see you got a bobblehead since the last time I was in your car.”

Beatrice’s face lit up. “I did! Don’t you just love it? I found it at a flea market a few weekends ago. It was on a shelf between Dr. Phil and Julie Andrews.”

Leona leaned her head against the seat back and closed her eyes, her mouth twisted into a grimace.

“I found a lunch box, too! But that’s on my dresser in my room at the Johnsons’.”

“That’s wonderful, Beatrice.” Tori peered out the window as the trees surrounding the eastern side of Sweet Briar zoomed past. There was a part of her that wanted to explore her friend’s over-the-top obsession, to fire off a set of questions that might provide a better window into the girl who sat so quietly at their circle meetings. But she couldn’t. Not when Rose’s safety was foremost in her mind.

She understood Margaret Louise’s concern for the retired schoolteacher, but it still seemed inconceivable. Kenny adored Rose. One only needed to watch them for all of about five seconds to know that.

Sure, anger was a powerful emotion, propelling people into committing horrific crimes across the world on a daily basis. But did those people turn on elderly women who had steadfastly stood by them for nearly three decades?

She said as much to Margaret Louise.

Leona lifted her head and turned to establish eye contact with Tori. “People in rages don’t think clearly, dear. They simply act.”

Margaret Louise nodded. “No one is saying Kenny would strike out at Rose with forethought. I don’t think he has it in him to think like that. But if he’s spittin’ mad and seein’ colors the way he does sometimes . . . who knows? I’m not convinced his feelin’s for Rose would be enough to stop him.”

Tori glanced back out the window, the urge to beg Beatrice to drive faster bordering on overwhelming.

“We’re almost there,” Beatrice said as she turned right onto Confederate Street and left onto Battlefield Road. Letting up on the gas pedal, she glided to a stop in front of Rose’s one-story cottage home.

“Who is
that
handsome soul?” Leona purred from the front seat as she stared out the passenger side window, condensation forming on the glass.

Tori leaned forward for a better look. “Oh, that’s Doug. Milo and I hired him to help get Rose’s place back in order. He’s been an absolute godsend.”

“Mmmm . . .”

“Good heavens, Twin, he’s half your age,” protested Margaret Louise, her mouth torn between horror and amusement.

“And he’d be lucky to have me,” Leona huffed as she grabbed hold of the visor and pulled, an autographed photograph of Kenny Rogers covering the lit mirror. “What on earth . . .”

Beatrice pulled the key from the ignition and clapped her hands. “I just got that one . . . for my birthday. I joined his fan club when I came to the States and every year he takes time out of his schedule to autograph a birthday picture for me.”

Leona looked from Beatrice to the photograph and back again, her perfectly waxed eyebrows rising ever so slightly. “Would you mind if I move Kenny long enough to check my eyes?”

“Your eyes are beautiful, Leona. Truly luminous.” Tori glanced at Margaret Louise and grinned. “But I have to tell you . . . Doug is married. Has kids, too. A boy and a girl if I remember correctly.”

Leona pushed the visor back into place, her shoulders slumping momentarily.

“What about
him
?” Margaret Louise asked as her finger extended across her sister’s shoulder. “Is
he
married?”

“He? Who? Where?” Leona’s head lifted like a periscope, her gaze moving side to side.

“Over there.” Margaret Louise leaned forward once again, her finger providing a better route for Leona to follow. “The hunk with the bulging muscles and military style crew cut.”

“Military style crew cut?” Leona repeated. “Where? Wh—Ohhh, there he is.”

Tori laughed. “That’s Curtis. He’s working for Martha—” The sentence stalled on her tongue, her mind still struggling with the notion that Rose’s ornery neighbor was dead.

“It’s a shame to see someone so strong and in shape out of work. Perhaps I can find something for him to do around the shop.”

“Your shop is fine,” Margaret Louise offered. “What on earth could you possibly find for him to do?”

