Deadly Notions (7 page)

Realizing her thoughts were ludicrous and more than a little childish, she forced herself back into the conversation. “I lived in Chicago for years before moving to Sweet Briar and Debbie’s bakery beats anything I found there.”

A hint of pink spread across Debbie’s cheeks. “Thanks, Victoria.”

“It’s easy to speak the truth.” Unless, of course, the truth involved how much she wished the floor would open up and swallow Beth Samuelson whole . . .

As if she hadn’t spoken a word, Beth stepped closer to the counter, closing the gap between her and Debbie. “Perhaps we could get together one afternoon for coffee. You know, two entrepreneurs getting together to swap business ideas.”

Debbie smiled. “That would be great. Tori, would you like to join us?”

“Oh? Do you own your own business as well?” Beth asked as she turned to acknowledge Tori.

“No. I’m the head librarian at Sweet Briar Public Library.”

A slight smirk chased the model-like smile from the woman’s face. “A librarian and a teacher? Oh, how very Milo.”

“Well, as you know, Milo
is
a smart man,” Debbie interjected as she slung a protective arm across Tori’s shoulder. “And he certainly knows a good thing when he’s got it.”

Beth’s gaze roamed its way down Tori’s body, taking in everything from the light brown skirt that skimmed her knees to the off-white sweater set that hugged her petite frame. Tori shifted from foot to foot under the scrutiny, all the while wishing she’d opted for the boots instead of the flats and the cascading hair instead of the high ponytail.

“I think I’ll just take a mocha latte to go. I’ve got a lot of work to do this morning.” Setting her purse on the counter, Beth extracted a sparkly change purse. “How much do I owe you?”

Two minutes later, drink in hand, the woman turned back to Tori. “Tori, it was nice to meet you. I’m sure we’ll be bumping into each other again.” She walked a few feet, only to stop and glance over her shoulder. “Give my love to Milo.”

Her love . . .

“Wow. I didn’t see that in her yesterday. But, ignore her. She’s trying to get under your skin.”

Without taking her eyes off the woman’s receding back, Tori addressed her friend. “She’s succeeding, Debbie.”

“Don’t let her. That’s what she wants. That’s what her type always wants. They live to shake up other people’s lives.”

“Maybe . . .” Her words trailed off as she watched two different men jump from their seats just to hold the door open for Beth Samuelson. Good and decent men she’d met since moving to Sweet Briar. “But guys never seem to see it, do they?”

“Colby does.”

She nodded, suddenly aware of an uncharacteristic slump in her mood. “Hey . . . I better get going. Nina will be wondering what happened to me.” She took a few steps toward the door only to have her progress thwarted by the sound of Debbie’s voice.

“Victoria?”

She turned.

“Milo loves you. Remember that.”

And so she tried, Debbie’s words replaying their way through her mind as she walked to work, the early morning temperatures hinting at the gorgeous spring day looming on the horizon. Traditionally one of her least favorite months, March was gaining favor now that she lived in the south.

Her feet slowed as she approached the library, the hundred-year-old moss trees that lined the grounds suddenly calming her troubled heart. Here, she could be herself—the same Tori Sinclair she was whether a man was part of her life or not.

Rounding the building’s western corner, she stopped short, her gaze riveted on the tire lying in the middle of the grass. Glancing up at the tree, she searched in vain for the rope that had hung there just the night before, giving flight to Sally Davis’s friends as the tire it held spun round and round.

“What on earth?” she mumbled to herself before opting to rephrase the question for someone who might be able to offer an actual answer. She pulled open the back door and stepped inside the hallway. “Nina? Are you here?”

“Right here, Miss Sinclair.” Nina popped her head out of the tiny office they shared behind the main room. “So how’d the party go last night?”

“Great. The kids had a really good time.” Tori stopped outside the entrance to the children’s room, the tension in her shoulders beginning to dissipate. “They loved dressing up, loved having their little performances taped, loved playing outside.” She turned and met her assistant’s eyes. “Hey, Nina? Do you have any idea what happened to the tire swing Milo hung for the party?”

Nina shrugged. “I saw the tire, too. I just figured you cut it down.”

“No. I didn’t. And the rope is missing, too.”

“Maybe one of the board members decided to take it down before we opened this morning? Maybe it’s a liability issue or something.”

“Maybe but I—”

The sound of the office phone cut short any further conversation.

“Should I get that?” Nina asked.

“No, I’ll take care of it. Would you just do a quick look through the main room and make sure everything is ready? Doors open in five minutes.”

“Of course, Miss Sinclair.”

Tori strode into the office and over to her desk, the phone’s ring echoing throughout the tiny room. Grabbing the receiver from its base, she held it to her ear. “Good morning. This is the Sweet Briar Public Library. How may I help you?”

“Victoria?”

She strained to pick out the whispered voice on the other end of the line. “Melissa? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

Sensing the stress in her friend’s voice, she gripped the phone still closer, a sudden and inexplicable chill making her shiver. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to one of the kids? Or to Margaret Louise?”

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“It’s Ashley. Ashley Lawson.”

A sense of relief flooded her body and she dropped into her desk chair, the morning sun streaming through the window and warming her body from the outside in. “Phew. You had me worried for a minute.”

“She’s dead.”

Tori sat up tall. “What did you just say?”

“She’s dead,” Melissa repeated. “Ashley Lawson is dead.”

“What—when? How?”

“They just found her in her car.”

“In her car?” she echoed in disbelief. “But how? What happened? Was she sick or something?”

