Deadly Notions - By Elizabeth Lynn Casey Page 0,7

Melissa might have already told everyone . . . ” Her words trailed off as she looked around the room, her gaze skimming across her fellow sewing circle members—Georgina, the town’s mayor, Debbie, Leona, Margaret Louise, Beatrice, Dixie, and Rose. “Wait, where’s Melissa? Isn’t she coming tonight?”

Margaret Louise shook her head, her plump hand gripping a needle as it zipped in and out of a piece of eyelet draped across her lap. “When I stopped by to check on the young-uns, she was sittin’ at the table agonizin’ over the loot bags for Sally’s party. I tried to tell her the DVD would be enough but she’s convinced it won’t be. Not with Penelope Lawson there.”

“Did you say Penelope?” Dixie groused.

Stilling her needle beneath the eyelet, Margaret Louise transitioned to a nod.

“Sadly, Melissa is right,” Debbie interjected. “A DVD won’t be enough. Not for that little girl and her mother, anyway.”

“Last year? After the circus? Luke came home with a porcelain picture frame complete with a professional photograph of himself and the party girl atop the elephant.” Beatrice laid the pieces of a cowboy vest across her lap and set about the task of finding the perfect color thread, her soft British accent bringing a hush to the room. “And the year before that? He came home with a beach towel and his own blow-up pool.”

“And don’t forget the sandals, the beach ball, and the photo album complete with pictures from the party that were taken and developed before the children even left.” Debbie shot her hands above her head and stretched, her dirty blonde hair reaching halfway down her back. “That’s why I did Jackson’s birthday out of town this year. To escape the pressure.”

“Pressure?” Georgina peeked out from behind the machine once again. “Debbie, you are grace under pressure. Just look at the way you handle being a mom to Jackson and Suzanna, and a wife to Colby . . . all while running the bakery seven days a week.”

“A piece of cake compared to keeping up with Penelope’s mother. That’s pressure I can’t take.”

“Is she really that bad?” Tori asked. “I mean, truly?”

Debbie, Beatrice, and Margaret Louise nodded simultaneously.

“Just this morning at the bakery Caroline Rowen and Samantha Smith were talking about Sally’s party. They were saying how badly they felt for Melissa. How they’re glad they don’t have to jump through the annual party hoop for another few months.” Debbie rubbed at her left shoulder with her right hand and moved her head from side to side. “Wow, I must have spent too much time hunched over Melissa’s cake design this afternoon—my neck and shoulders are killing me.”

“What were they sayin’ about Sally’s party?” Margaret Louise looked up, her fingers poised around her needle.

Shrugging, Debbie picked up her own needle and thread and began working on the pale blue skirt she was making for her daughter. “They didn’t get to say much. Regina Murphy came up behind them in line and everyone shut up. Fast. Though, based on the way her brows furrowed, I imagine she heard enough. I only hope for their sake she doesn’t relay things back to Ashley.”

“If she does, their children are done.”

“Done?” Rose repeated, stealing the sentiment from the tip of Tori’s tongue.

“Done.” Beatrice shot a glance in Debbie’s direction, leading Tori’s eyes to follow.

“Beatrice is right. If you say or do anything to put Ashley’s daughter in a bad light, your child is blackballed from everywhere—scouts, the playground, school, everywhere. Happened to a little girl named Abigail about a year ago. Her mother made a comment about Penelope being pampered and that was it. Poor little Abigail was shunned from that day forward. Her family moved out of Sweet Briar just a few months ago.”

“Sounds to me as if Penelope isn’t any nicer than this hotshot mother of hers.” Dixie set her latest sewing project on her lap.

“She’s not,” Debbie stated matter of factly. “And trust me, I don’t like expressing a feeling like that about any child. Even one that belongs to that woman.”

Rose coughed to clear her throat. “Then I still say Melissa should have left her off the guest list.”

“She can’t. It would be like signing the death certificate on Sally’s social life if she did.”

Tori heard the gasp as it escaped her mouth. “But Debbie . . . they’re children. Having birthday parties.”

“Not if they’re the same age as Penelope Lawson.”

Chapter 3

If Tori didn’t know any better, she’d have thought someone called an emergency meeting of