Sew Deadly (9 page)

Sweet Briar City Structure and Laws
.

Was this a trick question?

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Ms. Dunn. We’re not asking anyone to
buy
another copy.”

“You best be.”

She opened the front cover, thumbed through the relatively thin volume. “I don’t see a prob—”

“Page five,” Dixie spat.

O-kay
.

Tori set the book down, turned the pages one by one until she reached page f—

“You see? I just can’t abide by this drinking rule.”

Sure enough, page four and five were stuck together. Gently, and with practiced hands, Tori separated the two pages to find a faded light brown circular stain.

Coffee.

“Ms. Dunn, it’s going to happen. Fortunately, most people
are
responsible enough to refrain from placing a cup directly on a book. As for the policy itself, libraries all across the country are inviting patrons to bring a cup of coffee inside with them. Some are even opening small cafes inside the building. It’s a way to make the library seem more relaxed, more accessible.” Tori ran her hand across the faintly marked page and slid it—open—to the corner of her desk. “I’ll let it dry out and it should be fine.”

“Drying it isn’t going to make a cotton-pickin’ difference.”

Realizing there was more at work behind the elderly woman’s anger than a faint coffee stain, Tori crossed her tiny office and opened the door, stepping aside to allow the former librarian to pass. “I really must get back to work, Ms. Dunn.”

The elderly woman’s eyes narrowed to near slits as she inventoried Tori’s body from head to toe, taking in her soft gray slacks and matching fitted jacket. “After the board sees that book . . . realizes what happened here last night . . . you’d best be looking for another job.”

“The board is aware of last night’s tragedy. As for the book, I’ll be more than happy to replace it with a new copy. At my own expense.” Tori motioned the woman into the hallway, stepping out of the way as her stout body barreled by. “Thank you for stopping in and voicing your concern.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Dixie Dunn stopped in her tracks and spun around, hooked a bony finger in Tori’s direction. “This has always been
my
library, and it’s only a matter of time before it’s mine once again.”

She reached into the small paper sack and extracted the sandwich she’d prepared that morning. The ham and cheese she’d hoped would sound better by the time lunch came around, didn’t. Neither did the apple or chips she’d tossed in along with it.

It was official. Constant flashbacks of Tiffany Ann’s lifeless body was an appetite suppressant.

Shoving the sandwich back into the bag, Tori leaned against the white cinder block exterior of the Sweet Briar Public Library and briefly closed her eyes. The moment she’d discovered the girl behind the Dumpster everything had blurred—the screams she’d cried, the panicked phone call she’d made, the hustle and bustle that had followed after nearly an hour of waiting.

Alone.

With a dead body.

When Investigator Daniel McGuire from Tom’s Creek had finally arrived, she was numb, unable to say much more than how she came upon the victim. Though, in retrospect, what more could she have said? It was the first time she’d laid eyes on the young woman.

Convincing the investigator of that had been the difficult part. No matter how many times she said it, he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that she knew things about the victim yet hadn’t actually met her. Then again, he’d probably never experienced the kind of gossip that took place in a sewing circle.

“He’ll figure it out.” The words drifted from her mouth with the same soft summer breeze that ruffled her hair. It wasn’t until the hushed voices at the base of the maple tree ceased, that she realized she’d spoken aloud.

Greatttt.

Not that talking to herself changed much of anything. The circle of women had been looking at her since the moment she’d sat down on the library steps. As if she was some sort of new zoo animal. An inhabitant Dixie Dunn wanted removed—the sooner the better.

“People around here aren’t used to seeing new faces, Victoria.”

Leona’s words filtered through her mind as she raised her face to the noonday sun and closed her eyes once again. In many ways she
was
the new zoo animal. From a big city zoo, no less.

“You’ll find your place, I just know it. You have a happiness about you that will win everyone over. You just wait and see.”

Oh, how she hoped Leona was right.

On impulse, Tori rose from her spot on the steps and headed in the direction of the women. Perhaps they were simply curious about who she was yet too shy to introduce themselves.

