Sew Deadly (13 page)

“That’s what librarians are supposed to do.”

“If that’s the case, then you’re an overachiever.”

Tori stifled a small laugh. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“I’m not surprised.” Milo Wentworth pushed up off the ground, his face contorting in momentary discomfort. “You think I’d avoid the Indian-style position after a while, wouldn’t you? The old body simply isn’t as limber as it once was.”

“I think the nursing home is still a few years off, Mr. Wentworth.” Tori gestured toward the students who were verbally sharing their construction triumphs and challenges with one another. “So what’s the real reason nearly half your students didn’t show?”

“I, uh”—the elementary school teacher shifted from foot to foot in dramatic fashion—“should it take this long to regain feeling in your legs?”

“No.” Tori folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Okay, look, I imagine Jonathan had a doctor’s appointment. Jeffrey probably did, too. Sometimes parents put off physicals until the kids are back in school. It’s disruptive to their learning but it is what it is.” He looked at his class, his desire for a hand to raise almost as tangible as the navy blue button-down shirt he wore atop a pair of khaki slacks. “I think Brian might need a hand.”

“Nina has two.” She stepped forward, blocking the man’s path. “I’m the reason they didn’t come, aren’t I?”

Milo’s face reddened. “Tori, I-I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything.” Swallowing over the lump that sprang into her throat, Tori blinked away the threat of tears. It wasn’t that she was surprised—not really. It was more the pain that accompanied the confirmation.

Sweet Briar hated her.

“I didn’t harm that woman.” The words, tentative in nature at first, grew more forceful as she grit her teeth and repeated the mantra. “I didn’t harm that woman, Milo. You have to believe me.”

The man reached out, his surprisingly muscular lower arm making a brief appearance as his shirt sleeve fell back. His hand, warm and caring, sent shivers through her body. “I never considered otherwise, Tori. And I suspect”—he nodded his head at the children—“their parents didn’t either.”

His hand left her arm and traveled to her chin, tilted it upward until her eyes opened. “The parents all knew we were coming to the library today. And they all know you’re the librarian.”

She slowly nodded, waited for the man’s words to chip away some of the hurt.

“Some people have a brain in their head, Tori. And that’s all they really need to know these suspicions are ludicrous.” He dropped his voice even lower. “A woman who dreams of putting together a place for children to re-create their favorite stories isn’t the kind of person who would drug someone. It just doesn’t fit.”

Her head snapped up. “Drug?”

“Yeah. I heard it at the bakery this morning. Apparently it showed up on the preliminary lab work.”

She felt her shoulders slump with relief. “Then it wasn’t murder?”

Milo’s eyebrows formed an upside-down
V
. “Of course it was. Tiffany Ann was anything but a drug addict. Besides—traces of whatever it was were found in some drink they found near the body.”

“Drink?” In an instant she was behind the Dumpster once again, her mind inventorying everything she could remember about the body. “There wasn’t a—”

The coffee cup.

“Oh.” She dropped her head into her hand, kneaded the skin above her eyes. It made sense now. Investigator McGuire’s questions about chemistry and science weren’t designed to lighten the mood or foster a little small talk. No siree. They were a net. A great big net.

And she’d jumped right in without so much as a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m such an idiot,” she mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” She popped her head up, glancing over at the children. There wasn’t a thing she could do about the comments she’d made in her home the night before. As incriminating as they may have sounded, they’d been stated with the utmost innocence. Because she
was
innocent. A fact she would prove one way or the other.

“Is it okay if I take Lulu into my office and read with her for a few minutes?” She glanced back at Milo. “I promised her we’d read together and I want to make good on my word.”

He cocked his head to the side as he studied her closely. “Are you sure you’re up for that? We can postpone until next week.”

“No. This is every bit as important. To me.” She nodded to her assistant. “Nina, can you hold down the fort with Mr. Wentworth? I only need about ten minutes.”

“Of course, Miss Sinclair.” The woman looked over the head of the sandy-haired boy. “We’re doing fine.”

Satisfied, Tori knelt beside Lulu. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

The little girl looked up from her work in progress as a shy smile inched her mouth upwards. “I think so.”

“Then let’s go.” She slipped her hand around the child’s smaller one and led the way to her office. “Are you having fun, Lulu?”

After an awkward beat of silence the child nodded. “You make learning fun. All the kids think so. Even the ones who couldn’t come today.”

“I’m glad.” And she was. She just wished people would believe in her innocence. They rounded the corner from the hallway into her office and made a beeline for two small rattan chairs she’d grouped in the corner. “Does this look like a good place to read, Lulu?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The child settled into the chair with the soft yellow cushion and waited—eyes wide—for Tori to claim the lavender one. “I forgot to bring a book.”

“I have one for you.” Reaching into the tote bag she’d set next to the chair when she arrived that morning, Tori pulled out a well-worn copy of the first Little House picture book she’d found. The easy-to-read stories were based on one small memory from the larger independent reader volumes. “Do you know who this is?”

Lulu’s eyes searched the cover as her mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Laura?”

Tori nodded. “That’s right.”

“I didn’t know she had books
I
could read. I just thought she had the stories Mee-Maw reads at bedtime.”

Pulling the empty chair even closer to Lulu’s, Tori sat down. “I didn’t either. And then one day, when I was visiting a tiny little bookstore in Chicago, I found them. There’s lots of them just like this one. Within a week I had a copy of each in the library where I worked . . . and bought duplicates for my own collection.”

“Wow.” Lulu slowly opened the cover. “This is about her birthday.”

Tori clapped her hands softly. “You’re right. Great reading. Now, read me the whole story.”

Scooting farther into the chair, Lulu began to read. Her shy, quiet voice was nearly impossible to hear as she stumbled through each and every word on the first two pages. When she reached the end of the second page, Tori stopped her with a gentle hand.

