Authors: Elizabeth Lynn Casey
How could a man who donated books to a library and acted like a kid on Christmas at the sight of a favorite childhood costume steal money from a little old lady? A dead one at that?
It was the one piece of the puzzle that still made no sense. And it was the piece that would gnaw at her until it finally did.
The phone beside her bed began to ring, the melodic sound bringing a smile to her lips.
Milo had been so sweet when he’d arrived at Martha Jane’s house, the worry in his eyes further proof that she meant as much to him as he did to her. He’d panicked when they’d been disconnected, his mind picking through everything she’d said and coming up empty.
Rose, however, had called to fill him in. . . .
Right after she called Police Chief Dallas and explained the entire situation to him as she’d heard it through Martha Jane’s open window.
She reached for the phone, her mind conjuring up the sound of Milo’s voice before he uttered a single word.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice still heavy with sleep.
“Is it true?”
She sat up in bed, her hand nearly dropping the phone in surprise.
“Leona? Is that you?”
“Who else would it be?”
“Milo.”
“He hasn’t called yet?”
She shrugged as her eyes strayed back to the clock. “No.” “It’s his mother. I warned you.”
“His mother has nothing to do with this, Leona. He’s probably just asleep. It is a school holiday, you know.”
“You could have been killed yesterday.”
She paused, the real meaning behind her friend’s words sifting through the phone. “You sound as if that bothers you.”
A moment of silence was followed by a slight sniff. “And that surprises you, dear? You are my protégé, after all.”
“Your protégé?” she repeated.
“If I don’t teach you the ways of the south, how will you ever learn?”
Grinning, she scooted back down in her bed. “Margaret Louise? Rose? Debbie? Melissa? Should I go on?”
“But that’s not
my
southern.”
“Ahhh. So there
is
a difference after all. I knew it.”
“There are some similarities, of course, but my version is . . . well, better. Unique. Like me.”
“Oh, you are unique, Leona.”
“Thank you.”
She glanced over at the framed photograph of her and Milo at the Re-Founders Day Festival and a thought occurred to her. “How’s the judge?”
Leona’s smile was audible through the phone. “Heavenly.”
“And his robes?” she teased.
“The perfect cover.”
“The perfect cover?”
“For what’s underneath . . .”
She cleared her throat. “Okay, that qualifies as too much information, Leona.”
The woman laughed. “Then I’ll let you guess. It’s more fun that way.”
“So is that why you called this morning?” she finally asked. “To make sure I was okay?”
“Of course, dear. I feel as if you’re my responsibility. It’s why I really wish you’d heed my advice on Milo’s mother. If you don’t, you’ll always be in her shadow—the woman who doesn’t cook quite as well as his mother, the woman who doesn’t keep house quite as well as his mother, the woman who doesn’t care for him quite as well as his mother.”
“We’ll be fine, Leona.” She rolled onto her side, her gaze glued to the tiny dust particles that danced in the sunlight. “I guess I’ll see you Monday night? At our circle meeting?”
“Where is it this week?”
“Rose’s house,” she answered as she noticed the rainbow of light that played on her bedroom floor, the window beside her bed serving as a prism.
Leona started to speak, then stopped and cleared her throat before trying once again. “Is it true?”
She strained to make out her friend’s question. “Is what true?”
“That Rose saved the day?”
“It is.”
Silence fell across their conversation, each woman lost in thoughts the other could only imagine. But it was Leona who finally broke the silence.
“Not bad for an Old Woman.”
She nibbled her lower lip inward, the image of Rose standing in the doorway of Martha Jane’s bedroom with a look on her face that left no doubt she was still a force to be reckoned with. “No, not bad at all.”
“I suppose I should say something supportive when I see her next.”
“That might be nice.”
“Perhaps you could offer me a suggestion in that regard . . .”
“How about something like, I’m glad you’re okay, Rose. I admire you for what you did for Victoria.”
A slight hesitation in her ear was soon followed by the faintest of snorts. “Gushing is only necessary for
a man
, dear.”
