Taken In (14 page)

Despite the fun she’d ended up having at the sea lion show, and the reassurance Charles’s offer had given her in terms of Dixie’s well-being that night, nothing was able to quiet Tori’s mind in quite the same way as hearing Milo’s voice on the other end of the line. Although they were a good seven hundred miles apart from each other in a physical sense, there was something about his soothing voice that made him feel infinitely closer.

“I’m worried about you, baby,” he said earnestly. “I can hear the exhaustion in your voice. Are you getting any sleep at all?”

She considered telling him the simple truth but knew that would only increase his worry. Besides, what was the point? There wasn’t anything he could do to change the situation and, thus, her lack of sleep.

Instead, she took a deep breath and told him just enough to keep his radar from going off. “I’m trying to, Milo. But it’s hard. Every time I drift off to sleep, I invariably wake up with thoughts of Dixie and the cell she’s being forced to sleep in.”

“I still can’t believe the police actually think Dixie killed this guy. I mean, do they not see she’s in her seventies?”

“They do.” Tori flopped onto the couch in the empty sitting room and stared up at the ceiling, the occasional snore from Margaret Louise the only discernible noise aside from her own quiet breathing. “But they don’t care, Milo. Dixie had the other half of the scarf found at John’s apartment and that’s all they seem to care about.”

“But she said she’s never seen it before, right?”

“Right. But they say she’s lying.”

“They’re wrong.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, the certainty in his words a perfect match for the certainty in her heart. The problem, though, was how to spread that same level of conviction to the police. Oh, how she wished her say, and that of Margaret Louise, Leona, Beatrice, Debbie, and Rose, mattered.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on the window across from the couch, the one that provided a view of New York City in all its nighttime glory. It was a sight that had enthralled her their first night there, yet frightened her now, four days later. “That’s why we’re still here. We have to make them see that.”

“Any luck on that yet? Any viable suspects?”

It was a valid question. Her answer, though, left much to be desired. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Maybe?”

“I mean, there are three people that have our attention right now, none of whom we’ve spoken to directly.”

“Why not?”

“Well, Ms. Steely Eye doesn’t have an official name yet. Just a picture.”

Milo’s laugh tickled her ear and brought a much-needed, albeit fleeting, smile to her lips. “Ms. Steely Eye?”

“If you’d seen her that first time like we did, you’d understand.”

“You’ve seen her more than once?”

“Twice, actually, though we didn’t realize the second instance until after the fact.”

At his confusion, she did her best to explain. “We saw her the first time the morning of the murder. We’d gone to the Waldorf to spy on Dixie and John’s breakfast date. But Ms. Steely Eye wasn’t too keen on sharing the massive potted plant that was big enough to shield all of us at one time.”

“Wait a minute. Are you saying she was spying on Dixie, too?”

She brought her fingertips to her right temple and began to knead at the dull pain just below the surface of her skin. Too much stress plus not enough sleep equaled a veritable cycle that showed no signs of breaking anytime soon. “At the time, I didn’t connect the dots, but after . . . when Beatrice was scrolling through the pictures we’d taken so far, she came across one I took near the murder scene later that afternoon. Ms. Steely Eye was there looking, well, steely-eyed.”

“Sounds like she’s one to track down, that’s for sure,” Milo said. “And the next possibility?”

“His name is Doug. He’s the son of the owner of a popular cupcake shop here in the city. His mother was one of John’s cons from what we’ve been able to gather.”

“And let me guess . . . Doug is the protective type?”

Tori thought back over everything Gretchen had said at the cupcake shop the previous day, her head nodding against the phone as she did. “Combine that with his anger over the effects that experience had on his mother’s last days on this earth and, well, you can imagine why he’s on our list. Especially when there’s a possibility he may have been at John’s apartment the night before the murder, threatening to rip John limb from limb for what he’d done.”

A long, low whistle came from Milo’s end of the line. “Wow.”

“He’s Margaret Louise and Debbie’s top choice, while Ms. Steely Eye is mine and Beatrice’s, simply because her appearance in both places seems way too impossible to be a coincidence.”

“You said there’s only three people on your list right now . . .”

“Right,” she answered, dropping her hand to her lap.

“So does that mean that neither Rose nor Leona has an opinion at this time?”

“No, it means they’re in agreement on the culpability of our third suspect, Caroline Trotter.” She heard the sharp intake of air in her ear yet had little to no energy left to laugh. Besides, her head hurt too much. “Thanks to Charles, we’ve been able to confirm her as one of John’s most recent women, and potentially a scorned one at that.” She stopped, contemplated her own words for a moment, and then continued, the rambling quality of her voice audible even to her own ears. “We actually have an address for her thanks to a scarf she left behind.”

