Deadly Notions (31 page)

She debated against sharing what she suspected but, in the end, she relented, the need to talk her suspicions through more than a little overpowering. “I think she needs to be in jail.”

“Jail? Why?”

“I think she—”

“On second thought, lying to gain access into a man’s home should be some sort of punishable offense, don’t you think?” A funny sound in the background was followed by, “Oh, shut up, would you?”

She pulled the phone from her ear. “Excuse me?”

“Not you, dear. My sister, Margaret Louise. She thinks she’s funny.”

“Margaret Louise is there?” She sat up tall. “What did she say?”

“She said if lying to gain access to a man’s home was a punishable offense, I’d be sitting in a cell myself. Many times over. But she neglects to realize that failure to correct another person’s mistake is not the same as lying.”

“Another person’s mistake?” she asked as she nibbled back the urge to laugh out loud. “What kind of mistake might that be?”

“Why, my age, of course. Men think I’m younger all the time. And who am I to ruin their male egos by correcting them about something so insignificant?”

A second noise in the background was followed by a rise in Leona’s voice. “Twenty years
is
insignificant.”

That did it. She laughed. Hard. “Would you feel that way if they
added
twenty years, Leona?”

Silence greeted her question before Margaret Louise came on the phone. “Um, Victoria? What did you just say? I’ve never seen Leona so flabbergasted by anythin’ in my life.”

The laughter died on her lips.

Uh-oh.

“Please tell her it was just a question. You know, a chance to lighten the mood after an evening that was far too long. Okay?” She leaned back against the headboard and closed her eyes, the pain in her head hitting an all-time high.

“What happened?”

“I think I figured out who killed Ashley. Only there’s—”

A gasp echoed in her ear. “Who? Who?”

“Beth.”

“Beth?” Margaret Louise repeated. “You mean Milo’s Beth?”

Milo’s Beth.

“Beth Samuelson,” she corrected. “Milo’s
old
college girlfriend.”

“Now, Victoria, I realize you’ve not been terribly pleased with her arrival in town and I can’t say as I blame you but don’t you think you might be sniffin’ in the wrong hole?”

“I’m pretty sure she stole some of Ashley’s designs in order to get some much needed attention for her own company.”

A moment of silence was followed by a string of questions, most of which Tori was able to answer. Except one.

“I’m not sure about the motive. Simply stealing the designs with the intent to further her own company doesn’t explain why she was contemplating the use of Penelope’s name on her logos.”

Another gasp filled her ear. “She was goin’ to put Penelope’s name on designs she stole from her mamma?
After
she murdered her to get them?”

“Now you see my dilemma. It doesn’t add up. It’d be like putting a neon sign over your head saying, ‘I’m a killer, I’m a killer.’ ”

“But you said she changed her mind, didn’t you?”

“She did. But she
considered
it, Margaret Louise. I saw the logo with my own two eyes.”

“Maybe there’s a piece we’re missin’.”

“If there is, I’m not seeing it.”

“Hush. Give me a moment.”

She kept quiet, a smile playing across her lips as she imagined Margaret Louise in deep thought while Leona stomped around in the background.

After what seemed like an eternity, she leaned forward and glanced at the clock.

 

10:30 p.m.

 

“Margaret Louise, I need to get some sleep. Maybe we could table this until morning? I’m meeting Milo at the bakery at seven and—”

“That’s it!”

“What?”

“Remember what Debbie said the other day? When we were finishin’ up the last few pieces for Operation Play Food?”

“Um, I’m not sure. What did she say?”

A deep inhale was followed by an even louder exhale. “She said Ashley had a meetin’ with Beth the mornin’ of the party, remember?”

She sat up straight, Margaret Louise’s words ringing a series of bells in her head.

“She said that Beth was dressed all fancy-like and that Ashley had her leather portfolio—”

“Open on the table between them,” she finished for her friend. “I remember!”

“And remember, she said they were acting like the best of friends by the time the meeting was over.”

She mulled Debbie’s words in her head, the accuracy of her memory buoyed by the confirmation Margaret Louise provided. “So maybe Ashley intended to give the designs to Beth and something went wrong.”

“Maybe she had second thoughts?”

“Maybe. I just wish Debbie had heard something that could confirm or deny what we’re guessing.”

“You could ask Samantha. Maybe she overheard somethin’.”

“Samantha? As in Samantha Smith? Why would she have overheard . . .” Her words trailed off as she remembered the second part of what Debbie had said. The part about Samantha shooting daggered eyes in Ashley’s direction that same morning . . .

She studied the various morning offerings in the breakfast case—her gaze skirting the bagels and muffins in favor of the cakes and donuts.

It was no use. She was hopeless when it came to food.

“Hey there, Victoria, aren’t you up early?”

“Up would imply I slept.”

“And you didn’t?”

She pondered Debbie’s question for all of about ten seconds. “No. Which is why I need that”—she pointed to the caramel-drizzled chocolate-covered donuts on the top shelf—“or, rather,
two
of that, I mean, those.”

“Proper grammar is not necessary before seven a.m.” Debbie grabbed a doily-draped plate from the counter and carried it over to the case. “Two, you said?”

Tori nodded. “And a large hot chocolate. With lots of whipped cream.”

Debbie shook her head. “I don’t know where you put this, I really don’t.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way. Though, at the moment, that’s the least of my worries.”

“What’s wrong?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the line, stopping when she reached the count of ten in her head. “I’ll catch you up later. When things settle down a little.”

“Are you staying?”

“I’m meeting Milo.”

“Sounds good. I’ll bring your hot chocolate out to you in a minute.”