Leona pulled the visor down once again, her hand removing Beatrice’s autographed picture in one motion. Peering at her reflection, she whipped a tube of lipstick from her purse and applied it to her lips. “Perhaps around my house, then.”

“What needs fixin’ there?”

“I could use a shed.”

“For what? You have no children. You have no grandchildren. You live in a three-bedroom house all by your—”

“Oh shut up, Twin.” Leona dropped the lipstick back into her purse and extracted a tissue instead. Quickly, she pursed her lips together once, twice, three times before dabbing the excess color onto the tissue. “It’s not his fault he’s suddenly without a job. Isn’t it my civic duty, as a human being, to provide work to someone who needs it?”

“Your civic duty?” Margaret Louise repeated with a teasing lilt. “Since when have you ever been worried about civic duty?”

Leona pushed the visor back into place and tugged on the door handle. “Since now.”

Tori reached across the seat and grabbed hold of Leona’s shoulder. “Wait. He’s not in a uniform.”

Beatrice’s giggle was drowned out by Margaret Louise’s snort of laughter.

Leona pulled the handle toward her body, her stocking-clad legs swiveling toward the street. “Snug jeans . . . a T-shirt that hugs his biceps . . . and a tool belt armed with any number of enticing objects . . . I’d say he’s most certainly a man in uniform.”

“And the fact he, too, is about half your age?”

“That just means he’s still teachable.” Leona stepped onto the sidewalk, her narrow black skirt showcasing a pair of legs women half her age would envy.

Shaking her head, Margaret Louise followed suit, her plump body a stark contrast to her twin’s. Tori and Beatrice joined them on the sidewalk.

“Tori, hi!” Doug strode across Rose’s front lawn, sun-lit highlights shimmering through his dirty blond hair. “What brings you by at this time of day?”

“My friends and I just wanted to check in on Rose real quick.” She gestured to each of the women standing alongside her. “Doug, I’d like you to meet some of Rose’s friends—this is Beatrice, Margaret Louise, and L—”

“Leona . . . Leona Elkin,” the sixtysomething woman supplied as she extended her hand in pristine fashion while batting her eyelashes at Mach speed.

Grabbing hold of her fingers, Doug lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “Leona, what a beautiful name.”

The woman sighed, the enamored sound a mere backdrop to Margaret Louise’s guffaw.

Leona glared at her sister.

Margaret Louise motioned toward Leona. “Leona and I are twins. On the outside, we’re fraternal. But underneath our clothes we look exactly the same. Though I think I might have just a
wee
bit more cellulite than she does.”

“Cellulite?” Leona hissed through clenched teeth. “Cellulite? I don’t have cellulite anywhere.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. My mistake,” Margaret Louise said before bestowing a wicked grin in Tori’s direction.

Shaking off her friends’ antics, Tori nodded toward the house. “How is she today?”

The smile that had lit Doug’s face just seconds earlier slipped from his face. “Terribly distracted. I tried talking to her when I arrived this morning but she just doesn’t have the heart for it right now. I tried to encourage her to sit out on the patio while I worked on a few patches of siding but she wasn’t interested.”

Tori glanced at her friends briefly. “Has she had any visitors this morning?”

Doug hooked his thumb across the hammer in his tool belt and nodded. “Milo dropped me off this morning and he went in to check on her first thing. Then, not more than an hour ago, that one fella stopped by.”

Margaret Louise’s head jerked upward. “You mean Kenny?”

“Kenny?” Beatrice asked.

“Murdock. Murdock, Murdock, Murdock,” recited Leona with an eye roll.

“Oh.”

Ignoring Beatrice’s obvious disappointment, Margaret Louise addressed Doug once again. “Kenny Murdock?”

“I guess,” Doug said with a shrug. “The colored fella with the big nose.”

“That’s Kenny.” Leona clasped her hands together, her eyes still intent on Doug’s face. “Did he leave?”

