Death Threads (19 page)

Dixie nodded. “True enough.”

“But unless the nursing home residents happen to receive one of those books as a gift from a family member, they simply have no access to them. It’s either read the same book they’ve already read fifteen times or don’t read at all.”

“Crying shame the way we forget our elderly,” Rose grumbled as she set her plate on the coffee table in disgust. “Lock them away where you don’t have to deal with them. . . that seems to be this generation’s motto.”

“So how can we help?” Melissa interjected as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you want to raise funds to buy newer titles?”

“No. We’ve got the titles in the library. I just want to make them more easily accessible to the residents in the nursing home.” Tori set the pile of fabric at her feet and shook out the sample bag, holding it up for everyone to see. “What I’d like to do is comprise a list of some of our latest titles—by genre—and make it available to the nursing home. Once a week I’ll stop and pick up any requests, bring them back to the library to fill, and then deliver them to the nursing home. But rather than simply hand them a book, I thought we could deliver it in a homemade bag to make it a little more personal . . . a little more special.”

“Victoria, that’s a wonderful idea!” Dixie beamed from ear to ear as she met Tori’s gaze head-on, a reaction she hadn’t expected quite so fast from a woman who still saw Tori as the reason she’d been all but forced into retirement from her position as Sweet Briar’s head librarian. “We could make sacks that would be attractive to the male residents and sacks that would be attractive to the female residents.”

“Excellent idea, Dixie.” She handed the sample bag to Beatrice. “As you’ll all get to see, as it’s passed around, these bags are relatively simple. We can make big ones with a slightly sturdier fabric for those residents who request a title that may only be available in hardcover. And we can use smaller, more pliable bags for mass market and trade paperback books.”

“These are wonderful and yet so simple,” Georgina said as she took the bag from Beatrice’s outstretched hand and examined it closely. “Maybe we could even make a few smaller ones around the holidays and fill them with little treats that could accompany the larger sack of books.”

“Oooh, I like that idea,” Melissa said as she peered over Georgina’s shoulder. “For Valentine’s Day we could get fabric with a heart design and fill it with sugar-free treats. Or around Christmas we could use red and green fabric and stuff them with a tiny homemade ornament or bookmark.”

Rose waited patiently as the sample bag made its way around the room, a small smile carving dimples in her cheeks. “First, the children’s room at the library, and now this? Victoria, you have such lovely ideas. Your great-grandmother would be very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Rose.” It was all she could manage around the lump that threatened to stop her speech completely. This was what she’d loved about this group of women from the moment she’d met them. They were fun loving and kooky and generous to a fault. And despite the occasional misstep, their loyalty for one another eventually shone through—whether in their hands-on support for an idea such as the bags, or in their emotional support for one another like she’d needed not too long ago and like Debbie so desperately needed now.

“So is everyone in?” Margaret Louise asked the group.

“Yes!” Rose said, her sentiment quickly echoed by everyone in the room.

She bent down, scooped up the fabric and set it on the table. “I’ve got lots of different fabrics already, but we can still use anything you’d be willing to donate at Monday night’s meeting, too.” Reclaiming the sample bag from Rose, Tori turned it inside out and held it up. “As you can see, it’s quite simple to make but there’s a lot we can do with them. I hadn’t even thought of the holiday twist Melissa just mentioned but I love it.”

As everyone grabbed some fabric and coordinated it with a thread color from their personal supply, Margaret Louise took to her feet, glancing over her shoulder at Tori as she did. “Now?”

She laughed, her head nodding simultaneously. “Go ahead.”

Spreading her arms out to her sides, Margaret Louise rocked back and forth on her sneakers, her teeth unleashing the smile she’d worked so hard to keep under control during Tori’s pitch.

“Spill it, Margaret Louise,” droned Leona as she nodded at Beatrice’s fabric choice before switching her plate for the magazine she’d set on the coffee table. “What do you know?”

“What would you say if I told you I’ve finally figured out who Ella May’s man is?”

Squeals of excitement broke out around the circle as needles stilled in their hands.

“Who?” Georgina asked with excitement, putting words to the question on the tip of everyone’s tongue. “Who is it?”

Margaret Louise looked over at Tori and winked. “Well . . . he’s famous like she said. And, sure enough, he does have the kind of job that would limit his time in Sweet Briar . . .”

“Go on,” Beatrice prompted in breathless fashion.

“And his name is Billy, although that’s a variation of the name he gives everyone.” Margaret Louise paused dramatically before continuing, the eyes of everyone in the circle fixed on her face. “He was here just this past weekend, which explains the engagement we all know about by now.”

Leona set her elbow down on the armrest of her chair and made a rolling motion with her index finger as she leaned forward. “Can we get to the name anytime soon?”

Margaret Louise stopped in her tracks and spun around, her smile even wider than it had been at the beginning as she rested the tips of her fingers at the base of her throat in theatric fashion. “I’m sorry . . . are you all waitin’ for an actual name?”

Rose leaned over, snatched a cookie from her plate, and threw it at Margaret Louise. “Unless you want to be the reason we muss up Victoria’s home, I suggest you get to the point.”

Margaret Louise nodded and sighed. “If I must . . .”

Tori laughed, a sound she quickly stifled under Rose’s reproachful eye.

“Ella May Vetter has indeed landed quite the catch with her Billy. Especially considering the fact he is the president and CEO of Lions Publishing.”

Several mouths dropped open as others remained closed due to total oblivion.

“That’s right, my friends . . . Sweet Briar’s one and only Bunny Lady is about to become Mrs. William Clayton Wilder.”

Leona’s gasp echoed throughout the room as all color drained from her face. “M-m-my William Clayton Wilder?”

