Needle and Dread (5 page)

Margaret Louise led the four-person parade around the side of Tori's house and toward the street, the promise of another investigation making it difficult for the rest of them to keep up. Halfway to Margaret Louise's car though, Tori slammed into Charles's back—hard.

“Whoa. Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were stopping.”

Charles peered over his shoulder at Tori, his face ashen. “Can you please drive, Victoria?”

“I can't drive Margaret Louise's car.”

“You can drive your
own
car . . .”

Confused, she narrowed her gaze on Charles. “Is there a problem?”

“You know how she drives, Victoria,” Charles whispered. “I—I'm not ready to die.”

Tori adjusted her purse strap atop her shoulder and bit
back a laugh. “Wait a minute. You ride around in New York City cabs all the time, Charles. Surely you can handle Margaret Louise.”

Sniffing indignantly, he turned his attention to the cause of his angst. “Margaret Louise? I'd be happy to drive. That way, um, you could, uh, sit in the back with Leona and, um . . . catch up. On . . . um . . . things.” Charles stepped into the road, gesturing toward the powder blue station wagon as he did.

Margaret Louise swatted away his suggestion with her car keys. “Don't be silly, Charles. You've said yourself you've only driven a car once or twice in your life. If I let you behind the wheel, you could cause a month's worth of buryin's.”

He opened his mouth to protest but closed it as Tori tapped him on the shoulder. “Sit in the back with Leona and fasten your seat belt. You should be fine.”

“
Should be
?” he whispered back.

Tori shrugged. “Well, I can't be
sure . . .
”

“Now, now, dear. You're going to give our Big Apple friend indigestion if you don't stop.” Leona stopped beside the rear passenger-side door long enough to transfer Paris from the crook of her left arm to the crook of her right arm. When the rabbit was safe and sound, she batted her false eyelashes at Charles. “Come. Sit with Paris and me. I have a gossip magazine in my bag we can look at.”

“Which one?” Charles asked as he crept forward a step.

“
Society
.”

His answering squeal perked Paris's ears up tall. “The latest issue? The one with that shrew Penelope Lawton on the cover?”

Leona bypassed a nod in favor of a wide-eyed lean. “Wait until you see the hairstyle she's sporting on the first page of the article—it brings new meaning to the word
hideous
.”

And just like that, Charles opened the back door for Leona and Paris and then claimed the seat next to them, all worry over his safety a thing of the past.

“Looks like you're ridin' shotgun for the day's investigatin', Victoria!” Margaret Louise beamed at Tori across the top of the car and then disappeared from view momentarily as she took her place behind the wheel. “So where to first?”

Tori slid into the passenger seat and clicked her seat belt into place. “It doesn't really matter to—”

“I need you to drop me off at SewTastic.”

Margaret Louise lifted in her seat just enough to afford a view of the backseat via the rearview mirror. “Will the chief let you inside?”

“We
are
talking about Robert, are we not?” Leona purred.

Rolling her eyes, Margaret Louise turned the key in the ignition and shifted the car into drive, her right foot instinctively finding and engaging the gas pedal. “I don't know what I was thinkin', Victoria. Seems even after all these years, I still forget the power of my twin's eye-battin'.”

Leona touched her hand to the base of her neck and preened. “It's a gift few understand.”

Margaret Louise turned left at the stop sign, right at the next block, and then left onto the rural two-lane road she favored when heading toward town. Pressing down on the gas, she rolled down her window and lifted her
chin to the late-fall breeze. “Woo-eeee, it feels good to be movin', don't it?”

“It does.” Tori peeked at Charles over her shoulder and noted his white-knuckled hold on the door as well as the rigidity of his upper torso. She tried not to laugh at his obvious terror, but she was grossly unsuccessful. “So is Penelope Lawton's hairstyle as bad as Leona said?”

When he didn't answer, Leona reached her bejeweled fingers across the space between them and gently patted his knee. He, in turn, tried his best to breathe, something he only seemed capable of doing if he closed his eyes to the rapidly passing scenery. “I—I . . .”

Shifting her focus back to the road in front of them, Tori pointed out their upcoming turn to Margaret Louise. “Okay . . . okay . . . we're here. You can slow things up a bit.”

“Yes! Please!”

Margaret Louise studied her New York passenger in the rearview mirror. “Well I'll be, Charles. You look like you're not feelin' too well. I can drive you back to Leona's place as soon as I drop her at the store, if you'd like. And if you're really feelin' sick, I can get you there faster than an armadillo can get run over out on Route 150.”

“No! No! I'm fine!” Charles snapped his head against the back of the seat and managed a smile for the woman peering back at him. “But, uh, maybe we could, uh, park the car and
walk
when we reach the shop?”

“Walk?” Margaret Louise echoed. “Clear out to the bed-and-breakfast? Good heavens, Charles, a walk that long would plumb tucker me out.”

He looked at Tori, the mental pleading behind his
eyes impossible to miss. “But a walk like that would be good for you. It—it would be . . . exercise!”

“The only exercisin' I'd be interested in doin' would be makin' a second stop at Debbie's,” Margaret Louise said as her focus returned to the road long enough to slam on the brakes to avoid a low-flying bird.

The pleading morphed into hope. “Then that is exactly what”—he snapped out a large triangle—“we . . . should . . . do.”

“Go to Debbie's?” Margaret Louise clarified.

“Yes. We need sustenance for our investigation!”

Tori felt her left eyebrow lift involuntarily.

Sustenance?

Before Leona could even purse her lips in preparation for a response, Charles turned his pleading eyes in Tori's direction. “It's true! I read online once that the most successful detectives eat a lot!”

