Needle and Dread (4 page)

He turned back to the first page—the one with Lucinda Penning's name scrawled across the top—and shrugged. “If it was
easy
, Victoria, it wouldn't be as much fun, now would it?”

Tori had just finished brushing her teeth when Milo appeared in the doorway of the bathroom with her phone in his outstretched hand. “It's Rose.”

Peeking around his shoulder, Tori noted the time on their bedside clock—10:05 p.m. “Is she okay?” she whispered.

When he didn't answer, she took the phone and stepped into the bedroom. “I'm here, Rose. Is everything okay?”

“I'm sorry I'm calling so late, Victoria, but . . .” The elderly woman's voice gave way to a deep cough that echoed between them. “I can't sleep.”

“No, no, you did the right thing in calling. I'm here—twenty-four seven. You know that.”

“But you're a newlywed now, Victoria.”

“I am. But that doesn't mean our friendship has
changed. I'm still here, just like always.” Tori turned back the sheets and climbed onto her side of the bed. “How are you holding up?”

A beat or two of silence was followed by an almost wail. “I don't have much time left, Victoria. I know this. But I wanted the time I have left to mean something.”

The woman's despair was so raw, so powerful, Tori felt her own throat tightening. “I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Rose.
You
mean something—to me, to Milo, to Margaret Louise, to Charles, to Debbie, to everyone. Even Leona.”

“Leona . . .” The despair morphed into something a lot like regret. “She didn't have to bring me in with her on that store. I have no money tied up in that business. She's taken it all on under the guise of owning another business. You and I both know, a sewing shop doesn't fit with that woman. She did that
for me
. To make amends she didn't have to make.”

“That's debatable,” Tori murmured.

“I love that shop, Victoria. I love the way it smells, the way it looks. I love arranging the threads and the fabrics. I love picking out just the right things to have on hand for our customers. I love it all.” A second, louder cough ushered the despair back in. “And now it's gone.”

She pulled the sheet up onto her lap and rested her head against the headboard, her eyes following Milo around the room as he locked the windows and turned off the bathroom light. “It's not gone, Rose. The shop is still there.”

“I suppose it is. But it's like you said earlier, when I was worried about the impact of a bad review. You said a bad review wasn't front-page news, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Well,
a bad review
might not be front-page news, but
a murder
certainly is.”

Tori opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when she realized there was nothing to say. Rose was right. News of a murdered customer couldn't be good for business.

“It's over, Victoria.”

Milo climbed into bed beside her and draped his arm across her shoulder, pulling her close as he did. And as was always the case whenever he was near, Tori breathed in his strength and let it enhance her own. “No, Rose, it's not. As soon as the building is cleared by police, you keep going. You keep making your displays pretty, and you keep smiling and chatting with customers. So you hold off on offering another tour until after the holidays—that's probably better, anyway. But in terms of regular, everyday business, you keep on going. You are not responsible for what happened to Opal Goodwin. The person who
killed
her is responsible.”

When Rose didn't respond, Tori checked the connection and then returned the phone to her ear. “Rose? Are you still there?”

“I'm here. I'm just thinking is all.”

“I'm right on this, Rose. I really am. To give up and roll over implies guilt.
You
didn't do this.
Someone else
did.”

“I have to know what happened, Victoria.”

She rested her head in the crook of Milo's arm and smiled up at her yawning husband. “And you will, Rose. You have my word on that.”

*   *   *

Tori tiptoed out of the bedroom and made her way into the darkened living room. Even after six weeks
of living in Milo's house, it still took her a moment to remember to turn left toward the couch instead of right.

If she had her druthers, she'd be sleeping as soundly as Milo was at that moment. But try as she might, she just couldn't fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Opal slumped over the sewing machine, the power cord wrapped around her wrinkly neck. And when she found a way to push that image from her thoughts, the faces of the other tour members took its place.

Sidestepping the couch, she flipped on the lamp and squinted at the answering flood of light. What she hoped to accomplish, she wasn't exactly sure, but maybe reading through the limited notes she and Charles had made that evening would help her work off some of her nervous energy. It was worth a shot, if nothing else. After all, it wasn't like she'd be losing any sleep.

She sunk onto the couch and flipped the notebook open to the first page, her gaze making short work of its contents . . .

Lucinda Penning.

What we know: She appears to be an avid reader.

Questions to ask: Did she know Opal prior to sewing tour?

Was there any animosity between the two?

More background information.

Approximate age: forties?

Spent most time with Debbie—talk to her.

The second page was nearly identical, with the exception of the name on the suspect line, the estimated age, and the little bit of information they did know.

Gracelyn Moses.

What we know: very up on current events.

Questions to ask: Did she know Opal prior to sewing tour?

