Death Threads, page 23
part #2 of Southern Sewing Circle Mystery Series
If only she’d been right. Then maybe Debbie wouldn’t have to hurt any longer . . .
“But you weren’t right,” Tori whispered to herself as she shoved the book into the bag and set it aside in the plastic bin she’d purchased specifically for the purpose of transporting the bags to the nursing home.
One by one, she went through each pile, placing the correct order form and books into the bag she’d selected for that particular resident. When she’d finally placed the last bag in the container, she scanned the counter for anything she may have forgotten, her gaze coming to rest on a stack of books with oddly familiar titles to the right of the computer.
Scooting the stack to the side, Tori searched for its order form and accompanying resident description but to no avail.
“Things are going well, Miss Sinclair. The kids are delving into the dress-up trunk to act out the story I just read to them.” Nina peeked over the counter. “Could you hand me my purse. One little girl wants to clip her hair up to look like a princess.”
“Yeah, sure.” Tori pulled her attention from the unmarked pile long enough to grab Nina’s purse and hand it over to the woman. “I’m almost done up here. Except I can’t find the order form to go with this pile,” she said, pointing at the stack of books containing everything from a Stephen King horror title to a Beatrix Potter storybook. “Do you have any idea where it might be?”
“Oh, that’s not one of the nursing home piles.” Nina scanned the empty countertop to the left of the computer. “Looks like you got all of those.”
“Then what are these?” she asked.
“Those are the books Ella May Vetter dropped off just before you got here.”
“Oh, okay.” She pushed them off to the side and returned to the bin of book bags on the floor beside her feet. “I’ll shelve those later.”
“I set those aside so you could take a look at the top one. It has a slight rip in the cover.”
Tori looked back at the stack of books, Misery looking no worse for the wear. “I don’t see a tear.”
Nina shrugged. “I told Miss Vetter the same thing. But she insisted on jotting you a note of apology anyway.”
She studied the tiny tear more closely. “What happened?”
“It got caught on those gloves she wears. Anyway, here’s the note.”
“What’s with the crayon?”
Nina shrugged. “It’s what she grabbed when I handed her the pencil holder and that piece of paper.”
“Oh.”
“She said something about starting your day with a splash of color.”
A splash of color . . .
Nina tapped her hand on the counter before turning back toward the hallway. “I better get back. I’ve got a show to watch.”
To start her day . . .
“To start my day?” Tori whispered, as she glanced up at the clock, her eyes confirming what she knew to be true. “Nina . . . Wait!”
Her assistant stopped, turned around. “Yes, Miss Sinclair?”
“You said Ella May dropped these off this morning?”
The woman nodded. “Not more than five minutes before you walked in.” And with that, Nina turned on her heels and disappeared down the hallway.
“How could she have gotten here before I did?” The words poured from her mouth in a near whisper, the answer hitting before the question was fully worded.
She couldn’t have.
Which meant one thing. The thumping she and Leona had heard must have been the mysterious Billy . . .
Billy who wasn’t one and the same with William Clayton Wilder.
He was simply Billy.
William . . . Willy . . . Billy . . .
Tori grabbed hold of the counter as a terrifying picture began to form in her head. A picture that was at once ludicrous, yet . . .
Entirely possible?
Dropping to the ground, Tori dug through the gift bags, lifting Eunice Weatherby’s from the bin and pulling its contents out and onto the floor. A Cry in the Night by Mary Higgins Clark, To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, In a Split Second by Colby William Calhoun.
“In a Split Second by Colby William Calhoun,” she read aloud as she stared at the name in the middle.
William.
Colby William Calhoun.
As the room began to spin around her, bits and pieces of conversation filtered through her thoughts, a bizarre reality taking root.
“For goin’ on ten years now we’ve all heard about this amazin’ man she’s been datin’. He’s smart. Good-looking. Funny. Charmin’. Well traveled. Even famous. He is—to hear her talk—the epitome of every woman’s dream.”
Rose’s description of Ella May’s Mystery Man had elicited laughter, yet now, in hindsight, those same words could surely describe Colby Calhoun . . .
He was drop-dead gorgeous.
He was funny.
He oozed charm.
He was well traveled.
And he was, in fact, famous. Especially around Sweet Briar.
“Billy can be used for Willy.”
But why now? After living in the same place for—
“Ten years,” she whispered. The same time Colby moved to Sweet Briar to marry Debbie . . .
But still. Why now?
Because an opportunity presented itself . . . Because Colby had finally earned enemies who’d actually threatened him . . .
She bit back the urge to scream as each subsequent thread came together. . . .
Enemies deflected suspicion . . . enemies she and Milo had discussed in front of Ella May at the festival.
Feeling the room begin to spin faster, Tori leaned her head against the wooden drawers and shelves of the information desk. But how could she get Colby out of his house by herself?
“People in la-la land can be coaxed without really having a clue . . .”
She sucked in her breath. Someone like Ella May—a person who seemed so harmless—could probably be very coaxing. Especially with just the right ploy.
But the knife and the threat . . . And the lack of fingerprints . . .