“Does it match the piece found in Dixie’s handbag?”

She sat up straight, intrigued by the question. “No . . .”

“I figured as much, but I had to ask. So why haven’t you talked to her if you have her address?”

“She hasn’t been at her place the few times we’ve stopped—”

The ring of the hotel phone caught her off guard and sent her scrambling for the bureau before it woke her friends. “One second, Milo, okay?” Then, lowering her cell phone to her hip, she reached for the hotel phone with her other hand. “Hello?”

“Victoria. I was hoping you’d pick up. I’ve got news. B-i-g news.”

“Is it Dixie?” she asked, suddenly breathless. “Is she okay?”

“I spoke to my friend this evening and told him about this pile of hoo-ey that’s being thrown on Dixie. He agreed to ask his friend, Al—the cop—to look in on her. Al called me a little while ago to tell me he spoke to Dixie and told her he was a friend of a friend of
mine
and that I’m a friend of
yours
.”

“And?”

“He told her he’d look after her and that she’s going to be okay.”

Somehow, despite knowing they were just words with nothing to back them up yet, Tori still found a measure of comfort in knowing that someone was looking after Dixie from the inside. “Thank you, Charles. I can’t tell you how much this helps.”

“Well, there’s more.”

“Oh?”

“I stopped by Caroline Trotter’s apartment again this evening. She still wasn’t there.”

“Surprise, surprise.” She heard the bitterness in her voice and the increased pressure it brought to her already aching head.

“That’s what I thought. So I asked some questions this time.”

“What kind of questions? And to whom?”

“The night doorman is different than the day guy and this one is way, way,
way
cute—even Leona would approve.” Charles took an audible breath then rushed on, “Caroline hasn’t been seen since Tuesday morning!”

“Maybe she went on vacation.”

“Nate—that’s the doorman . . . wait. Did I mention he has the greatest dimples ever? Well, anyway, Nate said tenants always tell them when they’re going to be away. But Caroline said nothing to him, Timothy the day guy, or anyone in the office.”

She tried to see why Charles was so keyed up by this development but she came up empty. Things came up. It was part of life.

“And now, for the b-i-g news I mentioned earlier.” Charles stopped, waited a moment or two, and then released a little squeal. “Caroline’s daughter has been calling. Even she doesn’t have any idea where her mother is.”

“Okay . . .”

“Nate said she’s fit to be tied that her mother may have taken up with another con man like”—a Charles-made drum roll sounded in her ear—“
John
.”

Her jaw slacked open. “J-John?”

“That’s what Nate said. He also said the daughter spent nearly ten minutes ranting and raving about how she’d tried to warn her mother but it didn’t work.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know but I bet we can find out . . .”

“Charles, you’re amazing. I can’t believe the way you’re helping us like this. I can’t even begin to tell you how much this means to me . . . to all of us.” And it did. Being a stranger in a strange city was stressful enough. Being a stranger in a strange city while trying to clear your friend of murder charges was another thing entirely.

“Stick with me, sister. We’ll get Dixie out of that nasty-smelling jail cell in no time,” Charles promised before giving in to a long yawn. “We’ve got an author event at the bookstore tomorrow morning so I’ll be tied up until about two. I’ll give you a call once I’m clear and we can get out our magnifying glass and start looking for more clues, okay?”

“Sounds good, Charles. Thanks again.” She placed the hotel phone down on its base and lifted her cell phone back to her ear. “Milo? Are you still there?”

“I am.”

Quickly, she filled him in on her call with Charles, ending with the question now circulating in her thoughts. “Do you think Caroline heard about John and is off mourning his death?”

“Maybe. But maybe she already knew and decided to run.”

There was a part of Tori that felt guilty for taking a morning off from the Dixie investigation, but without a clear head or a game plan, she wasn’t doing anyone any good anyway.

She’d considered taking first Margaret Louise, and then Leona, up on their offers to come along, but in the end, she knew she needed time alone—time to think, time to strategize, and time to stamp down the spurts of anger that had her tossing and turning through yet another sleepless night.

If Margaret Louise, Beatrice, and Rose had only stayed out of Dixie’s business, the trip to New York would have been exactly what it was supposed to be. Instead, the fun and excitement they’d imagined had been ripped from beneath their feet, with Dixie paying the biggest price of all. And now, instead of being able to go home and put the finishing touches on her autumn wedding to Milo, she was trying to find a way to get Dixie out from under a tragedy of other people’s making.

