Needle and Dread (13 page)

“Victoria? Have I told you b'fore how smart you are?”

“Yes, you have, although I suspect you're rather biased
at this point.” Tori moved the cursor into the search bar, typed in Opal's name, and hit enter. Forty hits dating back over the past twelve months popped up on the screen. “Whoa. Samantha and Travis weren't kidding when they said Opal was a presence in Jasper Falls . . .”

The folding chair creaked as Margaret Louise pushed herself up and onto her feet. “Now, Victoria, it's two minutes to nine and you've got a library to open.”

Reluctantly, Tori pushed her chair away from the computer and stood, her eyes still riveted on the screen. “Just make a note of what you do and don't read so I can get the rest either on my lunch break or when my workday is over, okay?”

“That's a ten-four, Victoria.” Margaret Louise shoved her way past Tori and into the desk chair, the woman's excitement over the task ahead impossible to miss. “Now get to work and leave me to my investigatin', will you?”

Tori pulled her ham and cheese sandwich from the brown paper lunch sack and extended half of it across the picnic table. “So, did you find anything that could help us?”

“I can't take your lunch, Victoria.”

“Yes, you can,” she insisted. “You've been reading through news archives for me all morning long. You've got to be hungry.”

“I ain't sayin' I'm not hungry. I'm just sayin' I can't take your lunch.”

“And I'm just sayin' you can . . . or I won't eat, either.”

Margaret Louise's brown eyes danced. “You're startin' to sound like me, Victoria, you know that?”

Resting the woman's half of the sandwich on a napkin, Tori moved on to the small bag of pretzels she'd
packed along with her sandwich earlier that morning. “There's enough of these for us to share, too.”

“I really shouldn't,” Margaret Louise said as she reached into the center of the table and helped herself to three pretzels. “Librarians need their sustenance.”

“And so do Mee Maws of eight grandchildren who also happen to be helping one of those librarians solve a murder case.”

“Touché!”

Tori took a bite of her half and waited for her friend to answer the original question. When nothing transpired other than a few happy eating noises, she tried again. “Okay, Margaret Louise, the suspense is killing me. Did you find anything we can use? Anything at all?”

Margaret Louise matched Tori's bite with a larger one while gesturing around the library grounds with her free hand. “When the board first mentioned puttin' a few of these picnic tables 'round the library, I thought it was silly. All I kept thinkin' was libraries are for readin', not eatin'. But I can't tell you how many times I've used one since they put them out—for readin' with Lulu when she just couldn't wait to get home with whatever book she checked out, for a post-story-time snack with Molly Sue, and sometimes for just some plain old sittin' and watchin'.”

“I couldn't agree more.” Tori shook a pretzel between them in mock frustration. “I also know you're stalling and that I only have about twenty-five minutes left of my lunch break.”

“Anyone ever tell you you're an impatient little thing, sometimes?” Margaret Louise plucked the pretzel from
Tori's outstretched fingers and popped it in her mouth with a mischievous grin.

“Anyone ever tell you you're a pill—albeit a loveable one—sometimes?”

Margaret Louise's grin morphed into a belly laugh and a nod of surrender. “Many times, Victoria, many times.”

She returned to her own sandwich but kept her attention firmly on the woman seated on the other side of the table. “So tell me, what do we or don't we have?”

“Oh, we got somethin' all right, Victoria.” Margaret Louise collected her sandwich crumbs into her hand, brushed them into the empty bag, and then moved the notebook from its holding spot on the bench to a prominent position on the table. With a flick of her thick wrist, she opened the notebook and flipped to the final third of its pages. “In the beginnin' I was plannin' on addin' anything I found to the correct suspect's page, but then I thought it made more sense just to put it all in one place and divvy it up later.”

“Okay . . .”

Keenly aware of the information she possessed, Margaret Louise took a slow, deep breath and shifted her weight forward against the edge of the table. “Gracelyn Moses had a run-in with Opal, too—the last one bein' one so silly Nina caught me mutterin' under my breath when she came into the office to fetch her lunch.”

Tori sat up tall, her last two remaining bites of sandwich forgotten. “Last one? You mean there was more than one run-in between them?”

