Death Threads (20 page)

She stared down at her own plate, at the now bite-sized pieces of French toast. “I like the way everyone agreed to help at the bakery . . . to come together to support Debbie. But”—she pulled her gaze upward, scanned it around the busy diner before looking back at her friend—“what about Colby? Shouldn’t people be looking for him?”

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Margaret Louise laid her fork beside her plate and leaned forward. “I mean, aren’t we here to pump Carter with some questions if he gets a second?”

Tori nodded as she pushed her plate of untouched food to the side. “But why aren’t people forming those big human chains and walking through the woods? Why isn’t Chief Dallas going door-to-door?”

The woman shrugged before reaching for her biscuit and breaking it into two pieces. “From what I’ve heard from Georgina, the chief is lookin’. He’s been out in the field behind Dirk Rogers’s garage more ’n a few times this week. No one knows what he’s doin’ out there exactly, but most folks reckon he’s searchin’ for Colby’s body.”

Tori reached for her orange juice glass and pulled it closer, her index finger finding the rim and tracing it slowly. “It’s so hard to know what to hope for.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, on one hand I want the chief to find Colby’s body so Debbie and the kids can at least have that. But”—she glanced up at Margaret Louise—“on the other hand, by not finding his body it doesn’t seem quite so real.”

The woman reached across the table and patted the top of Tori’s hand. “I know what you mean, Victoria. I feel exactly the same way. I think everyone does.”

She shook her head. “No. I think most people don’t care. If they did, wouldn’t they be offering to help? Colby is one of their own, you know . . .”

“No. Colby was part of this town because of Debbie.” Margaret Louise pulled her hand back and sliced another piece of ham. “Sure, he fit in well . . . as well as someone that good-lookin’ and that intelligent can fit in in a place like Sweet Briar, South Carolina . . . but he’s not one of their own. Especially not after what he wrote.”

“He wrote the truth, Margaret Louise,” she protested.

The woman held up her hands. “You’re preachin’ to the choir, Victoria. I know that. And you know that. And most folks would probably tell you that if you asked them in private.”

“Then where are those people? Why aren’t they looking for Colby?”

“Because they don’t want to face the wrath of folks like”—the woman looked over her shoulder, pointing out the target of her words—“Carter Johnson, who thinks he and his kin before him are the heart and soul of this town.”

“Shhh, he’s coming this way,” Tori whispered before sitting up tall and addressing the diner’s owner with a welcoming smile.

“How is everything, ladies?” Carter Johnson gestured toward Tori’s plate, his face growing stern. “Is something wrong with the French toast?”

“What?” Tori looked at the plate she’d shoved to the side and pulled it closer. “Oh . . . no . . . it looks wonderful. I’d just lost my appetite momentarily. Talking about everything that’s going on around here kind of got to me, I guess.”

“You mean with that rubbish in the paper last weekend?” The man took a napkin from his belt loop and dusted away a few crumbs from their table. “Don’t pay that no mind. It’s rubbish. Plain and simple.”

“And the fact that Colby Calhoun is missin’ and presumed dead? What’s that?” Margaret Louise asked as she dropped the remaining piece of biscuit onto her plate and took another bite of ham.

The man snapped his hand back, twisted the napkin between his hands as Milo Wentworth appeared over his right shoulder. “That’s what happens when people write rubbish.”

Ignoring the rapid beat to her heart at her first Milo sighting in four days, Tori kept her eyes trained on Carter Johnson. “Are you willing to tell that to Suzanna and Jackson Calhoun?”

“We-well, no. I don’t think that’s my place.”

“Nor is it your place to be judge and jury of a man who did nothing more than share a piece of information he felt the town had a right to know.” Tori’s fist hit the table as the words poured from her mouth of their own volition. “That will never justify what’s happened to him. Nor will it justify the way everyone is sitting around as if nothing has happened instead of combing this town seeking closure for this man’s wife and children. That, Mr. Johnson, is the true meaning of rubbish.”

