Let it Sew (13 page)

“Book!”

“Mommy has read that to you ten times already today. We’ll read it again in a little
while, sweetheart. I promise.”

Molly Sue’s bottom lip quivered. “Book?”

“After we have a treat.”

“No treat,” Molly Sue replied. “Book!”

Tori watched as Melissa looked from the hallway to Molly Sue and back again, the gurgle
from her ever-growing stomach echoing around the room. “Sweetie, Mommy is hungry.”

Shifting her stocking onto the empty cushion beside her, Tori stood and crossed the
room to sit beside the youngest Davis child. “I’m with Molly Sue. I’d rather read
a book than eat right now, too. So go on . . . get something to eat. I’ll stay here
with her until you get back.”

“Are you sure?” Melissa asked despite the hope in her eyes.

“Positive. Now go.” When her friend was gone, Tori lifted Molly Sue onto her lap,
pausing briefly to take in the title and cover illustration she’d seen in Lulu’s hands
just two days earlier. Only this time, instead of stopping on Charlotte’s loving inscription
to her older son, Tori kept going, turning the very same pages Charlotte had turned
night after night until Brian had been forced to take over.

Clearly the story had been a favorite for the mother and son just as it seemed to
be for Molly Sue. And as the story progressed, it wasn’t hard for Tori to see why.

The concept of making messes was something even a child of Molly Sue’s age could understand.
It was a part of their daily life. But what touched Tori as an adult was the notion
that sometimes, when someone makes a lot of messes, they’re often blamed for ones
they don’t make as well. Because it’s easier to assume, even for adults.

“I know it’s awful, but I can’t look at that last page and not think about Charlotte’s
drawing being wedged inside.”

Tori looked up from the book in time to see Melissa slowly lower herself onto the
ottoman at Tori’s feet.

“I guess it’s because I keep wondering why she stuck it in there.”

Tori felt Molly Sue’s head stirring beneath her chin and glanced back at the space
dividing the final two pages of the book. “The drawing was here?”

“That’s what Lulu said.” Melissa let her hands fall to the growing mound beneath the
maternity shirt that had seen her through seven pregnancies thus far. “Which is kind
of sad if you think about it.”

Tori’s head snapped up. “Sad?”

Melissa nodded. “Yeah. I mean, look at the way that story ends . . . with the mom
and dad realizing they’d been blaming little Peter for something he hadn’t done.”

“I don’t get what you’re saying, Melissa.”

“If you think about it, Charlotte’s drawing was kind of her way of telling everyone
the truth about Parker. Even if it was just to clear her conscience before she passed.”

Chapter 16

Tori could feel Milo watching her as she made her way back and forth between the living
room and the kitchen carrying drinks and munchies for their Tuesday night movie date.
He’d offered to help several times, yet she’d declined in the hope that the flurry
of activity would quiet her thoughts for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours.

In the beginning, after she’d gotten home from Rose’s house, Melissa’s comment about
Charlotte’s note had still been fresh in her mind, making it easy to figure out why
she’d revisited it while brushing her teeth and getting ready for bed. But when it
came time to close her eyes and go to sleep, the thoughts had still been there, driving
her from bed before dawn.

Work had been no different, only instead of staring at a ceiling while Melissa’s words
looped through her head again and again, she’d been shelving books and helping patrons
and making more than her fair share of stupid mistakes.

Dixie had asked her what was wrong the third time Tori pointed a patron toward the
front door rather than the bathroom.

Rose had asked her what was wrong when she stopped by the library with a question
about a particular book and was given the ingredients for a gooey butter cake instead.

Debbie had asked her what was wrong when Tori showed up at the bakery after work and
left without ordering anything chocolate.

She hadn’t answered because she didn’t know what to say about her weird obsession
with Parker Devereaux’s death.

Everyone around her thought it was cut-and-dried. Charlotte had stashed her husband’s
body and simply told everyone around her that he’d left their marriage. But it didn’t
sit right. Not with her anyway.

