Reap What You Sew (4 page)

Margaret Louise shrugged. “I’d rather they think
I
was a thief than have them think something like that about my mamma.”

It wasn’t a surprise. Margaret Louise was the kindest, truest, most loyal friend Tori had ever had. And, judging by the misty haze clouding Rose’s eyes, Tori wasn’t the only one that felt that way.

She reached for Margaret Louise’s hand, encasing it between her own. “Annabelle is lucky to have you.”

“
I’m
the lucky one, Victoria. I learned how to be a mamma and a mee-maw by watchin’ her.”

Rose cleared her throat and then gestured toward the sewing room at the end of the hall. “I think it’s time we start sewin’, don’t you?”

Margaret Louise and Tori fell into step behind the evening’s hostess, each lost in thoughts the others could only guess. But that was okay. Friends and sewing—the cure for just about everything under the sun—were mere steps away and Tori wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

She could see it in the way Margaret Louise’s trademark smile returned to light her face. She could hear it in the way Rose’s normally shuffled steps became almost weightless. And she could feel it in the way all remnants of tension in her own body seemed to magically disappear.

All conversation stopped as they rounded the corner into Rose’s sewing room, the chatter that was as much a part of the weekly meeting as the sewing itself giving way to a round of smiles and a chorus of hellos.

“Victoria, we were afraid you weren’t going to make it tonight,” Debbie Calhoun said as she wiggled her way off the scrap of sofa she’d claimed for herself to give Tori a hug. Debbie was the group’s triple threat—devoted wife to author husband, Colby, attentive mom to Suzanna and Jackson, and respected owner of Debbie’s Bakery. “We’re glad to see we were wrong.”

“I wouldn’t miss an evening with all of you unless there was a really good reason.” Tori hoisted her sewing bag further onto her shoulder and looked around at all of her friends. “And there wasn’t… so I’m here.”

In the far left corner of the room, Georgina sat behind one of the group’s portable sewing machines, her favorite straw hat balanced on the armrest of the love seat she shared with Leona. To Leona’s left sat Melissa, Margaret Louise’s daughter-in-law. Melissa was just finishing up the first trimester of her eighth pregnancy, a milestone that had her finally wanting to eat again.

Margaret Louise crossed the room and reclaimed her spot between Melissa and Annabelle while Rose shuffled over to the rocking chair that permanently resided underneath a gooseneck lamp.

Behind Tori sat Beatrice, who was busily searching through her sewing box, and Dixie—Tori’s predecessor and on again, off again nemesis. At the moment, they were friendly enough, Nina’s maternity leave providing the former librarian an opportunity to feel needed once again. What would happen once Nina was back, though, was anyone’s guess.

“So what did I miss?” she asked, as she, too, claimed a chair for the evening—a cushioned folding contraption nestled between Beatrice and Dixie.

Leona lowered her latest travel magazine to her lap and peered at Tori from atop her reading glasses. “Incessant chatter about Nina’s baby, what else?” Lifting the magazine once again, the woman made a slight grimace. “Why on earth babies have to be such a topic of conversation all the time is beyond me.”

Tori couldn’t help but laugh at Leona being Leona—antimarriage, antichildren, anti-everything except wealthy and/or uniformed men. “They
are
cute, Leona. You can’t deny that.”

“
Paris
is cute, dear. She’s fluffy, she’s cuddly, and she is on her best behavior all the time.” Leona’s chin jutted upward with indignation. “Yet you don’t hear me going on and on and on about her twenty-four/seven.”

A snort of disgust came from Rose’s direction, followed by a stamp of her foot on the wood floor. “You’ve only been here twenty minutes, Leona Elkin, and I’ve already seen three photos of that rabbit.”

Leona sniffed. “Those were for
Patches’s
benefit, not yours, you old goat.”

Debbie, the consummate peacemaker of the group, raised her hands into the air, successfully thwarting an argument between the two most stubborn members of the circle. “Leona, I’m sure Patches enjoyed seeing a picture of his mother. That was very thoughtful of you.”