She shook her head. “Then whatever you come up with will be fine, I’m sure.”
When they hung up, she rolled onto her back once again, her gaze finding the ceiling out of boredom. Why hadn’t Milo called?
A knock at the door caught her up short, a smile stretching across her face once again.
He didn’t call because he opted to come over, instead. . . .
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she stepped into the fuzzy pink slippers that awaited her feet each morning. A quick peek in the mirror beside her nightstand confirmed what she knew to be true . . .
She needed a shower.
But it could wait. Especially when Milo was at her front door . . .
Grabbing her robe from the bottom of her bed, she slipped into it on the way to the door, the satiny fabric cool against her skin.
She stole a peek through the sidelight, her smile fading a smidge as she realized it wasn’t Milo knocking at her door.
It was Georgina. With a letter in her hand.
Unlocking the door, she swung it wide open. “Georgina, what a nice surprise.”
The town’s top elected official breezed into Tori’s home, her trademark straw hat perched atop her dark hair. “Doug did all of it.”
“I know.”
“He stole the town’s first flag, murdered Martha Jane,
and
stole her money.”
Stole her money?
Tori shook her head. “He stole the flag and murdered Martha Jane. But
Curtis
stole her money, remember?”
“That’s what he said . . . originally. But once Doug was safely behind bars he changed his story.”
She trailed Georgina down the hall and into her living room, her fellow sewing member and friend claiming the same plaid armchair that Leona sought each time she came for a visit. “What do you mean he changed his story? He told Margaret Louise and me that he stole it. What reason could he possibly have to lie about that? Especially when the lie landed him in so much hot water?”
“He saw Kenny lurking behind the house on the night Martha Jane was murdered. He assumed, like everyone else, that Kenny was behind it. When he stumbled across the cash stuffed in a hole behind Rose’s house, he assumed Kenny had stashed it there. He figured if he got rid of it, that would be one less crime Kenny would be tied to.”
“And you believe him?”
“Chief Dallas suspected something was off when Curtis said the body had been faceup.”
“It wasn’t?”
Georgina shook her head. “No.”
She considered the mayor’s words. “So he took the money he found and donated it to the library and the collection booth?”
“Among other things.” Georgina pulled her hat from her head and rested it on the armrest of the chair. “He put some in an envelope for the youth center in town, and still more in an envelope for a drifter who had a sick baby at home.”
“He took the quality he liked most about Robin Hood and gave it a twist,” Tori whispered as her mind worked to process everything she was hearing.
“What are you talking about, Victoria?”
What
was
she talking about?
Shrugging, she wandered around the room, her mind suddenly too jumbled to think clearly. “He still gave to the poor . . . he just did it from start to finish every step of the way.”
Georgina looked a question at her.
“He took it from Kenny as a way to
help
him. And he gave it to people who needed help, too.”
“Only it wasn’t Kenny who’d stashed the money in the hole.”
“Doug?” she asked, although she knew the answer without asking the question.
“He’s in a lot of trouble,” Georgina confirmed.
“I figured as much.”
“So what happens with Curtis now?”
“He’s a free man. The judge believed him when he said he was trying to help. . . .”
“Sounds like a lenient judge—” She stopped, a possible explanation sneaking a smile across her lips. “Would this judge happen to know Leona, by any chance?”
Georgina grinned.
Tori exhaled a loud sigh. “I should have known.”
“I think Leona truly cared for Curtis.”
“I think so, too.” She raked her hands through her already rumpled hair, then pointed at Georgina’s left hand. “What’s that?”
The woman glanced down. “Oh. I forgot. It’s for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“From who?”
“Why don’t you open it and find out.”
Taking the envelope from Georgina’s outstretched hand, she turned it over, slipping her finger beneath the seal.
She peered inside, her mouth going dry.
“It’s money.”
“I know.”
“He had some left?” She sank onto the couch. “I don’t feel right taking this again. Not when it should really go to Martha Jane’s sister.”