“So how many more bowls of popcorn are you going to pop before you think we’ve got
enough? Because I’m thinking a fourth bag might be a bit much . . .”

Tori stopped midway across the room and glanced over her shoulder at the coffee table.
Sure enough, there were three bowls of popcorn lined up in front of Milo with the
telltale aroma of a fourth wafting its way out of the kitchen. Shaking her head, she
slumped into a dining room chair. “I’m sorry. I’ve been like this all day. If you
want to take a rain check until next week, I understand.”

“I don’t want a rain check.” Milo closed the gap between the couch and the dining
room chairs in several easy strides. “I just want to know what you’re thinking.”

She couldn’t help laughing at yet another example of her transparency. “Who says I’m
thinking?”

“Am I wrong?” he challenged.

“No.”

Reaching outward, he took hold of her hands and pulled her to a stand, wrapping his
arms around her as she did. “So lay it on me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Stuff that doesn’t make any sense,” she whispered with her cheek pressed against
his chest. “Stuff that’s gonna make me sound like a nut if I say it out loud.”

“I don’t mind nuts.”

“This might change your mind.”

“I doubt it, but why don’t you let me be the judge.” He released her from his arms
and took hold of her hand. “C’mon. Come sit with me on the couch and fill me in. If
it gets really interesting, we’ve got popcorn, right?”

“True.” Step by step, she followed him back to the couch, snuggling into the crook
of his arm with very little coaxing. “Just remember, I warned you.”

“I consider myself warned. Now talk.”

She twisted her body so as to afford a view of the ceiling while still taking advantage
of the courage Milo’s body warmth instilled. “Okay, so everyone thinks Charlotte Devereaux
dug a hole on the library grounds five years ago and tossed her husband’s body inside.
Yet no one seems to wonder why? Or how? I mean, don’t they seem like important questions
to you?”

His body tensed ever so slightly beneath her head. “What do you mean?”

“All I’ve ever heard from anyone in this town is that Charlotte Devereaux was head
over heels in love with her husband.”

“As he was with her,” Milo said.

Tori sat up and spun around on the sofa until they were face-to-face. “Exactly. So
what could possibly have happened to make her kill him? And how could a woman who
was sixty-nine dig a hole all by herself and get a grown man’s body inside?”

A flash of something Tori couldn’t quite identify made its way across Milo’s face.
“I’ll be honest, that last question has mulled itself over in my own head more than
a few times since I heard the news about Parker’s death and Charlotte’s drawing.”

Somehow, the notion that someone besides herself found a few oddities in everyone
else’s thinking buoyed Tori’s spirits and encouraged her to continue. “See? It doesn’t
make sense. Someone else had to have done it.”

“Whoa. Slow down a minute. I said I’ve wondered how she could have dug the hole and
gotten him inside it, but that doesn’t mean I think someone else did it.”

Her mouth gaped open for the briefest of moments. “But then—”

“I mean, I’ve thought of my own mom, who’s only a year or so younger than Charlotte
was when Parker was killed, and I’m not sure she could dig a hole like that too easily.
In a private setting with less chance of being spotted . . . maybe. But on the grounds
of the library when time isn’t on her side . . . a bit more doubtful.”

“So why is the notion of another killer so hard to imagine?” she asked.

Milo pulled his hand down his face and let it linger on his chin before addressing
her question head on. “Because there’s no getting around the fact that Charlotte drew
a picture showing where her husband’s body was buried. How would she know that if
she wasn’t involved?”

She grabbed hold of his hands and squeezed, hoping that somehow what he said would
make him think along the same lines she’d been toying with all day long. “Of course
she had to have been involved . . . there’s no doubt about that.”

He made a face then worked to soften it just as quickly. “Then I don’t get where you’re
going with this.”

“She was sixty-nine, Milo. You said yourself that makes the whole situation tough
to imagine. But if someone else was involved . . . if someone else dug the hole and
put the body in it . . . it’s much less of a stretch, don’t you think?”

