Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 08 - Remnants of Murder (16 page)

She heard some of what he said, even processed a little bit, too. But somewhere between talk of white-water rafting and the fire he’d build in their cabin’s fireplace each night, she found herself looking at the resort brochure in her lap. There was something about the look and feel of the vacation destination that sucked you in. She supposed some of it was the pictures themselves—after all, who could resist the image of walking hand in hand with your special someone along the ocean’s edge or the thought of sitting on a porch swing reading away the hours while cuddled up in someone’s arms?

There was no doubt the resort held immense appeal. Or at the very least, the company had a top-notch marketing team …

Slowly, she turned the brochure over to the last page, her finger guiding her eyes down to the bold yet tastefully written name centered across the bottom: Nirvana Resorts & Spas.

“Nirvana Resorts …” she whispered.

“What was that, baby?”

She raised the brochure into the air and gave it a little shake. “Nirvana Resorts. This is one of their places.”

“You lost me.”

Leaning forward, she pulled her back from its resting spot against his chest and scooted around to face him. “Nirvana Resorts. That’s one of the companies who was trying so hard to purchase Clyde Montgomery’s land on the other side of this very lake.”

When he didn’t respond, she continued, the excitement she felt over the unexpected connection bringing her suspect list back into the forefront of her mind. “Apparently, from what Margaret Louise said, Shelby Jenkins’s father is some bigwig at Nirvana Resorts. Toss in the fact that she made hand-dipped chocolate-covered cherries for Clyde on a weekly basis and, well, she not only has a possible motive, she also had the means with which to poison him over time.”

Silence fell around them as he stuffed all but the Nirvana brochure back into the manila envelope and then tucked it under his arm, pushing off the blanket as he did. “Well, it appears as if the real world has come knocking once again, huh?”

She looked up from the brochure. “I’m sorry, what?”

He waved off her question with a flick of his hand and then held it out to her as she, too, rose to her feet. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” Then, as she stood where he indicated, he shook out the blanket and folded it into fourths, tucking it under his arm alongside the envelope.

“Hey … what about this one?” she asked as she held the Nirvana Resort brochure in his direction. “Don’t you want to keep this with all the rest?”

“Nah, you keep it. Seems that’s where your focus is these days anyway.”

Chapter 15

It was five minutes to seven when Tori pulled into
the parking lot and cut the engine outside of Johnson’s Diner, Leona and Paris holding court in her passenger seat like the royalty they knew themselves to be.

“When I get my cable show, that woman will be featured often.” Leona’s chin pointed toward the pleasantly plump woman making her way toward the diner. “In fact, between you and me,
she’s
one of the reasons I’ve decided to include a ten-minute segment entirely devoted to such fashion faux pas.”

Her mouth agape, Tori took a moment to study the totality of Shelby Jenkins’s attire.

“You’d think such things would be part of every little girl’s upbringing, especially here in the south, but it isn’t.” Leona lifted Paris from her towel-draped lap and held her at eye level. “Mama has taught
you
, though, hasn’t she, my precious little angel?”

Tori reined in her bottom lip, only to have it fall back down as she made a mental note of Shelby’s clothes—the attractive lavender pantsuit, the simple yet tasteful white blouse—and came up empty in the aforementioned faux pas category.

“Ahhh, yes. And now we see the reason for her failed attempt at fashion …”

Shifting her gaze to the left, Tori watched as John Peter Hendricks, the owner of Calamity Books, stepped from a white convertible coupe parked beneath a tree on the far side of the parking lot and made his way toward the diner. Like his car, which looked to be in pristine condition, John Peter was flawless in his appearance. His lightly salted hair, still thick enough to sport a stylish flair, shimmered in the early morning sun while his freshly pressed khaki trousers and collared black dress shirt solicited a gentle sigh from Leona.

“One look at that man and you can just tell he’s not from Sweet Briar. The grooming alone speaks to a sense of cultural superiority that certainly isn’t native to a place where flannel and beer bellies are the norm.” Leona handed Paris to Tori, removed the towel from her lap, and then ran a quick hand down the front and sides of her dusty rose pencil skirt. “He, of all people, will take one look at Shelby and know that women do not wear white pumps before Memorial Day. It simply isn’t done.”

“Well, that answered one of my questions,” she murmured between pets of the nose-twitching animal now nestled in her unprotected lap.

Leona gasped. “Victoria! Please tell me you know the proper time to wear white!”

At her ensuing silence, Leona plucked Paris from Tori’s lap and opened the car door, the exasperation and disappointment on the woman’s face unmistakable. “Do you know how disheartening it is to give so much of yourself and your expertise to someone, only to find out everything you’ve worked so hard to teach them has fallen on deaf ears, Victoria?”

Tori pushed open her own door and stepped onto the asphalt parking lot, the sudden burst of sun on her face doing little to rival the shame-induced warmth she felt in her cheeks as she turned to face Leona over the roof of her car. “Wow. You’re good. Really, really good.”

Leona’s momentary surprise gave way to a look of intense satisfaction. “You’re just now realizing that, dear?”

Shaking her head, Tori came around the front of her car and fell into step with Leona as they made their way toward the diner. There were so many things she wanted to know from the people she’d see inside. She knew it was naïve to think the killer would impale himself on one of the seemingly innocent questions she’d prepared in her head when she should have been sleeping, but still, she hoped.

“You never said how the picnic went,” Leona said, stopping midway to the door. “It didn’t go well, did it?”

Oh, how she wanted to correct Leona, to tell her that everything went exactly as Tori had hoped. But she couldn’t. Because it hadn’t.

“Can we just not do this right now? Please?” Tori continued past Leona onto the sidewalk, her kitten heels making a soft yet hurried staccato sound against the concrete. “If we don’t get inside, we might miss something.”