“No. She was strangled to death.”

Tori was standing behind her desk, looking out over the town square, when he showed up, the squeak of his shoes and the pace of his gait solidifying what she knew to be true—the police car parked in front of the library was not a coincidence.

Not by a long shot.

Word had gotten out about the party moms and their feelings toward the victim. Of that she was sure. But it was the
who
behind the crime she couldn’t figure out, particularly in light of the fact that each and every person at Sally’s party had uttered a derogatory word under their breath where Ashley Lawson was concerned.

Including her.

“Here we go again,” Tori mumbled as she blew a strand of light brown hair from her forehead and turned to face Sweet Briar Police Chief Robert Dallas. Sure enough, he was standing just behind a wide-eyed Nina, his hat secured beneath his upper arm.

“Miss Sinclair? Police Chief Dallas w-would like a word with you.”

“Thank you, Nina.” She strode across the twelve-by-twelve-foot office and extended her hand in the chief’s direction, his firm handshake and stalwart face doing little to ease the tension seeping into her neck and shoulders. “Chief Dallas, it’s nice to see you. How can I help you this morning?”

Glancing quickly in Nina’s direction, he motioned toward the library’s main room with his chin. “I need a moment of your time, Victoria. Alone. It’s important.”

She nodded then addressed her assistant with as much cheerfulness as she could muster. “Nina, can you hold down the fort for a while? This shouldn’t take too long—” She looked to the chief for confirmation, the words dying on her lips as he shook his head.

“I’ve got it under control. You take your time, Miss Sinclair.” Nina turned on her heels and scurried down the hall, her back disappearing around the corner in record time. Squaring her shoulders, Tori gestured into her office. “Chief, won’t you come in and sit down? I wish I had some of that chocolate mousse pie you like so much but I wasn’t expecting a visit. Maybe next time?”

“Maybe next time.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad and pen, his fingers flipping it open as he walked. “Are you aware that Ashley Lawson was found dead in her car early this morning?”

She rounded the corner of the desk and sat down, her hand waving toward the folding chair on the other side. “Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you.” When he was situated he met her gaze, repeating his question once again. “Are you aware that Ashley Lawson was found dead in her car early this morning, Victoria?”

She considered her words. “As of about an hour ago . . . yes.”

“And how did you come to learn of her death?”

“A friend called and told me.”

His eyes narrowed. “May I ask who this friend was?”

“Melissa Davis.”

“I see.” He scribbled something in his notepad. “May I ask why she would call and tell you? Were you friends with Mrs. Lawson?”

She pulled a pen from the wooden holder between them and tapped it on the top of her desk. “I met Ashley Lawson for the first time yesterday evening. At a birthday party Melissa threw for her daughter right here in the library.”

“Go on.”

Flipping the pen onto its other end, she slid her fingers slowly down the shaft only to repeat the process all over again when she reached the bottom. “That’s it.”

“Did anything unusual happen during the party?”

“No. It was your basic child’s birthday party. They played games, they dressed up as their favorite storybook characters, they ate cake, they swung on a tire swing—”

“And where did this tire swing come from?” the chief asked,

“Milo Wentworth set it up about an hour before the party started. He had an old tire out in his garage and offered it to Melissa to use for the party. The kids loved it.”

“And the rope?”

She shrugged. “I think he had some of that, too.”

He nodded then jotted a few more notes in his pad while she continued. “I’d show it to you except someone took it down after the party. The tire is still there but the rope isn’t.”

“That’s okay, I’ve seen the rope. Or, rather, what I suspect is the rope.”

“Oh, okay, good. I was wondering what . . .” The words trailed from her mouth as he looked up from his notepad and simply stared at her.

She closed her eyes as a wave of nausea racked her body. When she opened them, he was still staring at her. “Tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”

“What do you
think
I’m saying, Victoria?”

“The rope? Was it used to . . . to kill Ashley Lawson?”

He sat back in his chair, his lips set in a grim line. “Yes, I believe it was.”

Pulling her hands upward, she dropped her face into them. “Oh, how awful.”

“Yes, it is. For her and her family.”

It was like a switch turned on in her brain, reminding her of one simple fact—no matter how unpleasant or rude Ashley Lawson may have been, she was someone’s mother. Penelope’s mother.

Blinking against the sudden moisture in her eyes, she popped her head up. “Do you have any idea who did this to her?”

“That’s why I’m here. To ask you that very same question,” he said, pinning her eyes with his own. “Because, from what I’ve heard, there were more than a few women present at yesterday’s birthday party who expressed an interest in doing exactly what was done.”

She looked a question at him, her mouth suddenly too dry to speak.

“She
was
strangled, Victoria, remember? Which leads me back to my question. Do you know of anyone who may have wanted to kill Ashley Lawson?”

“Of course not,” she gasped. “Who would want to murder a little girl’s mother?”

“I can think of several people who might fit that description thanks to a witness who stood right outside this library yesterday evening and heard the threats.”

“The threats?” She leaned back in her chair, her mind rewinding back to the previous evening. The part of the party that had been outside had involved the cake and presents as well as time on the tire swing. And unlike the costume changes and subsequent little shows that had taken place inside the children’s room, that part of the party had needed little more than visual supervision, allowing the moms plenty of opportunity to talk.

And talk they had.

About Ashley . . .

And how they’d like to strangle her . . .

She gripped the edge of the desk as reality hit with a smack to the head. If a witness had conveyed what was said, that same witness had surely pointed fingers at specific people.