Taken In (2 page)

Beatrice patted the purse draped over her arm. “I have the picture of Georgina they requested.”

“And I have one of Melissa, too.” Margaret Louise unzipped the front of her own carry-on and reached into the side compartment, retrieving an eight-by-ten portrait of her daughter-in-law, her son, and her eight grandchildren, including Matthew, the twelve-week-old addition. “Can’t you just imagine all them oohs and ahhs when folks see this picture? Why, I’m bettin’ the phones will be ringin’ off the hook at the studio with folks wantin’ to know more ’bout them.”

“I sure wish Georgina and Melissa could come. It won’t feel quite right without them being there.”

Heads nodded around the room at Dixie’s words but stopped as Tori reminded them of the reason Georgina Hayes—the town’s mayor—and Melissa Davis couldn’t attend. “You know Georgina, she can’t miss a town council meeting. And Matthew is too young for Melissa to leave behind, no matter how badly she wishes she could come.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure we tell them all about it,” Rose said amid a sudden coughing fit.

Beatrice straightened up, waving a camera as she did. “And
show
them.”

“Look who I found out on the sidewalk looking all wistful!”

All heads turned back toward the door, the sight of the final sewing circle member and her lone suitcase filling the doorway a nanosecond before yet another familiar face came into view just beyond Debbie Calhoun’s shoulder.

Tori planted a warm kiss on her sewing sister’s cheek then stepped into Milo Wentworth’s waiting arms.

“I came to see you off. I hope that’s okay?”

She couldn’t help but smile at the butterflies that still flapped in her stomach every time her fiancé was near. It was one of many signs that this time she’d made the right choice in future husbands, after finding her first fiancé in the coat closet of the reception hall with her then-best friend.

“It’s perfect,” she murmured against his chest before stepping back and grabbing hold of her bag. When Milo tried to take it from her, she shook her head and nodded toward the front porch and the security line nightmare they were sure to have thanks to Leona. “I’ve got this one.”

Slowly, bag by bag, Milo got them down to the sidewalk and the first of several limos tasked with delivering the seven prize package winners to XYZ Studios on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Tori had known this day was coming for three weeks now, yet still, she found the whole thing hard to believe.

She—Tori Sinclair? A guest on a major television program? With six of her best friends in the whole world? In New York City, of all places?

It was a pinch-worthy moment for sure.

“I was hopin’ you’d both come to see us off.” Margaret Louise’s booming voice pulled Tori from her woolgathering in time to see Melissa and Georgina approach the limo from the opposite side of the street. In Melissa’s arms was baby number eight, sleeping soundly.

Hugs were exchanged, cheeks were kissed, and pictures were taken before it was time to say good-bye.

“Have fun,” Melissa called.

Shifting her straw hat forward on her head, Georgina nodded. “Now remember, if you find yourselves with any quiet time, I sure could use your help with those flower pins we talked about the other day. They’ll make a mighty nice addition to the Mother’s Day Picnic on the Green.”

“We’ll do our best,” Tori promised.

“Oh, and remember we want to hear every last detail when you get back.” Then, with a pointed look in Leona’s direction, Georgina added, “And I do mean every last detail.”

Tori shot a look at Margaret Louise and then Rose to see if they knew what was going on between the pair, but saw the same confusion on their faces she knew was on her own.

Oblivious to the silent messages passing between Leona and the mayor with a side order of knowing smirks, Beatrice lifted her camera into the air once again, a shy smile playing at the corners of her thin lips. “I’ll take pictures of everything—the buildings, the people, the shows, and maybe even a real live dead body or two.”

Debbie’s left brow rose in amusement. “A real live dead body or two?”

“Right-o! We
are
going to New York City, are we not?”

Tightening the belt around the waist of her plush white robe, Tori wandered into the tiny common area located in the center of the trio of bedrooms assigned to them by XYZ Studios. The hotel itself was grand, with ornate ceilings in the lobby, pristinely polished wood appointments in the hallways, and employees dressed to perfection, with impeccable manners and a desire to please.

The bedrooms themselves were a slightly different story.

They were nice, of course. Fancy, even. But as Leona had aptly stated upon her hasty return to the registration desk just moments after checking in, they weren’t much bigger than a mouse hole.

Especially if you ended up sharing said mouse hole with Margaret Louise Davis, World-Class Snorer.

Tori rounded the back side of the floral love seat and dropped onto the empty cushion beside Leona, the aroma wafting from her friend’s ceramic mug making her salivate. “Where’d you get that? And how do I get one, too?”

“Dial nine, dear. Ask for Luigi.” Leona lowered the mug to her lap and traced its rim with her index finger. “Call from the phone in my room and he’ll be at the door in no time.”

Tori smiled through the persistent throbbing behind her eyes. “Adding to your list of male admirers, I take it?”

“Luigi just knows an attractive woman when he sees one.” Leona glanced toward one of the bedrooms and then back down at her mug, her hand trembling ever so slightly as she hunched forward and raised the steaming liquid to her lips once again. “Though, frankly, it’s beginning to seem as if doing the hard work doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, surprised by the hint of defeat in Leona’s voice. “What hard work? And what doesn’t it matter for?”