Was there any animosity between the two?

More background information.

Approximate age: sixties to seventies.

Spent most time with Georgina and Dixie—talk to them.

She grabbed the pen from its spot on the end table and added an offhand thought.

Did knowledge of current events cover the county as well as the country and the world?

For a long moment she studied her addition and then, finally, turned to the third page.

Samantha Williams.

What we know: loves detective shows. Lived in England for a year.

Questions to ask: Did she know Opal prior to sewing tour?

Was there any animosity between the pair?

More background information.

Approximate age: late fifties, early sixties.

Spent most time with Margaret Louise, Melissa, Beatrice—talk to them.

She reread Samantha's entry and then closed her eyes in an attempt to put herself back at SewTastic as each of the women arrived. Everyone seemed so happy, so eager to check out the new shop and learn the details of the project Rose had planned for them to do. Everyone seemed to get along with one another, with the lone exception of Opal Goodwin. At the time, she'd assumed the tension was because of Opal's demeanor. But now, in light of what happened, she had to consider the very real possibility that there was more going on. That maybe, just maybe, Opal was on edge about something, that her rude behavior was a symptom of worry . . .

Or maybe she was just reaching. Maybe Opal was simply a rude person who'd rubbed the wrong person the wrong way. But was rudeness a reason to kill?

Shaking her head, Tori flipped to the fourth page and a name that simply didn't fit.

Minnie Randolph.

What we know: sweet. Old. The perfect granny.

Questions to ask: Did she know Opal prior to sewing tour?

Was there any animosity between the two?

More background information.

Approximate age: eighty-ish. Looks like Mrs. Claus and laughs like her, too.

Spent most time with everyone.

She smiled at the image of the elderly woman who'd captured everyone's heart within moments of the group's arrival, and flipped the page again . . .

Miranda Greer.

What we know: tour guide.

Questions to ask: Did she know Opal prior to sewing tour?

Was there any animosity between the two?

More background information.

Approximate age: late thirties, early forties?

Spent most time with Rose—talk to her.

Sighing, Tori turned to the final suspect's page . . .

Travis Beaker.

What we know: He drove the tour bus. He actually participated, too.

Questions to ask: Did he know Opal prior to sewing tour?

Was there any animosity between the pair?

More background information.

Approximate age: early fifties?

Spent most time with Leona, but seemed withdrawn even from her.

She uncapped the pen again and added two more lines:

How did Travis come to drive this group?

Does he remember anything re: Opal's arrival at the departure point?

Tapping the pen against her lips, Tori thought back over everything she'd learned about murder over the past several years. For the most part, people didn't kill for the sake of killing. There was always a reason. Sometimes the culprit was found before the reason, but more often than not, it was the reason that led to the culprit . . .

She took one last look at each page and then flipped to the first blank page after Travis's. In block writing, she added a new heading:

Motives for Murder

Then, with the help of the Internet on her phone, she filled in a few lines:

*Love/lust

*Revenge

*Hatred

*Greed/money/jealousy

*Obsession

Yet with each new line Tori wrote, she realized how little they knew about the victim beyond her reprehensible behavior. Had Opal been wealthy? Did Opal have a husband and children? How had she spent her days? All good questions that merited an eighth page:

Victim: Opal Goodwin.

What we know: nasty.

Things to find out: Where did she live? Was she wealthy? Family situation? Career?

Approximate Age: early to mid-seventies?

Spent most time with Charles, Rose, and me.

Leaning back against the sofa, Tori pushed past the memory of Opal's nastiness to the woman herself—the freshly pressed blouse, the expensive yet sensible shoes, the elegant necklace, the delicate gold watch, the propensity to snap her fingers when she wanted something . . .

Tori sat up tall.

Opal had money . . .

She looked back at the page devoted to the elderly
victim and circled the second question on the things-to-find-out line. No, she couldn't say with absolute certainty that Opal was wealthy, but all signs pointed to that being the case.

If she was right, the financial standing of each of the suspects certainly warranted closer examination . . .

Grabbing the pen, she added the question to each suspect's page.

Tori was just turning off the front burner when she heard a familiar beat on the back door. Smiling, she tossed the dish towel onto the counter and turned in the direction of the sound, the face she saw peeking at her through the door's glass panel a perfect match of the one she'd expected to see.

“Margaret Louise, isn't this a nice surprise,” she gushed as she opened the door and waved her friend inside.

“I come bearing donuts and more.”

She took the powder blue bag from the woman's outstretched hand. “And more? More what?”

“More friends.” Margaret Louise hooked her thumb over her shoulder.

Tori peeked outside, shaking her head as she did. “I don't see anyone else.”

