Sew Deadly (12 page)

“I’m glad. I’ve seen enough of Daniel McGuire to last a lifetime.” Tori reached down, lifted a ladybug off the porch floor, and held it out for the children to see. “Did you guys have fun out back?”

“Yes, ma’am, we threw my sister’s bouncy ball back and forth and . . . uh-oh.” Jake Junior hurtled down the stairs, followed by his siblings. “We’ll be right back. Sally left her ball in the backyard.”

As she watched Margaret Louise’s grandchildren run around her cottage she felt her shoulders begin to relax. Sure, Daniel McGuire was still nipping at her heels but at least he wasn’t checking up on her less than an hour after he left.

“You mentioned Popsicle sticks.” Margaret Louise stepped back as the children returned, their breathing heavy from the extra run. After several gulps of air she shooed them back down the stairs, falling into step behind them. “Whatever do you need Popsicle sticks for?”

Tori leaned over the railing, offered a wave and a smile to each of the children before focusing on the woman who’d given her the first ray of hope she’d felt all day. “Tomorrow’s version of butter-making with Lulu’s class.”

“I see. Though how I can see anythin’ without a porch light is beyond me.” Margaret Louise stopped at the spot where Tori’s front walk joined the street. “Put the sticks out of your mind—you’ll have them in your hand first thing in the mornin’. In the meantime, make sure your eyes are wide and your ears are open. We’ve got ourselves a criminal to catch.”

Chapter 9

Margaret Louise was right. The key to getting Investigator Daniel McGuire and the rest of Sweet Briar off her back was to hand them Tiffany Ann Gilbert’s murderer on a silver platter. Problem was, Tori didn’t know much about the girl besides the obvious—she’d been drop-dead gorgeous and had an undeniable knack for fashion.

Bearing down on the pen she’d been playing with for the past fifteen minutes, Tori made her first entry on the sheet of paper she’d titled Suspects.

A jealous friend . . . someone who resented her beauty . . . or maybe wanted her boyfriend.

It was a start. A lame one, but a start nonetheless. Then again, it was the last five words on the list that made her a viable suspect in the eyes of Sweet Briar residents.

She crossed them off her sheet.

But even as she did so, she knew it was a possibility. Soap operas created monthlong story arcs out of an emotion like jealousy. Nighttime crime shows were littered with the corpses of people who’d been on the receiving end of jealousy’s wrath

It happened. On TV and off.

Unfortunately for her, everyone in Sweet Briar was missing one crucial piece in the Who-Killed-Tiffany Ann puzzle.

Tiffany Ann Gilbert had a
crush
on Milo Wentworth. A simple puppy dog crush. Nothing more. Tori wasn’t a threat to that in any way, shape, or form. Other than a brief encounter at the library a week ago, she didn’t even know Milo Wentworth. And she’d never laid eyes on Tiffany Ann until—

She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, then opened them once again.

She had to stay calm. It was the only way to stay on her toes.

“Miss Sinclair?”

“Yes, Nina?” Tori looked up from the sheet of paper on her desk and smiled at the petite woman standing just outside her office.

“Mr. Davis just dropped this off for you.” Nina took a tentative step inside the room then stopped. “If it makes more sense for me to keep it up front, I can do that.”

Tori looked from the white box in her assistant’s hand to the expression of uncertainty on her face. “I don’t know a Mr. Davis.”

“He was real nice. Asked me to make sure you got these right away.” Nina set the box on Tori’s desk and opened the lid to reveal its contents. “Looks like we’ve got more ’n enough, don’t you think?”

She sucked in a breath. “Mr. Davis—
Jake
Davis . . . of course,” she said, her voice dipping with a burst of unexpected emotion. Margaret Louise had come through for her—just as she’d promised. “Is he still here?”

Nina shook her head. “He just asked me to make sure you got them.”