She’d been so close to taking Milo up on his offer to come to the city and help during his upcoming spring break, but eventually she’d declined. Adding one more person to the mix wasn’t going to help, and really, all she wanted to do was go home.

A horn off to her left prompted her to glance up from the sidewalk passing beneath her feet and get her bearings. She’d passed the outer edge of Central Park a few blocks earlier, and now, as she stood still and looked around, she found that she actually recognized the intersection she was about to cross.

She’d been at that exact corner before . . .

Craning her head around the man in front of her, she allowed her gaze to continue down the street, stopping, as she suspected, at McCormick’s Books & Café.

She hadn’t set out to go there, hadn’t planned on being anywhere near yet another tie to Dixie’s mess, yet she wasn’t surprised, either. Books had been her comfort in life for as long as she could remember. They’d gotten her through the occasional bad day at school as a child, they’d forged connections with people she never would have met otherwise, they’d been her saving grace after her great-grandmother had passed away, and they’d been the reason she’d moved to Sweet Briar, South Carolina, in the first place—a town where she’d met not only her future husband but also a stable of friends she could no longer imagine life without.

With her destination now in the conscious part of her brain, Tori crossed at the light and hurried toward the bookstore and the throngs of older women pouring onto the sidewalk from its main entrance. The women seemed to be in groups—three here, four there. But all were talking a mile a minute, with some even engaging their hands as they spoke.

“He was wonderful,” gushed one.

“He makes it all sound so simple . . . so possible,” said another.

When Tori reached the door, she stepped to the side to allow more women to exit, her gaze catching on the poster just inside the plate glass window and the familiar face it sported.

Suddenly it all made sense. The demographic exiting the store, the elation and hope she saw on their faces, and even the now-remembered reason Charles had given on the phone the night before as to why he wouldn’t be available for sleuthing until after 2 p.m.

Gavin Rollins had spent the morning at McCormick’s talking about his blockbuster book to an audience of captivated older women—the title of his book alone serving as a magnet for all those who found themselves seeking love after sixty-five. And judging by the volume of books leaving through the door, the event had been a success for the store.

She stepped inside and allowed her eyes a moment to adjust to the break in sunlight that had warmed the back of her head throughout much of her walk and blinded her each time she turned to look over her shoulder. Sure enough, as the bright spots of daylight receded, she was able to make out the temporary seating area the shop’s workers had set aside for the author’s visit, a handful of women still lingering behind as they watched Gavin sign the last few books for their friends.

“Oooh, Victoria, I didn’t know you were coming.”

Turning, she met Charles’s raised eyebrow with an easy shrug. “I didn’t know I was coming, either, until I got here.” She waved her hand toward the mostly empty chairs and the display case to Gavin’s right. “It sure looks like your event was a success.”

“Was. It. Ev-er.” Charles grabbed the metal chair closest to him and folded it quickly. “I’m shocked that old register we have didn’t catch fire with how hard it’s been working.”

She couldn’t help but smile. In this day and age, when people seemed to be flocking toward electronic versions of everything, seeing hardcover books flying off the shelves at such a rapid rate was encouraging if not downright exciting. “That’s good, real good.”

“You bet your cute little jazz pants it is.” Charles paused with his hand on the next chair and nodded approvingly at Tori’s choice of attire for the day. “You are looking oh so good, Miss Victoria. We might just have to take a picture and send it to that handsome man of yours everyone is always talking about.” Then flipping his hand forward along with the chair, he made a little face. “Which brings me to two questions. First . . . when am I going to get to meet this Milo Wentworth? And second . . . where is everyone?”

Setting her purse on the floor by her feet, Tori began folding chairs and adding them to Charles’s stack, the chance to do something with her hands a welcome reprieve for her brain, even if it only lasted a minute or two. “You’ll have to come to Sweet Briar one day. You can meet Milo then.”

Charles stopped folding chairs long enough to do a little hop-skip move. “And come to a sewing circle meeting! If you let me borrow your kitchen when I come, I can whip up my famous New York–style cheesecake for everyone!”

“It’s a date.”

Satisfied, he returned to his chair-folding task and his second question. “And the ladies? Where are they this afternoon? They would have enjoyed Gavin Rollins’s talk.”

“They’re at the hotel. They needed a day off, and so did I.”

Again, Charles stopped folding. “Is everything okay? I mean, besides the obvious?”

She allowed her gaze to travel back to Gavin and the last woman in line for his signature and felt her shoulders slump almost instantly. “This trip was supposed to be so different, you know? We were supposed to sightsee. We were supposed to laugh. We were supposed to eat in the kinds of places Sweet Briar will never have. We were supposed to revel in our one and only stint on a real television program. And instead we have this.”

