Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 08 - Remnants of Murder (28 page)

The chin shot back up to its full defiant tilt. “I am entitled to spend my time the way I see fit. I bring a dessert to share to each meeting. I’m part of the hosting rotation. I donate money to buy supplies for those group projects you’re always undertaking …”

Once again, Tori pointed to the vacant chair. “You’re right. And Clyde Montgomery was entitled to do what he wanted with his land. He paid taxes. He kept it maintained. He was the rightful owner.”

Leona said nothing. Instead, the woman took the ensuing silence as an opportunity to inspect her manicure for any noticeable flaws.

“You invited me to a meeting as your friend. I’m the only one who knows you did that as a way to give me a behind-the-scenes look at some of the people most bothered by Clyde’s decision. So the only thing that could be an issue for anyone—like your John Peter Hendricks—is the fact that by bringing me to that breakfast, you outed our friendship. And since I’m the one who set this autopsy and subsequent murder investigation into play, you’re guilty by association. That speaks to
them
, Leona, not
me
.

“And quite frankly, in my book, anyone who doesn’t want to see a killer apprehended should be more than a little questionable, if not suspect.”

Slowly, Leona lowered her hands to her lap and released a long, dramatic sigh. “John Peter is an educated man. His passion, his business, is his books …
limited edition books
collected during his own extensive adventures overseas. Who in their right mind would have ever thought someone like that would have an interest in a person who melts chocolate for a living?”

“Wait.” Tori nestled into the chair, the absolute peace emanating off Annabelle and Paris working wonders on the knots in her own shoulders and neck. “Are you telling me John Peter was upset with you because of Shelby?”

Leona’s left knee began to bounce. “Perhaps I said something to make him think you were eyeing Shelby and her father in Clyde’s death.”

“Leona!”

“I was tired of having him leave a conversation with me to respond to one of her tiresome attempts at gaining his attention. I wanted him to know he didn’t have to be so polite, that she simply isn’t worth it.”

“Only you found out he actually likes her? Is that it?”

The left knee stopped bouncing. “I look a good twenty years younger than she does and I wear far better shoes.
I
talk about important things like travel and—and
Paris
. And I don’t stuff my face with chocolate all day long. Yet he finds Shelby more interesting than
me
? Can you believe that?”

Tori worked to keep the amusement from her voice as she gave the most honest answer she could. “No.”

Leona’s left brow cocked upward as an almost childlike hope lit her eyes. “Do you really mean that, dear?”

“I do. Being with you is always interesting, always fun. Any man in his right mind would be lucky to have you in his sights.” And she meant it. She just wished Leona would engage her heart somewhere else one day. Thirty-five-plus years was long enough to be affected by a man who hadn’t deserved her from the start.

“Anyway, I want you to know that I’m truly sorry if bringing me to that meeting on Monday made things hard for you. It wasn’t my intention.” She pulled the strap of the tote bag down her arm and set it in her lap, her free hand reaching inside for the peace offerings she’d tucked inside. “I brought you some presents. And some for Annabelle and Paris, too.”

Leona leaned forward. “Presents?”

Tori had to laugh at the rush of excitement that pushed all other lingering emotions from her friend’s face. “Sorry, no Prada. No Louis Vuitton.”

“Oh?”

Wrapping her hand around the easiest item to identify by touch, she nudged her head in the direction of Leona’s pride and joy. “An organic carrot for Paris …”

Leona beamed with pride as she accepted the offering. “She can have it when she wakes from her nap.”

“Perfect.” Tori reached into her bag once again and grabbed hold of the round metal tin she’d filled less than an hour earlier. “Oatmeal Scotchies for Annabelle …”

“She and Paris can have their treats together.” Leona placed the tin next to the carrot and leaned forward expectantly. “And?”

Pushing her hand past the gift certificate to the local bookstore that no longer held any appeal for her friend, Tori, instead, grabbed for the purse-sized album she’d been planning to give Leona as a birthday gift later in the month. “This is for you.”

She watched as Leona set the album on her lap and opened it to the first page and its shot of Leona in a dusty rose colored suit cradling Paris for the very first time. Page after page chronicled the pair’s life together—first organic carrot, first bow tie, first trip to the mountains, first realization Paris was, indeed, a girl, as she twitched her nose across her baby bunnies …

“You made this for me?” Leona said between sniffles.

At Tori’s nod, the woman flipped through the remaining pages, oohing and aahing over each picture. When she reached the end, Leona closed the album and brought it to her chest, a smile stretching her collagen-enriched lips wide. “Thank you, Victoria.”

Chapter 28

Tori could feel more than a few sets of eyes trained
in her direction when she stepped through the opening in the fence and made her way in the direction of her fiancé. The time spent with Leona had been worth every moment, yet it had delayed her arrival at the gazebo far longer than she’d anticipated.

“Am I taking Granville or Emma?”

She paused mid-step, Dixie’s question, and the volume in which it had been posed, making Tori cringe. “Dixie … please.” Beckoning her predecessor close, she looked to the right and left. “We’re not
taking
anyone. We’re just here to observe. To keep our eyes and ears open for anything that might pinpoint who killed Clyde.”

“How come you took Margaret Louise with you yesterday instead of me?” Dixie made no effort to disguise her displeasure. “I thought this was
our
investigation, Victoria.”

“It’s about finding the truth, Dixie,” she reminded. “That said, Margaret Louise knows Shelby better than I do and it made sense to take her up on her offer to come along. But there’s still a lot to be done. We don’t have the right person yet.”

Any further protest Dixie had planned to wage died on her tongue as she slumped against a nearby tree. “I’m sorry, Victoria. I’m not trying to be combative, I just want to find out who did this to Clyde. Who helps you do that really shouldn’t matter, I guess.”