“The articles I found didn't make mention of Gracelyn's feelin' 'bout things, but as a mama I can imagine how much her buttons must've been poppin'.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, it seems Gracelyn's children like ownin' their own businesses like my Jake. And 'bout a year ago, her son tried to open a motorcycle shop. Opal, from what the article said, wasn't havin' that in Jasper Falls. Said a shop like that would bring in the kind of people their town didn't need or want. The council tabled the request, and Opal bought that buildin' space right out from under Gracelyn's son.”

Tori plucked a pretzel from the napkin in the center of the table and nibbled off a few pieces of salt. “Interesting . . . what did
she
put in that space?”

“That, right there, Victoria, is why we do such good investigatin' together. We think alike.” Margaret Louise tapped the tip of her index finger to her temple. “I read that story and thought the same thing. So I did a little research on the address of that particular space, and guess what?”

“What?”

“It's vacant. Neat and tidy, yes, but empty.”

With no more salt left to nibble off, Tori popped the bite-sized pretzel into her mouth. “And the other incident between Gracelyn and Opal?”

“Well, 'bout a month ago, Gracelyn's daughter approached the board 'bout openin' a clothin' shop for teens. Seems Gracelyn's daughter is quite a seamstress and has always wanted to stock a shop with her own creations.”

“And?”

“Seems Opal didn't want that shop, either.”

She stopped chewing and stared at the woman on the other side of the table. “Why on earth not?”

“Gracelyn's daughter brought a few of her creations to the meetin' to show, and Opal took objection to some of the skirts bein' too short and the shirts bein' too revealin'.” Margaret Louise consulted her notes for a moment and then slowly lifted her gaze back to Tori's. “Opal said she wasn't goin' to support the further downgradin' of today's young people in Jasper Falls. So she bought that buildin', too.”

“Wow.”

“I know. Don't that just jar your preserves, Victoria?”

“Something like that, I guess.” Tori scooped up the napkin that had housed her sandwich and crumpled it into a ball. “Can you imagine actually having the kind of money that would enable you to buy a building and use it for nothing just so you can dictate what kind of businesses do or don't come into your town?”

“No, I can't. Nor can I imagine dashin' people's dreams like that. Opal should be ashamed of herself.”

“Opal's dead.” Tori stuffed the crumpled napkin into the lunch sack and then swiveled her left leg over the back side of the bench. “I've still got about fifteen minutes. Should we walk around the grounds a few times?”

“Sounds good to me. My twin is always gettin' after me 'bout exercisin'.”

They crossed the grass to the sidewalk and followed it east across the front edge of the property, the afternoon sun warming the tops of their heads between open breaks in the tree coverage. “I would imagine Gracelyn wasn't a big fan of Opal's after that whole thing with her kids, but was it a motive for murder?”

“If my Jake had his heart set on openin' a business, and someone came along and stepped all over his idea
for no reason than bein' mean, I'd be as mad as a bear with a sore butt.”

“I would be, too,” Tori said. “But would that be enough to make you
kill
someone?”

“Put a hurtin' on 'em? Sure. But killin' 'em? No. But then again, wantin' a citizens' police academy and havin' the idea get shot down by Opal ain't a reason to kill, either.”

Margaret Louise had a point. Yes, Samantha and Gracelyn both had reasons to despise the very ground Opal walked on. But there was a big gap between disliking someone and being able to wrap a cord around their neck and pull.

“I'm afraid you're right, Margaret Louise.” Tori released a sigh as they reached the southeast corner of the library grounds and turned left, the chance to stretch her legs proving to be more and more invigorating with each passing step. “I really should do this every day. It's nice to get a little fresh air after being cooped up all morning.”

“I prefer my fresh air sittin' on the front porch blowin' bubbles with one of my grandbabies.”

“Until I have my own children, I'll have to settle for walking, I guess.” Tori lifted her chin to the sun and smiled. “Milo wants to take me to Amish country over the holidays. He found a bed-and-breakfast there that he's all excited about.”

“Sleep Heavenly?” Margaret Louise asked between labored breaths.

Tori stopped. “You've been there?”

“Once. ‘Bout eight years ago while Jake's daddy was still alive, God rest his soul. There was a wonderful
woman runnin' that place all by herself. Put my cookin' to shame each and every night we were there.”

“I find that hard to believe. You are the most amazing cook I've ever met.” And she meant it. Margaret Louise's talent in the kitchen was practically legendary throughout Sweet Briar.

“Then you ain't never met Diane Weatherly—Sleep Heavenly's innkeeper extraordinaire. If you had, you'd be singin' her praises, too, Victoria.”