“Hear, hear,” Margaret Louise echoed as a smattering of applause broke out around the diner.

Realizing she’d spoken much too loudly, Tori quieted her voice as her cheeks grew warm. “I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson. I really am. But that needed to be said. Sweet Briar is the charming town it is because of the people who live here now. That’s whom we should be fighting for . . . not some slightly mistold story about how we got to where we are now. The
how
isn’t what matters. It’s the
did
that counts.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Chief Dallas approached the table, his shoulder grazing Milo’s as he stopped just inches from Carter Johnson. “A member of our community was taken forcibly from his home. Had it happened an hour earlier, we might be looking for four bodies instead of just one.”

A shiver ran down Tori’s spine as the meaning of the chief’s words hovered in the air surrounding their table. Blinking back a sudden tear, Tori glanced at Margaret Louise, saw the same reaction in her friend’s face.

Carter Johnson sat on the bench beside Tori, the pallor of his skin chalky white. “I hadn’t thought of that. I guess all I saw was the end to a story I’d grown up on . . .” The man’s voice trailed off as he propped his elbow on the table and rested his forehead in his hand.

“We need to work together. To help Debbie and the kids. And Colby, too.” Margaret Louise reached for her milk glass and took a big gulp, wiping her mouth with her napkin when she finished. “Come Monday the bakery will be open again. We need word to get out and we need everyone to come back. Debbie and the kids need that income.”

“We’ll get the word out.” Carter pulled his head up and dropped his forearm in front of him. “And Chief, if you need some searchers, I’ll get that word out, too.”

The Sweet Briar police chief nodded as he looped his thumbs inside his belt. “The more eyes we have out there, the more apt we are to find what we’re looking for.”

“Count me in, Chief,” Milo said before locking gazes with Tori. “I should have volunteered long before now.”

She mouthed a thank-you over the lump in her throat, her eyes stinging with unshed tears as Carter shifted in the seat beside her.

“I’ll be there, too.” Carter Johnson rose to his feet, looking back over his shoulder at Tori as he did. “You’ve been quite an asset to this town, Miss Sinclair.”

“Yes she has,” Milo echoed as he heeded Margaret Louise’s urging and slid onto the bench beside the heavyset woman. “Anyone who thinks otherwise needs his head examined.”

“Just let me know, Chief.” Carter Johnson patted his poker buddy on the shoulder before turning back to Tori and Margaret Louise’s table one last time. “Breakfast is on the house this morning, ladies.”

As he headed toward the kitchen with the chief on his heels, Margaret Louise leaned forward across the table, her voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I should’ve ordered the eggs after all, huh?”

Tori rested her head on the seatback and laughed. “But they’d still be from a carton . . .”

“True.” With a quick wink at Tori, Margaret Louise turned to Milo. “So how are you, stranger?”

“Embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” Margaret Louise repeated as a smile spread across her face like wildfire.

“Humbled.”

“Humbled?”

“Willing to admit I was a close-minded jerk.”

“I’m sorry, can you say that again?”

“Margaret Louise, stop. You heard what he said.” Tori lifted her head forward and began fiddling with the flatware once again, her thoughts zigzagging from one thing to the other—Colby’s disappearance, Debbie’s pain, Milo’s willingness to put pride in front of truth . . .

“Did
you
?” Milo asked.

“Did I what?” She looked up from the flatware long enough to feel his intense gaze on hers.

“Hear what I said. About being willing to admit I was a close-minded jerk . . .”

She shrugged. “I heard it. I just wish it hadn’t happened to begin with.”

“Victoria! He’s trying to say he’s—”

Milo held up his hands then scooted his way out of their booth. “It’s okay, Margaret Louise. Tori is right. Showing up at your table just now wasn’t the way to handle this.” He stepped over to her side of the table, brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear with a gentle hand. “But you’ll see. I was wrong and I know that. And I’m going to make it right. But first I have to make it right for Debbie.”

