Death Threads by Elizabeth Lynn Casey Read Free Book Online Page B

Melissa’s free hand swooped in, scooping the tiny infant from Tori’s arms and drawing her against her body with ease. “There’s an empty seat over by Rose.”
    “Okay, thanks.” With one final smile at the still wide-eyed baby, Tori reclaimed her sewing box and tote bag and stepped inside the family room, the normal round-robin welcome replaced by a few slight head nods and even less eye contact.
    To her left sat Leona, busily flipping through the pages of the latest travel magazine she’d received. Beyond her was Rose, the elderly woman’s frail frame slumped over one of four portable sewing machines that traveled from meeting to meeting. Georgina Hayes sat on the opposite side of the room, one of her trademark straw hats gracefully poised atop her dark brown hair as she quietly worked to secure the first of many buttons on the navy blazer she’d been fussing over for weeks. Beside her was Beatrice Tharrington, the youngest of the group, who diligently worked on a patchwork quilt for one of her charges, her mouth serious, her eyes never leaving her latest project.
    And then there was Debbie, tucked in a corner by herself, her shoulders slumped downward as she stared—unseeingly—at the birthday dress she planned to make for her ten-year-old daughter, Suzanna.
    Squaring her shoulders against the glares she suspected she’d receive, Tori bypassed the empty spot beside Rose and claimed the less comfortable folding chair to the left of Debbie. “So where is Margaret Louise tonight? Playing hooky?” Without waiting for an answer, she set the sewing box at her feet and placed the tote bag on the empty snack table between her and Debbie, offering a wink of encouragement to the woman as she blathered on. “Or do you think she got lost?”
    She knew it was a ridiculous question—the kind of inquiry akin to asking whether a librarian was familiar with the Dewey decimal system. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and the present situation lurking over the heads of the Sweet Briar Ladies Society Sewing Circle more than qualified as desperate.
    “The day Margaret Louise can’t find her way to this house, dear, is the day she takes her last breath.” Leona looked up from her magazine long enough to acknowledge Tori’s choice of seats with a slight nod of her head. “And even then I suspect she’ll get herself here before she officially keels over.”
    “But not before she braids Lulu’s hair, reminds Jake Junior to look after his siblings, reties Sally’s shoes, plucks Travis from a dirt pile somewhere, coaxes Julia from her mother’s makeup case, teaches Kate how to ride her bike, and makes goofy faces at Molly Sue,” Rose muttered as she shot visual daggers in Tori’s direction.
    “And prepares a five course meal for Melissa and Jake to enjoy at three in the morning after the last of the brood is finally asleep,” Georgina added before pursing her lips and returning to her buttons.
    The conversation, which would have normally been peppered with laughter, fell flat as everyone said what they wanted to say and then turned back to their immediate task at hand—ignoring Debbie while pretending to sew.
    “Okay, so maybe she’s not lost. Any other guesses?”
    Debbie met her attempt to keep the chatter alive with a shrug and a voice that failed to disguise her sadness. “She’ll be along soon. She’s at the bakery using the kitchen.”
    “She’s trying to put us all to shame with her dessert, isn’t she?” Tori reached into her canvas tote and pulled out the sample cloth gift bag she’d put together after the festival. The project—which had started as a whim—had ignited an idea she was anxious to share with the group.
    “She’s experimenting with her recipe from the fair, dear, trying to see if she can turn her blue ribbon into ten thousand dollars and the chance to grace an upcoming cover of Taste of the South magazine.” Leona peered at Tori over the top of her glasses, her