Slowly, deliberately, Leona peered at Tori over the top of her coffee cup, her eyes narrowing behind her morning glasses. “Does Milo know you look like that when you first wake up?”

“Like what?”

“Like
that
,” Leona repeated in a voice tinged with horror. “The dark circles, the rumpled hair, the hint of dried drool at the edge of your mouth?”

She felt her mouth beginning to gape but reined it back in before Leona could add that to the list as well. “Leona, I just woke up. Though, in all fairness, that implies I actually slept through the night . . . which I didn’t.”

Leona rolled her eyes skyward. “The constant traffic noises and occasional siren from a passing fire truck is part of city life, dear. You, of all people, should know that after living in”—Leona’s right nostril lifted ever so slightly in conjunction with her next word—“
Chicago
, of all places. I’m quite certain those noises were only amplified there. Especially the sirens.”

“It wasn’t the city noises, Leona,” she protested around the yawn she could no longer hold at bay. “It was your sister’s snoring.”

“Oh. That.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“You didn’t ask, dear.” Leona set her coffee cup on the side table then bent forward to shower Paris with air kisses as the bunny hopped into the room. “How’s Mommy’s precious angel this morning? Did you sleep well?”

She tried not to laugh as Leona lifted the bunny into the air in much the way Melissa would lift baby Matthew. “Does Debbie snore?”

“No.”

“Does Beatrice?”

“No.”

“Then Paris slept fine.” Tori pushed aside the momentary envy she felt for the long-eared creature and focused, instead, on the conversation she thought they were having before the apparent bags under her eyes came into play. “So what was this about hard work and Luigi the room service guy?”

Slowly, Leona lowered Paris to her lap and rested a flawlessly manicured hand atop the animal’s back. “Now, don’t get me wrong. This”—Leona’s hand left Paris long enough to indicate herself—“doesn’t take a lot of work. Natural beauty is natural beauty, after all. But even with such a gift, I put actual
thought
into my clothes, my attitude, and the perception I wish to portray to those around me.”

“Okay . . .” She didn’t know where, exactly, Leona was going with her diatribe, but knew there was a point to be made and hell to be paid if Tori interrupted or was seen as anything less than enthralled.

Leona, of course, continued. “So it makes sense why men find me desirable. Why wouldn’t they?”

At a loss for what to say, Tori merely nodded while simultaneously stifling the laugh she knew would earn her a death glare if she were to let it out.

“Yet there are still a contingent of men who seem to be okay with women who”—Leona paused just long enough to run her gaze from the top of Tori’s sleep-tousled hair to the tips of Tori’s well-worn white slippers—“don’t care about their perception quite so much.”

She started to remind Leona about Margaret Louise’s snoring and her subsequent lack of sleep but closed her mouth when the reason for the woman’s angst finally took center stage. “Take this man—John—who Dixie is meeting for breakfast this morning. All he’s seen of her so far is a postage stamp–sized picture. That’s it. Yet despite that—and the fact that it’s not even an attractive picture to begin with—he’s invited her to meet him for coffee at some bookstore café on West Fifty-eighth.”

“Actually it’s changed to breakfast. At the Waldorf Astoria.”

Leona’s jaw went slack. “Dixie is going to breakfast at the
Waldorf Astoria
?”

At Tori’s nod, Leona pulled her jaw in tight. “Obviously the man is blind.”

“Leona, stop! Dixie
is
an attractive woman in her own way.”

“I don’t know how housecoats and moccasins can be seen as attractive and alluring in
any
way, especially to a man who breakfasts at the Waldorf!”

Tori pushed off the sofa and made her way over to the one bedroom from which no one had emerged yet. Putting her ear to the door, she listened for any sign that either Dixie or Rose was awake and listening. When she heard nothing, she returned to the sofa and Leona, who was still babbling away. “All I can think is that this John character must be neighbors with the chef. Either that, or he’s no prize himself.”

“You haven’t seen his picture yet?” she asked, surprised.

Leona shook her head emphatically. “I have not. In fact, I didn’t even know about him until the plane ride yesterday.”

“You’ll have to ask Margaret Louise to pull up his picture for you later . . .” She let her words trail off as her mind wandered back to the scene she’d stumbled across in the aforementioned’s study the previous day.

“You’ve seen him, dear?”

She nodded.

“He’s mousy, yes?”

“No.”

Leona’s brow rose ever so slightly. “Nerdy?”

“No.”

A hint of a smile played at the corners of Leona’s collagen-enhanced lips. “Homely?”

“Not in the slightest. In fact, he’s quite handsome.”

“H-hand-handsome?” Leona stammered.

“He has a nice smile and absolutely gorgeous blue eyes.” She dropped her own voice an octave or two as she searched Leona’s dumbstruck face. “But I take it that’s not what you wanted to hear?”

“I—I just can’t believe . . . oh never mind.” Leona wrapped her arms around Paris and scooted forward on the sofa cushion in indication of her pending exit. “Desperate can be wrapped in a handsome package every once in a while, I imagine.”

“Desperate?”

“What other explanation can there be for a man to seek out Dixie? Especially
online
of all places, where anyone can make themselves sound scintillating?”