Leona lifted her chin still further only to bury it behind her magazine as Debbie continued. “I’m also sure that babies are cute, too. And since we’ve all just learned about Nina’s new addition, I think it’s quite normal for that to be a topic of discussion at the moment. Just as Paris’s unexpected bout with motherhood was on the tip of everyone’s tongue for weeks after our circle getaway.”

It was true. Somehow, despite everything that had been going on at the time—not the least of which was the murder investigation into the death of Tori’s ex-fiancé, and her unrelated yet long overdue acceptance of Milo’s marriage proposal—the realization that Leona’s beloved bunny rabbit, Paris, was a female and not a male had dominated its fair share of conversations both in and out of circle meetings. Some of that, of course, was simply the nature of the surprise. One minute, Leona was dressing Paris in neckties, and the next she was throwing a belated baby shower for the long-eared mother of seven.

And when Leona had elected to give one of the baby bunnies to Rose, every member of the circle had held their breath, wondering if the long-standing tension between the pair would finally subside once and for all.

It was a question that had been answered quickly and succinctly. No.

“Have you seen him yet?” Melissa flicked the end of her long, sandy blonde ponytail over her shoulder then plucked a cracker from a zip top baggie tucked between her thigh and the side of her chair. “Does he favor Nina or Duwayne?”

Just like that, the conversation was back where it belonged—in safe waters.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him yet. But Milo and I are planning to stop by the hospital tomorrow after work.”

Dixie retrieved a baby blue gift bag from the floor and handed it to Tori, the woman’s normally gruff demeanor disappearing behind a rare smile. “Then would you give this to them for me?”

“Of course, I’m sure Nina will be touched—”

“I have one, too, if you wouldn’t mind,” Debbie said, nudging a blue and white striped bag in Tori’s direction with a gentle foot. “I went out on my lunch break as soon as I heard the news.”

“Me, too,” Beatrice said, indicating a carefully wrapped gift box on the end table beside her chair. “Luke and I were walking around the square after our visit to the library when we had to duck into Scarlet’s Trunk so he could use the loo. While I was waiting, I saw the most lovely pram blanket for Nina’s baby.”

Within seconds, the tiny table beside Tori’s folding chair was covered with an assortment of gifts for Nina and her new baby boy, including one from Leona, herself.

“See, Twin? Even with all your hullabaloo against babies, you can’t resist their pull, either, can you?” Margaret Louise teased.

“It was a chance to shop. That’s all,” Leona mumbled before dropping her magazine onto her lap to cast a scrutinizing eye on the mayor. “So, what’s all this about a movie being filmed here?”

Georgina stilled her hand mid–needle thread and shrugged. “What’s there to tell? Warren Shoemaker is filming a few outdoor scenes on the Green over the next week or so. He’ll be using about ten or fifteen extras from the town and, in exchange, he’ll be donating a half dozen picnic tables and some bleacher seating for the festival grounds at the far end of the square. It’s a win-win for the town.”

A swell of conversation about movies and favorite actresses and actors ensued only to get cut off by an ever-growing impatience in Leona.

“Have you seen him?”

Georgina resumed her task at hand, stopping to moisten the tip of the thread between her lips. “Him, who?”

Leona rolled her eyes. “Warren Shoemaker, of course. Who else?”

With a practiced hand, Georgina knotted the end of her thread then pushed aside the portable sewing machine. “Of course. I saw him at city hall yesterday and—”

Leona’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Why didn’t you tell us? Why did we have to read it in the papers like the average… the average commoner?”

“It was city business, Leona.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before,” Leona countered.

“Well, it did this time.” Georgina looped her left hand beneath the white eyelet pillow case, and set her right on top, guiding the needle through the fabric from below. “That bleacher seating will be a nice addition to our festivals and it wasn’t worth losing out on that by breaking his trust. Warren was very clear about wanting to keep this call for extras under wraps until the last minute.”