“Wow. You and Milo sure know how to paint an irresistible picture, don't you?”

“I ain't speakin' nothin' but the truth, Victoria.” Margaret Louise touched her stomach and gave it a jiggle. “See that? A good ten pounds of that came from that woman's cookin'. I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven.”

“But that was eight years ago,” Tori reminded.

“I reckon that's true. But that woman's cookin' is why I
put on
that ten. My eatin' is why I've
kept on
that ten.”

“Good afternoon, ladies. Beautiful weather we're having on this fine November day.”

Tori looked up to find Mr. Downing caning his way across the grounds. Under his left arm was a folded newspaper with the crossword puzzle he'd opted not to finish that morning. She knew this with absolute certainty because the elderly man's day followed a very specific routine—half the puzzle in the morning while sitting on the bench to the east of the library, half the puzzle in the late afternoon on the bench turned to face the western side. “Indeed it is, Mr. Downing. So how are you? Did you have a nice walk over to the fire station?”

“I did. And, for what it's worth, I beat Chief Granderson at a game of checkers. And when I was done, I beat
Chief Dallas at a game, too.” The elderly man slowed to a stop with the assistance of his cane. Once his balance was established, he pulled out the paper from its holding spot between his elbow and his side and waved it between Tori and Margaret Louise. “Most people in Rose Winters's position would probably close down their shop and give up. But not her—no siree. I like that in a woman.”

“You like
what
in a woman, Mr. Downing?”

“Spunk.” He unfolded the newspaper to reveal a sale flyer wedged inside. “I just hope it pays off.”

Confused, Tori followed the man's attention down to the brightly colored paper, its notification of a sale registering a split second before the SewTastic logo. “Oh. Wow. So Rose is really doing it—good for her.”

“You know somethin', Victoria? I've been wantin' to make some new placemats for Thanksgivin' Day. Somethin' festive and fun—like maybe Pilgrims and Indians. Wanna come with me to pick out just the right fabric when you get off work?”

At Tori's nod, Mr. Downing tucked the flyer back inside his paper and tightened his hold on his cane in preparation for his trek across the grounds to his favorite afternoon bench. “Now you ladies be sure to tell Rose I was asking about her, will you?”

Tori was so busy absorbing the latest holiday touches in SewTastic's front window, she was unprepared for Margaret Louise's sudden stop just inside the doorway.

“Whoa. Sorry about that, Margaret Louise,” she said, disengaging herself from the woman's back. “I didn't know you were stopping.”

“I—I—I . . .”

“Margaret Louise? Are you okay?”

Once again, Margaret Louise tried to speak, but as was the case the first time, nothing of any consequence came out.

Confused, Tori followed her friend's wide eyes across the shop to the woman standing behind the counter.

Tori did a double take.

Leona?

“I—I didn't know her forehead was capable of scrunchin' like that,” Margaret Louise whispered. “I thought Dr. Silverman's magic needle kept that from happenin'.”

“Am I the only one in this town who didn't know Leona has started consulting a plastic surgeon?”

Margaret Louise's brown eyes turned on Tori. “Started? How 'bout she's had Dr. Silverman on speed dial for 'bout ten years now.”

“How come I didn't know about this?”

“She wants people to believe she's been blessed with some sort of internal fountain of youth.”

“Then how come Charles knew?” Tori asked, her tone indignant even to her own ears.

“I'm not the one you should be askin' that question—”

Leona's chin whipped upward with a hint of boredom and disdain. “I should ask the two of you to stop clogging up the entryway, but since we haven't had a customer all day, you may as well just keep standing there babbling incessantly.”

“No one's come in?” Tori made her way around Margaret Louise and over to the counter. “At all?”

“Actually, that's not true. Manny from Bud's Brew Shack brought over the chef's salad I ordered at lunch . . . a handful of teenage boys came in on a dare . . . and Miranda is in the back office with Rose as we speak. Other than that, all interest shown toward SewTastic came from the sidewalk via pointed fingers and not-so-hushed voices.”

“What were they sayin'?” Margaret Louise ambled past Tori and leaned against the counter.