Or maybe not.

The second her destination became obvious, the women scattered like fireflies on a warm summer’s night, seemingly desperate to avoid her at all costs.

“Miss Sinclair?”

Distracted, Tori turned back toward the library, saw her assistant standing at the door.

“Yes, Nina?” She knew her voice sounded flat, but she was exhausted. And maybe even a little homesick.

“Mr. Wentworth from the school is on the phone. He confirmed his class visit tomorrow morning and then asked to speak directly with you.” Nina’s gaze skirted across the tree-covered grounds of the library, her attention alternating between Tori and the few remaining women who’d simply moved their cluster to a patch of shade across the street. “Would you prefer I take a message?”

Tori peeked at her watch and shrugged. She wasn’t going to eat anyway. So what difference did it make?

“I’ll take it, thank you.” She marched up the steps, grabbed her paper sack from its perch against the wall, and followed Nina into the library. In the absence of patrons, she opted to answer the teacher’s call from the main library extension.

“Mr. Wentworth, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. What can I do for you?” She exhaled slowly as she waited for the man’s reply, her head pounding once again.

“
Milo
, please. Nina confirmed the third grade’s visit to the library tomorrow. The kids are really looking forward to it. But . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment only to return on a slightly quieter note. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Okay?” She massaged her temple with the fingers of her free hand. “I don’t understand.”

“Last night. Behind the library. You were the one who found Tiffany Ann Gilbert’s body, weren’t you?”

A deafening silence filled her ear as her stomach began to churn at the memory.

“Yes.” She tightened her grip on the phone as she sank onto the stool behind the information counter. “I can’t get the image out of my mind.”

“Tori, I’m so sorry. It must have been awful for you.” A momentary silence morphed into a parade of hurried, yet hesitant, words. “Look, I know you’re new here. And that you don’t really know anyone. But if you need to, um, talk or anything . . . you . . . could, um, give me a call. If you want.”

Under normal circumstances, Milo Wentworth’s shy gesture would have piqued her curiosity. Today, though, it barely registered.

“I appreciate that but—”

“Oh. I’m sorry. That was mighty presumptuous of me. I’m sure you have lots of people you can talk to.”

The disappointment in the man’s voice broke through her pity-party. “No. It’s not that. I-I’m just tired, I guess. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

An audible breath released in her ear. “I figured as much. I figured, too, that your idea for the children’s room never got presented to the board.”

“In light of the circumstances, the meeting was canceled.” It was funny how something that had claimed her attention for the past week had become so unimportant in the matter of mere seconds. “We rescheduled though, for next week.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it. It’s a tremendous idea. Something the kids will just adore.”

“I hope you’re right.” She looked around the empty library, tried not to let her thoughts travel to the parking lot. But it was no use. “I’m sorry about Tiffany Ann. I know you knew her.”

“I tutored her when she was twelve, made casual conversation whenever our paths met in subsequent years . . . but beyond that, I didn’t know her that well.”

A tap on her shoulder made her turn.

“Miss Sinclair,” her assistant whispered, “you have another call on line two. Miss Leona Elkin.”

Leona.

In the span of less than two weeks, Tori had come to treasure her time with Leona, a woman who was both wise in her thoughts and generous with her wisdom. Two qualities she desperately needed at the moment.

“Tori? You still there?”

“Wha—oh, I’m sorry, Milo. I have another call.” Not wanting to appear rude after he’d been so nice, she forced her voice to sound as upbeat as possible. “We look forward to seeing the children tomorrow.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow then.” The man cleared his throat quickly. “Um, well, take care of yourself, Tori.”

“Thank you.” She waited for the click in her ear before rising to her feet. “I’ll take Ms. Elkin’s call in my office.”

“Yes, Miss Sinclair.” Nina glanced down at the floor and then back up at Tori, her voice a mere whisper despite the empty room. “Ms. Dunn was sure all-fired mad. I hate to see her trying to dirty-up your name the way she is. I’ve worked with her and I’ve worked with you, and you’re mighty special, Miss Sinclair.”