Sensing the woman’s sudden shame, Tori worked to soften her answer. “Dixie, the most important thing in all of this is that you got this ball rolling. If you hadn’t been paying attention, if you hadn’t spoken up, everyone would have chalked his death up to age and a killer would be forever free. No matter who fingers the actual killer, you’re the one who will have found justice for Clyde.”

Dixie’s cheeks turned crimson with the praise. “Thank you, Victoria. That means a lot.”

“It’s the truth.” She gestured toward the gazebo and the crowd of Sweet Briar residents assembled around its base with paintbrushes in tow. “Have you seen Milo?”

“He’s over there, with everyone else.” Dixie pointed her finger in the direction of the group. “I think Granville is outlining what he wants everyone to do.”

“Then I say we should join them, don’t you?”

They fell into step with one another as they crossed the lawn and merged themselves with the group of men and women who’d heeded the call to serve in the name of sprucing up their little town.

“For the most part, everything already looks pretty good,” Granville said from his spot inside the gazebo, looking out over the crowd. “But if you look close, it’s not perfect. There’s spots on the fence surrounding the Green that need scraping, places where this gazebo could be gussied up. We all know that our festivals draw people from all over. We like being that town that everyone remembers come festival time. But we need those people to remember us at other times, too. Like when they’re looking for a nice place to unfold a blanket and have a picnic. Or when they’re thinking about picking up stakes and moving to a quieter community with a better school, a homier environment, and warmer neighbors. And we want to be that town they think of when they want to buy a present for Aunt Edna or enjoy a date with their spouse.

“People start thinking about Sweet Briar that way, and we’ll all benefit. Each and every one of us.”

A hand shot up not far from where Tori stood, the face attached to it vaguely familiar but not someone she knew by name. If memory served her, the man went with one of the toddlers who came to story time on a not-so-regular basis. “They keep quotin’ you in the paper, Councilman Adams, for saying this kind of stuff all the time, but it seems to me you’re talkin’ out both sides of your mouth.”

Tori craned her head over the people in her immediate vicinity, hoping to locate Milo, but to no avail. Instead, she brought her mouth to within inches of Dixie’s ear. “Who is that guy?”

Before Dixie could answer, Granville filled in the blanks—or at least a helpful outline. “I believe the normal protocol for political sparring would be at one of the monthly town hall meetings we have, Doug, but since you’ve opted to bring your leader’s agenda here, I’d be happy to address whatever issue you have.”

“His name is Doug Garfield,” Dixie whispered. “He grew up next door to Rhett Morgan and is now the head of Rhett’s election committee—”

“You ever stop and think that maybe people livin’ here in Sweet Briar
like
the quiet?”

Tori looked to the opposite side of the proverbial net along with everyone standing around them. Granville, of course, returned the volley.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, folks, but I believe I was just saying that same thing before you jumped in, Doug.”

Heads nodded around the makeshift circle then turned to look at Doug.

“That’s why I jumped in, Councilman Adams. Because you’re pointing to the quiet and the homey feel and tryin’ to convince everyone that those qualities won’t change if folks start flockin’ here in large numbers.”

Granville’s hands shot up in the air, quieting the protests of a few loyal followers inside the group. “Now, now, everyone, Doug has a right to his shortsighted thinking and a right to express it here, on town property. He, like all of us, is a taxpayer in Sweet Briar.”

“Correct me if
I’m
wrong, but the last time I checked, the definition of shortsighted meant only seeing what’s in front of your face at that moment. Seems to me that’s exactly what you’re doing, Councilman Adams, when all you see about folks flockin’ to Sweet Briar is the good things—specifically the money.”

“Money makes things happen, Doug. It makes the lives of our business owners more comfortable, it brings more sales tax money into the town, which, in turn, improves our roads and our services, as well as our schools.”

“More people also brings more crime. Ask any police chief in any town across this country and they’ll tell you the same thing.” Doug slid his focus off Granville’s flushed face and moved it throughout the crowd. “Is a few extra bucks really worth that quiet we all love? That hominess we all need?
I
certainly don’t think so.”

Granville’s laugh filtered out across the grass. “If the ultimate goal was to simply get a couple folks to think of Sweet Briar when they’re out for a Sunday stroll, I could see how you’d think we’re talking about a few bucks. But it’s not. And that’s the difference between me and Rhett Morgan. I see potential everywhere I look. If I didn’t, that prime land that borders Fawn Lake would still be just that—prime land that borders Fawn Lake.”

“Would still be?” Dixie hissed. Digging her elbow into Tori’s side, the seventy-something nearly jumped up and down.

Tori snapped a steadying hand on the woman’s arm. “Shhh …”

“Instead, thanks to my hard work and the open-mindedness of this man”—Granville pointed to the front row and a man Tori couldn’t see—“that prime land will soon play host to the kind of luxury resort that will improve the lives of our children and our residents for years and years to come.”

She heard the applause, heard the verbal accolades Granville received from the crowd, but she couldn’t really focus on anything besides confirming the identity of the open-minded man just out of her line of vision. Stepping to the side of a speechless Dixie, Tori wound her way through familiar and unfamiliar faces until she was standing at the base of the gazebo’s steps.

“You’re selling your father’s land?” she whispered in disbelief.

Beau turned to face her, his mournful eyes cast downward. “I have no use for it, Miss Sinclair. The last few years of my life have been spent commuting between here and Texas. I’m exhausted.”

“But your dad loved that house.”

“He loved the connection it gave him to his past … a past that included my mother. He found comfort in walking the halls they’d walked together, in sitting in chairs they once occupied side by side. But I never really shared that sense of comfort. In fact, as of late, that connection has been more painful than anything else.”