Reap What You Sew (14 page)

“You? Oh come on. I find
that
even harder to—Wait.” Her stomach roiled as reality dawned, ushered in by the memory of Leona’s words not more than thirty minutes earlier. “Oh dear God, please don’t tell me you’re putting any stock in what your sis—”

Margaret Louise stared down into her lap, the corners of her mouth inching their way south. “I checked her into Three Winds this afternoon.”

She shook her head in an effort to follow the conversational one-eighty they’d just taken. “Her?”

“Mamma.”

Confused, she waited for the woman to fill in the gaps, bringing her up to speed once and for all. Margaret Louise didn’t disappoint, though the despair in her voice made the explanation painful to hear.

“When we were sittin’ there, in that nice man’s trailer, I realized her behavior is hurtin’ other people. People who don’t understand. I try to explain it, try to fix it, but no matter what I say, no matter how quickly I try to put things back, they still look at her like she’s crazy.” Margaret Louise dropped her head against the wooden slats of her chairback and closed her eyes. “It hurts to see people lookin’ at my mamma that way. She’s a good person—a sweet and lovin’ person. She can’t help this problem she has.”

A sigh shuddered through the woman’s body followed by words that were strangled with unshed tears. “In Three Winds, no one will look at her that way anymore.”

For a moment she said nothing, Margaret Louise’s pained explanation making it difficult to know what to say and how to say it. But, in the end, she went with her gut, hoped what she had to say would make a difference to this woman who had been nothing short of wonderful to her. “I think you did the right thing, Margaret Louise. I truly do. If that man we met the other day was any indication, Annabelle will be in good hands there.”

Margaret Louise looked up, a spark of hope flashing in her eyes. “You saw it, too?”

“It?”

“With David McAllister—that nice man at the casting call the other morning. The one whose camera Mamma… took.” The hope intensified as Margaret Louise searched for some sort of validation from Tori.

A validation she couldn’t help but give. Reaching across the gap between them, Tori pushed a strand of hair from her friend’s tired face. “You mean the kindness? The understanding? The patience? Yes, I saw it. It was impossible to miss.”

Margaret Louise’s shoulders slumped still further in her chair, though this time, Tori was willing to bet it was from relief rather than despair. And she was right.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that, Victoria.” Margaret Louise pushed off her chair and stood, her trademark smile returning. “But I don’t want Mamma to ever feel as if I dumped her off without a look back. I want to visit her every day, maybe get her back to sewin’ again. That always used to make her happy.”

Grateful for the return of the real Margaret Louise, Tori stood, too. “Does Three Winds have an activity room?”

Margaret Louise beamed. “Oh, Victoria, this place is beautiful. It has a sunporch, an activity room, a lunchroom that looks like one of those bistro places my sister is always goin’ on ’bout, and even a hair salon so Mamma can get her hair done each Saturday just like she likes.”

The idea that had prompted her question magnified tenfold. “Do you think Mr. McAllister would let us have a sewing circle meeting there from time to time?”

“A circle meetin’…” Margaret Louise’s words trailed off in favor of a hand clap. “Oh, Victoria, what a wonderful idea! We could add Mamma to the rotation. I could bring her to the meetings no matter where they are and then, when it’s her turn to host, we’ll bring the circle to Three Winds. That way she feels included!”

Buoyed by Margaret Louise’s reaction, Tori continued, a second thought forming on the heels of the first. “And those rag quilts you mentioned making in the past? We could make that our latest group project and let Annabelle give them to her fellow residents. I bet she’d like that.”

“I know she would.” Margaret Louise took three steps forward and pulled Tori in for a bear hug. “Why, I’ll talk to Mr. McAllister in the mornin’ and see if we might be able to have a meetin’ there on Monday. It was supposed to be here, but I don’t think anybody would mind if we moved it to Three Winds, do you?”

