Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 10 - Wedding Duress (15 page)

“A Willey?” she echoed. “What on earth does that mean?”

Margaret Louise opened her mouth to answer but closed it as Luke continued with his own story. “I know I’m not supposed to watch that kind of stuff, so I whispered to
Reenie to see if she wanted to find some toys to play with and she said yes.”

“And this is Monday we’re talking about?” she asked Beatrice for clarification. At Beatrice’s nod, she smiled at Luke. “So what did you play with?”

Luke’s face lit from within and he pulled his legs up under him on the stool. “Reenie said there was a big box of blocks in the hall closet and we could build a whole town if we wanted to.”

“Did you?” she asked.

“I builded a fire station and Reenie builded a hair place.”

Margaret Louise patted the top of her brush-once-and-go hair and winked at Luke. “Sounds like a place I need to visit, don’t it?”

All semblance of a smile on Luke’s face disappeared. “But Reenie didn’t get to finish the whole thing.”

“Why not, Luke?”

His eyes widened as he dangled his legs over the edge of the stool once again. “We got scared.”

“Scared?” Tori repeated. “Scared of what?”

“I didn’t know you could yell and whisper at the same time . . . but you can.” Luke traced an invisible line around his section of the table only to look up at Tori when he reached the end. “And then she started to cry.”

“Reenie cried?”

Luke shook his head.

“Miss Gracie cried?”

“Nuh-uh, not Miss Gracie, neither. She was in the TV room with the other kids and their nannies.”

She looked at Beatrice. “I don’t understand.”

Beatrice hooked her index finger under Luke’s chin
and gently raised it until their eyes met. “Tell Miss Sinclair who was crying.”

“Miss Cindy was crying,” Luke explained. “She was crying real quiet like she didn’t want anyone to make fun of her. But I would have cried, too, if someone was yelling at me. Even if they were whispering it.”

“Miss Cindy, as in Reenie’s nanny?”

“Her
old
nanny,” Luke corrected. “
Miss Gracie
was her new nanny.”

Tori heard her own intake of air just as surely as she felt it. “Cindy was at the house on Monday night?”

“We didn’t know she was until we heard her whispering with that lady.”

“Another nanny?” she asked.

Luke shook his head real hard. “Nope.”

“Wait.” She took a moment to recollect a conversation with Debbie earlier in the week, one that helped give a little background to the evening Luke was talking about. “Debbie told me there was a potluck or something at the Bradys’ house that night and that Julie Brady was singing Miss Gracie’s praises and handing out business cards for your agency, Beatrice.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Beatrice said quietly. “It was my night off and I was home getting ready for our sewing circle meeting.”

She turned her focus back on Luke. “Was it one of the moms?”

Luke’s shrug reached his ears. “No. But she yelled and yelled at Miss Cindy and made her cry,” Luke continued, clearly mortified by the incident.

“Did you hear anything they said?”

“Miss Cindy kept saying she was sorry and she’d try
harder next time, but the lady didn’t tell her she was forgiven the way Miss Bea does when I do something wrong.”

“What
did
she do?”

“She just kept on yelling.”

“Did anyone else hear them besides you and Reenie?”

“No. Just us.”

“Did they see you?”

Luke’s eyes widened even more as Beatrice reminded him to keep his voice down. “We took the rest of the blocks and hid in the closet. But Reenie’s foot knocked the box over and it got real quiet. I told Reenie to hush.”

“Did you hear anything else? I mean, besides Cindy saying she was sorry?” she asked.

“Every time the lady said ‘car wash,’ Miss Cindy cried harder and said she was sorry.”

Margaret Louise, who was in the process of taking a sip of her drink at that moment, sputtered her coffee in several different directions. “Why on earth would someone cry over a car wash?”

“I don’t know but it sure made Miss Cindy sad.” Luke looked up at Beatrice and gestured toward the front counter on the other side of the dining room. “Can I have my cookie now, Miss Bea?”

Tori reached out and rested a hand on Luke’s forearm. “Hold on a minute, Luke. I have just a few more questions first. How long did you stay in the closet?”

“When the lady quit yelling at Miss Cindy, Miss Cindy quit crying and went home. I had to cover Reenie’s mouth one more time when the footsteps went by, but then it wasn’t so bad. We even stayed in the closet after the lady went by because it was kind of fun in there. We pretended
we were in a fort at night and we tried to see what we could build without being able to see a whole lot.”

“So then the yelling and the crying were over?”