“Been about fifteen minutes or so since he trotted out. Slammed the door so hard it made my teeth rattle. I thought about saying something but opted not to when I saw his face.”

Tori reached out, grabbed hold of Margaret Louise’s arm for support as Doug’s words filtered their way into her heart. “His face?”

“It was dark with the kind of anger I’ve not seen in my life terribly often. Figured he got a phone call that sent him off in a tizzy.”

She swallowed against the lump that threatened to close off her throat in panic. “Have—have you checked on Rose since he left?”

He shook his head, his sky blue eyes narrowing on her face. “Not yet, no. Figured I’d do that when it gets a little closer to lunch.”

“Did you . . . did you see her standing at the door when he left? Or maybe looking out the window since?” Beatrice asked, her voice a mere whisper.

Again, he shook his head. “Can’t say that I did. Why? Is there something wrong?”

“Let’s hope not,” Tori muttered as she turned and ran toward Rose’s front steps, Margaret Louise, Leona, and Beatrice in tow.

Chapter 8

The classic signs were all there—clammy forehead, pounding heart, and mumbled pleas fleeing her lips. But the click clack of Leona’s heels and the warmth of Margaret Louise’s breath on the back of her neck as they ran up the steps was enough to push the present moment from potential nightmare into frightening reality.

Kenny had been inside Rose’s house. He’d slammed the door when he left. He’d been angry enough to keep Doug from engaging him in conversation. . . .

And there hadn’t been a Rose sighting since.

Grabbing hold of the door, Tori pushed it open, her heart beating still louder in her ears. Had Rose confronted Kenny? Had she backed him against a wall?

“Rose?” she shouted as she zigzagged her way through the elderly woman’s home, her three friends hot on her heels. “Rose? Where are you?”

“Check her bedroom, Victoria . . . I’ll check the sewing room.” Margaret Louise veered off as the rest of them continued to search. Seconds later she reported in with a yell. “She’s not in here.”

“Please, please, please be okay,” Tori mumbled under her breath, her ankle boots clanking on the wood floor as Rose’s bedroom door loomed closer. Stopping long enough to catch her breath, she looked back over her shoulder, Beatrice’s frightened eyes and Leona’s pursed lips reinforcing the fear in her heart.

Since the very moment she’d stepped into her first sewing circle meeting, Rose had been ever present. Their first encounter had started out strained, with Rose making her loyalty to Dixie known loud and clear, evidence of any thawing coming only when Tori shared her plans for a children’s room at the library. Then, during the days and months that followed, a full-fledged friendship and mutual admiration society had blossomed between them, creating a relationship that meant the world to both of them.

She wasn’t ready to lose that. Not yet.

Yanking her hand to the right, Tori pushed her way into Rose’s room, her stomach lurching at the sight of the white-haired woman lying sprawled—facedown—across her bed, her body still clothed in a housecoat, her feet still sporting her favorite slippers.

Beatrice stopped in the doorway, her gasp crystal clear in the absence of Tori’s pounding heart. Or any discernable heartbeat at all, for that matter.

“Rose?” she whispered as her voice began to shake along with her hands.

“Rose?” echoed Beatrice.

“Wake up, you old bat!” Leona shoved her way between Tori and Beatrice, the fear in her eyes at war with her words and tone.

They stared at the bed, waiting for a reaction Tori prayed would come.

“Sounds to me like you’re already awake, Leona.”

The breath she didn’t realize she was holding burst through her lungs as unshed tears seared the corners of her eyes. “Rose!”

Slowly but surely, the woman rolled over, her puffy eyes swollen with sleep. “Who else did you expect to find? You are, after all, standing in my bedroom.”

Tori laughed, a sound echoed by Beatrice.

“I thought I heard your voice,” Margaret Louise said as she strode through the door and over to Rose’s bed. “Which is a good thing considering the fact we thought you had gone the way of Martha Jane.”