Milo opened his mouth to respond but closed it without saying a word.

“It makes you think, doesn’t it?” Leaning to the left, she snatched a bowl of popcorn
from the table and pushed it into Milo’s hands. “Here, eat.”

He did as he was told without taking his eyes off Tori.

“So, at the very least, Charlotte didn’t act alone.” There, it was out in the open.
Glad to finally have voiced her conviction aloud, she retrieved an extra buttery piece
of popcorn from the top of the bowl and popped it in her mouth. “If she’s the one
who even killed Parker in the first place.”

Piece by piece Milo crunched his way through the top layer of popcorn before officially
weighing in on her theory. “Okay, so let’s assume you’re right. That someone did help
her with the body. And maybe, just maybe, that someone is the one who actually killed
Parker. But if that’s true, why didn’t Charlotte say something? Why did she tell everyone
he’d run off?”

“Maybe she was afraid? Maybe whoever did it threatened to do the same to her if she
told anyone?” Suddenly, all the fears, all the far-fetched theories she’d been afraid
to share, seemed a lot less nutty now that they were coming out of her mouth. “Maybe
that’s why she finally drew that last picture. Because she knew she was dying anyway
and she wanted the truth to be known.”

Milo stopped chewing and narrowed his eyes in thought. “If she was going for broke
because she knew she was dying anyway, why not just tell someone what happened?”

“Because she had Alzheimer’s, Milo. If she’d suddenly blurted out that the husband
she’d always said had left her for another woman had actually been murdered . . .
and then named a culprit . . . no one would have believed her. They’d have thought
it was the bizarre rantings of a sick woman. And who knows? Maybe she
did
try to say something and finally resorted to drawing it when no one would listen
to her words.”

Burying her head in her hands, Tori tried to imagine such a scenario playing out,
the frustration Charlotte would have felt virtually maddening. “Ugh. I wish there
was a way to know.”

“A way to know if she tried?” Milo asked. At her nod, he shrugged. “It seems to me
the best way to find out would be to ask Frieda. Maybe now, with everything we
do
know about Parker’s body, something Charlotte might have said along the way can be
revisited in a different, more educated light.”

“Maybe.” She pulled her hands from her face and reached for one of her favorite throw
pillows. Hugging it to her chest, she sank against the sofa’s back cushion. “And that
might work . . .”

Milo cocked his head and studied her closely. “I know that look. Something is still
bugging you so spill it, please.”

He knew her well, there was no doubt about that. But in order to fill him in on the
last of her worries, she had to be able to pinpoint it for herself first.

And she couldn’t.

So much of what she’d shared with Milo thus far made sense if each and every point
was considered on its own merits. After all, Charlotte hadn’t been a young woman when
Parker’s body was buried on the library grounds. And she had drawn a treasure map
of sorts directing them to the exact location of that burial. But if she was trying
to clear her conscience or point a finger at someone else for the crime, why didn’t
she draw the map over and over again instead of sketch after sketch of her husband’s
study?

That
didn’t make sense.

She said as much to Milo, then sat back and waited for him to announce he was no longer
a fan of nuts. But that didn’t happen. Instead, he slipped his hand around her shoulders
and guided her back into his arms. “Then I guess you’re just going to have to keep
digging until it
does
make sense.”

“But it’s almost Christmas. And we’ve got a wedding coming up in a little over ten
months,” she pointed out on his behalf. “Shouldn’t you be reminding me that I’ve got
enough on my plate without playing detective once again? Especially when I have no
connection to Charlotte or Parker Devereaux to start with?”

Milo’s chin bobbed against the top of her head. “I could. But why? You know all of
those things already yet you still feel a pull towards this case. And as I see it,
the only way you’ll be able to truly focus on Christmas and our wedding is if you
free your mind of these nagging questions.”

“But what happens if I’m wrong?” she asked before closing her eyes and savoring the
warmth of his lips on her temple.

