Deadly Notions (30 page)

She stared at Milo. “But those dresses she designed. They’re mind-blowing.”

He tossed the crude drawing onto the table and reached for his spoon once again. “You mean those six dresses she carried around in that portfolio? She didn’t draw them. She got them from someone else.”

“Wait. She told me she drew them.”

“Okay, well then perhaps I can take a little comfort in knowing it wasn’t just me, after all. Maybe Beth lies to everyone.”

“No. There must be some mistake. She said she drew them.”

Milo jerked his head toward the pink sticky note. “
That
, she drew. Those dresses, she didn’t. Trust me on this.”

Her gaze fell on the six little stick people lined along a makeshift stage, their triangular dresses ill-fitting at best.

Six people.

Six dresses.

She heard the gasp as it left her lips, felt the splatter of stew on her skin as her spoon crash-landed in the middle of her bowl, saw the concern on Milo’s face as he reached for her across the table. “Tori? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Oh my God! I know who did it. I know who killed Ashley Lawson.”

She ran down the hallway and into Milo’s bedroom, the echo of his footsteps close on her heels. “Talk to me, Tori, please. What’s going on?”

“Did she leave anything behind? Anything at all?”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“Beth,” she explained over her shoulder as she ran back and forth between the dresser and the nightstand looking for anything that could serve as confirmation of the notion swirling around in her thoughts. “Did she leave anything behind? Anything at all?”

He grabbed hold of her arms and stepped in front of her, blocking her second lap around the room. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for proof.”

“Proof? Of what?”

“That she did it. That she killed Ashley Lawson.”

His mouth gaped open and he stumbled back a step. “Beth? You think Beth killed Ashley Lawson?”

She wiggled free of his hands and strode over to the closet, yanking it open before her feet even came to a stop. “It makes sense, don’t you see? She lied about those designs. She told me she drew them and she didn’t.”

Milo held up his hands and dropped onto the edge of the bed. “What does that have to do with anything? I thought it was one of the party moms.”

“We know it wasn’t one of my friends. They don’t have it in them to kill anyone. And then I was leaning toward Samantha Smith because, well, she just seemed to be a likely candidate. But now, after what you said about Beth and her inability to draw, it all makes sense now.”

“Wait. Please. Come sit. Explain this to me so I can understand.”

She ran her hands along Milo’s clothes, finding nothing that belonged to Beth whatsoever. Not a shirt, not a pair of pants, not a dropped design . . .

Defeated, she wandered over to the bed and sat down, the flapping of her Milo-induced butterflies rivaled only by the pounding of her heart. “Why would she lie about creating those designs other than to cover up how she got them in the first place?”

“I don’t know, maybe out of embarrassment? Or some misguided sense of pride?”

“Maybe, under different circumstances. But if someone in her company had drawn them she’d have simply said that, wouldn’t she?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

“But if she got ahold of them illegally, she might be more inclined to lie about the how. To cover her tracks.”

“Okay.” He rolled his right hand in a gentle motion as he wrapped his left around her shoulders. “Go on.”

“We know Ashley was a designer. That’s what she did for Regina’s company . . .” Her words trailed off as another piece of the puzzle dropped into place.

Six designs.

“That’s it! Oh my gosh, that’s it! The designs she’s been saying are hers? They’re part of a collection Regina was in the process of using to secure a partnership with Fredrique Mootally.”

“Fredrique Mootally? Who’s that?”

“According to Regina, he’s the top adult pageant designer in the country. Only he won’t strike the deal unless she has all twelve designs.”

“I’m not following.”

“She only has
six
.”

“And . . .”

“According to Regina, the other six were”—she shot two fingers from both of her hands into the air and wiggled them up and down—“misplaced.”

Reality dawned on Milo’s face as he began to see the puzzle the same way Tori did. “You think the six designs Beth showed you are the missing six?”

She stared up at him. “They could be. It certainly makes sense.”

“You think she
stole
them?”

For a moment she said nothing, her mind working to piece together the various snippets of facts and suspicions she’d managed to come up with thus far. “I think she killed Ashley to get them.”

“Then why wouldn’t Regina be screaming foul?”

That’s the part she couldn’t quite figure out. Unless . . .

“Unless she truly thinks they’ve been misplaced,” she mumbled. Looking around the room, she pushed off the bed and spread her arms wide. “But I need proof. Something we can take to Chief Dallas so he doesn’t think I’m a complete nut.”

Milo, too, stood. “I’m sorry. I wish there was something that could help but she didn’t leave anything behind except . . .” Milo whirled around and headed toward the hallway as he beckoned Tori to follow. “She did use the desk in my office one day after she moved in. She said she was reworking her logo and needed a well-lit area. I don’t know if she cleaned everything up that first day—she may have, but I
know
she didn’t go in there when I asked her to get her stuff and leave.”

“Reworking her logo?” She ran to catch up with Milo as he made a sharp left halfway down the hallway. “Wait. I knew that. She’d considered changing the name of her collection but decided against it.”

He nodded as he flung open the door to his spare-bedroom-turned-office. “She said that after monkeying around with a new name, it got her thinking about simply redesigning the current logo to give it more pop.”

Stepping into his office she looked around, her gaze skirting the stacks of freshly graded tests and quizzes that covered the first of two desks.