Leona pushed the store's ledger off to the side and
removed her glasses long enough to break her personal mantra regarding eye rubbing. “I believe the first group—those insufferable women from the town's springtime beautification committee—said they wouldn't be caught dead in this store. Of course the tall, gangly one with the gap in her teeth took the opportunity to make some sort of snide comment I chose to ignore.” Leona ventured out from behind the counter to flop down on the chair Rose had insisted they have for customers who needed to take a break from shopping. “Then, about an hour later, there was a woman clearly on her way into the shop when someone from the sidewalk pulled her aside and quite obviously filled her in on what happened over the weekend. Needless to say, she turned and walked away. I must say I hope she found herself a shoe store to stop in because the ones she was wearing were beyond hideous.”

Tori didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. Even Margaret Louise remained silent.

“Oh, and then there was the group who pulled out some sort of stick from one of their bags and used it to take a picture of themselves in front of the SewTastic sign. One picture was of them all smiling, one was of them looking shocked, and the other was of them pretending to choke one another with their bare hands.”

“Maybe they take crazy pictures everywhere they go and they just decided to take this one in front of the shop because of how pretty it looks.”

Leona cast a tired glare in Tori's direction. “And if you believe that, Victoria, I have the recipe for a perfect man I can sell you.”

“Victoria already has that, Twin.”

Clearly too tired to spar with her sister, Leona took off her glasses again and rested the back of her head against the chair. “SewTastic has become the tourist stop Rose and I wanted it to be—only it's for a reason that has nothing whatsoever to do with making sewing-related purchases and everything to do with Opal being strangled to death in our project room.”

“Was Rose around to see these people taking pictures of the shop and pointing at it all day?” Tori asked.

“Yes. She's the one who noticed it first.” Leona fiddled with her glasses for a moment but left them on her lap. “I just wish she could recognize the writing on the wall for what it is, rather than seeing it as some sort of indication we need to try something else—like this sale she insisted we have that hasn't even brought one single person through those doors today.”

“It brought in me and Victoria, didn't it?” Margaret Louise wandered over to the fabric containers and rifled through the one dedicated to the upcoming holiday season. “I'm wantin' to make placemats for our Thanksgivin' dinner this year, so I'm gonna be needin' a lot of fabric.”

Placing her glasses across the bridge of her nose, Leona stood and made her way over to the cutting table, the click of her heels against the tiled floor echoing around them. “I know what you're trying to do, Margaret Louise, and it is appreciated, but you can't make enough placemats to singlehandedly keep this place open.”

“Now Twin, we've all seen sicker dogs that got well.”

Tori looked from Leona to Margaret Louise and back again. “Dogs? When did we start talking about dogs?”

Positioning her hands on her slender yet still shapely
hips, Leona narrowed her eyes on her sister. “Name one, Margaret Louise.”

“Brady's Jewelry.”

“Hello?” Tori jiggled her hands between her friends but neither acknowledged the gesture. “Can one of you take a breath long enough to get me back up to speed?”

“That doesn't count!” Leona protested.

“Course it counts, Twin. If that shop can recover from a scandal
and
a murder, SewTastic can come bouncin' back after this thing with Opal. Ain't that right, Victoria?”

“This
thing
?” Leona snapped. “You mean this
murder
?”

Still unsure of how dogs tied in to the subject at hand, Tori finally managed to get the gist of the conversation volleying around her head. “You know something, Leona? Margaret Louise is right. Brady's Jewelry rebounded from way worse. If
they
can, so can you and Rose.”

Leona pointed to the fabric that had thus far garnered the most attention from Margaret Louise and, at her sister's nod of agreement, began to unravel it from its base. For a moment, Tori simply watched, the sight of uncut fabric one she'd loved since she was a little girl. She supposed some of that was the promise it held—of a new shirt or skirt, a placemat or a curtain. Some of it was also the knowledge that with a new project came time with dear friends like Rose.

Rose . . .

“So where is Rose again?” she asked, looking around.

Leona waited for Margaret Louise's approval on the amount she'd unraveled thus far and then prepared to cut. “She's in the office with Miranda. Brainstorming.”

“I thought that was on yesterday's agenda.”

“It was. This is, apparently, part two,” Leona drawled.

“May I check in with them?” she asked, hooking her thumb over her shoulder.

“Of course. And when you do, can you let Rose know I'll be closing up in about ten minutes? Charles and I have plans this evening, and I want to go home and freshen up a bit first.”

“What are you two plannin' on doin'?”

If Leona answered, Tori didn't hear the details. Instead, she headed down the hallway toward the surprisingly animated voices coming from the partially open doorway at its end. She couldn't make out what was being said, but she could tell, by her elderly friend's tone, that pessimism was giving way to something that sounded a bit like hope.