“Oh, and we can’t forget the frilly gloves.”
The gloves.
The gloves Ella May wore to keep the oils from her hands from harming the bunnies . . . Gloves like she wore when she ripped the book . . .
Pushing off the ground, Tori steadied herself against the counter, her gaze falling on Ella May’s note. Her crayon-written note.
It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. . . .
She looked at the ripped book on the counter beside the note, the title hitting her with a one-two punch.
Misery.
“Nooo.” The word passed through her lips as her stomach twisted and flopped. “The thumping . . . was that—”
She stopped, refusing to allow herself to put too much hope into something that might be nothing more than a series of strange coincidences. But if it wasn’t . . . if she was right . . .
Grabbing the phone from its holder, Tori dialed the Sweet Briar Police Department, each ring in her ear bringing the frightening puzzle she’d assembled in her mind into undeniable focus.
A puzzle that was still missing one monumental piece . . .
A piece that was tinged bright red with the blood of Colby Calhoun.
Chapter 24
It was hard not to feel a sense of excitement and pride as she passed beneath the large paper banner hung between two moss trees on the edge of the town square. Unlike its predecessors though, this sign didn’t welcome people to a festival started so long ago no one could remember its actual origin. Instead, it beckoned to residents with its spontaneity and its newness.
For more years than anyone could recall, Sweet Briar had celebrated traditions that were handed to them by people long gone—people who had rebuilt the town with their own blood, sweat, and tears after a devastating loss that would have sunk those with less character. Their achievements were worth celebrating, worth remembering.
But they were by no means the only ones with any merit. Every accomplishment—big or small—was worth noting whether it happened a hundred years ago or the day before yesterday. If the town’s rebirth was meant to teach future generations a lesson, it was in the power of working together. For a common goal.
“Victoria! Over here.”
Tori looked to her left, felt a surge of joy at the sight of Debbie and Colby Calhoun waving to her from a picnic table amid a sea of familiar faces. With several quick strides, she joined her friends, who looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted from their shoulders.
“I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough,” Debbie whispered in her ear as the woman wrapped her arms around Tori. “Getting that call from Chief Dallas . . . hearing that Colby was alive and okay . . . I can’t even explain how that felt.”
“You don’t have to. Your smile says it all.” Tori took a step back only to be enveloped by another set of arms—tanned, muscular arms that felt as good as they looked.
“Victoria, thank you. For being on the ball. For noticing details. For following your hunch.” Colby hugged her close, his breath warm against her hair. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
She fought the stinging in her eyes as she stepped back again, her gaze lingering on Colby’s handsome face. “I’m only sorry we didn’t respond to your thumping. I just didn’t know . . .”
Colby’s wide mouth stretched into a smile, dimples forming in his cheeks. “Leona told us what you thought my thumping was. It gave Chief Dallas and me a good laugh when it was all over.”
“What I thought it was?” she asked as she tried desperately to keep her teeth from clenching.
He nodded, the slight curl to the ends of his hair brushing the collar of his soft blue button-down shirt. “It’s okay. You figured it out eventually, that’s all that matters.”
She scanned the crowd, searched each and every familiar face for the cosmetically enhanced liar she called friend, but Leona was nowhere to be seen. Shaking her head free of various strangulation methods, Tori focused on Colby once again. “So why did she do it?”
“Who? Ella May?” His smile disappeared as his shoulders rose and fell. “She had a crush that developed into an obsession somewhere along the road. She’d been content to speak of her relationship in cryptic fashion for much of that time . . . but when she saw people’s anger toward me and heard their criticism, she decided she could kill two birds with one stone.”
“Two birds?”
“Being with me and keeping me safe.” Colby’s smile returned as Debbie came up beside him, the red swollen eyes of four days earlier replaced with the infectious sparkle that was synonymous with her bubbly personality. Tori watched as he slid his arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulled her tight to his side. “We were just talking about Ella May.”
The sparkle faltered for a split second before Debbie waved it away. “What she did was wrong, but I do believe she was trying to help in a twisted kind of way.”
Tori slowly shook her head, her friend’s willingness to try and understand the unthinkable an overture she hadn’t expected. Even from someone as sweet and caring as Debbie Calhoun.
“You’re not angry?”
Debbie was silent for a moment as she seemed to consider Tori’s question. Finally she shook her head. “Hurt? Yes. Upset for my children’s unnecessary heartache? Of course. But angry, no. She didn’t hurt him. And I”—she pressed her cheek against her husband’s broad chest—“got him back. Safe and sound.”
“But there was blood on the kitchen floor,” Tori reminded, her thoughts traveling back to the night they’d found the note and the knife.
Colby pointed at his nose. “I had a nosebleed.”
“Are you serious?” She looked from Colby to Debbie and back again, all final traces of stress dissipating from her body. “She didn’t hurt you?”
“Nah. Ella May wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Colby brushed the top of his wife’s head with his lips.
“She’s gonna be charged with kidnapping though . . . right?”