“We're right here, love.” Charles stepped around the back edge of the house, his arm gently guiding a bunny-holding Leona. “Just moving a little slow this morning.”

Tori looked from the slow-moving pair to Margaret Louise and back again. “Is everything okay? Did you reinjure your hip, Leona?”

Leona waved off her inquiry with a dramatic hand and then shoved her way past Tori en route to the kitchen table. “My hip is fine, dear. I'm just suffering the ill effects of a disastrous night of sleep that has left my precious Paris every bit as fatigued as I am. Though, looking at you, Victoria, we're far better off than I realized.”

“Twin!”

“Am I wrong?” Leona asked, hands on hips.

Margaret Louise averted her gaze to the floor and then plucked the donut bag back out of Tori's hands and carried it to the table. “Victoria just needs a little dose of sugary goodness, I reckon. After all, yesterday was a trying day for
all
of us, Twin, not just you.”

“
I'm
the one who found that horrible old woman's body!”

“And Victoria is the one who touched her and tried to save her,” Margaret Louise reminded while simultaneously removing a variety of donuts from the bag. “Victoria, I brought a chocolate-dipped one special for you. It should give you a nice boost.”

“In light of the fact I'd been promised chocolate chip pancakes this morning and didn't get them, a chocolate-dipped donut is perfect, Margaret Louise.”

Charles's face turned almost the same shade of red as the tips of his spiky hair. “I assumed I was released from pancake duty the moment the
reason
for the
original deal was found with a cord wrapped around her neck.”

“Nope. A deal is a deal, buster. Death doesn't change that.” Tori returned to the stove and the still-hot kettle. “Anyway, I was just about to make myself some hot chocolate. Would anyone else like some?”

“Do you have whipped cream, sugar lips?”

She pointed Charles toward the refrigerator. “On the door, second shelf. Leona? Margaret Louise? How about you? Hot chocolate? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea, please. And a carrot for Paris, of course.” Leona sat in Milo's spot, settled Paris in her lap, and then looked around the small yet well-appointed kitchen. “So where is that handsome man of yours, dear?”

“Hidin' from you, Twin,” Margaret Louise joked, earning herself a death glare in return.

“Actually, he's helping a friend paint his shed this morning,” Tori said. “He'll be back after lunch.”

“I just love the way your face goes all glow-y when you talk 'bout him, Victoria.” Margaret Louise snatched a handful of napkins from a holder on the counter and placed one in front of each seat. Then, with careful thought, she doled out the donuts, placing the chocolate-dipped one on Tori's napkin as promised. “My Jake says Milo's face does the same thing every time
your
name comes up, too.”

She couldn't help but smile as she set four mugs on the counter and filled two of them with hot chocolate mix and one with a tea bag. “Marrying him was definitely the smartest thing I've ever done.” And it was true. Sure, she'd been happy when she was single. But she was even happier now.

Margaret Louise crushed the empty paper bag and carried it to the trash can in the corner of the room. On her way back to the table, she paused to look in the various mugs. “I have to say, a hot chocolate is sounding mighty tasty right 'bout now, assumin' the offer is still open, Victoria . . .”

“Of course it is. Whipped cream?”

“Is there any other way to serve it?” Margaret Louise asked, grinning.

“Touché.”

Charles shook the can of whipped cream and brandished it over the freshly poured hot water. “Stand back, ladies.”

“Victoria, dear . . . ,” Leona stated over the spraying sound. “I have to ask. Why do you look so dreadful, dear? Did you and Milo have a fight?”

With Charles's help, Tori carried the mugs to the table, eyeing Leona as she did. “No, Leona, Milo and I didn't have a fight. I just didn't sleep much last night is all. Too much on my mind, I guess, with finding Opal the way we did and worrying about its effect on Rose.”

Margaret Louise worked her donut into the side of her mouth long enough to speak. “Have you spoken to Rose this morning?”

“No. But she called last night, shortly after ten o'clock.”

“What was that old goat doing up that late?” Leona asked.

Crossing to the refrigerator, Tori located a carrot for Paris and carried it back to the table. “She's upset about what happened with Opal, Leona. Very,
very
upset.”

Waving the remaining half of her donut between them, Margaret Louise swallowed the contents in her
mouth. “I called her place last night, 'bout seven o'clock, and she didn't answer.”

“I don't know, Margaret Louise, maybe she wasn't home then or maybe she wasn't up to talking.” Tori sat down and stared at her donut. “All I know is that Rose was almost borderline depressed when she called me. She really saw this shop as a new lease on life, so to speak, and she's afraid that's all gone now.”

“And she's right,” Leona mused across the top of her mug. “That dreadful Opal woman was killed in our shop. I don't know how we'll bounce back from that.”