Armed with her plate of donuts, Tori wandered into the dining area, her gaze settling on the table she’d sat at with Nina just the night before. She started toward it only to have her progress thwarted by Milo’s arrival.

“Hey there.” He gestured toward her plate. “Didn’t sleep well, huh?”

“Am I that transparent?”

He grinned. “I just know you.”

“You better run.”

“Never.” Leaning forward, he whispered a kiss across her forehead. “Grab a seat and I’ll be right over. I just want to grab a tea.”

She had just sat down when Debbie appeared beside her table with her hot chocolate. “I told Milo to sit. I’ll bring his tea over so he doesn’t have to waste his before-school window standing on line.”

“Thanks, Debbie.”

“My pleasure.” Debbie backed up to allow Milo entry to his seat. “Now you two try and relax a little. You both look as if you didn’t sleep terribly well.”

She turned to Milo as Debbie disappeared behind the counter, the circles beneath his eyes making her feel more than a little guilty. “You didn’t sleep, either?”

He shrugged. “How could I? I’ve been harboring a fugitive in my home for the past few days. I’m not sure the PTA would approve.”

“It’s better than a fugitive hanging out on the playground, or showing up for parent night.” She tilted her face in the direction of the morning sun streaming through the large plateglass window that faced the center of town.

“Huh?”

“I really thought it was Samantha Smith. She said so many things that made her fit as the perfect suspect right up until the moment I realized Beth lied about those designs. Then, just like that”—she snapped her fingers—“Samantha was off my radar. Though, as Margaret Louise pointed out, she’s still tied to the big picture.”

He reached across the table and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, the feel of his hand against her face dousing her with a much-needed calm. “What do you mean she’s tied to the big picture?”

“According to something Debbie said a few days ago, Ashley and Beth had some sort of meeting here at the bakery the morning of Sally’s party. By all accounts it was a business meeting that went very well.”

“Did Debbie hear any specifics?”

She shook her head. “No. It was a Sunday morning. She was swamped with pre- and post-churchgoers.”

“Ahhh.” He smiled as Emma appeared beside the table with his tea. “Thanks, Emma.”

When the girl had gone, Tori continued. “Samantha was here that morning. And, apparently, she was very aware of Ashley’s presence.”

“Okay. Then maybe
she
overheard something.”

“May—oh my gosh, that’s it!”

Wrapping his hands around his mug, Milo sat up tall, puffing his chest out in the process. “I did good?”

She made a face at him. “You always do good. But what you just said? It’s perfect.”

“It is
if
she heard something. If she didn’t, it’s moot.” He took a long slow sip of his tea. “So do you think Ashley and Beth had struck some sort of deal?”

It was the same question she’d been asking herself over and over throughout the night. “I suppose . . . Though that doesn’t make much sense. If Ashley was happy at the end of the meeting, why would Beth need to kill her?”

“Maybe Ashley changed her mind later on?” Milo posed. “Or maybe she decided to stay on with Regina?”

Stay on with Regina . . .

“Ooooh, you might be right.” Slowly, she traced her finger around the floral design of her mug. “In fact, maybe I should talk to Regina first. If she can confirm Ashley changed her mind that might be enough to point Chief Dallas in the right direction once and for all.”

“Well, there you go. You’ve got a plan.” He glanced down at his watch and winced. “I better head out. But hey, if I see Samantha when she drops off Kayla, should I ask her to give you a call?”

“Absolutely.”

 

 

She was just saying good-bye to the last of her story time toddlers when Beth poked her head into the children’s room. “Tori? Do you have a minute?”

Rising to her feet, she grabbed the stack of picture books she’d used to captivate that week’s participants and headed toward the shelves in the far left corner, the woman’s presence making her more than a little wary. “I thought you were leaving town today.”

“I am. I just wanted to talk to you first.”

She paused in the middle of the aisle then turned around, Beth’s tired eyes and disheveled appearance catching her by surprise. “Are you okay?”

“No. Not really. I’m”—the woman shrugged—“disgusted at myself for the way I acted toward you. And I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Of all the things she might have expected the woman to say that was not one of them. “I’m, um, not really sure what to say.”

Beth wandered into the room and stopped, her ocean-blue eyes widening as they scanned the various murals that graced the walls. “Wow, Milo wasn’t kidding, was he? This room is spectacular.”

“Thank you. It’s my pride and joy.” She deposited the picture books on their appropriate shelves then returned to collect the carpet squares favored by the under-three crowd. “So where do you go once you leave here?”

“Back home so I can focus on getting these new designs into production.”

“The designs you drew?”

Beth picked a carpet square off the ground and added it to Tori’s growing pile. “About that . . . I didn’t really draw those designs.”

“Why did you say you did?”

“To make myself out to be better than I am.”

Startled by the woman’s honesty, Tori gestured her over to the tiny stage that played host to a variety of stories her youngest patrons longed to explore through dress-up and role-play. “Have a seat. It’s just about the only spot in the room where you can sit without having your knees pushing against your chin.”

“Milo likes substance. He always has. And you”—Beth gestured around—“have substance. If you didn’t you wouldn’t have been able to dream up a room like this.”

She perched on the edge of the stage just inches away from Beth, the woman’s prime position on her list of suspects foremost in her mind. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

Beth inhaled slowly. “Milo isn’t the kind of guy to be content with just a pretty face. He wants more. I mean, look at you. You’re pretty, you’re smart, you’re well liked, and you have the kind of creativity and passion to make something like this happen.” Beth waved one hand toward the stage beneath them and the other toward the classic storybooks showcased on the walls of the room. “What do
I
have?”