“I guess. But we’re not going to make things any rougher for her . . . it’s up to the chief what to charge her with. I’m home now. That’s all that truly matters.” Colby squeezed Debbie once again, his free hand gesturing toward the long linen-draped table near the town’s signature gazebo. “Can you believe all this hoopla over Margaret Louise’s recipe?”
Tori nodded, a smile stretching her face wide. “Yeah, I can. It’s tremendous.”
“But a town festival so everyone can try it? Bill has never given me that kind of treatment.”
“Bill’s his publisher—you know, William Clayton Wilder.” Debbie wiggled out from beneath Colby’s arm as their son Jackson skipped over with a group of boys at his heels. “Hi sweetie, are you having fun?”
Jackson nodded, his mouth opening to reveal two missing teeth. “Nobody’s mad at me and Suzanna anymore, Mama.”
“I’m glad to hear that, sweetie.” Debbie tapped her son on the nose. “Now go play. We’ll call you when it’s time to eat.”
Tori watched the little boy run off, his sneakers flashing little red lights every time his feet smacked the ground. As he disappeared in the crowd, she looked back at her friends. “So no more real fallout from the article?”
“Nah, not really,” Colby said with a shrug. “I still feel some tension from some people but that’s to be expected. I shook their truth.”
“But it wasn’t the truth.”
“It was their truth, Victoria.”
Colby was right. Historical truth or not, the story surrounding Sweet Briar’s incineration during the war was a legend, passed down through the generations as fact. And for those who’d only heard the story, it was the truth as they’d been told it. They were no more responsible for the lie than Colby was for the truth.
“Can I catch up with you later? I’d like to track down Margaret Louise and ask her how the photo shoot went earlier today.”
“Have fun.” Debbie and then Colby each leaned forward and hugged her one more time, their heartfelt appreciation misting her eyes.
Picking her way through the crowd, Tori stopped every few feet to greet a familiar face from the library, people who stopped their own conversations to seek her out and say hello. Six months ago, she’d never believed the people of Sweet Briar could ever truly embrace her as one of their own. But she’d been wrong.
She may not have been born and raised in this town, but she cared about it nonetheless—the people, the enviable pride, the community spirit. And whether she was a resident or not, Sweet Briar was very much her home.
As she neared the open-air tent imprinted with the Lions Publishing logo, Tori couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride for the heavyset woman standing inside. Margaret Louise Davis was the kind of person everyone wanted to be—energetic, creative, positive, loving, loyal, and true.
“Tori, you made it.” Margaret Louise’s voice bellowed across the lawn as she did a little stationary jog. “I was hopin’ you’d come.”
“I’ve tried these potatoes, remember? I wouldn’t miss another helping for anything.” She leaned over as she reached the woman, brushed a kiss on her cheek. “So this whole thing is really so the town can try your sweet potatoes?”
“Well, kinda . . .”
Tori tilted her head to the left, studied the way the woman’s eyes cast downward.
“Margaret Louise, what aren’t you telling me?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Can you give me a hint?” She knew she was prying but she couldn’t help it. Margaret Louise was up to something. Something big.
“I can tell you that you were right about Hank Jameson, I mean Harrison James.”
She narrowed her eyes. “No I wasn’t. It was Ella May.”
“No. I mean right in the fact he’s furious at Colby.”
“Still?” She searched the crowd for the man but didn’t see him anywhere.
“He’s representin’ Ella May.”
Tori shrugged. “That’s okay, I guess. If it helps him blow off steam then it’s worth it. And besides, maybe he’ll learn something from Colby’s willingness to go easy on Ella May.” She pointed at the tent and the crowd assembled around the town square. “So all of this is about your sweet potatoes?”
“Sweet Briar has good taste,” Margaret Louise gushed before shaking her head in regret. “Why would you listen to me crowin’ about myself? If I don’t watch it, people might mistake me for—”
“Leona?”
The woman’s hearty laugh shook her body from head to toe. “Can you imagine”—she trailed her hands down her round body—“people mistakin’ chubby ol’ me for Leona?”
“If Leona could only be so lucky,” Tori said as she reached out and patted her friend’s hand. “Speaking of Leona, where is she? I’ve got a bone to pick with her.”
“She’s over there”—Margaret Louise pointed toward a suit-clad man near the back of the tent—“with William Clayton Wilder.”
His back to a tent pole, the strikingly tall man was staring down into Leona’s large doe eyes with obvious fascination.
“She doesn’t waste any time, does she?” Tori asked, her head shaking as she spoke.
“She’ll be bored with him by Sunday.” Margaret Louise turned back to Tori, her eyes wide with excitement. “She showed me the handkerchief she made for Ella May.”
Tori looked past the woman to her reluctant sewing pupil. “And?”
“Well, it was a little cockeyed, and she used glue on the patch . . . but—”
“She told me she was going to use an iron,” Tori protested.
Margaret Louise raised an eyebrow.
“She has used an iron before, right?”
The woman’s eyebrow rose even more.
She looked back at Leona for a moment as reality dawned. “She doesn’t even own an iron, does she?”
“She dated Winston Hohlbrook for a few weeks after movin’ here. She now gets free dry cleanin’.”