“Leona, please, you can't really believe that,” Tori protested. “I mean, it's not like you or Rose had anything to do with what happened.”

“It doesn't matter, dear. A body was found in our shop, regardless. Would
you
be anxious to visit a store where something like that happened?”

Leona was right. SewTastic was in trouble.

“Maybe things are different in Sweet Briar, but in the Big Apple, that's exactly the reason some people would be drawn to a store.” Charles drummed his fingers atop the table and then returned them to his mug's handle. “Maybe we could entice people to the store on simple curiosity.”

“What about offerin' a bargain of some kind?” Margaret Louise stuck her finger into her whipped cream and then popped it straight in her mouth. “A free spool of thread with every purchase, perhaps? Or buy three yards, get one free? Bargains have a way of ropin' people in.”

Leona offered a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe.”

“It could be worth a shot,” Tori added.

“Between that and our investigation, I bet we can make all of this go away for Rose.” Charles chugged his drink in one large gulp and then placed his empty mug on the table between them.

Margaret Louise stopped chewing and stared first at Charles, and then at Tori. “Investigation? What investigation?”

Uh-oh . . .

Charles jumped up from the table and disappeared into the living room, leaving Tori to fend for herself. Tori, in turn, picked at the remains of her own donut and slowly lifted her gaze to Margaret Louise's. “We really haven't done much. Just jotted some notes. You know, questions we might want to ask the folks who were part of the tour yesterday.”

“And you jotted these notes without
me
?” Margaret Louise asked, her tone noticeably wounded. “I thought
I
was your go-to partner when it came to investigatin', Victoria.”

She reached across the table and covered Margaret Louise's pudgy hand. “And you are. Charles just stopped by last night for a visit and he wanted to jot down what we know—which isn't much.”

“I see you added some new things since last night, sugar lips.” Charles rounded the corner with the open notebook in his hand. “Though I have to say, Opal having a page of her own is cringe-worthy.”

“I couldn't sleep,” Tori said by way of explanation. “So I opened the notebook and read what we had. Adding a page dedicated to possible motives and another one to Opal just makes sense. Now we just need to see what things Margaret Louise thinks we should add . . .”

A spark ignited behind the woman's warm brown eyes as she plucked the notebook from Charles's hand and began reading in earnest. Halfway through the third page, she looked up. “Samantha knew Opal, all right. As for animosity, I can't speak for Opal's feelin' 'bout Samantha, but I can 'bout Samantha's.”

Tori and Charles leaned forward in unison. “You can?”

“She liked her 'bout as much as my grandbabies liked havin' chicken pox.”

“And you know this because . . . ,” Tori prodded.

“She told me so. Why, she pointed at Opal and said, ‘If that one gets to Heaven, she'll be askin' to see the upstairs.' Made me think of my daddy.” Margaret Louise licked the tip of her finger and quickly dabbed up any residual crumbs from her napkin. “You remember Daddy sayin' that 'bout ornery people, don't you, Twin.”

“I don't remember him killing the person he was referring to.” Leona took a slow, delicate sip of her tea.

“I'm not sayin' Samantha is the one who strangled Opal. All I'm doin' is answerin' this question Victoria wrote 'bout whether there was any animosity between Samantha and Opal.”

Tori considered her friend's words and then segued into the next logical question. “Do you happen to know
why
there was animosity?”

With slow, deliberate motions, Margaret Louise rolled her napkin into a ball and stood. “No, but I reckon I could find out.” She carried the napkin to the trash and then wandered back to the table, the notebook still open at her spot. “Assumin', of course, I'm part of the investigatin' the way I've always been b'fore.”

“I'd be a fool not to include you, Margaret Louise,” Tori said. “Your insight has been enormously helpful more times than I can count.”

“Then I'm in? On the investigatin'?”

“You were never out.” Tori stood, gathered the empty mugs, and carried them over to the sink. “We need a game plan, I think.”

Charles snapped his fingers in a fast and furious triangle. “A. Game. Plan. Now you're talking.”

“We could go over and see if the tour group has checked out of the bed-and-breakfast yet,” Margaret Louise suggested.

“I can already tell you they haven't.”

Margaret Louise and Leona turned to look at Charles, with Leona taking point on the question. “Oh? Why is that?”

“It's like I told Victoria last night. Chief Dallas wants everyone connected to Opal's murder staying put. That means I can't go back to New York, and the ladies from the tour can't return home, either.” Charles wandered over to the ceramic cookie jar on the windowsill and popped the lid. “Um, Victoria? This jar is
empty
.”

“I know. I haven't had a chance to do any baking the last few days.”

“Oh.” Charles slowly recapped the jar and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his burgundy jeans. “When you do, I like snickerdoodles best.”