Like clockwork, the car noticeably slowed. “Would you listen to this, Twin?” Margaret Louise glanced back at Leona. “Why, I've been sayin' this kind of thing for years, haven't I?”

The car came to a stop in front of SewTastic, and Charles's breathing normalized. “So you see, Margaret Louise? Your idea about going back to Debbie's is brilliant. I mean, her donuts are good, but that's only the tip of the iceberg.”

Margaret Louise slid the gearshift into Park. “Victoria? What's your take on this goin' to Debbie's stuff?”

“I . . .” She took a peek back at Charles and had to refrain from laughing as he mouthed the word
brilliant
. “I—I think it's a grand idea, actually. After all, it would
give us a chance to visit with Debbie and find out what, if anything, she learned about Lucinda Penning that might be of use in our investigation.”

Charles clapped his hands. “Yes!
See
? Brilliance—sheer brilliance, Margaret Louise.”

Rolling her eyes, Leona tightened her hold on Paris and opened the back door. “It's getting a little crowded in here, so I will leave you to your brilliance. But just so we're clear, I'm taking the magazine.”

*   *   *

They'd just settled themselves around the high-top table closest to the bakery's front window when Debbie came out from behind the counter with a dish towel in her hand. “Emma told me the three of you were out here. Were the donuts not good this morning?”

“They were fantastic as always.” Tori patted the empty chair to her left. “Do you have a few minutes to sit with us?”

“I think I can manage that.” Debbie slid onto the lattice-backed stool and pointed at the slice of black cherry pie on Margaret Louise's plate. “So? What do you think? Better than the original version?”

Margaret Louise forked up a piece of pie and held it up. “I was just thinkin' you'd done some tweakin' when you walked up.” She paused, popped the flaky treat into her mouth, and closed her eyes. “This ain't just black cherry pie. There's somethin' different. Like a hint of chocolate and somethin' else.”

Debbie nodded. “It's actually a Black Forest cherry pie with chocolate, marshmallow, cherry juice, whipped cream, cherries, and vanilla.”

“Sold!” Charles leaned forward and stole a piece of pie off Margaret Louise's plate. The second the treat hit his tongue, the moans of pleasure started.

“Sounds like you created another winner,” Tori mused.

Margaret Louise beat Charles's fork away from her plate. “There ain't no denyin' that, Victoria.”

Debbie's cheeks flushed red from the praise even as her gaze came to rest on Tori. “Any word on what happened yesterday?”

“Nothing you don't already know. Except, perhaps, that Rose is taking all of this very, very hard.” Tori looked down at the salted caramel cupcake she never should have ordered and then back up at Debbie. “She so wanted this craft event to be successful, you know?”

“Rose and just about every other shop owner in this town—including me.” Leaning away from the table, Debbie wiped at a spot on its edge with the dishcloth. “New blood is good for everyone.”

“Other shop owners?” Tori repeated.

Debbie moved on to another unnoticeable spot before finally tucking her dishcloth into her apron once and for all. “Think about it, Victoria. Yes, this tour group was small—just five people along with a bus driver and their organizer. But that's still seven new people trying out that recently opened coffee shop on the corner of Main and First, my bakery, Bud's Brew Shack, Shelby's Sweet Shoppe, Brady's Jewelry, Calamity Books, Turner's Gifts 'N More, and Leona's antique shop. If those seven like what they see, or find, or eat, then maybe they'll go home and tell their neighbors.”

“It's like that old commercial, ain't it?” Margaret
Louise mused around her latest bite of pie. “They tell two friends, and so on, and so on, and so on.”

“Then you see my point . . .”

Charles eyed Margaret Louise's now-empty plate with a hint of disappointment and then moved on to Tori's cupcake. “And if the promise of those folks was good for everyone's business, what happened to Opal stands to hurt everyone, too, yes?”

The jingle of bells announcing the arrival of a new customer halted Debbie's response until she was sure Emma was poised and ready at the front counter. When all was well, she turned back to Charles. “I suppose it could insofar as it might make people wary about coming here if they think a murderer is on the loose.”

Using her index finger, Margaret Louise chased the last of the pie crumbs around her plate and deposited them into her mouth. “They won't be wary for long with the three of us”—she pointed her moist finger at Tori, Charles, and then herself—“investigatin'. Why, by the time we're done, the person who strangled Opal will be behind bars where they belong.”

The left corner of Debbie's mouth twitched in amusement. “Investigating?” she echoed.

“That's right.” Margaret Louise pushed her empty plate into the center of the table and then reached into the tote bag she'd slung across the back of her stool. As she brandished Tori's notebook above the table, the pace of Margaret Louise's words picked up drastically. “Charles and Victoria got things rollin' last night by makin' this here suspect notebook. They did a good job, but I had to do a little addin' this mornin'.”

Tori felt the weight of Charles's eyes on the side of her
face and shook it off. If Margaret Louise wanted to count crossing things out and rewriting them as adding, that was perfectly all right. Whatever kept feelings from being hurt was worth a minor rewrite of reality on occasion.

“So who's on your list?” Debbie asked.

“I'll show you.” Margaret Louise set the notebook on the table, flipped it open, and spun it around to make it easier for Debbie to read.

Debbie leaned forward, took in the name across the first page, and then pinned each of them with questioning eyes. “You think
Lucinda
could have killed Opal?”

“Because she was
there
, Debbie.” Tori scooted her plate in front of Charles and watched as her cupcake disappeared once and for all.

“But so was I. And so were the three of you. That doesn't make us suspects, does it?”

Tori sat up tall. “No. But that's because we know one another, Debbie. All we know about Lucinda and the other women is that they like to sew. That's not enough to rule any of them out in Opal's murder.”