stopping there? I’d really like to get out to this Gabe person’s place as soon as possible. Debbie needs us.”
“In the south, Victoria, we believe in celebratin’ one another’s triumphs as well as mournin’ each other’s tragedies.” Margaret Louise let off the gas pedal long enough to make a wide turn onto Lantern Drive. “I want to help Debbie just as much as you do. And we will. But it would be right rude of us not to acknowledge Ella May’s news and . . . offer our assistance.”
“You mean your nosiness?” she asked as the corners of her mouth drifted upward.
“Our assistance,” Leona repeated firmly. “There is a difference, Victoria.”
She laughed. “Oh yes. Give me a moment. Nosiness means sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Assistance —or, rather, assistance according to the two of you—means getting permission for your nosiness under the guise of being helpful.” Glancing from Margaret Louise to Leona and back again, she cocked an eyebrow in their direction. “Am I right?”
Leona sat back against her seat in dramatic style, her fingers once again fanning her face as the car slowed to a crawl. “My work here is nearly done, Victoria. You really are getting the hang of southern ways in much quicker fashion than I could have imagined . . . especially in the beginning when you were so wholly inept.”
“Wholly inept?” she repeated.
“Non-southern, dear.” Leona glanced out the window as the car came to a complete stop, her nose crinkling at the mailbox beside them. “People who are not disturbed don’t have black and white polka-dot mailboxes.”
“With a big white weather-resistant bow on top,” added Margaret Louise. With a quick turn of her hand, she removed the heavy key ring from the ignition and dropped it into her oversized purse. “Shall we?”
Tori held up her hand. “Wait. I’m curious. What kind of assistance are you planning on offering, Margaret Louise?” She felt her eyes narrow as she caught an exchange of curious looks between the sisters—looks that made the proverbial hair on the back of her neck snap to attention.
“What?”
Leona cleared her throat daintily. “Assistance we’re all offering, dear.”
“We’re offer—wait! Wait just a minute. I’m not going to be roped into your campaign to invade this poor woman’s life.”
Running her hands down her neck, Leona simply stared back at Tori. “Victoria, dear, don’t you want to learn our ways? Don’t you want to be a true member of this community rather than a constant outsider . . . from the north no less?”
Tori threw her hands into the air then glided them through her hair in frustration. “For the last time, I only lived in Chicago for eight years. Before that I lived all over. But I was born in Florida , Leona. Flor-i-da.”
The woman snorted. “As I’ve told you before, dear, Florida does not count. It’s the leech on southern society, an imposter.”
She leaned her head against the seatback and looked out the front windshield, her gaze roaming across the lovingly shabby Victorian that was home to Ella May Vetter—a woman who simply valued her privacy, her fiancé, and, judging by the near-constant activity across her front yard, her bunnies. Her hundreds and hundreds of garden variety brown bunnies . . .
“Leona told me what you said about Ella May hirin’ Debbie to gussy up her weddin’ cake,” Margaret Louise interjected. “We just want to find ways we can help with the special occasion as well. That’s all, Victoria.”
Setting the notebook on the empty expanse of seat between them, Tori crossed her arms in front of her chest. “What do you propose?”
“Well . . . Debbie can make the cake . . .”
“I’m thinking she probably has other things on her mind right now.” She wasn’t trying to rain on their parade, she really wasn’t, but facts needed to be faced. The biggest of all being who killed Colby.
“Debbie will make the cake. I just
“In the south, Victoria, we believe in celebratin’ one another’s triumphs as well as mournin’ each other’s tragedies.” Margaret Louise let off the gas pedal long enough to make a wide turn onto Lantern Drive. “I want to help Debbie just as much as you do. And we will. But it would be right rude of us not to acknowledge Ella May’s news and . . . offer our assistance.”
“You mean your nosiness?” she asked as the corners of her mouth drifted upward.
“Our assistance,” Leona repeated firmly. “There is a difference, Victoria.”
She laughed. “Oh yes. Give me a moment. Nosiness means sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Assistance —or, rather, assistance according to the two of you—means getting permission for your nosiness under the guise of being helpful.” Glancing from Margaret Louise to Leona and back again, she cocked an eyebrow in their direction. “Am I right?”
Leona sat back against her seat in dramatic style, her fingers once again fanning her face as the car slowed to a crawl. “My work here is nearly done, Victoria. You really are getting the hang of southern ways in much quicker fashion than I could have imagined . . . especially in the beginning when you were so wholly inept.”
“Wholly inept?” she repeated.
“Non-southern, dear.” Leona glanced out the window as the car came to a complete stop, her nose crinkling at the mailbox beside them. “People who are not disturbed don’t have black and white polka-dot mailboxes.”
“With a big white weather-resistant bow on top,” added Margaret Louise. With a quick turn of her hand, she removed the heavy key ring from the ignition and dropped it into her oversized purse. “Shall we?”
Tori held up her hand. “Wait. I’m curious. What kind of assistance are you planning on offering, Margaret Louise?” She felt her eyes narrow as she caught an exchange of curious looks between the sisters—looks that made the proverbial hair on the back of her neck snap to attention.
“What?”
Leona cleared her throat daintily. “Assistance we’re all offering, dear.”
“We’re offer—wait! Wait just a minute. I’m not going to be roped into your campaign to invade this poor woman’s life.”
Running her hands down her neck, Leona simply stared back at Tori. “Victoria, dear, don’t you want to learn our ways? Don’t you want to be a true member of this community rather than a constant outsider . . . from the north no less?”
Tori threw her hands into the air then glided them through her hair in frustration. “For the last time, I only lived in Chicago for eight years. Before that I lived all over. But I was born in Florida , Leona. Flor-i-da.”
The woman snorted. “As I’ve told you before, dear, Florida does not count. It’s the leech on southern society, an imposter.”
She leaned her head against the seatback and looked out the front windshield, her gaze roaming across the lovingly shabby Victorian that was home to Ella May Vetter—a woman who simply valued her privacy, her fiancé, and, judging by the near-constant activity across her front yard, her bunnies. Her hundreds and hundreds of garden variety brown bunnies . . .
“Leona told me what you said about Ella May hirin’ Debbie to gussy up her weddin’ cake,” Margaret Louise interjected. “We just want to find ways we can help with the special occasion as well. That’s all, Victoria.”
Setting the notebook on the empty expanse of seat between them, Tori crossed her arms in front of her chest. “What do you propose?”
“Well . . . Debbie can make the cake . . .”
“I’m thinking she probably has other things on her mind right now.” She wasn’t trying to rain on their parade, she really wasn’t, but facts needed to be faced. The biggest of all being who killed Colby.
“Debbie will make the cake. I just
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