Tori stopped just outside the open door. “Rose?”

“Oh, Victoria . . . come in, come in.” Rose started to rise from her rocking chair, but stopped as Tori motioned for her to remain seated. “Miranda, you remember my special friend, Victoria, don't you?”

“Of course.” The business consultant stood and extended her hand to Tori. “I want you to know that it was lovely of you to bring that signed book all the way over to the inn for Lucinda on Sunday. It really lifted her spirits.”

“The book was from Debbie Calhoun, actually, but it was my pleasure to bring it by.” Tori waited for Miranda to reclaim her folding chair and then took possession of an empty one on the other side of Rose. “How is everyone doing? I imagine being forced to stay longer than anticipated must be rather upsetting for everyone.”

Brushing a renegade brown curl from her field of
vision, Miranda tsked softly under her breath. “For Samantha and Gracelyn, it's tiresome. From what I gather, Samantha is a real go-getter and doesn't like to sit idly by for any stretch of time. And Gracelyn is getting antsy because her kids are coming to visit her next weekend and she wants to be home, rolling out the red carpet and cooking all their favorite meals. So for them, yes, it's upsetting. But for Minnie and Lucinda, they're starting to see this as a sort of impromptu mini-vacation.”

At the mention of Minnie, Tori and Rose exchanged glances. If Miranda noticed though, she didn't let on. Instead, the woman Tori estimated to be somewhere between five and ten years her senior, continued. “I've talked to all of them as a group over breakfast at the inn, and individually in the parlor, and none of them seem to be equating this whole mess to SewTastic itself, so that's good. If they don't see it that way, they won't portray it that way. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean others won't.”

“I think the sale was a good step.”

Rose's shoulders hunched forward ever so slightly. “A good step that netted nothing in return.”

“Margaret Louise is buying some fabric right now,” Tori offered.

“We need other people, Victoria.”

She knew Rose was right. But she wasn't ready to accept defeat yet. “The sale just started, Rose. Give it a little time.”

“And we will, of course, but what happened here over the weekend is going to require use of a complete reset button.” Miranda tapped her finger atop the clipboard in her lap. “And this time, we need to work even harder
to generate the kind of buzz that will overpower any lingering negativity.”

“That makes sense. But how do you propose doing that? I mean, I'm sure you can host more tours, but don't you think a little distance between this one and a new one might be a good way to go?” Tori asked.

“We'll definitely do more tours,” Miranda replied. “But yes, we'll wait a few months before trying to fill a new one. And when we do, maybe we can get a few of the other businesses in town involved and bill it as a complete weekend away for the sewing enthusiast.”

“So then what kind of reset button are you talking about in terms of the immediate future?” Spying a bowl of pretzels atop Rose's makeshift desk, Tori helped herself to one and then held the bowl out for Miranda and Rose.

“We need to come up with a media campaign—radio, print, Internet, TV. But in order to do that, we need to hand deliver some aspect of this shop that will appeal to people. Like Rose's history as a seamstress, or maybe something about two unlikely forces uniting in a common endeavor, something like that.”

Tori set the bowl back on the desk. “And you think that could work?”

“I do. If we hit it hard and don't let up.”

She looked at Rose, the rapt interest on her friend's face setting off the faintest of warning bells in Tori's head. “This sounds all well and good, but I would imagine this would require a lot of time and attention on your part, Miranda—time and attention that will undoubtedly carry a hefty bill. Are you sure Leona is going to
want to sink even more money into this place on what is, essentially, a gamble at this point?”

Miranda hugged her clipboard to her chest and shared a knowing smile with Rose. “Normally, yes, services like this would be billable. But I've agreed to do the work, free of charge, in exchange for a testimonial from Rose and Leona. Like them, I'm trying to get my business up off the ground, and positive word of mouth is the best form of advertisement there is.”

“And Miranda knows the TV side of things really well. She even thinks we could wrangle a story on one of the local morning shows!”

There was no denying the unrestrained hope in Rose's voice—hope that had been sorely missing in every telephone conversation they'd had since Opal's murder. Even better though, was the sweet smile helping to ignite a rare light in her bifocal-enhanced eyes.

“Miranda, I don't know how to thank you,” Tori said, scooting forward on her chair. “I've been so focused on trying to help figure out who did this, I haven't had any time to really brainstorm ways to help keep the shop afloat.”