Deadly Notions - By Elizabeth Lynn Casey Page 0,82

she didn’t go in there when I asked her to get her stuff and leave.”

“Reworking her logo?” She ran to catch up with Milo as he made a sharp left halfway down the hallway. “Wait. I knew that. She’d considered changing the name of her collection but decided against it.”

He nodded as he flung open the door to his spare-bedroom-turned-office. “She said that after monkeying around with a new name, it got her thinking about simply redesigning the current logo to give it more pop.”

Stepping into his office she looked around, her gaze skirting the stacks of freshly graded tests and quizzes that covered the first of two desks.

“Here we go. See?” He pointed toward the assortment of computer-generated logos strewn across the top of the second desk, all of them highlighting some variation of a spotlight. Nudging one of the sheets upward with his fingers, he sighed. “Nothing. Nothing that’ll tell us anything. Except for the fact she was a bit of a slob when she worked.”

Tori looked from page to page, some versions showing a large spotlight to the left of the company’s name, some showing it to the right. The best of the group bathed the name in yellow as if the company, itself, was in the spotlight. Pushing the top layer of papers to the side she searched another crop of logos, the stark contrast in both look and feel making her lean closer.

“P. C.?”

Milo shrugged. “You got me.”

“Pageant . . . what? Pageant . . .”

“Concoctions? Creations? Children?”

“Maybe. But it couldn’t be creations. That’s what Regina’s company is called.” She pushed the second layer of papers to the side, her gaze falling on the connecting letters underneath—the P and the C intertwining to create a name that made Tori suck in her breath.

“What?” Milo moved in beside her, his breath warm against her ear. “What is it? Did you find—oh my God!”

She didn’t really know how she got home. She remembered telling Milo she’d be fine. She remembered getting in her car and slipping the key in the ignition. She even remembered pulling away from the curb. But the actual drive home?

That, she didn’t remember at all.

They’d talked it all through—the things they knew and the things they didn’t, agreeing to hash it all out in the morning before work. And it made sense. It really did. They both had jobs to do. But trying to shut her mind down after everything she’d learned that evening was virtually impossible.

Especially when so many of the pieces added up to the answer she’d been seeking since Ashley was murdered and a cloud of suspicion was cast on her friends. The problem, though, was the latest piece. The piece that had Beth contemplating a new name for her company.

Penelope’s Closet.

It was hard enough to imagine the desperation that would make one woman kill another over six dress designs. But to steal them and then name the entire company after the dead woman’s five-year-old daughter?

That was beyond the scope of comprehension. Far, far beyond.

Feeling the beginnings of a headache taking shape behind her temples, Tori unlocked the front door and stepped inside, her hands instinctively finding the dimmer switch on the living room light. She tossed her keys onto the small table beside the door and headed toward the kitchen, the promise of chocolate and Tylenol guiding her feet.

Why would Beth take that chance? Why would she even consider changing the name of her company to something that might point a finger squarely in her direction? Was she that confident in her flirtatious manipulations? That sure of her knee-weakening smile and giggly voice?

“No. Beth is too smart, too business savvy to make a mistake like that.” She stopped in the doorway, her own words bringing her up short. Was that true? Did she really think Beth was too smart for such a gross blunder?

Yes.

“Then why? Why consider the name Penelope’s Closet?” She yelled the words into the air, listened to them as they left her lips and traveled around to her ears. “Great. Now I’m talking to myself.”

Shaking her head at the ridiculousness that was her, Tori marched over to the cabinet and flung it open, her hands beating her eyes to the stash of chocolate she kept on the second shelf.

She unwrapped the foil-wrapped square and shoved it into her mouth just as the phone began to ring. For a moment she considered letting it go, the need for sleep the reason she’d left Milo’s in the first