“The only thing you’ll miss this early in the meeting is Carter’s runny eggs and Shelby’s ridiculous smile when she thinks John Peter has chosen his chair because of
her
.”

“That’s okay … it sounds fun.” She cringed at the almost singsong quality of her voice and knew Leona saw through it as the diversion tactic it was, but it would have to do. If she gave words to the way she’d messed up her time with Milo, they’d never make it inside. And while there was certainly a part of her that wanted to leave the whole question of Clyde’s untimely demise to someone other than herself, the curious side of her couldn’t walk away.

Not yet anyway.

Not before she had the answers Dixie needed.

When she reached the front door, Tori glanced over her shoulder in her friend’s direction. “Leona,
please
. I can’t go into this meeting as your guest if you’re not there, too.”

After a long hesitation that included a nearly lethal stare down, Leona finally closed the remaining gap, the string of muttered words emanating from between her recently plumped lips drawing a smile from Tori. “Thank you, Leona.”

“Don’t think I’m done with my questions, dear. They’re simply on hold until you’re done playing Nancy Drew.”

“Fair enough.” She tugged the glass door open and stepped to the side for Leona to pass. “Now, why am I here with you again?” she whispered.

“So you can figure out which one of my fellow shopkeepers poisoned Clyde Montgomery.” Leona hoisted Paris to eye level. “I don’t know how Auntie Victoria ever functioned without me.”

Resisting the urge to give Leona a dose of her own medicine in the lethal stare department, Tori gestured toward the back of the restaurant and the half-dozen or so faces she recognized from around town. “What’s the reason we’re telling everyone that I’m here … at a meeting I have no business being at?”

“Oh. That.” Leona tapped her chin with her fingertip, narrowing her eyes in thought as she did. “I think the most believable thing would be to say you’re shadowing me this week.”

“Shadowing you?” Tori parroted.

“Yes. To see how I live on a daily basis. Since, of course, you aspire to be just like me before it’s too late.”

She closed her eyes and did a mental count to ten. “Okay, and let’s suppose I did”—she studied her friend through parted lashes—“
aspire to be you
, Leona … why would this meeting help me do that?”

Leona glanced at the ceiling as she considered Tori’s words. “Well, it would allow you to see how I conduct myself in a public forum. And it would allow you a bird’s-eye view of how I interact with men in a way that doesn’t insult my intelligence yet has them all looking at me and imagining what it would be like to be seen with me.”

It took every ounce of restraint Tori could muster not to laugh out loud, but somehow, she managed. Barely. Nonetheless, there was something in her reaction—perhaps the flinch or the rapid swallow—that brought Leona’s narrowed eyes back on her.

“Is there something wrong with what I said, dear?”

Uh-oh.

She swallowed again. “Shadowing, that sounds good to me, Leona. Only maybe we could refrain from giving the reasons.”

Leona paused before offering a quick nod. “Perhaps that’s best. We wouldn’t want word getting back to Milo prematurely.”

“Word?”

“That you’re working on your personal appeal in case you’re unsuccessful at saving your engagement.”

This time when Tori closed her eyes, it wasn’t about counting or finding patience. No, this time it was in reaction to the jolt Leona’s words sent through her body.

Was Leona right? Was her engagement to Milo really in jeopardy? She shuddered at the thought.

“Leona, can we just get to the meeting now, please?”

Lifting her chin a hairbreadth, Leona led the way toward the diner’s back corner and the handful of business owners it hosted.

Sure enough, just as Leona had predicted, Shelby Jenkins and her stylish white pumps were positioned beside John Peter Hendricks at the makeshift buffet table Carter Johnson had set up for the occasion. On the other side of the table, helping himself to a generous serving of eggs, was Travis Haggarty, one of the two councilmen who represented Sweet Briar’s business district.

“Victoria!”

A glance to her right delivered the face that went with the familiar voice. “Georgina … hi.” Breaking stride with Leona, Tori hurried over to the table and bent down long enough to offer the mayor a warm hug. “I guess I should have realized you’d be here this morning but I didn’t connect the dots. How are you?”

Georgina pulled her napkin from her lap and laid it beside her breakfast plate. “Well, just fine. So what brings you here”—the mayor gestured down the table at the smattering of business owners already seated, enjoying their coffee and breakfast—“to a business owners’ meeting?”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot and hoped her voice was steady, her words believable. “I’m … um … shadowing Leona today and this is her first stop.”

Georgina’s brows arched. “Shadowing Leona? Why?”

Why indeed …

“Well, I—I’m thinking of doing an adult book club and … she seems to think I, um, could recruit members here.”

Georgina’s gaze flitted toward the buffet table, where Leona had managed to wink and blink her way to the front of the line, before pinning Tori once again. “Don’t you think a simple flyer would have sufficed?”

A swipe at the sides of her skirt did little to erase the sudden clamminess in her hands as she cast about for a response that sounded less dumb. “I—I thought that, too. But Leona insisted. She said the likelihood of people responding to a flyer wasn’t as promising as a direct invitation.”

She followed Georgina’s focus back to Leona, using the momentary reprieve from her friend’s scrutiny to breathe.

An adult book club? Where on earth had that come from?

“She’s probably right. People do get busy.”

“They do.”

“Well, count me in then.”

Confused, she turned back to Georgina. “Count you in?” she repeated.

“That’s right. Count me in.”

She worked to make sense of the mayor’s words but came up empty. “I’m sorry, Georgina, I think I must have zoned out or something. Count you in for what?”

“Your new book club.”

“My new book—” She stopped and took another, longer breath, this one accompanied by a fair amount of mental chastising for straying from the truth in the first place.