She pulled the box closer, reached in, and fingered the top layer of one-inch sticks that would soon be the tools with which sixteen eight-year-olds would delve into the past. “We need to make sure to get some pictures today. We can use them in photo collages I’d like to see on some of the walls throughout the building, and we can send a few copies to Mr. Davis as a thank-you.”

“I take it you didn’t find your sticks?” Nina asked.

Tori tossed her hands into the air. “I found virtually every other craft supply known to mankind except them.” She pushed her chair back from the desk and stood. “Casualty of a scattered mind, I guess.”

“Scattered? You?” Nina laughed—a soft, happy sound that lit the tiny office despite the cloud-filled sky outside. “You’re the least scattered person I’ve ever met. You’re
always
on the ball.”

“Not the past few days.” Tori slipped her pathetic attempt at detective work into a folder on her desk. “I can’t seem to focus on anything.”

“That’s understandable, Miss Sinclair. And it’s most unfair.” Nina’s eyes, round and solemn, chased away any remnants of the smile that had graced her face just seconds earlier. “I don’t understand how anyone could think you’d kil—I mean, that you would mur—I mean—”

“It’s okay, Nina. Just knowing you don’t believe it helps more than you can know.” She left the safety of her desk and embraced the woman who—along with Margaret Louise—was her most loyal supporter. “We need to go about our day as if nothing is wrong. A library is supposed to be a place of peace. And I think we both need that right now, don’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Sinclair.” Nina turned toward the door, Tori on her heels. “Mr. Wentworth and the children should be arriving any minute now.”

Tori glanced down at her wristwatch then backtracked to her desk for the box of sticks. “You have the glue, right?”

“Yes. I set out all the bottles on the table over by the reading area—”

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

Milo Wentworth.

“Perfect, Nina. Thank you.” She fell in step with her assistant as they made their way up the narrow hallway and into the library. “Mr. Wentworth . . . children . . . we’re so glad to see all of you again. How is everyone?”

A chorus of
good
s echoed against the wall despite the students’ efforts to use their best library voices.

“It looks like we’re missing a few students today.” She mentally counted each student, stopping when she hit nine. “Is there a stomach bug going around?”

Milo Wentworth shifted from foot to foot, his eyes searching her face as he spoke. “Possibly. It’s hard to tell just yet—”

“Jeffrey isn’t sick. His mama is bringing him to school as soon as we’re back from here.” A sandy-haired boy leaned back on his hands and wiggled around. “And Jonathan was in school for spelling and writing but his dad came and got him when we lined up. Guess he don’t like the li-berry too much.”

“I saw Caroline last night. We blew bubbles together and chased some fireflies. She’s not sick neither.” A little girl with the name tag Hanna filled her cheeks with air then pushed it out with her finger. “But she loves the library. She likes books more ’n toys!”

A collective gasp distracted the children as Tori met their teacher’s eyes.

“Milo? What’s going on?”

With a clap of his hands he stepped forward, breaking eye contact with Tori in deliberate fashion. “Okay, boys and girls, we need to give Miss Sinclair our undivided attention. I know she’s got lots of fun prepared for us today.”

“We’ll talk later,” she hissed under her breath as she took the man’s cue, her stomach twisting at the unspoken reality.

The missing students hadn’t been
allowed
to come.

Because of her.

Blinking quickly against the tears that threatened to make their debut, Tori took her place in front of the students. “I understand you’ve been studying pyramids in history, is that right?”

“Yes!” shouted the children.

“Who can tell me where we would find pyramids.”

The sandy-haired boy raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“In the sand.”

“O-kay. Very good. But does anyone know what country?” Tori looked around at the faces of the children assembled in front of her, spotted Lulu’s long dark hair off to the side, the child’s face tilted downward. “Lulu? Can you help us?”

Startled, the child looked up, her large, dark eyes meeting Tori’s. Margaret Louise’s granddaughter simply nibbled her bottom lip inward and shook her head.

“Are you sure?”

The child dropped her head, shaking it even harder.