And then he was gone, his back disappearing down the steps and toward the front door of the diner, parents of his former students waving as he passed.

“It’s not very often you find a man who can admit his mistakes, Victoria.” Margaret Louise reached across the table and removed the flatware from Tori’s reach.

She shrugged as she watched him disappear through the door. “That may be true. But saying and doing can be two very different things. I’d prefer to wait and see if the doing actually happens.”

“Suit yourself.” Margaret Louise took another gulp of her milk and then set the empty glass near the edge of the table. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah. I’m just not hungry anymore.” Tori pointed at the book bag Margaret Louise had moved to the far side of the table when the food arrived. “Thank you. For supporting my crazy ideas with such zeal.”

“My pleasure.” The woman folded the cloth sack and placed it back inside her straw bag before leaning across the table once again, a renewed sparkle in her brown eyes. “Did I tell you he’s coming back next week? To try the new version?”

“Who? Oh, wait. You mean the magazine guy?”

Margaret Louise nodded excitedly. “One and the same.”

Tori clapped her hands together. “Does that mean you’re going with the one I tried the other evening?”

“Everyone who has taste-tested it had the same reaction. So I reckon that’s the one I should try on him, too.”

“Does it give it a southern twist?” Tori asked.

Margaret Louise’s face reddened slightly as she grabbed her straw bag and slid out from behind the table. “You could say that.”

“Can you tell me?” she asked as she joined her friend and headed toward the door.

“A cook never shares her secret.”

“But won’t you have to if he gives you the cover spot on an upcoming issue of his magazine?”

The woman leaned her full frame against the door, pushing her way into the sunlit morning with Tori just steps behind. “Oh . . . if this goes the way I think it will, these sweet potatoes will be getting more than a cover spot on
Taste of the South
.”

“Ten thousand dollars sounds like a pretty nice more to me.”

“True. But there’ll be even more.”

She stopped beside Margaret Louise’s car, watched as the woman reached inside the open window and inserted the key into the ignition. “Like what?”

“You’ll know when it’s time.”

“Oh, c’mon, how about a hint? A teeny tiny little hint?”

“You want a hint?” The woman yanked open the car door and tossed her straw bag inside. “Hmmm. Okay, this is all I’ll say so don’t be askin’ no follow-up questions.”

“Yes . . .” Tori prompted.

“One man’s rags are another man’s riches.”

“Uh, oooo-kay. Translation, please?”

“I said no follow-up questions, Victoria.” Dropping into the front seat of her wagon with a loud
umph
, Margaret Louise pulled the door shut and started the engine.

“I didn’t ask a question. Not a real one, anyway. I just asked for clarification,” she pleaded, cocking her head to the side in angelic fashion. “There’s a difference.”

“Don’t give me those eyes, Victoria. You forget I’m a grandmother who sees those eyes all the time.” Readying her hand on the steering wheel, Margaret Louise popped her head out the open window and smiled. “But I’ll oblige by sayin’ it one more time . . . slower so you can follow.”

Tori righted her head and stuck out her tongue instead.

Margaret Louise laughed. “That doesn’t work either, Victoria. Now follow along this time . . . One. Man’s. Rags. Are. Another. Man’s. Riches.” Slipping the gearshift into Drive, Tori’s friend pulled her head back inside the car only to stick it out once again. “Oh, and Victoria?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Give Milo a chance.” And with that, the woman was gone, her powder blue station wagon disappearing out of the parking lot like a shot, a cloud of dust rising in its wake as Tori turned and headed toward the sidewalk.

Tori flipped on the radio and settled into her seat, the wind through the driver’s side window sending errant strands of her light brown hair in every direction as she accelerated on the wide-open road. She’d passed Dirk Rogers’s garage any number of times since moving to Sweet Briar yet she’d never been inside, preferring instead to use Jake Davis whenever her car needed a little routine maintenance.