Death Threads (23 page)

“I don’t date men to feel good about myself, dear. I date men who will pick up the tab for a nice dinner and who will lap at my heels until I’m tired of them.” Leona slid off the step and stood.

“Isn’t that basically the same thing?” Tori asked.

“I don’t think so.” Leona peeked inside the bag. “You wouldn’t happen to have an organic carrot inside, would you?”

“Oh darn, I knew I forgot something at the market the other day.” Tori rose to her feet as well, her momentary irritation toward her friend disappearing as quickly as it had come. “But I could probably find something at my place if you want to tag along.”

“Can we drive out to Ella May’s after dark and return him?” Leona shifted from foot to foot, the bag in her hands beginning to wiggle.

“Sure. Under one condition.” It was a crazy notion in light of everything that was going on, but it made sense, too. The only way she was going to be able to think through the Colby situation with any clarity was to get some sleep. And the only way she was going to get a decent night’s sleep was to relax. Sewing served that purpose . . .

The bag wiggled harder.

“What’s he doing?” Leona asked as she held the bag outward, confusion etching lines around her eyes. “Why’s he moving like that?”

“He’s probably pooping.”

Leona’s eyes widened as her upper lip rose on one side. “Pooping? In the bag?”

“That’s my guess.” Tori stifled a giggle as she watched panic balloon across her friend’s face. “So . . . are you in for my one condition in order to get that bunny back where he belongs?”

“Yes! Here”—Leona shoved the bag into Tori’s hand—“hold this.”

“Was that a real yes?” she asked as the bag settled down once again.

Leona nodded.

“No matter what the condition is?”

“Yes!” Reality dawned across the woman’s face as her eyes narrowed at Tori. “You’re going to make me sew, aren’t you?”

Tori handed the bag back to Leona and smiled. “Trust me, Leona, bunny poop is nothing compared to babies in diapers.”

Leona grabbed hold of the bag, furrowing her brows in a silent question.

“If you don’t learn, you lose your bet with Margaret Louise. And if you lose, you’ll be watching seven children.”

“Yes?”

“At least one of those seven is in diapers.”

“Is he okay? Does he have enough water?” Leona stepped away from the front window just as Tori strode into the living room. “Did you find carrots for him? Or some lettuce? Does he seem sad?”

“Sad?” Tori stopped beside the coffee table and studied her friend closely. “Why would he be sad?”

“Because he misses his mama?”

“Leona, I must say, this softer side of you is very endearing.” Tori dropped onto the love seat and patted the cushion to her left. “As for everything else, he’s fine. I have him in one of the moving boxes I hung onto and he has a plate of freshly sliced carrots and a bowl of water to keep him company.”

“And the bag?” Leona perched on the edge of the armchair instead, her legs bent gracefully to the side. “Was it . . . was it what you thought?”

“It was. And trust me, it’s nothing compared to what baby Molly will produce.”

Leona waved her hand in the air before bringing it back to her lap. “I’m here, aren’t I? Must you really continue with the scare tactics?”

Tori laughed. “Scare tactics? Oh, Leona, you truly don’t have a clue, do you?”

“Nor do I want to, dear. So let’s get on with it.” Leona looked around the small cottage. “Where do we start?”

She knew she should be running for the sewing alcove and gathering up every piece of paraphernalia she could get her hands on before Leona changed her mind, but she didn’t. Not yet, anyway.

Inhaling deeply, Tori followed a thread that had been flapping around in the back of her mind all morning. “Leona, what can you tell me about Harrison James?”

The woman’s shoulders rose a hairbreadth only to sink back down as she nestled into the plaid armchair. “What would you like to know?”

“What’s he like? Does he have a hobby? Does he have a girlfriend? Does he have a relationship with his brother or anyone else in the family? Does he drink like the rest of them? Does he have a temper?”

Setting her elbow on the armrest of her chair, Leona propped her chin on the backside of her bent hand. “He likes to golf, although I’m not sure whether he’s any good at it or not. I suspect he likes the club atmosphere of playing more than the actual sport.”

“Okay . . .”

“He doesn’t seem to actively seek the companionship of women. Not since he and I dated a few times about a year ago.”

“You think you ruined him for everyone else, huh?” Tori teased.

“I tend to have that effect.” Leona looked up at the ceiling for a moment before continuing. “Now what else? Oh, yes. He seems to prefer keeping his brother at arm’s length. And, after seeing Gabe with your own two eyes, I’m sure you can understand that, dear.”

Tori shrugged. She pulled her legs up onto the couch and tucked them underneath her body, her hand instinctively reaching for a nearby throw pillow and hoisting it onto her lap. “I liked Gabe. Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges, but I thought he was sweet.”

“Well, he’s not the type to travel in the same circles as an attorney.”

“Do they see one another at all?” she asked.

“If they do, it’s not by Harrison’s choice.” Leona lowered her arm then clasped her hands inside her lap. “The only drinking I ever saw was wine with dinner. At the club. If he drinks anything stronger I’m not aware of what it might be or how often he does. And as for your last question, why would you ask about a temper?”

Slowly, Tori relayed her visit to Harrison James’s law office, leaving nothing out. When she was done, she hugged the pillow to her chest and waited for her friend’s response.

But there was only silence.

“Leona?”

Still nothing.

“Leona? Did I say something wrong?”

Finally, the woman spoke, her voice soft yet firm. “So you suspect Harrison could be behind Colby Calhoun’s murder?”

“Yes.”

“And you think this because . . .”

“Because he’s furious at Colby for telling the entire town that it was Harrison’s family—not bloodthirsty Yankees as everyone’s been raised to believe—who burned Sweet Briar to the ground over a century ago.”