“It wasn’t part of her money.”
“It wasn’t?” She pulled the contents from the envelope, her finger flicking through the hundred dollar bills. “There’s two thousand dollars here.”
“It was apparently money Curtis had been saving ever since he started drifting around, chasing storms for work.”
“I can’t take this.”
“There’s a note.” Georgina plucked her hat from the armrest and stood. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to head over to town hall and check on a few things.”
When she was gone, Tori pulled the thin white sheet of paper from the envelope, her gaze falling on the perfect penmanship of a man who valued words as much as she did. . . .
Dear Tori,
I’m sorry for any heartache and confusion I may have caused. For what it’s worth, Sweet Briar is the first place that felt like home in years. Your library brought me back to a time that made me very happy and is the reason I’m finding my way back to that place after too many years away.
Please use this money for something new and different in the library. A workshop? A speaker? A new section geared toward teenagers, perhaps? I leave the specifics up to you, knowing that the booklovers of Sweet Briar are in good hands with you as their librarian.
Best wishes,
Curtis
“Thank you, Curtis,” she whispered as she took one last look at the donation, the man’s generosity and kind words blurring her vision.
A second, softer knock at the door took her by surprise. She peeked outside.
Margaret Louise and Lulu stood on the porch, Lulu’s eyes glowing with excitement.
Yanking the door open, she bent down and spread her arms wide, Lulu stepping into them without a moment’s hesitation. “Hi, Miss Sinclair!”
“Hi, yourself.” She released her grip on the child just enough to get a good look at the little girl’s face. “You look like you’ve got something special to tell me.”
Lulu shook her head. “Nuh-uh.”
“You don’t?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Land sakes child, where’d you learn to talk like that?”
“Jake Junior.”
Margaret Louise grit her teeth. “I swear, when I get hold of that child . . .”
“I don’t have something to
tell
you, Miss Sinclair. I have something to
show
you.”
She flashed a quick glance at Margaret Louise over the top of Lulu’s head. “You do, do you?”
“Uh-huh.” Reaching out for the bag her Mee-Maw carried on her shoulder, Lulu set it on the ground at her feet. “Mee-Maw said you needed sixty hats and scarves for a special place that helps big girls.”
“That’s right, I do,” she said even as she furrowed her brows at her friend. “I have fifty-nine right now . . . which means I need how many more?”
“None!”
She made a face at the little girl. “I need sixty and I have fifty-nine. How many do I need, Silly?”
“None!” Lulu repeated.
“Lu-luuu . . .”
The little girl reached into the bag and pulled out a wrapped package. “Open it,” she instructed.
“Now?”
“Yes.” Hopping from foot to foot, Lulu watched every move Tori made, her gaze never straying far from her face.
She gasped as the last piece of paper fell to the ground. In her hand was a hat and scarf set in a brilliant royal blue fleece.
“I made it . . . all by myself!” Lulu shouted with pride.
A lump sprang in her throat as she looked from the fleece to the little girl hopping happily beside her. “You did?”
“Mee-Maw helped me.”
Tori swiped at a tear as it streaked down her left cheek only to be followed by one on her right. “Lulu, it’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”
“I wanted to help, too.”
Gathering the child in her arms, she closed her eyes and inhaled the potpourri of cookies, Play-Doh, and innocence that was Lulu Davis. “I couldn’t have done it without you, sweetheart. Thank you.”
She lifted her face toward the late afternoon sun, the warmth letting her know she was traveling in a westerly direction.
“Is there a reason I have to be blindfolded?”
“There is.”
“Can I get a hint?”
“You mean like a clue?” Milo asked, his voice deeper than usual.
“Yes, exactly.”
“No.”
She pouted her lip outward. “Why not?”
“Because you figure out clues better than anyone else I know. Giving you a clue would be like telling you exactly where we’re going.”
“And that’s so wrong?”
“It is if I want it to be a surprise.”
“I’m not sure I like surprises,” she countered.
His hand stopped her forward progress. “Then I suppose we should turn back.”