“Then you’re wrong,” he whispered. Dropping his mouth in line with hers, he hovered
there long enough to complete his thought, his words enveloping her in a much-needed
sense of calm and validation. “But at least you’ll
know
you’re wrong.”

Chapter 17

Tori had learned a lot of things from her friends in the Sweet Briar Ladies Society
Sewing Circle over the past two years—life lessons that had made her a wiser person
and a better friend. In some cases the lessons had been absorbed by merely watching
and observing, as was the case with Debbie and her poster-child status for hard work
and determination.

In other cases, lessons learned had come via quiet conversations with Dixie, and moments
of immense courage and grace as demonstrated by Rose.

But of all the women who’d impacted her life since leaving Chicago, no one had affected
her quite the way Margaret Louise and her twin sister, Leona, had.

With Margaret Louise, it was easy to pinpoint the lessons and how they’d been taught.
Loyalty was demonstrated, kindness was exuded, genuine happiness was second nature,
and love unconditional.

With Leona, the lessons weren’t quite so obvious. In fact, if Tori hadn’t dug beyond
the antique store owner’s surface of narrow-minded, holier-than-thou arrogance, she
would have missed out on the gems hidden behind the prickly façade.

On the surface, the sisters were as different as night and day. Where Margaret Louise
was humble, Leona was boastful and cocky. Where Leona was poised, refined, and cultured,
Margaret Louise was earthy, easygoing, and simple. And where Margaret Louise was endearingly
unkempt, Leona was not-a-single-hair-out-of-place-ever perfect.

Underneath all of that stuff, though, the two women weren’t all that different. They
both treasured their family—even if Leona tried to disguise that fact with eye rolls
and dramatic sighs. And they both had a need to be liked—even if Leona’s was harder
to detect behind her sarcasm and off-putting barbs.

But Tori saw it plain as day. And regularly thanked her lucky stars for their presence
in her life even if it meant an occasional near-heart-attack experience when one or—as
was the case at that very moment—
both
opted to knock on her office window after hours.

When she was alone.

All alone.

Grabbing hold of the corner of her desk, Tori spun around and then slumped in her
chair. “Oh, thank God . . .”

Leona pushed her face against the plate glass window and moved her mouth to simulate
their inability to hear a thing Tori was saying while Margaret Louise pointed toward
the library’s back door.

“You should have knocked there first,” Tori mumbled before turning her back to her
friends and heading out into the hallway. When she reached the back door, she disengaged
the dead bolt and pushed the door open. “Okay, you two, I’m at the door . . .”

The answering rustle of bushes that lined the outside of the library let her know
she’d been heard. Seconds later, her eyes solidified that confirmation.

“We didn’t knock here first,
dear
, because we knew you were in your office.” Leona tightened her grip on a nose-twitching
Paris and pushed her way past Tori. “To knock here when you were there would have
been pointless, don’t you think?”

She let Margaret Louise pass and then followed them both down the hallway and into
her office. “I thought you said you couldn’t hear me through the window, Leona.”

“I can hear attitude, Victoria. And you had attitude when you suggested a better knocking
venue,” Leona drawled as she stopped just inside Tori’s office door and looked around.
“You really need to listen to at least one of my many suggestions about sprucing this
place up. It’s so—so boring.”

She nibbled back the urge to laugh out loud at Margaret Louise’s eye roll and instead
gestured toward the empty chair across from her desk for Leona, and toward Nina’s
chair for Margaret Louise. “If I spent more than a handful of hours a week actually
in this room, I might be more inclined to hang a few pictures but I—”

“I never said anything about pictures. I said candles and a tented drape of some sort
that would encompass your desk and provide an opportunity for privacy if Milo happened
to stop by for a visit.”

Tori walked around her desk and claimed the chair she’d vacated in response to her
friends’ stealthy tapping. “Leona. This is a public library. I am a librarian. The
board didn’t hire me so I could entertain my fiancé in my office.”

“Then perhaps you should consider a different field . . .”