“Go on,” Leona prompted.

Tori looked down at the pillow then back up at Leona. “Suddenly, those who were willing to give Harrison a chance to forge his own path in life remember who he really is, thus jeopardizing his career and his new lifestyle in the process. Think about it, Leona, do you really think the people at his club are going to be excited to see him show up for dinner and drinks now? He—Harrison James—the great-great whatever of the man who accidentally torched the town with moonshine?”

Leona nodded. “Moonshine is considered backwoods liquor.”

“Exactly.”

“You may have a point. But, dear”—she dipped her head downward, peered at Tori over the top of her glasses—“I still don’t see Harrison as the killing type. He-he’s kind of ”—she scrunched her nose—“wimpy if you know what I mean.”

“No. Tell me.”

“Harrison was the type to walk proudly until someone of a larger stature entered the room. He was the type to feel good about his clothing until someone better dressed walked in the room. He wouldn’t get nasty or sulky, he’d simply shrink into himself like a wounded flower.”

She tried Leona’s description on for size, saw where the woman was taking it, and realized she was still without the crucial answer she needed. “Okay, so maybe Colby could overpower him . . .” she said, her voice trailing off only to regain its necessary momentum. “But Colby was also under the influence of sleeping pills that night.”

“Sleeping pills or not, Colby Calhoun is the closest thing this town has to a celebrity. That fact alone would make Harrison lean toward timid.”

She rested the side of her head against the seatback as she traveled back to Harrison James’s office, her stomach tightening at the memory.

A shiver ran down her spine at the memory.

“Victoria?”

“I’m here. It’s just . . . I hear what you’re saying, Leona. I really do. But the man I saw was anything but timid.”

“What was he?”

“Angry at Colby. Bitter over the potential threat the article posed to his new life and—” She stopped, her eyes widening as another snatch of their conversation floated through her mind. . . .

There was that word again . . .

Coincidence? Or something more?

“And what, dear?”

“Huh?” She looked at her friend, saw the question in her eyes. “Oh, yeah, sorry. He was angry. Bitter. And vengeful.”

“Vengeful?”

“Toward Colby.”

After a moment of silence, Leona scooted forward in her chair, turning her entire body toward Tori. “Then it appears it’s time for another date with Harrison, doesn’t it?”

Tori’s head shot up. “You’d do that?”

“Of course, dear. Why wouldn’t I? Debbie is my friend as well.”

She released the pillow from her arms and sat up straight. “Leona, if you could find out anything it would be a big help.”

“I failed to stand by you during the Tiffany Ann Gilbert incident. It’s why I allowed myself to even entertain the idea of learning to”—her nose scrunched again—“
sew
. As a sort of peace offering. To you, dear. But I learned a lesson from that experience and I need to do things differently this time.”

Feeling a familiar burn behind her eyes, Tori pushed off the couch and made her way over to the sewing table in the alcove, her hands finding the wooden sewing box in record time. “Hearing you say that means a lot to me, Leona. But I’m still going to hold you to the sewing.”

She turned around just in time to see Leona’s shoulders slump. “Oh.”

“I truly think you’ll like it if you’ll just try. And beyond that, there’s that bet with your sister.”

“Don’t remind me,” the woman grumbled as she covered her eyes with her forearm momentarily before jutting her chin upward in defiance. “Okay, let’s do it. Let’s prove to my dear sweet sister that I’m not the hopeless woman she thinks I am.”

“You won’t regret it, I promise.” Tori set the sewing box on the coffee table and lifted its lid.

“I already do.”

“Don’t.” She sat on the love seat once again. “Look at it this way. If you learn to sew, you make me happy . . . if you learn to sew, you win your bet with your sister and get a home cooked meal delivered to your door every night for a month . . . and if you learn to sew, you—”

“No, that’s it.”

Tori shook her head. “There’s one more thing.”

“What’s that, dear?” Leona met Tori’s gaze with unadulterated boredom.

“If you learn how to sew, you make Ella May’s blue handkerchief . . .”

“I’m not following, dear.”

“You’ll have to give it to her, won’t you?”

Leona rolled her eyes in response.

“Which means you won’t need a pair of binoculars.”

“You mean . . .” The woman stopped, scooted her body upright and leaned forward in her chair. “Where do we start?”

 

 

She leaned over Leona’s shoulder as the woman’s manicured fingers held the piece of pale blue fabric in place beneath the machine. “There you go. See? I knew you could do—”

A loud knock at the door made her turn. “Okay, hold on. Why don’t you stop right there for a moment and let me see who’s at the door.”

A sigh of relief escaped Leona’s mouth as she pulled her arms into her lap. “By all means, let’s stop.”

She made a face at her friend. “You’re doing fine, Leona.”

“Fine doesn’t mean fun.” Leona slid out of the chair and wandered over to the window that faced the front porch while Tori crossed the living room and headed toward the front hallway. “Perhaps that’s about to change, though.”

Pulling the door open, Tori stepped back. “Margaret Louise, what a nice surprise!”

“Or maybe not,” mumbled Leona under her breath as she returned to the plaid armchair.

“He loved it. Absolutely loved it,” Margaret Louise gushed as she breezed into the cottage and spun around to face Tori. “He said they were the best he’s ever had!”

“Who’s he?” she asked as she pushed the door shut.

“William Clayton Wilder!”

“Oh, that’s right. Oh, Margaret Louise, I’m so sorry. I completely blanked there for a moment.” Grabbing her friend’s hands, she squeezed them inside her own. “I knew he’d like them.”