Deadly Notions - By Elizabeth Lynn Casey Page 0,64

the one who saw the soaped threat on her car, that I wasn’t the one who saw her shaking in her room at the inn, that I wasn’t the one who saw the relief on her face when he invited her to stay at his house.”

Nina snorted. “I’ll bet there was relief.”

She waved aside her assistant’s implication. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am over reacting.”

“Do you think you are?”

Did she?

Did she really imagine the smile on Beth’s face as Milo ran into the woods? Did she jump to conclusions regarding Beth’s stay in his house or had there truly been leading innuendos designed to take her in that direction?

The answer was as crystal clear as it was when she had dialed Milo’s number before bed.

Beth had an agenda—one with Milo’s name dead center.

“No.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Focus on clearing everyone’s name in Ashley Lawson’s murder; work on this high school book club with you; hold down the fort here; finish up Operation Play Food before Abby’s and Sophie’s birthdays.” She met Nina’s eyes before letting her focus drift to the woman’s stomach. “And pamper you for the next six months.”

Nina nodded, yet said nothing, her eyes wide as she peeked around the library. When her visual inventory came back the same as Tori’s, she pushed off her chair and stood. “If Milo loses you over someone this conniving, this calculating, it will be his loss. And he will regret it for the rest of his life.”

Chapter 23

It really should have come as no surprise. Pageant Creations, after all, was located out of Sweet Briar, South Carolina, not Manhattan or Chicago, Dallas or Los Angeles. But still, based on what she’d seen of Regina Murphy thus far, Tori imagined a modern office building or even an elaborate storefront of some sort.

Not a converted garage that had seen better days.

Yet there it was, in all its non-glory.

Inhaling every ounce of determination she could muster, Tori stepped out of her car, her eyes drawn to the now empty parking spot in front of the door—a reserved parking spot that no longer had an owner. The sight brought her up short, making her swallow over a lump she wouldn’t have expected when she first pulled up.

Somehow, some way, she’d allowed herself to get caught up in all the drama that was Ashley Lawson—the meanness, the pettiness, and the over-the-top one upmanship. And then, when the woman turned up dead, she’d turned her focus toward finding a way to clear her friends of any suspected wrongdoing.

Yet she’d forgotten something. Something she’d pushed from her thoughts until just that moment, as she stood staring at the pink lettered sign that depicted a side of the victim she’d all but forgotten.

Ashley Lawson had been someone’s mother.

And that someone had to be hurting in a way Tori couldn’t even begin to imagine. Especially considering the fact that that someone was only five years old.

There was absolutely no doubt in her mind concerning the innocence of her friends in the death of Penelope’s mom. Sure they disliked the woman, maybe even hated her. But kill her? No.

Yet someone had.

Someone who strangled the victim inside her own car.

Someone who, as of that moment, had gotten away with murder.

Someone who robbed a little girl of a mother.

And someone who needed to be caught. For the sanity of those who weren’t guilty and for a little girl who deserved to know that justice had been served.

She pulled her gaze from the sign and fixed it, instead, on her intended destination. All day she’d deliberated the notion of calling Regina and asking for an appointment, yet, in the end, had opted instead to simply show up, unannounced.

Now, as she turned the knob and stepped inside, she couldn’t help but doubt that decision just a little. Especially when she considered the notion that Regina might get upset. Then again, what’s the worst she could do? Call Chief Dallas?

“Hello? Is anyone here?” she called as she pulled her hand from the door and let it click behind her. “Regina?”

Her mouth gaped open as she looked around at the lavishly decorated waiting room—the freshly polished wood floor, oriental rug, and leather lounge chairs in stark contrast to the building’s exterior. Strewn around the walls were pencil-sketched designs of little girls’ pageant dresses and the year they were created, their increasing sophistication evident along with the passage of time.

“Welcome to Pageant Creations, how can I help you?” Regina strode into