Reap What You Sew (17 page)

A smile tugged her lips upward. “Trust me, Emma, Debbie is well aware of what a gem she has in you. She’s also well aware of how lost in thought I get at times.”

The sparkle in Emma’s sapphire blue eyes dulled ever so slightly. “Are you okay?”

She made herself nod. “Fine. Just a little distracted, I guess.”

“Jumbo-sized hot chocolate?” Emma asked, her hand reaching for the largest to-go cup they stocked without even waiting for Tori’s answer. “The caramel brownie is really good. It’s a new recipe.”

At the mention of the treat, Tori felt her stomach churn. She held up her hand. “The caramel part sounds good but the brownie part, not so much. How about a cookie or a pie of some kind?”

Emma stared at her momentarily before turning her attention to the glass case that separated them from one another. “Um, okay… there’s a caramel pie and—”

“That sounds great.” Reaching into her purse, Tori extracted a crisp ten-dollar bill and held it in the young woman’s direction. “How’s school going?”

After the treat was plated and the to-go cup filled to the top, Emma took the money and shrugged. “It’s going, I guess. It’s not as much fun as working here, though.”

“Taking classes at the community college is giving you options. That’s all. When you’re done, if you want to stay here, I’m sure Debbie would be thrilled.” Tori grabbed hold of the pie plate and her drink and took a step backward, gesturing toward the far side of the seating area with her chin. “I’ll be over there.”

Slowly, she made her way through the maze of lattice-back chairs to her favorite table in the back right corner of the bakery. The table was a high top like all the others, but this particular one was where she’d sat with Milo on their very first date. That alone made it a special place to sit. The fact that it afforded a perfect view of the front door and the large plateglass window overlooking the heart of Sweet Briar didn’t hurt, either.

She slid onto her stool-high chair and looked around, familiar faces dotting several nearby tables.

Two years earlier, she’d been the proverbial fish out of water, the new Yankee librarian in a town of southerners who’d known each other all their lives. But now, she was one of them, her presence earning smiles and waves just like any lifelong Sweet Briar resident.

Some of that, she knew, was because of her work at the library. Patrons who saw her behind the counter day in and day out had grown to accept her as one of their own. And it was a good feeling.

Some of it, too, was the simple fact that kids had a way of forcing adults to see things differently—especially kids who came in contact with Tori on a semiregular basis either through story time, the teen book club, or via visits to the children’s room she’d created in an old storage room of the Sweet Briar Public Library.

But most of it had to do with her sewing circle sisters. Through them, she’d become a true member of the community—a member who had the endorsement of some of Sweet Briar’s most respected residents. People like Georgina Hayes, the town’s beloved mayor, and Rose Winters, the elderly retired schoolteacher who had, at one time or another, taught virtually every member of the town.

Even more than the acceptance they’d helped her gain, the women of the sewing circle had given her a home. A place where she always felt loved and cherished.

“Emma tells me there’s something troubling you.”

Tori looked up from her pie plate and smiled at the thirty-something bakery owner who doubled as one of her dearest Sweet Briar friends. “Oh, Debbie, I didn’t see you standing there.”

“Further proof that I have a genius working for me.” Debbie pulled a cloth from her belt and wiped off her flour-dusted hands before claiming the vacant chair across from Tori. “So what’s going on?”

“Just craving a treat, that’s all.”

Debbie pointed at Tori’s cup. “When you order a jumbo-sized, it’s more than just a craving.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. Debbie and Emma had her habits down pat. “Am I really that transparent?”

“Yes.” Reaching upward, Debbie released her long sandy blonde hair from its holder and let it cascade down her back for all of about three seconds before gathering it together once again, this time securing it a bit higher on her head. “So what is it? Wedding plans? The library? The end to your run as a movie extra?”

Leave it to Debbie to hit the nail on the head—even going so far as to strike nails Tori knew were there, yet had managed to forget for the moment. She wrapped her hands around the cup, savoring the warmth against her skin. “Yes. Yes. And in ways you can’t even imagine.”

A flash of intrigue skittered across Debbie’s pale blue eyes. “Oh?”

She nodded.

“I want details.” Debbie leaned back in her chair and gave Emma a high sign followed by a quick sweeping motion. Seconds later, the college-aged girl was out from behind the counter, dustpan and broom in hand. Debbie looked back at Tori. “Well? What are you waiting for? I need details.”

“Of which part?”

“All of it.”

Desperate for a little fun, Tori took a bite of caramel pie. “I—I don’t know where to start.”

Debbie rolled her eyes. “You’re such a tease.”

Tori took a second bite. “Hmmm, okay… the wedding. I’ve done absolutely nothing so far. I haven’t looked for a dress. I haven’t put a hold on the church, I haven’t found a reception hall, I haven’t—”

“You need to, you know.” Debbie set an elbow on the table, propping her chin on her hand as she did. “Twelve months will slide by really fast if you’re not careful.”

Twelve months.

Twelve months until she became Mrs. Milo Wentworth…

She shook her head against the flood of panic that threatened to consume her where she sat. “I’ll get to it. Soon. I just have to get a few other things off my plate first.”

“Like the Holiday Book Extravaganza?”

The enthusiasm in Debbie’s voice was contagious and she found herself pushing all images of fatal brownies and Leona in prison stripes from her thoughts. “I had a conference call with the board this afternoon. Looks like we might have Felicia Donavan inked as our guest of honor.”

Debbie clapped and squealed. “Felicia Donovan? Are you serious?”

She nodded, a smile playing across her own lips at the mere notion of having an author of Donovan’s stature in Sweet Briar. For an event
Tori
was putting together. “Seems she feels as if Sweet Briar is the perfect place to launch her first-ever holiday book.”