“Oh no, Twin. That would be
Ella May’s
William Clayton Wilder.” Margaret Louise strutted back to her spot beside Leona. “Which means you have a choice of patches for the middle of that pale blue handkerchief you’re making for the bride. Unless, of course, you can find a patch with both a bunny
and
a book.”

She couldn’t help but grin as she looked across the table at her friend, the woman’s gaze scanning the menu in front of her with as much care as if she were hunting for a hidden picture worth millions.

“Anything new?” Tori prompted as she leaned against the cushioned seat and traced her finger along the simplistic design of the flatware the waitress had left behind. “Any sign of real eggs on the menu?”

Margaret Louise snorted. “The same day Carter Johnson cracks a real egg in favor of using a carton will be the same day my twin wears one of her own creations.”

“Your twin can’t even thread a needle yet.”

“Exactly.” Margaret Louise set her menu on the table between them and spun it around so Tori could see. “See this French toast? The way they say it’s made with vanilla and cinnamon”—she pointed at the top item under the breakfast category—“I’d bet you a thousand dollars that’s mine. Harriet was at a church breakfast with me last year where I made this and she asked for the recipe . . . said she wanted to make it for Carter one mornin’.”

“Maybe it is,” Tori said with a shrug as she looked around the diner before meeting Margaret Louise’s gaze head-on. “But like my great-grandmother always used to say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“Not if that man is makin’ my recipe with carton eggs.” With one swift push, Margaret Louise shoved the laminated menu to the side, her chubby cheeks deflating as she exhaled slowly. “So, do you think I handled the whole Ella May and Billy thing okay last night?”

“I think the way you hustled to keep your sister from toppling over the side of her chair was quite heroic, actually,” she said with a laugh as her thoughts immediately returned to the moment Margaret Louise broke the news. “I mean, really, she could have broken a hip if you hadn’t moved as fast as you did.”

“I did move fast, didn’t I?” The woman shifted in the booth, the brief showing of a mischievous smile disappearing just as quickly. “Rose pulled me aside when I was leavin’ and told me I’d been mean to tell Leona in the way I did.”

Tori’s mouth dropped open. “Rose was defending Leona?”

Margaret Louise simply nodded, her mouth set in an uncharacteristically straight line.

“Did Leona yell at you for it on the ride home from my place?”

The woman shook her head as her hand swept at imaginary crumbs on the table.

“Did she say anything?” Tori asked.

Again, the woman shook her head. “Just that she couldn’t believe Ella May would land a man who has traveled so extensively and—”

“Is so wealthy.” Tori rested her elbows on the edge of the table and looked around the diner one more time, her thoughts registering names to faces even as she continued her conversation with Margaret Louise. “My guess is Leona is fine. Is she shocked? Of course she is—we were too, remember? But if she thought you’d been out of line she’d have called you on it.”

“So what can I get you ladies?” Fran, a gum-chewing, big-haired forty-year-old, appeared beside their table in a pale blue knee-length button-down dress with an apron tied at her waist.

“I’d like the French toast with a side of bacon and a glass of orange juice,” Tori said before gesturing to her breakfast companion. “Margaret Louise?”

“A slice of ham and a biscuit. Oh, and a glass of milk, please.”

“Would you like eggs with that?” Fran asked, as she scribbled their order on a thick pad of paper.

“Do you have eggs?” Margaret Louise turned her head, pinned the waitress with her eyes.

The woman’s brow furrowed. “Of course we have eggs, sugar.” She leaned over the table and flipped over one of their menus, her index finger finding the egg options in short fashion. “See?”

Margaret Louise moved her own finger to the menu, tapped it up and down on the asterisk beside the word egg. “When your boss starts crackin’ genuine eggs back there in that kitchen of his, I’ll order eggs. Until then I’ll simply stick with my ham and biscuits.”

The woman’s mouth gaped open as she stopped chewing long enough to stare at Margaret Louise. “Are you serious, sugar?”

“You’re darn tootin’, I’m serious.” Straightening in her seat, Margaret Louise grinned at Tori as Fran walked away mumbling under her breath. “So I thought last night was a peach, don’t you?”

“I do, too. I was glad to see everyone get so excited about making the book bags.”

“I have one already.” Margaret Louise swiveled her body to the left, rummaged around in a large straw bag she’d carried into the diner with them, and extracted a khaki colored bag with a fishing design. “I went with a more casual look for this one, assumin’ it would be better suited for a man. See”—she laid the bag across the center of the table—“I used pinkin’ shears along the top edge to give it a more casual look . . . which should cut down on the likelihood of the fabric unravelin’ over time.”

“Oh, Margaret Louise, it’s perfect.” Tori took in the coordinating drawstring the woman had added at the top. “Oooh and I like the way you put this in . . . do you think it will hold up okay?”

“I reckon it will.”

She leaned against the seatback as Fran returned to their table, a tray of drinks and food in her hands. Setting the tray on the edge of the table, the waitress expertly doled out the correct plates and drinks. “Need anythin’ else?”

“Everything looks great, thanks.” Tori looked down at her French toast, her stomach gurgling in hunger. “It looks delicious.”

“Remind me to make you mine sometime . . . with real eggs. Then you’ll know what delicious really is.” Margaret Louise reached for the bottle of ketchup and squirted some onto the plate that held her ham. “I was mighty tickled with the way everyone was so willin’ to help out at the bakery. I’ll work on the schedule later today and we’ll get things up and runnin’ first thing Monday mornin’.”

Tori stopped midcut, her knife and fork poised above her plate. “I can take an evening shift. And once in a while I even have a Saturday off just like I do today.”

“I know. But us retired hens are off all the time.” Margaret Louise slipped a piece of ham into her mouth and closed her eyes briefly. “Mmmm. Not bad.”