She closed her eyes momentarily against the image of Rose, Beatrice, and Margaret Louise creating a cyber-version of Dixie that was sure to sound very different across a table at the Waldorf Astoria. And for the umpteenth time since she’d caught them in the act, she couldn’t help but feel they’d done Dixie a disservice.

Leona rose to her feet, tossing back her shoulders as she did. “That alone says he’s oblivious to the definition of discerning. Which, on a side note, is probably a good thing considering he’s meeting her in less than an hour and she’s still fast asleep and drooling all over her pillow, no doubt.”

“Lots of people meet each other online these days, Leona. It’s the wave of the future, actually.”

“Oh, shut up, dear.” Leona fairly pranced across the sitting room, only to stop mid-step at the knock on the other side of the door. “Oooh, perhaps Luigi came back with a rose . . .”

Poofing her hair from the ends, Leona took one bejeweled hand from around Paris and used it to open the door.

“Delivery from XYZ Studios.”

Tori joined a beaming Leona at the door as a man, dressed in the hotel’s black suit with red appointments, held a gift basket with candy and flowers in their direction. “Welcome to New York City. Your limousine driver will meet you in the lobby at one o’clock this afternoon to take you across town to the studio for taping. Until then, we hope you have a restful morning. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to assist you in that regard.”

Leona gave a few well-timed bats of her eyelashes as she set Paris at her feet and retrieved the basket from the man’s outstretched hands. “How lovely of you to bring this up to us,” she fairly cooed. “Oh, and it’s so heavy.”

“Let me get that for you, miss.”

Leona stepped aside just enough to let the man pass, but not enough to eliminate all chance for physical contact. “Thank you”—her gaze dropped to the gold name tag on the front of the man’s jacket—“
Samuel
.”

The doorman set the basket down on a long marble-topped table beside the door then turned back to Leona, his awareness of Tori virtually nil. “Is there anything else I can do for you at the moment?”

Sliding her gaze to the table long enough to take in the array of treats, Leona smiled up at Samuel. “The limo will be here at one, you said?”

At his nod, Leona stepped closer to the man and increased the wattage on her smile. “Can you tell me how I might find the Waldorf Astoria?”

*   *   *

She’d tried to protest, to remind her friends that Dixie was a grown woman and perfectly capable of handling a breakfast date on her own, but she’d been outvoted five to one.

Margaret Louise, Beatrice, and Rose, of course, already knew what John looked like thanks to their separate and combined stints as Cyber Dixie over the past few weeks. As a result, their curiosity as to how the date was going was more about self-satisfaction and the desire to see the fruits of their labor than anything else.

Debbie, being Debbie, went along for the ride, her excitement over being in New York making her agreeable to just about anything.

Leona, on the other hand, was motivated by one thing, and one thing only . . .

Good old-fashioned nosiness with a side order of underlying jealousy that the woman would never admit aloud.

“Would you slow down, please?” Rose mumbled as she stepped onto the sidewalk beside Tori and stopped to take a breath. “I’m not used to all this walking.”

Tori waved to her friends to stop then stepped closer to the elderly woman. “Rose? Are you okay? I can hail us a cab and we can go back to the hotel if you’d like.”

“No, no. I’ll be fine. I just need a moment is all.”

Leona looked left and right, and then, when she was certain no one was watching, she stamped her foot on the sidewalk. “We don’t have time to stop. Dixie has already been gone more than an hour. Surely she can’t hold a man’s interest any longer than that.”

“Put a sock in it, Twin.” Margaret Louise moved in beside Rose and Tori, a look of concern crossing her face. “Rose, we can turn back if you want. We can just wait for Dixie to tell us the details herself.”

“I’ll be fine,” Rose hissed. “I just need a moment.”

Beatrice plucked her purse off her shoulder and rummaged around inside, withdrawing her camera from its depths. “This is perfect. It’ll give me a chance to take a picture for Georgina and Melissa.” The young woman flipped on her camera and then rummaged in her purse a second time. “I just need my—oh, here it is.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is . . .”

Beatrice looked from the figure in her hand to Rose and back again. “Is there a problem?”

“That’s your Kenny Rogers bobblehead, ain’t it?” Margaret Louise chimed in.

Beatrice nodded. “I thought it would be something familiar for Georgina and Melissa when we’re showing them pictures from our trip.”

Ever the diplomat when it came to their sewing circle, Margaret Louise rubbed her chin between her thumb and her forefinger. “Well now, don’t you think seein’ one of us in the picture would be somethin’ familiar?”

A beat or two of silence was followed by a shrug of Beatrice’s narrow shoulders. “It will make the picture more special.”

Before she could think of something to say, Rose leaned in, her breath warm against Tori’s ear. “And that, Victoria, is why I refused to share a room with Leona on this trip. Being trapped behind a closed door with that woman can make anyone lose their mind, even someone as young as Beatrice.”

Tori allowed her laugh to propel her forward past a gaped-mouth, eavesdropping Leona. “I’ll hold Kenny when you take the picture,” Tori offered. “I’m sure Georgina and Melissa will be excited to see the skyscrapers—”