Luke hopped down off his stool and took a closer look at her tart and Margaret Louise’s crumb-ridden plate. “What did you have on that plate?”

“Mississippi mud pie and it sure was delicious.” Margaret Louise guided his finger to her plate and one of the larger-sized crumbs. “Go ahead, give it a try.”

Luke did as he was told and then looked back up at Beatrice. “Can I have that instead of a cookie, Miss Bea? Please?”

“Yes, Luke, you may. But
after
you answer Miss Sinclair’s question, sweetheart.”

Tori posed the question again in the event it got lost amid talk of Mississippi mud pie. “So the yelling and crying were all done after the footsteps went by?”

“For a while.” Luke shifted from foot to foot, his hands playing with the sides of his jeans as he did. “Until we heard Miss Gracie shout.”

She was all too aware of the chill that shot up her spine at the same time Margaret Louise’s hand hit the table. “You heard Miss Gracie shout?”

Luke nodded.

“What did she shout?” Margaret Louise interjected.

“‘Stop!’ And she said it just like that, ‘Stop!’”

It was just as Reenie’s big sister had recalled during Milo’s science class. Only this time, in context with everything else Luke had shared, Miss Gracie’s word took on a whole new meaning.

“And that was the last thing you heard?” Tori rushed to ask.

“Nah, we heard more footsteps . . . only they were running this time.”

“That’s it? You heard Miss Gracie yell and then you heard footsteps?”

“The footsteps were the
last
thing we heard. But before that, after Miss Gracie yelled, we heard thumps. Loud, loud thumps.”

“What kind of loud—” She stopped herself mid-sentence as the reason for the sounds hit her at the same time Beatrice’s eyes fluttered closed in pain.

Slipping off her stool, Tori crossed to Beatrice and pulled her friend in for a hug. “We’ll figure out who did this to her, Beatrice. You have my word on that.”

This time, when Tori tried Leona’s number and got no answer, she didn’t worry. After all, Charles was on the case. No answer when he was around likely meant they were swapping hairstyling techniques or sorting through the latest mound of celebrity gossip in search of what was and wasn’t true.

Lowering her phone to the most recently packed box to her left, Tori leaned her head against the wall and allowed herself the sigh that had been dying to come out since she’d opened her eyes that morning. In six days, she’d be marrying Milo. And in addition to her regular job, she still had to make sure her vows were perfect, her out-of-town guests were squared away with their accommodations, the rental company was on target with the tables and chairs for the reception, and countless other details that, if not attended to, could prove disastrous on their big day.
Toss in packing up her entire cottage and trying to finger a killer as she’d stupidly promised Beatrice the previous night, and, well, her proverbial plate was overflowing.

She’d berated herself numerous times throughout the night for vowing to catch Miss Gracie’s killer, but as morning had poked its way around her bedroom shades, she knew it was what she wanted to do.

No, she hadn’t met the woman.

No, she had no vested interest in learning the truth behind the nanny’s supposed fall.

But she knew Beatrice.

And she knew her own gut.

Someone had pushed Miss Gracie to her death in the Brady home the previous week and her money was on Cynthia Marland. Really, could the “who” get any easier? Especially when revenge and greed were both strong motives for murder?

A knock at Tori’s back door had her pushing off the floor and crossing to the kitchen just as Margaret Louise entered the room with a familiar powder blue bag tucked under an arm, and a beverage carrier with two lidded cups in a free hand. “I hope you don’t mind me lettin’ myself in like this, but I could see from the window on the side that you were busy thinkin’ and I didn’t want to interrupt.” Margaret Louise dumped the bag onto the closest counter and then carried their drinks to the small dinette table not far from where Tori stood. “I drove straight to Debbie’s after church this mornin’ just so I could get us some tummy fuel for the long day ahead.”

“Long day?” Tori opened her dish cabinet, took two medium-sized plates from the second shelf, and set them
on the counter next to the bag. A peek inside resulted in a loud gurgle from her unfed stomach. “Ooooh, you got four of Debbie’s chocolate-dusted donuts. She’s always out of them when I stop by there on a Sunday morning.”

“That’s why I always order mine the night before. I reckon the only reason I was able to add to my order this mornin’ was on account of bein’ in the right place at the right time . . . not that it’ll be appreciated, I’m sure.” Margaret Louise stepped around Tori, opened the bag, placed two donuts on each plate, and carried them to the table. “Least I know
you
appreciate my efforts.”

“You lost me,” she said, following the plates to the table. “Who isn’t going to appreciate what?”