Milo Wentworth lowered himself to the ground beside the little girl, his hand finding her shoulder and offering a gentle squeeze of encouragement. “You know this answer, Lulu. And I think Miss Sinclair could use your help.”

Lulu slowly raised her face once again. “Egypt,” she whispered.

“Excellent, Lulu. Yes, pyramids are found in Egypt. Very nice.” Tori winked a smile at the child and then moved on with the lesson, anxious to undo any cloud that might be hanging over the field trip whether the children were aware of its presence or not. “Did you know that scholars today believe it took twenty thousand men more than twenty years to build the Great Pyramid?”

A collective
wow
rose up among the students.

“Pyramids were made of stone, which means they’re solid. No walls or pillars were needed to support them like you’d find in your home or”—she motioned around the room—“this library.

“While it is still a mystery how these structures were built, we do know that the pyramid’s large square base kept it stabilized.”

“What’s
stabilized
mean?” the sandy-haired boy asked.

“
Stabilized
means it didn’t move or sway. It just stayed put.” Tori retrieved a picture book from the table at her side and opened the cover, turning the book for the children to see. “Do you see this picture? Do you see how the pyramid seems to be pointing at the sky?”

Heads nodded while a few hands wandered.

“Does anyone know why it may have had that shape?” Tori looked around the room as she continued to slowly turn the pages of the book, each picture showing a different pyramid. “The belief is that the pyramid was built to symbolize the sacred mountain—a way for people to reach—”

“Heaven.” Lulu’s voice, quiet but sure, permeated the silence in the room. “That’s what Mee-Maw told me.”

“Your Mee-Maw is a very smart lady, Lulu. That’s exactly right.” Tori turned the page, peeking over the edge of the book to smile at the little girl who seemed as shocked as her teacher that she’d spoken without prompting.

“Now, because the pyramids were built of stone at a time when there weren’t big trucks to move them from place to place, it is a mystery as to how they were constructed.”

“Cool!” The four little boys in the class shot their hands into the air and high-fived each other.

“I like mysteries,” said one of the boys. “I like trying to figure stuff out—’specially the kind nobody else can figure out.”

“Are you available for consultant work?”

“What’s
con-sul-tant
mean?” the boy asked.

Oops.

Ignoring the look of blatant curiosity Milo Wentworth shot in her direction, Tori simply smiled and shook her head. “Don’t mind me. I had a silly moment. But I will say that you’re all going to get a chance at trying to figure out the mystery of how a pyramid is built.”

“Really?” asked the group of boys.

“Really.” Tori set the book down and motioned to Nina for the box of Popsicle sticks. “We’re not going to be able to answer the question as to how they moved the stone . . . but we are going to try and figure out how a pyramid is built.”

Taking the box of sticks from Nina’s outstretched hand, she opened the lid and removed a stick. “We have glue and scissors on the tables to my left. If you find it hard to cut the sticks, let either Mrs. Morgan or me know and we’ll be happy to help.” She removed several hand fuls of sticks and scattered them around the tables. “I’d also like everyone to take a moment and thank Lulu for making this activity possible.”

“Thank you, Lulu!”

The little girl looked up, surprise evident in her dark eyes as her fellow classmates made a beeline for the tables.

Tori picked up a stick and waved it at Lulu. “I misplaced the sticks I had for this project. But Marg—I mean, your Mee-Maw—asked your father to bring me some this morning. And he did.” She reached behind her back and pulled out a chair for Margaret Louise’s grand knee-baby, tapping her tiny upturned nose as she scurried past. “Do as much as you can on your pyramid and then,” she lowered her voice, “we’ll read.”

“Okay,” the little girl whispered, a mixture of pride and anxiety rippling across her face. “I’ve been practicing.”

As the nine eager third graders set to work on solving the mystery of the Egyptian pyramids, Tori inched her way over to their teacher.

“You’re very good with them,” he said as she closed the gap between them.