Death Threads Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Sewing Tips

  Sewing Pattern

  Unwound

  “Colby? Colby?”

  Debbie’s panicked voice preceded her down the staircase and sent Tori’s pulse racing once again. “Debbie, what’s wrong?”

  “Colby . . . he’s not in his bed . . . he’s not upstairs anywhere.” Debbie rushed through the parlor and into the kitchen, lights flipping on in every room she entered. “With that sleeping pill I gave him he shouldn’t be wandering around. He shouldn’t even be a—”

  A low guttural moan escaped Debbie’s lips as she stopped halfway through the kitchen, her feet moving backward as she bumped into Tori. “Oh no . . . oh no . . .” Her voice trailed off, only to return in a shriek as she pointed at the floor in front of them. “Oh no!”

  Stepping around her friend, Tori stared at the knife jutting from the linoleum kitchen floor with a hastily scrawled letter beneath its handle.

  Careful not to touch anything, Tori leaned in as close to the note as possible, her stomach churning violently as her gaze fell on the faint red spatters that dotted the otherwise ordinary white stationery paper. Faint red spatters that looked a lot like—

  “Oh my God. Debbie, call the police . . . now.”

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Elizabeth Lynn Casey

  SEW DEADLY

  DEATH THREADS

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,

  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  DEATH THREADS

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / March 2010

  Copyright © 2010 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-18549-0

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To Dr. Barry A. Singer, MD, Heather Popham, and the rest of the folks at the MS Center for Innovations in Care . . . Thank you.

  Chapter 1

  Tori Sinclair had always prided herself on being a relatively calm person—the kind of woman who kept a cool head and a professional demeanor at all times. The kind of woman who steered clear of mindless watercooler drivel in favor of more intelligent and meaningful conversation.

  And, technically, she still was that woman.

  But only because the Sweet Briar Public Library didn’t have a watercooler.

  What it did have at that moment, however, was Colby Calhoun—the dark-haired, smoldering gray-eyed hunk of manhood that left women drooling in his wake for miles.

  It didn’t matter one iota that his brow was furrowed in distress or that his hands were flipping through a pile of books at mach speed, completely oblivious to the eyes of nearly half of the Sweet Briar Ladies Society Sewing Circle who’d stopped by for a quick chat yet stayed to gawk. It didn’t matter that the nearly crater-sized dimples that made them all swoon hadn’t appeared even once since he arrived. And it didn’t matter that he’d bypassed his infamous chest-enhancing button-down shirts in favor of a ragged old run-of-the-mill T-shirt.

  The only thing that mattered was the great view he afforded over the ever-growing stack of books that graced the information desk. Books Tori knew she should shelve, but couldn’t bring herself to move. Not before he left anyway.

  “Would you just look at those hands? And those eyes? How on earth Debbie can drag herself out of bed every mornin’ when that’s lyin’ next to her is beyond me.” Margaret Louise Davis leaned her plump sixty-something frame against the maple counter and sighed. Heavily. “Because if it were me, I wouldn’t move. Ever.”

  “If it were you, my dear twin, he wouldn’t look like that.”

  “Leona Elkin!” Tori reprimanded sharply, her voice echoing across the large room and drawing more than a few disdainful looks in their direction. Feeling the instant heat to her cheeks, she raised an apologetic hand in the direction of her patrons then pinned her friend with a disapproving look to rival all others. “What an awful thing to say to your sister. Margaret Louise is a—” She stopped, cast a slow glance down her friend’s polyester-clad body as she searched for the perfect description. Something that would do justice to the warm and witty woman who’d grown to be one of her dearest friends despite their age discrepancy of nearly thirty years.

  “A what, Victoria?” Leona prompted as her carefully tweezed eyebrow arched upward in amusement.

  “A-a study in perfection,” Tori offered. She tilted her head to the left, a strand of light brown hair grazing her cheek as she considered the woman who had stood by her side through thick and thin, helping her to not only consider Sweet Briar as home but to embrace it as well. “She’s the most amazing cook I’ve ever met . . . she-she’s laugh-out-loud funny without even realizing it . . . she has the most infectious smile I’ve ever seen . . . and she’s the epitome of wha
t a grandmother should be.” Raising her own eyebrow in triumphant fashion, she folded her arms across her lilac-colored blouse and leveled a look of challenge at her self-proclaimed mentor. “So there.”

  “Very good, Victoria. I can see my coaching has been relatively successful thus far. You’ve managed to put just the right positive spin on my sister’s qualities like the good southern girl in training that you are. But let us not forget that southern girls are only sweet and kind when a man is not involved. Which, of course, there is.” Leona gently swept her pink-tipped fingers through her salon-softened gray hair and peered at the object of their bickering over her stylish glasses. “And no matter how many of my noteworthy qualities may be running parallel through Margaret Louise’s body, one thing remains unchanged. That”—she gestured her bejeweled hand toward the well-built man hunched over an open book in the corner of the library before bringing it to rest on her fraternal twin’s shoulder—“would never look twice at this.”