“Never mind. I ain’t gonna bother chasin’ my tail.” Margaret Louise took a seat at the table and gestured for Tori to do the same. “When I got home last night, I pulled out season one of
Cops and Criminals
and got myself back in crime-solvin’ mode. So let’s get to it, Victoria, we’ve got a lot to do.”

Tori took the seat across from her friend and picked up the first of her two donuts, the tantalizing smell combined with the promise of chocolate making it difficult to think let alone respond to anything other than the call of her stomach. “Mmmm. Wow. Debbie really needs to make these a regular menu item seven days a week.”

“Debbie knows exactly what she’s doin’. As for Miss Gracie, her bein’ here was bad for lots of people,” Margaret Louise said as she fairly inhaled her first donut and moved on to her second. “Lots of people mean lots of suspects. And lots of suspects mean lots of investigatin’ for you and me.”

Tori stopped chewing and stared at her breakfast companion. “Lots of suspects? How do you figure that? Near as I can figure, there’s only one.”

“Don’t you go narrowin’ the list down to one without me, Victoria Sinclair. I held up my end of the bargain and then some.”

“Frankly, I was hoping for more than just you standing in the doorway of Leona’s room.” She broke off a bite of her donut and set the rest of it back on her plate. “Like maybe some sort of discussion that would put this stalemate of yours to rest.”

“Considerin’ my sister’s predicament, I thought it best not to engage her in front of Charles.” Margaret Louise peeled off the lid of her beverage, ran her finger around the edge of the cup, and then inserted it into her mouth with rare hesitancy. “She didn’t look real good.”

Wrapping her hands around her own cup, Tori met her friend’s worried eyes. “Your sister is in a lot more pain than she wants anyone to know. It’s why I feel a lot better knowing Charles is there to look after her instead of that Rachel girl. How and why that one got into the business of being a caregiver is beyond me.”

“Rachel
Billings
?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get the girl’s last name.”

“Early twenties?” Margaret Louise asked. “Long dark hair? Tiny little earrin’ in her nose?”

“Sounds like the same girl.”

Margaret Louise turned her focus to her beverage and shrugged. “Well, then the answer to your question is easy. It’s the same reason lots of folks get into jobs they don’t really like.”

“Money,” she murmured. “The same reason our one
and only suspect took a job caring for Jim and Julie Brady’s kids from what Beatrice says.”

“Now wait just a minute. Who are you lookin’ at for this?”

“The same person you and I talked about yesterday—Cynthia Marland.” She pushed the plate containing her second donut to the side, set her elbows on the table, and rested her chin inside the palm of her right hand. “She had means and she had motive.”

When Margaret Louise said nothing, she filled in the blanks with everything she knew. “Miss Gracie was brought in to replace Cindy—at a job she wanted if, for no other reason, than the chance to reside in a house twenty times the size of her own. She was angry at Beatrice for suggesting her former governess to Julie Brady. I witnessed
that
myself at the park last weekend. But harming Beatrice wouldn’t have changed Miss Gracie’s employment in that house. Harming
Miss Gracie
would. No one else stood to gain from the woman’s death.”

“I thought that, too, until I got home last night and started thinkin’ ’bout who else it could have been since it wasn’t Cindy. And that’s when I realized that other nannies in the Nanny Go Round Agency had to be feelin’ might wary ’bout a British nanny comin’ to town. Especially when someone the likes of Julie Brady was singin’ her praises. And some of those other nannies were actually
in
the house when the woman fell to her death.”

Tori pulled her chin from her palm and signaled a time out with her hands in the air. “Wait a minute. Slow down. You heard Luke last night. Cynthia Marland was not only
at
the Brady house the night Miss Gracie fell, but she was upset, too. And from what I saw the other night when I
drove past the Bradys’ house, she’s still spending time in that house.”

“That might be, but there’s no discountin’ what Luke said ’bout her leavin’ before he heard the thumpin’ you and I both know was Miss Gracie fallin’ down them stairs.”

“Luke didn’t say that.”

“Yes he did. He said Cindy went home after she quit crying.”

She rewound her thoughts to the previous night and the details Beatrice’s charge had supplied. “But he said he heard footsteps go by the closet.”

“Footsteps he heard after Cindy left. Footsteps that had to belong to the one doin’ all the whisper-yellin’,” Margaret Louise reminded.

“He was in a closet. There’s no way he could know whose footsteps were whose.”

“Luke is a smart one, Victoria. And I heard nothin’ resemblin’ guessin’ from him last night.”

“But no one else makes sense,” she protested.