“That was very good, Lulu.” She leaned forward, made eye contact with the child behind the pages of the raised book. “Who likes Laura’s stories best . . . your monkey or your elephant?”

“Ellie does.”

“Which one is Ellie?”

“My elephant. She likes to play Laura with me. ’Cept when we play, Ellie is Laura’s dog, Jack.”

“How about we pretend Ellie is sitting on my lap, listening to you read. She can hardly wait to hear the kind of presents Laura gets on her birthday. . . .”

Sure enough, the child’s words became more relaxed as she continued on, her voice more sure with each passing word. At the end of each page she stopped to look at the pictures that accompanied it, pointing out different things to the pretend elephant.

Before either of them knew it, the book was finished. Lulu’s eyes danced across the front cover as the smile returned to her face.

“Did you enjoy that, Lulu?” she asked.

“Oh, yes!”

“You’re a very good reader.”

The smile disappeared. “No, I’m not. Jeffrey says I’m slow. And Annabelle says no one can hear me.”

Tori lifted the book from the child’s hand and placed it in a small grocery bag she’d packed inside the tote bag. “I don’t think you’re slow—I think you read just right. And Ellie and I heard you just fine.”

Lulu looked up from the book. “Really?” she whispered.

“Really.” She handed the bag to Lulu and stood. “Now how about I let you borrow this for the week. You can take it home and read it to all of Ellie’s friends.”

The child gasped. “Mee-Maw, too?”

“Mee-Maw, too.”

Jumping down from the chair, Lulu grabbed hold of Tori’s waist. “I love you, Miss Sinclair.”

Choking back an unexpected sob, Tori simply rubbed the child’s back. Somehow, despite the facts she knew to be true, she’d let the way Sweet Briar saw her affect the way she saw herself.

But no more.

Inhaling courage and determination, Tori gently extricated herself from the child’s arms. “Shall we get you back to your class?”

Lulu nodded, the heartfelt emotion she’d shared through her hug evident in her sparkling eyes. She looked down at the bag she’d grabbed and then back up at Tori. “I’ll bring this back next week. I promise.”

“I know you will. And maybe you could read me another one then?”

“Oh, yes!”

Hand in hand the pair returned to the library, the smile on Lulu’s face a match for the one Tori felt on her own. Suddenly the hurdles in front of her didn’t seem so insurmountable any longer. The truth would come out. It had to.

“Well, I think that went well, don’t you?” Tori popped the last of the Egyptian pyramid books onto the shelf and turned to face Nina. “The kids did a great job on their pyramids, and they were talking a mile a minute on the way out the door.”

“They sure love you.” Nina rounded up the last of the leftover Popsicle sticks and placed them into the box. “Do you see the way all the glue bottles are back in the basket and the scissors stacked beside it? That was the kids’ idea—with no prompting. They did it to please you.”

“I think they’re just good kids.” Tori strode across the room and reached for the stack of books on the information desk. She turned the top one over and studied the spine.

“I imagine you’re right. But they organized the supplies for you. I heard them.” Nina placed the basket of glue and pile of scissors behind the counter and grabbed a second pile of books. “And I don’t think they’re the only ones in that class who are taken by you.”

“You mean, Lulu? She is such a precious little girl, Nina. You should have heard how hard she worked to read that book to me.” Tori placed the reference book on the proper shelf then moved on to the next book in the stack. “I think she’s capable of being an amazing reader. Her love for books will see to that.”

“I wasn’t referring to Lulu, Miss Sinclair.”

“Huh?” Tori placed the next four books in their proper place with barely a thought, her feel for a library akin to a plane’s autopilot feature. In fact, ever since she was about Lulu’s age, she’d never felt more at home anywhere than she did in a library. Within moments of being in a new branch she had the layout memorized—cookbooks, reference, mysteries, romances, international culture, children’s . . .

She glanced down at the final book in her hand, a wave of anger threatening to chase away the hard-earned peace she’d found over the past hour.

Sweet Briar City Structure and Laws
.

“I was talking about their teacher—
Mr. Wentworth
.”

She heard her assistant’s voice, even suspected she should be paying attention. But all she could think about was Dixie Dunn.

Tori turned to page five, the pages turning with ease.

“I can hardly believe the ruckus that woman caused all because of a stain you can barely see now.” She held the book into the air for Nina to see. “To hear her talk you’d think a coffee stain in a book was worthy of the gas cham—”

Coffee.

Tori gulped. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Said what?” Nina asked.

“About the coffee.”

Nina moved between shelves, replacing books that had been left on tables by various patrons throughout the morning. “Yeah, I heard what Mr. Wentworth told you earlier. About that poor girl and the coffee.”

Confident the stain wasn’t a hindrance to the book, Tori closed the cover and shelved it in the local section. “It’s heartbreaking. For her family. Her friends. The town.

I can only hope she didn’t suffer.”

“I know. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.” Nina shelved the last of her books and met Tori at the information desk. “I just wish . . . I don’t know.”

“Wish what?”

Nina shrugged, her voice hesitant. “I don’t know. I guess . . . I guess I just wish I could have taken that cup of coffee away from her.”

“I think everyone does,” Tori said, her hand closing over her assistant’s and offering a gentle squeeze. “It’s what sets decent people apart from the kind who could do something like that.”

Chapter 10

She couldn’t help but feel as if she should be standing behind one of the booths charging a fee for the right to stare. There was certainly a booth for everything else—barbecue, roasted ears of corn, pies, and fried dough sprinkled with powdered sugar. So why couldn’t there be one that provided fairgoers with an up close look at the scarlet librarian? At least then the humiliation she felt would be for a good cause.