Nina’s chair squeaked under the weight of Margaret Louise’s plump form. “Don’t you
pay no mind to my twin, Victoria. She’s in a bit of a foul mood.”

“Oh?”

“She’s still stewin’ over puttin’ the fat in the fire at Rose’s the other night.”
Margaret Louise dropped an elbow onto Nina’s desk and rested her left cheek in the
heel of her hand. “You know, when Rose cut her off and started interrogatin’ Georgina
about Parker’s body . . . Why, she’s been stickin’ to that slight like it’s the last
pea at the bottom of the pot.”

Leona’s fist came down on the edge of Tori’s desk with a thud. “That’s because everyone
thought I was worried about Maime’s feelings if you use those ornaments you were talking
about the other night. Or they think I’m trying to discourage you from asking the
councilman’s son to help. But I’m not and I wasn’t.”

“Then why didn’t you tell them that?” Tori asked.

“I tried to! But Rose and Dixie wouldn’t listen.”

Margaret Louise propped her other cheek up with her right hand and yawned. “And why
is that, Twin?”

“Because the two of them are like the bullies in the school yard at those circle meetings.”

Tori couldn’t help it—she laughed.

Leona’s left brow rose upward. “You find my plight funny, dear?”

Tori cleared her throat of any residual happy sounds and replaced them with a quick
head shake. “No. But calling Rose Winters and Dixie Dunn bullies? Don’t you think
that’s a little over the top?”

“Are you going to tell me Dixie never bullied you? Because I can remember several
examples right off the top of my head if your memory needs to be jogged a little.”

Touché.

“Tell Victoria what you were tryin’ to say, Twin,” Margaret Louise encouraged.

Keenly aware of her moment in the spotlight, Leona threw her shoulders back and neatened
her already sprayed-to-perfection hairstyle. “I was trying to point out the fact that
your using those ornaments and asking the Jordan boy for his assistance isn’t going
to sit well with Maime—”

“The Grinch.” Margaret Louise lifted her face from her hands, matching her sister’s
posture while bypassing the whole hair thing. “From this day forward, Maime Wellington
is to be referred to as The Grinch.”

Leona flicked away her sister’s interruption yet made the necessary adjustment to
her story. “The Grinch isn’t going to be happy. And when nasty people aren’t happy,
they tend to snap . . . as you and I both saw in the conference room during our Decorating
Committee meeting, Victoria.”

All Tori could do was nod and wait for Leona to fill in the rest.

“Which means one thing. Councilman Jordan needs to be within earshot when The Grinch
reacts to the tree. And if she reacts all over the boy in a public forum, even better.”

Margaret Louise beamed with pride at her sister. “Ain’t my twin as smart as a tree
full of owls figurin’ that out?”

“That’s what you were trying to say the other night?”

Leona looked down at Paris sitting quietly in her lap and gave her a gentle scratch
behind her ears, the animal’s eyes closing to half-mast in response. “Yes, it is.”

“Then I’m sorry Rose and Dixie didn’t give you the chance.” And she was. “But do you
think it will really work?”

“If the councilman has half a brain in that noggin of his, he’ll realize The Grinch
is as cold as a cast-iron toilet seat and get back to being a man. If not, then his
shirt is missin’ a few buttons and he don’t deserve the respect of that young boy.”

Leona’s hand paused mid-scratch as she met Tori’s eye. “I agree with my sister, although
I wouldn’t have put it in exactly those same words.”

“Oh no?” Tori teased before grabbing a pencil from the wooden holder on her desk and
slowly turning it over and over between her fingers. “I hate to say it, but I hope
it works. Maime Well—”

Margaret Louise cleared her throat loudly and decisively before pinning Tori with
an expectant stare.

