be okay if her daughter brought three friends to story time. Of course I agreed. The more children I can reach, the better.”
Tori nodded. “I agree.”
“Two of the little friends were fine. Polite, respectful, curious about the various books I was reading. But the one was rather standoffish, almost as if she was above the notion of sitting on a carpet listening to stories.” Dixie held her hand out and made a little face. “Can you imagine a kindergartener being too good for books?”
“No. Not really. Unless it’s something she’s been trained to think.”
“Then this one was trained very, very well.” Lifting her hand to her glasses, Dixie adjusted them to sit more firmly across the bridge of her nose. “I—like the rest of the children—was enthralled in the story I was reading when the little brunette walked in. So it was a full page or two later that I finally realized she was standing there on the edge of the circle listening to the story. Then, before I knew what was happening, the nasty little one had stood up and was standing in front of this new little girl telling her she wasn’t allowed to be there, that only certain people could attend story time and she wasn’t one of them.”
She sucked in a whoosh of air, to which Dixie nodded in commiseration. “I know. Isn’t that awful? Before I could say or do anything, the little girl had run off, tears streaming down her face.” Dixie swiveled her stout body to the right and leaned toward Tori. “I got up, took hold of that nasty little one’s arm, and gave her a talkin’ to she won’t soon forget. Though I suspect she has other things to worry about these days.”
“I’m not following.”
“Chances are she’s trying to figure out who is going to pamper her now that her mother is gone.”
“Gone—wait!” Reality hit like a one-two punch. “Penelope Lawson was the little girl?”
A cloud of anger pushed its way across Dixie’s wrinkled face. “I should have realized she was tied to that awful woman. Why, her reactions to books and to me were much the same as her mother’s.”
Recalling Milo’s words, she nodded. “I’m sorry Ashley kept you from being a reader at the school. She couldn’t have been more wrong and, in doing so, the children of Sweet Briar Elementary certainly lost out.”
Ever so slowly, Dixie lifted her head to meet Tori’s gaze, a hint of moisture evident behind her glasses. “Thank you, Victoria.”
“It’s the truth, Dixie.”
A moment of awkward silence filled the room only to be chased away by more details of the day in question. “I considered getting Penelope’s phone number from the mom who’d brought her to story time but decided against it when I realized the other mom was gunning for Ashley.”
“Other mom?”
“Yes. The mom who was at Sally’s party—Stephanie Smith, I believe.”
“Stephanie? Steph—wait, you mean Samantha?”
Dixie mumbled the name beneath her breath, trying each version on for size. “Actually, I think you’re right, I think it is Samantha Smith. I didn’t get her daughter’s name.”
“Kayla,” Tori supplied as her mind worked to inventory the various bits of information she’d gleaned from Dixie over the past several moments. “So Samantha came back?”
“I was walking home from story time, contemplating whether I should ask for Penelope’s number, when I bumped into Samantha and Kayla near the park. I recognized the little girl right away—the pageboy-style haircut, the sad eyes, and the same heartbreaking little frown I’d seen as she ran out of the children’s room. So I stopped and went over to her and her mother so I could apologize for that little Penelope’s behavior and for the fact I didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.”
“And?”
“The mother sent Kayla off to play so we could talk. Though most of what she said was hard to understand on account of the crying.”
“Kayla got hurt on the playground?”
Dixie shook her head. “Samantha was crying. About the way Penelope has been bullying Kayla for months—at school, at the playground, in the library . . .”
She considered the woman’s words, realized they meshed perfectly with everything Milo had told her. “I heard that was happening. It’s such a shame, isn’t it?”
“You’re darn tootin’ it’s a shame. A cryin’ shame if you ask me. Kindergarteners bullying one another? Can you imagine?”
“No.” It was a simple answer but it was the truth.
“I told her I had half a mind to call Penelope’s mother and she told me