Ever so gently, Tori extricated herself from her friend’s surprisingly powerful arms and stepped back, each member of the sewing circle flashing before her eyes as she considered the question. “I can’t imagine it would pose a problem for anyone except maybe Melissa if she needs to bring Molly Sue along.”

Margaret Louise waved away any concern. “Jake should be home. He knows circle night is the only time Melissa ever takes without those young-uns. But even if she needed to bring Molly for some reason, that child is good as gold. Plop her in a travel pen with some dolls and books and she won’t make so much as a peep. God sure gave them an easy time with that one.”

“And Jake Junior, and Julia, and Tommy, and Kate, and Lulu, and Sally, too. Which makes me think it’s more about good parenting on Jake and Melissa’s part than some luck of the draw.”

“Why that’s nice to hear, Victoria.” The proud grandmother of seven beamed. “So you think everyone will be okay with…”

Tori studied the woman closely as silence claimed the air around them. “Margaret Louise? Are you okay?”

“Leona.”

“Leona?”

“My sister.”

And just like that, the reason she’d come to this home, this place for a boost, was back in the forefront of her mind. Right alongside yet another, newer, realization.

“Have you seen her today?” It was a rhetorical question in many ways, especially since she was 99.9 percent sure of the answer.

“I was with Mamma all day, remember?”

She nodded.

“Which means I didn’t see Leona.” Margaret Louise gestured for Tori to follow her to the door. “My twin finds it far easier to forget ’bout Mamma if she simply turns a blind eye. That way she don’t have to be embarrassed. So if there’s anyone who is goin’ to have an issue with a meetin’ at Three Winds, it’ll be Leona.”

“I hope you’re wrong.”

“I know I’m not.”

Tori fell back a step as Margaret Louise yanked open the door and led the way into the lovingly messy house that was inhabited by one yet loved by many—its interior making all who entered feel at home whether they were one year old or eighty. Step by step she made her way down the hallway, peeking into each and every room as they passed.

The kitchen, with its wide counters and side-by-side double stovetops, was truly the heart of the home—providing the workspace Margaret Louise employed to fulfill her insatiable need to experiment with recipes while serving up plenty of room for the hungry masses that always seemed to be on hand to taste test the fruits of her labor. The country-style table on the far side of the room accommodated one high chair and seating for ten more, perfect for the kind of family gatherings so many people associated only with holidays yet were a regular occurrence for the matriarch and her close-knit family. The lingering smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and the colorful magnetic letters arranged to say, “We love you Mee-Maw,” only completed a picture that needed no further clarity.

The parlor was next, its raised floral wallpaper and decorative crown molding the only indication of the room’s formal status, a child-sized wooden kitchen set, miniature baby buggy, and toy chest overflowing with stuffed animals and building blocks setting the record straight for all who crossed its threshold.

By the time they reached the family room, Tori was more than ready to curl up on one of the well-worn sofas with an afghan and her sewing box, the only snafu being the warmer than normal autumn temperatures and the fact she didn’t
have
her sewing box.

Margaret Louise flopped onto a chocolate brown armchair and lifted her swollen ankles onto the matching ottoman. “I’ve been flappin’ my jaw like a hummingbird flaps his wings ever since you got here and now it’s your turn. What’s got your beehive in an uproar?”

Hooking her leg beneath her body, she sank onto the matching sofa opposite Margaret Louise, her mind casting about for something she could say that would stop just short of the truth.

“I’m missing Nina at work,” Tori said. She grabbed hold of a nearby throw pillow and hugged it to her chest. “It feels like forever since she was there.”

Margaret Louise’s eyes narrowed. “Least she’s had the baby now.”

“True.” Tori studied the pillow closely, finding a loose thread near the bottom left corner and wrapping it around her index finger again and again. “And boy, is Lyndon adorable.”

“Now, Victoria, don’t you pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’ ’cause I ain’t havin’ none of that, you hear?”

She stopped mid–finger wrap and stared at her friend. “Excuse me?”