“Here we go. See?” He pointed toward the assortment of computer-generated logos strewn across the top of the second desk, all of them highlighting some variation of a spotlight. Nudging one of the sheets upward with his fingers, he sighed. “Nothing. Nothing that’ll tell us anything. Except for the fact she was a bit of a slob when she worked.”

Tori looked from page to page, some versions showing a large spotlight to the left of the company’s name, some showing it to the right. The best of the group bathed the name in yellow as if the company, itself, was in the spotlight. Pushing the top layer of papers to the side she searched another crop of logos, the stark contrast in both look and feel making her lean closer.

“P. C.?”

Milo shrugged. “You got me.”

“Pageant . . . what? Pageant . . .”

“Concoctions? Creations? Children?”

“Maybe. But it couldn’t be
creations
. That’s what Regina’s company is called.” She pushed the second layer of papers to the side, her gaze falling on the connecting letters underneath—the P and the C intertwining to create a name that made Tori suck in her breath.

“What?” Milo moved in beside her, his breath warm against her ear. “What is it? Did you find—oh my God!”

 

 

She didn’t really know how she got home. She remembered telling Milo she’d be fine. She remembered getting in her car and slipping the key in the ignition. She even remembered pulling away from the curb. But the actual drive home?

That
, she didn’t remember at all.

They’d talked it all through—the things they knew and the things they didn’t, agreeing to hash it all out in the morning before work. And it made sense. It really did. They both had jobs to do. But trying to shut her mind down after everything she’d learned that evening was virtually impossible.

Especially when so many of the pieces added up to the answer she’d been seeking since Ashley was murdered and a cloud of suspicion was cast on her friends. The problem, though, was the latest piece. The piece that had Beth contemplating a new name for her company.

Penelope’s Closet.

It was hard enough to imagine the desperation that would make one woman kill another over six dress designs. But to steal them and then name the entire company after the dead woman’s five-year-old daughter?

That was beyond the scope of comprehension. Far, far beyond.

Feeling the beginnings of a headache taking shape behind her temples, Tori unlocked the front door and stepped inside, her hands instinctively finding the dimmer switch on the living room light. She tossed her keys onto the small table beside the door and headed toward the kitchen, the promise of chocolate and Tylenol guiding her feet.

Why would Beth take that chance? Why would she even consider changing the name of her company to something that might point a finger squarely in her direction? Was she that confident in her flirtatious manipulations? That sure of her knee-weakening smile and giggly voice?

“No. Beth is too smart, too business savvy to make a mistake like that.” She stopped in the doorway, her own words bringing her up short. Was that true? Did she really think Beth was too smart for such a gross blunder?

Yes
.

“Then why? Why consider the name Penelope’s Closet?” She yelled the words into the air, listened to them as they left her lips and traveled around to her ears. “Great. Now I’m talking to myself.”

Shaking her head at the ridiculousness that was her, Tori marched over to the cabinet and flung it open, her hands beating her eyes to the stash of chocolate she kept on the second shelf.

She unwrapped the foil-wrapped square and shoved it into her mouth just as the phone began to ring. For a moment she considered letting it go, the need for sleep the reason she’d left Milo’s in the first place. But by the third ring she couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Hello?”

“The more proper way to answer would be to say, ‘Good evening, this is Victoria, how may I help you?’ ”

“I’m sorry, Leona, I should have known better.”

“Yes, you should have. But that’s why I’m here. To teach you how to act like a true southern belle.”

“You mean like a true southern belle
according to Leona Elkin
, right?”

“Is there any other way?”

She had to laugh in spite of the pounding behind her temples. “No. I guess not.”

“Now that that’s settled, how did your afternoon with Milo go? Did you take full advantage of your time together?”

“I—uh.” Was it really just that afternoon that she sat on his porch waiting for him to come home? It was hard to fathom. So much had happened.

“Don’t tell me she wrestled him away again? Good heavens, Victoria, are you remembering to put on your makeup and wear something provocative?”

“Put on my makeup and wear something provocative?” she repeated. “No. I mean, yes. I mean, no.”

“You’re making my head ache, dear.”

“Tell me about it.” She inhaled a much-needed sense of calm. “I wore makeup. I dressed in a way that acknowledged the afternoon hour and no, Beth didn’t wrestle Milo away from me. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

“Ooooh, that sounds promising.”

She carried the phone into her bedroom and flopped onto the bed, her body sinking into the fleece bedspread. “He threw her out.”

“What?”

She couldn’t help but grin at the excitement in Leona’s voice. “He walked in on her admitting her lies and he threw her out. Then, as soon as she was gone, he asked if I’d give him a little time to himself, too.”

A string of unladylike mumblings filled her ear.

“No, it’s okay, Leona. I understood. But I did go back again after a few hours. And things are fine.”

“How fine, dear?”

“Good. Wonderful.” She rolled onto her side, pulling the phone more tightly to her ear. “Except for one little thing.”

She could almost hear Leona’s eyes roll over the phone. “It’s not anything about us. We’re as solid as ever. It’s just . . . Well, it’s about Beth.”

“I thought he tossed that little hussy to the curb.”

“He did. Only now I’m thinking we’ll need to have her tossed somewhere else.”

“She
is
still alive, isn’t she?”

“Leona! Stop. Of course she’s still alive.”

“And she’s out of Milo’s house, right?”

She reconfirmed that turn of events.

“Then what else needs to happen?”