“Wow. If you pull this off along with everything else you’ve got planned, this event is going to be a smashing success.”

“From your mouth, Debbie Calhoun, from your mouth.” If she was honest with herself, though, she was every bit as hopeful for the first-ever Holiday Book Extravaganza as Debbie. Only Tori’s hope was mixed with a generous helping of realism where similar events were concerned. Publicity was the key to all of it. “As soon as we ink her, I’m going to need to put your marketing committee to work.”

Debbie sat up tall. “If you ink her, there won’t be a person in the state of South Carolina who won’t know about this event. You have my word.”

“I’m counting on that.” She paused her fork above the half-eaten pie and studied her friend, a miscellaneous thought pulling her back to her original funk. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Shoot.”

“Did you cater any of the food for the movie set this past week?”

Debbie nodded. “I did. We did box lunches for the crew on the first day and some snack platters for a production meeting later that same evening. It was fun, but a little nerve-racking, too.”

“Nerve-racking?” she echoed.

“I mean, I’m over the top about cleanliness in the kitchen anyway, but having the fear of God put in you regarding nut contamination has a way of making you neurotic.”

She stared at her friend? “What do you mean?”

“The star. Anita Belise. She was deathly allergic to nuts. So much so, the kitchen had to be triple-scoured before making anything that would end up on the set.” Debbie released a long sigh. “And then she goes and eats something with nuts anyway.”

Before Tori could utter a word, Debbie continued, her voice a mixture of disbelief and sadness. “I know this sounds awful, Victoria, and I don’t mean anything bad, but, I have to tell you, I’m just so grateful that the brownie that did her in didn’t come from here.”

The brownie that did her in…

She dropped her fork next to her plate. “You know about that?”

Debbie shrugged. “Everyone knows about that. At least they do if they read the paper.”

Tori scrunched her brows. “Paper?”

“Uh-huh.” Slipping off her stool, Debbie marched over to the front door, plucking a
Sweet Briar Times
from a rack just inside the entrance to the bakery. When she returned to the table, she set the copy beside Tori’s plate. “For the first time I can ever recall, the day’s paper came out late. But, based on the lead story, I can see why.” Debbie spun the paper around so the top story and its accompanying headline were impossible to miss.

Actress Dead After Fatal Bite

Halfway down the article, a pull-out box contained a quote from Chief Dallas.

“We will find out who killed Ms. Belise one way or the other.”

She scanned the article, drinking in every detail she could find, including the one about the victim’s lifelong allergy that had made her vigilant about food. So vigilant, in fact, that the nature of the actress’s death pointed to one thing and one thing only.

Murder.

“This isn’t good,” she whispered. “This isn’t good at all.”

“What are you talking about?”

Glancing up from the paper, she forced herself to focus. She knew this was coming, she really did. But now that it was here, in black and white with a nice vow from Robert Dallas to boot, she felt sick.

“W-we need an emergency circle meeting. Tonight.”

“We do?” Debbie asked. “But why?”

Tori pushed her plate across the table and stood. “Because we need to put our heads together and figure a way out of this.”

“Figure a way out of what?”

She could feel Debbie’s eyes boring into hers yet she couldn’t meet them. Her focus, her attention kept flitting to the quote from Chief Dallas. “This, this
mess
.”

“Victoria, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sweeping her hand across the article, Tori put words to the worry in her heart. “We need to figure out a way to keep Leona and Margaret Louise out of jail.”

“Out of
jail
?” Debbie gripped the sides of the table and leaned forward, her voice a shrill whisper. “What on earth are you talking about, Victoria?”

Shaking her head, Tori continued, Debbie’s question disappearing beneath a sentiment she hadn’t yet finished. “And me, too.”

Chapter 15

If she’d been thinking even semiclearly, Tori never would have uttered the notion of calling an emergency sewing circle meeting aloud. Especially in the presence of Debbie Calhoun, a woman who’d surely been a worry-sniffing dog in some sort of previous existence.

However, any clarity she once possessed had been swallowed by the fog that had settled in Tori’s brain the moment Anita Belise was found dead with a half-eaten homemade brownie beside her body. The fact that the brownie had been baked by Margaret Louise at the urging of Leona and upon Tori’s own offhand-yet-meant-to-be-humorous suggestion only made things worse.

Fortunately, though, Debbie’s
current
existence boasted a plethora of abilities including one Tori, herself, had yet to master.

It wasn’t that Tori was sloppy per se, but her house wasn’t party-clean twenty-four/seven, either. Nor did she own a bakery that could meet the snacking needs of eight women with little more than an hour’s notice.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty as she rounded the corner onto Debbie’s street, a pitcher of sweet tea in her hands.
She
was the one who’d called the meeting. Therefore
she
was the one who should be hosting.

Stopping at the mouth of the sidewalk that led to the Calhoun home, she inhaled deeply, silently praying for the peace and tranquility that surrounded her friend’s home to be transferred to her via osmosis. Yet, for the first time, the southern beauty with its pale yellow two-story exterior and wraparound porch failed to do what it had done on other visits. In fact, even the large moss trees that shaded the expansive yard on either side of the home did little to boost her spirits, igniting not so much as a single memory or vision of the future.

“If you’re going to stand there mourning your best friend, you could consider stepping two feet to your right so the rest of us could get by, you know.” Rose Winters shot a gentle elbow into Tori’s non-pitcher-holding side and shuffled past, her trademark cotton sweater buttoned up to the top despite the pleasant autumn temperatures. “Or, better yet, you could come inside with me and tell everyone what’s got your britches in such a twist that you couldn’t wait until Monday to get us all together.”