Tori swallowed over the unexpected lump in her throat. “Thank you, Nina. That means a lot.”

“And I’m not the only one who thinks that. There’s no fooling children. They see what’s inside a person better ’n adults, and they
adore
you.”

Blinking against the hint of moisture in her eyes, Tori squeezed her assistant’s hand. “If you don’t quit I’m going to be sniffing my way through this phone call. But thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Sinclair.”

She headed down the small hallway off the back of the main room, the same one that led to the storage room and an exterior door to the parking lot. The staff-only exit had been a godsend when hauling worthless books to the Dumpster the past week. Though, with as many trips as she made yesterday alone, none of them had been in time to save Tiffany Ann Gilbert. Whatever had happened to the girl had happened quickly.

And quietly.

With no one the wiser.

Had Tiffany Ann had some sort of medical condition? Or had she—as the sewing circle had alluded—battled a drug problem that won out in the end?

Whatever it was, it was a shame. Twenty-two was simply too young to die.

Shaking her head free of the suffocating sadness, Tori reached for the phone on her desk. “Leona? Are you still there?”

“Hello, Victoria. How are you holding up?”

“You’ve heard?”

“News travels through Sweet Briar quickly, dear.”

She leaned back in her chair, rested her head against the seat back. “It was awful, Leona. Absolutely awful. There she was, against the backside of the Dumpster, looking . . . looking just as perfect and pretty as everyone said. But she was
dead
, Leona!” She inhaled deeply, willed herself to calm down. “And then, when I tried to call the police, some operator told me the chief was on vacation.”

“That’s right, dear. Police Chief Dallas is on his annual fishing trip up north. When that happens, any problems that arise are passed on to one of the surrounding departments.”

“That’s what Investigator McGuire said last night.”

A slow intake of air in her ear surprised her. “Ooooh. That Daniel is quite a man, isn’t he?”

“Daniel?”

“Daniel McGuire. The investigator. He came into my shop this morning to ask a few questions. Twenty minutes with that man and I found myself wondering if Margaret Louise had been right about me needing to find someone. Then again, I’ve always been partial to a man in uniform.”

She sat up. “Did he buy something?”

“Dear?”

“At your shop.” Tori glanced out the window, noticed the new cluster of people staring in her direction. “Did he buy something at your shop?”

“No. He was there on official business.”

“Official business?” She tried to ignore the pointing and the talking that accompanied the looks—

“Why, Tiffany’s murder, of course.”

Her head snapped up. “Murder?”

Leona’s voice increased an octave. “Good heavens, Victoria, of course it was murder. What else could it be?”

“An overdose . . .”

“An overdose? Where would you get th—oh . . . the talk last week? At the sewing circle?”

Tori swiveled her chair away from the window. “Yes. Georgina suspected Tiffany Ann was involved with drugs.”

“She said
Thomas
suspected that. But he wasn’t in Sweet Briar when Tiffany Ann was growing up.”

“Neither were you, Leona,” she pointed out, her voice hesitant.

“Margaret Louise was. And she pooh-poohed it instantly.”

“Yes she did. But even
you
said it was possible.”

“Did I?” The woman’s voice grew quiet as she seemed to reflect on Tori’s words. “I don’t recall. But either way, dear, I suspect there’s much more to Tiffany Ann’s death. If there wasn’t, why would Daniel have been asking so many questions?”

Why indeed.

Her eyes fell on the stack of proposals she’d prepared for the board, a new thin binder playing host to each member’s copy. The many ideas she envisioned for the children’s room were listed in bulleted fashion on the first two pages with sketches rounding out her presentation.

As hard as it was, she needed to focus her attention back on the library. Tiffany Ann was gone. There was nothing she could do to change that. The how and why were up to the police to unravel.

Still, she was curious. “What kind of questions?” she asked as she plucked a number two pencil from the wooden holder on her desk and slid it back and forth between her fingers.

“Well, strangely enough, he asked a lot of questions about
you
, dear.”