“All the other nannies in the house that night can be considered suspects, too, Victoria.” Margaret Louise flipped her hand over and began ticking off names. “And from what Luke said, we know for sure that Amanda Willey and Stacy Gardner were there . . .”

“We do?”

“We sure do. We also know that Jim and Julie Brady are respected members of this community, and, well, if they’re happy with somethin’, there’s a good chance others will want to try it out, too.”

Tori broke off another bite of donut and called up a conversation she’d had a few days earlier. “You know, now that you’re saying this, I remember Debbie saying
Julie was handing out business cards from Miss Gracie and Beatrice’s agency that night. And she said some of the other mothers were actually taking them.”

“See? It’s just like I said. If Julie Brady was singin’ Miss Gracie’s praises that night, the other nannies sittin’ in that TV room had reason to be worried.” Margaret Louise pushed her chair back, stood, and carried her empty plate over to the sink. “So I reckon we just need to figure out which one was more bothered by the singin’ than the others. If we do that, I believe we’ll find the person who pushed Miss Gracie to her death.”

Suddenly the neat and tidy scenario Tori had constructed as to who killed Beatrice’s former governess and why didn’t seem so neat and tidy anymore. In fact, the more Margaret Louise theorized, the more Tori’s head hurt.

“What did I get myself into?” she asked aloud. “I’m getting married in six days, Margaret Louise. I can’t be playing detective.”

Setting the now clean plate in the dish drainer beside the sink, Margaret Louise flashed a mischievous grin. “I reckon I could do the bulk of the solvin’ on my own and I could come to you for any consultin’ I need.”

She tried to focus on what Margaret Louise was saying, but between the donut she was slowly nibbling her way through and the way her thoughts kept rewinding to earlier parts of their conversation, it was hard. “What do you know about this Amanda Willey? Does her family struggle for money the way Cynthia’s does?”

“Amanda works for the Whitehalls, one of the wealthiest families in Sweet Briar.”

“I know the Whitehalls,” she said. “They contribute a lot of money to the library each year.”

“They contribute a lot of money to everything in town. My Jake says they like to see their name on paper but I think it’s more real than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think they know they’re blessed and I think they like helpin’. Near as I can tell, that’s the only reason they’d have hired a Willey.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She took a gulp of her hot chocolate and then carried her own empty plate over to the sink.

“One Willey or another is always causin’ trouble somewhere in this town. Why, not more ’n a few weeks ago, I remember hearin’ Georgina bemoanin’ a pothole out on Route 25 that the town has to keep fixin’ ’cause the oldest Willey boy keeps doin’ somethin’ with his four-wheeler that keeps eatin’ up the road.

“And it was just last year that my Jake had a problem with Tim Willey over a car-fixin’ bill that man refused to pay. Brought the car in to Jake to have it fixed, and then, when Jake did, Tim said there hadn’t been anythin’ wrong to start with.”

“So what did Jake do?”

“He had to take him to small claims court. And he won.” Margaret Louise took Tori’s plate from her hand, washed it, and placed it in the drainer beside her own. “But don’t think that was the end of it for Tim. Oh no, he put a sign outside his yard tellin’ people to avoid Jake’s garage. It didn’t matter much on account of most folks in this town discount much of what comes out of that family’s mouth anyway, but it’s still a thorn in my boy’s side . . . and in my side, too.”

Tori returned to her chair and the rest of her drink, her curiosity aroused. “So if I’m hearing you correctly, you think the Whitehalls hired this Amanda Willey as more of a charitable move?”

“Only thing I can figure.”

“Is she like the father and the brother?” Tori asked.

“She’s a Willey, ain’t she?” Margaret Louise wiped her hands on the yellow-and-white-checked dish towel hanging on a hook near the sink and made her way back to the table, too. “Only Amanda ain’t so much ’bout troublemakin’ as she is gettin’ things without earnin’ them.”

“And why do you say that? Do you know of things she’s done or are you just assuming based on her family?”

“I was in a bookstore same time as she was once in Tom’s Creek. I saw her come in, empty-handed. Not more ’n five minutes later, she was at the register wantin’ to return a book without a receipt. They gave her store credit.”

Tori released her hold on her to-go cup and tried to make sense of what she was hearing. “Okay, so what was the problem?”

“That book she was returnin’ without a receipt? She just plucked it off a shelf and said it was hers. Like she was
entitled
to do that.”

“Oh. Wow.” Tori shifted in her seat and then stood, her feet shuttling her around the kitchen with no real destination in mind.