“I wouldn’t have told a soul,” Leona said between lips that were suddenly pouty. “In fact, I would have made a wonderful welcoming committee for Warren. It’s good for people of culture and affluence to find a kindred spirit as quickly as possible when visiting a strange land.”

“A
strange land
?” Rose echoed. “Good heavens, Leona, what on earth are you babbling about now?”

Turning her back to Rose, Leona continued, her words directed at Georgina yet intended for all to hear. “Do you know how I could reach him?”

Georgina stopped mid-stitch and met Leona’s gaze straight on. “You can show up at the call for extras at seven o’clock tomorrow morning just like everyone else.”

Leona’s breath hitched in surprise. “But I’m not like everyone else. I—I have no intention of being a blur in the corner of some two-second-long camera shot.”

Melissa laughed, the soft, melodic sound echoing around the room. “Oh no, Aunt Leona? Then what, exactly, do you
intend
to be?”

“Wait. I can answer this.”

Leona turned and stared at Rose. “You can?”

“Of course. You intend to be”—Rose stretched her arms wide, the effort hampered by limbs riddled with arthritis— “a
star
.”

Eight sets of eyes turned to stare at Leona, including one additional set belonging to that of her own mother.

“Is that true?” Dixie asked through a mouth that stopped gaping just long enough to pose the three-word question aloud.

Leona squared her shoulders. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Slowly, Georgina looked up from her pillowcase, pinning Leona with a steely eye. “The main parts have been cast… by professionals.”

“Casting changes happen all the time.” Leona lifted her magazine off her lap once again, her voice adopting a bored tone. “Did you know that John Travolta was supposed to be Forrest Gump? Or that Gwyneth Paltrow was supposed to play Rose in
Titanic
?”

“The main parts have been cast… by professionals,” Georgina repeated. “Though, from what I hear… no, wait. I shouldn’t.”

Leona dropped her magazine once and for all, her hands finding and grasping Georgina’s arm in record time. “Yes, you should! Tell us!”

Lowering her voice to a whisper she could be certain was still audible around the room, Georgina leaned forward, eyes shining. “It seems there are a few folks connected with this movie who can’t wait for it to be done and over with.”

“Why? Are they having personality clashes or something?” Debbie mused.

Georgina snickered a laugh. “That’s putting it mildly. In fact, from what I’ve been able to gather from a few of the folks behind the scenes, Mr. Shoemaker is spending as much time stamping out sparks as he is directing.”

Eight hands stilled around the room, allowing eight bodies to lean in Georgina’s direction. Waiting.

“Sparks? What kind of sparks?” Tori finally asked.

“Big ones,” Georgina answered in a voice that no longer qualified for any kind of whisper. “You know, the kind of sparks that are just waiting to go… BOOM!”

Chapter 3

Despite it being her third autumn in Sweet Briar, the absence of colorful leaves and any sort of definable nip in the air still surprised Tori. So, too, did the annual ap-pearance of Halloween decorations that suddenly graced nearly every storefront window that bordered the town square.

It simply didn’t fit.

But as odd as orange pumpkins were on an eighty-degree morning, the festival-size crowd amassed along the perimeter of the square at seven in the morning was even more disconcerting.

The people of Sweet Briar were supposed to be working… or sending their kids off to school… or heading into Debbie’s Bakery for their morning cup of coffee…

That
would be normal.

That
would fit.

This didn’t.

“Woo-eee. You ever see anything like this, Victoria?” Margaret Louise mused as she leaned over the white fence surrounding the Green, her large brown eyes fairly dancing with excitement. “Why I believe every single person in Sweet Briar is here this mornin’ and there ain’t a fried dough stand or barbecue tent anywhere.”

Tori nodded as she, too, took in the excited faces around them, everyone eager for a chance at two seconds of blink-and-you’re-gone fame. “Debbie is probably beside herself with the lack of customers this morning.”