“What?” And then she remembered. “Oh. Sorry. The Grinch is just not a nice person.
It’s like she lives to be contrary for the simple sake of being contrary.” Tori slid
her fingers down the barrel of the pencil, only to turn it over and repeat the process
when she reached the bottom. “Kyle came into the library today after school to find
a book for an upcoming travel project he’s doing in his social studies class.” Her
hand slowed as she recalled the incident that had left her both shocked and saddened,
and more determined than ever to include the boy in the decorating plans for the Christmas
cookies and book event. “So he disappears into an aisle filled with travel books to
see what interests him. Less than five minutes later he comes out with a book on Florida
and saying he wants to do something on Disney World because it’s one of his favorite
childhood memories. The words were barely out of his mouth when Ma—I mean, The Grinch
starts mocking him for wanting to do a project about a place she insisted was for
babies.”

“Babies?” Margaret Louise parroted. “Is she serious?”

Leona gave Paris one final scratch and then put him on the floor at her feet, her
mouth and her face set in rigid lines. “That woman is threatened by Avery’s past with
his first wife, plain and simple. And it’s become her mission in life to eradicate
every memory she can and taint those she can’t regardless of whether they’re Avery’s
memories or Kyle’s.”

Pausing her thumb and index finger halfway down the pencil, Tori gave Leona a once-over.
“Why does it seem as if you understand Kyle’s predicament on a personal level?”

Leona uncrossed her ankles and rose from the chair. “Because my best girlfriend in
the sixth grade went through this same thing when we were kids. Her father remarried
a woman who was nothing short of hateful to my friend. She tried to talk to her dad
to tell him how she felt . . . but he either refused to believe it or simply didn’t
care. Eventually, he just stopped talking to her unless the new wife was around. When
my friend turned eighteen, she simply gave up on him.”

Margaret Louise clapped her hands together. “Well, that’s ’bout enough of that, I
think. Christmas is comin’, and as long as the Lord is willin’ and the creek don’t
rise, we’ve got a hoot’nanny to plan for the kids in this town. So let’s quit flappin’
our jaws over the weeds in the garden and pluck ’em when the time comes.”

Tori laughed.

Leona rolled her eyes.

When she’d gathered herself together, Tori pulled her leather-bound organizer from
the top drawer of her desk and opened it to a clean page. “So let’s talk details.
I’m thinking maybe we could transform the children’s room into our temporary winter
wonderland. With a little help from some of the guys, we could move the bookshelves
into here and open up the space a little bit.” She jotted her thoughts down on the
paper and then glanced up at Margaret Louise. “What do you think? Will that work?”

“Maybe you could put the tree in that area where the stage normally is,” Leona suggested,
earning herself a nod from both Margaret Louise and Tori. “And there’s going to be
cookies at this thing, right?”

“You’re darn tootin’ there’s gonna be cookies. And they’re gonna be just like the
ones I made with them sweet little things out at the Devereaux Center this mornin’.
Snowflake cookies lightly dusted with sugar and maybe some snickerdoodles, too.”

Tori pushed her notebook to the side and focused her attention on Margaret Louise.
“You worked with the kids out at the center today?”

“It was my first day volunteerin’,” Margaret Louise boasted. “Only they ain’t kids.
They’re older—like my Jake’s age. They come to the center so they can be with others
like them and have a little fun. And whoo-wee, did we have some fun.”

“I’m so glad,” Tori said, looking back down at her notebook and considering the details
they still needed to discuss. “Was Jerry Lee out there again today?”

“No. But Frieda was.”

Her head snapped up. “Frieda? Why?”

Shrugging, Margaret Louise scooted her chair away from Nina’s desk and reached her
arms toward Paris. “She was volunteerin’ the same as me. Only instead of runnin’ a
cookin’ class, she was talkin’ to a few of the folks ’bout keepin’ healthy.”

“How is she doing?”

Margaret Louise lifted the bunny into her arms and gave it a gentle squeeze. “She
seems sad. Like she’s fallen on stony ground. But she’ll be smilin’ again soon, just
you wait and see. Helpin’ folks like she does has a way of erasin’ your cares away.
Long as she has that, she’ll be okay.”