“Quit your lyin’.”

She looked from Margaret Louise to her purple-tipped finger and back again, her finger unraveling itself from the makeshift noose she’d created. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’—I mean,
talking
about.”

“You didn’t take ten laps around the barnyard just to tell me you miss Nina.”

Her mouth hung open just long enough to allow her ears to process yet another foreign expression. “Ten laps around the barnyard? What barnyard?”

“My house is not on the way home from work.”

“I knew you’d understand my feelings.” She knew it was lame, but she tried it nonetheless.

“I might understand them if I knew what they were.”

“I miss Nina.”

“And…”

“Um, I’m tired?”

Margaret Louise pointed toward the window. “Your bed is ’bout half a mile that way.”

“I, uh, was hopin’ to see Lulu?”

“Lulu goes to bed at eight o’clock… in her own house.” Margaret Louise wiggled her toes atop the ottoman. “You could look me in the eye if you’d quit beatin’ ’round the bush and tell me what’s on your mind, Victoria.”

She knew the woman was right yet, still, she was afraid. Margaret Louise had too much on her plate already with looking after Annabelle. The last thing she needed was any angst her sister’s dilemma was certain to cause. Especially when the police finally came knocking at the door of the deadly brownie’s ultimate creator.

“I don’t know how to say it.” She swallowed once, twice.

“Seems to me it’d be a lot easier to just spit it out rather than keep hemmin’ and hawin’ the way you’re doin’ now.”

It was true. Besides, it was only a matter of time before the gossip the woman had managed to miss while looking after her mother caught up once and for all.

“Did you happen to notice the way Mr. Kelly ran from his trailer shortly after you and your mother left this morning?”

“Can’t say I did. I reckon a train could have rumbled past my head after we left and I wouldn’t have noticed. Seein’ Mamma in handcuffs like that shook me to my boots. All I was thinkin’ was how best to help her before we crossed paths with someone less understandin’ in the end.”

She felt her shoulders slump. “Oh.”

“Why do you ask?”

Why indeed.

“Was there something wrong?” Margaret Louise inquired with all the persistence of a dog in search of a bone.

It was no use. It was time to come clean. Delaying the inevitable was making it worse. “Anita Belise is dead.”

“Anita Bel— wait. You mean the big fancy actress?”

She nodded.

“Isn’t she the one my sister was fumin’ ’bout just last night? The one that kept gettin’ in the way of Leona’s latest conquest?”

Again, she nodded, the remaining details still to be told making it difficult to speak.

“That’s awful, Victoria.”

“There’s more,” she whispered.

“Good heavens, Victoria. What more can there be?”

Closing her eyes, she counted to ten, willed herself to find the courage to say what needed to be said. When she reached the last number, she felt her lashes part. “She… She died eating a brownie.”

“A brownie?” Margaret Louise echoed. “What kind of brownie?”

She swallowed against the lump that threatened to cut off her speech, the answer to her friend’s question threatening to choke her where she sat. Finally she found the words if not the volume.

“Yours.”

Chapter 12

By the time Tori unlocked her front door, all thoughts of a bath were gone, in their place one very distinct image that involved a comforter being pulled over her head and absolutely no contact with the outside world for the next fifty years. Or, at least, until the whole Leona/Margaret Louise fiasco was resolved. But even as her feet led her toward the proper setting, she knew it was an exercise in futility.

Sure, she could climb into bed, even pull the covers over her head and pretend the world didn’t exist. But that’s all it could be—pretend.

Anita Belise was dead.

And she was dead because of a brownie—a brownie made by Margaret Louise and used by Leona as a way to get rid of Anita Belise.

Granted Leona hadn’t intended for the actress to die, but she had, and that, alone, was enough to make either, or both, of the women a suspect should the starlet’s death be classified a murder. And judging by the widespread knowledge of Anita’s allergy among those who worked with her on set, the likelihood it was an accident seemed next to nil.