Charles transferred his last folded chair to the pile, took Tori’s from her, and then led her to a pair of seats not far from Gavin and the women who’d obviously been lingering for photo opportunities. “Sit, Victoria.”

When she did as she was told, he took her hand and squeezed it gently. “We made it to the zoo yesterday, didn’t we? That was sightseeing!”

She swallowed.

“We laughed when the sea lion danced to Beatrice’s ring tone, right?”

She looked down at his hand atop hers and nodded.

“I took you to CupKatery for the yummiest cupcakes this side of the Mississippi, didn’t I?” He pulled his hand from hers and braced it against his thigh. “And as for the television show, I would imagine Leona will find a way to work all of you into her show come fall.”

Ahhh yes.

Leona’s cable TV program,
Leona’s Closet
. The one with the ten-minute segment entitled,
Who Dresses You Anyway
?

“I’m not sure we want to be on Leona’s show,” she mused in an effort to lighten the mood she’d singlehandedly brought down. “But I know what you’re saying, Charles, and you’re right. There
have
been some good moments on this trip. Even some funny ones. But it’s just that . . .”

Her words trailed from her mouth, only to be picked up and given voice by Charles. “You wanted Dixie to be part of it all, too.”

She swallowed harder this time, her nod barely perceptible even to herself.

“Well, Charles, it looks like I’m all done here.”

Tori looked up to find Gavin standing mere inches from their seats, his eyes widening as they met hers. “Hey . . . I know you. You’re Victoria, from the show the other day.”

Rising to her feet, she offered her hand to Gavin, smiling warmly as he took it and added a smile of his own. “I am. It looks like you had quite the turnout here today, Gavin.”

“And then some, I’d say.” He released her hand. “I thought you ladies were heading back to your little southern town a couple of days ago.”

“We were.”

It was all she could manage to say at the moment, on account of the lump that had formed in her throat at the notion of going home.

“You needed a bigger bite of the Apple, eh?”

She considered telling him the truth, but knew if she did, she’d no longer be able to ward off the tears that threatened to drown everything in sight. Instead, she went with the best noncommittal response she could give. “Yeah, I guess you could say something like that.”

“I see.” He motioned toward the empty book display and the sign that served as the only remaining indication he’d been there at all. “Well, Charles, we sold through the entire stock.”

She took in the empty shelves then turned back to the author. “Gavin, can I ask you a question?”

He nodded. “Sure, shoot.”

“Do you think those guys you write about in that section Kenneth talked about on the show will ever realize that what they’re doing is wrong and move on to something else?”

“You mean the cons?”

At her slow nod, he shook his head, grimacing as he did. “I wish I could say I do, but I can’t. Greed isn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. And because of that, guys like I write about aren’t going anywhere, either.”

“How can you stand writing about them?” Charles interjected in his usual boisterous way. “I mean, isn’t that kind of like giving them validation?”

“I see it more as giving my readers a blueprint for exactly the kind of man they need to avoid as they’re moving through their silver years looking for love. Forewarned is forearmed, as my mother always said.” Gavin brushed a hand down the front of his navy trousers and sighed. “By talking about these guys, I’m able to open up my readers’ eyes before they fall prey in their quest for love.”

“Have you heard from readers who avoided these types of situations because of your book?” she asked.

“Have I ever,” he said, smiling broadly. “Those are my favorite letters, quite frankly, because I know that I saved that particular person from heartbreak, and possibly financial ruin, too.”

“Seeing as how that’s such a popular section in your book, will you put one like it in the second book?” Charles rose to his feet and began folding and stacking chairs once again.

“How could I not when that’s the part that everyone seems to want to talk about? Though maybe I’ll also touch on the ways these con artists affect a woman’s self-confidence, too. Can you imagine how heartbreaking some of
those
stories will be?”

She felt Charles studying her and knew what he was thinking. Dixie could write that section all by herself.

Assuming she wasn’t confined to jail for the rest of her life . . .

Forcing her thoughts from the slippery slope they were in danger of going over, Tori took the conversation in a different direction, one that kept yet another round of tears at bay. “If you go out on tour with that next book, you should try to come down to Sweet Briar. We’d love to have you at the library.”

Charles snorted. “Something tells me those southern ladies, while quaint and well mannered, could probably teach Gavin’s duped readers a thing or two about comeuppance at the end of a shotgun.”

“I imagine they could,” Gavin said between laughs. “Maybe that can be a section in the third book—‘Tried and True Tips for Getting Even.’”