Elizabeth Lynn Casey - Southern Sewing Circle 10 - Wedding Duress by Elizabeth Lynn Casey Page A

the stop-it boys just now.”
    “The stop-it boys?” she echoed in amusement.
    “That’s right. And I suspect they have some sisters in our teen book club.”
    She laughed. “You mean Dana and Donna Wilkins?”
    Nina stopped in the last aisle, widened her eyes, flared her nostrils, and placed her hands on her rounded hips. “‘Didn’t I tell you to stop sitting next to Bobbie?’ . . . ‘I don’t have to stop anything, Donna Sue! He’s my friend, too.’”
    “Ah yes, the trials and tribulations of teenage girls.” Tori finished with the computers and then took in the library’s main room in its totality. The straightening she and Nina did throughout the quiet day had made it so a number of their closing tasks were already done. “I think we’re good to go. Why don’t you lock up the front on your way out and I’ll shut things down in the office and let myself out the back way?”
    “I’ll do that.” Nina returned to the counter just long enough to retrieve her purse and lunch sack from an interior-facing drawer and then headed toward the front door, keys in hand. “I’ll see you back here tomorrow.”
    “See you then, Nina.” She listened for the pair of distinct locking noises in her friend’s wake and then turned in the direction of her office, flipping off the lights in the main room as she went. Once in her office, she collected her own belongings, straightened a few piles she’d made little headway on, and then checked her phone.
    No missed calls from Leona or anyone else . . .
    “Where are you, Leona?” she whispered. “Why aren’t you returning my calls?”
    Scrolling through her contacts once more, she stopped on Leona’s name and pressed dial. Six rings later, she ended the call at the familiar sound of Leona’s recorded voice.
    “Okay, Leona, you don’t want to answer my calls?” she muttered en route to the back door and the car she’d left in the lot prior to her many wedding-related tasks that morning. “That’s fine. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
    *   *   *
    For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Tori’s gaze traveled through the windshield and up the front steps of Leona Elkin’s condo. When she reached the front mat, she noted that the previous day’s rolled-up newspaper now had a mate.
    Hmmm . . .
    Perhaps Leona had simply escaped the sewing circle’s crosshairs and taken a little trip. After all, next to caring for Paris and flirting with uniform-wearing younger men, traveling was among the woman’s favorite pastimes.
    Tori moved her field of vision upward, to the windows that faced the front road from the first floor of Leona’s unit. There, she found even more evidence to back up her latest theory on the whereabouts of Leona Elkin, including an utter lack of any discernible light coming through or around the carefully drawn curtains.
    She knew she should be irritated that her friend had simply taken off for parts unknown with nary a consideration for those who might worry, but she wasn’t. Not really anyway. If Leona was stomping around a city like Charleston, or sunning herself on one of its nearby beaches, it meant she was okay. And when it came right down to it, it was the not knowing whether Leona was okay that had been eating away at Tori’s last nerve.
    A flash of something out of the corner of her eye madeher turn in time to see an unfamiliar male figure taking Leona’s steps two at a time. Surprised, she leaned around the steering wheel for a closer look. In the man’s left hand was a key. Tucked under his right arm was . . .
    “Paris?” she gasped.
    Sure enough, two long ears peeked out from around the man’s arm and twitched in rapid succession.
    “What on earth . . .” The words disappeared into the air as she yanked open her door and stepped onto the pavement. “Excuse me . . . Can I ask what you’re doing with my friend’s rabbit?”
    The man turned as he reached the top step, a crop