  “And he’d look twice at you, Leona?” Rose Winters, the oldest of the group, pulled her cotton sweater tightly against her frail body and snorted.

  Tori couldn’t help but giggle as Leona’s mouth gaped open and the color drained from her cheeks. “I-I wasn’t saying he’d look at me.”

  “That’s good. Because if you were, I’d have to rethink your recent lack of judgment,” Rose hissed as she raised a bony finger in Leona’s direction. “First, your despicable fling with that detective from Tom’s Creek . . . and now this?”

  “Despic-flin-I-didn’t,” Leona sputtered.

  Margaret Louise’s eyes danced as her face stretched into a mischievous smile. “Oh yes you did, Twin. You were all fired up ’bout Daniel McGuire from the moment you laid eyes on him. I believe you said somethin’ about a uniform and snug packaging at the time.”

  “And don’t forget his gun. She really liked that part, remember?” Tori interjected around nibbled lips that threatened to release an entirely too-loud laugh.

  “It was despicable,” Rose interrupted firmly, “because you let your replaced hormones run amuck in favor of your friendship with Victoria.” The retired schoolteacher jutted her chin into the air as she stared pointedly at Leona. “And while you may hide your age better than the rest of us old-timers with your fancy clothes and Poga-fied rump—”

  “Yoga-fied, Rose,” Tori whispered.

  The elderly woman waved her off, opting instead to continue her tirade. “No matter what you do, Leona, no man that looks like Colby Calhoun is going to see you as anything other than what you are—an old snooty woman. Who can’t sew her way out of a paper bag.”

  “We’re working on that though, aren’t we Leona?” Tori cast one final look across the room at Colby Calhoun before draping an arm around the thinner and more poised version of Margaret Louise. “In fact, we have our first lesson tonight, don’t we?”

  The burst of pale crimson that had risen to Rose Winters’s cheeks for all of about thirty seconds retreated behind the normal pale pallor of her wrinkled face. “You’re teaching Leona how to sew?”

  “And she wants to learn?” Margaret Louise chimed in with blatant disbelief.

  “She’s willing to learn.” Tori gently tapped the side of Leona’s head with her own and squeezed the older woman’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Leona?”

  “If you intend to hold me to a concession made under duress, Victoria, I guess I’m willing.”

  “She won’t show up,” Margaret Louise said with a knowing shake of her head. “Learnin’ to sew means listenin’, and my sister is as contrary as they come.”

  “I take offense to that.” Leona placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward, her eyes locked on her sister’s.

  “Why? It’s true.”

  “It is not,” Leona argued. “I’ve learned things. Lots of things.”

  “Name two . . . no, three.” Margaret Louise ticked off three fingers on her right hand with the index finger of her left. “Name three things you’ve learned in the last five years.”

  “I’ve learned my twin sister has gotten even more aggravating with age,” Leona hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ve learned how to run a business . . .”

  “That’s true. Elkin Antiques and Collectibles is well respected,” Rose grudgingly acknowledged from the sidelines.

  “And I’ve learned that just because someone carries the detective title doesn’t mean he’s particularly adept at detecting the truth . . . or what, exactly, makes a woman such as myself purr.” Leona folded her arms across her chest with defiance. “That’s three.”

  “So you named three, congratulations. I’ll bet anything you won’t add sewin’ to that list.”

  “Anything?” Leona prompted.

  “Anything.”

  “How about dinner every night for a month? Delivered to my door?”

  Tori laughed. “Getting tired of eating out every night, Leona?”

  The woman flicked her hand off to the side. “Sweet Briar is hardly a mecca of fine dining, dear. There’s not a restaurant within fifty miles of here that knows what good wine means.” To her sister she said, “Do we have a deal?”

  “And if you don’t learn?” Margaret Louise asked, her eyes twinkling merrily.

  “An antique from the shop.”

  “I was thinkin’ more along the lines of you watchin’ all seven of Jake’s young-uns one evening so I can take him and Melissa out for supper.”

  All eyes stared at Leona as her pallor drained to the color of freshly fallen snow. “All seven?”

  “All seven.”

  “Even the baby?”

  “Molly Sue is number seven. So, yes, she’s included.” Margaret Louise’s pudgy hand patted Tori on the back. “I think I just freed up your evenin’, Victoria.”

  “No you haven’t, because I accept that bet.” Leona’s chin rose into the air as she inhaled through her cosmetically altered nose. “And, as for what we were talking about before my character was called into question, I’m not old, I’m aging. There is a difference.

  “In fact, as you astutely pointed out, Rose, I’m aging much better than either of you two”—she slowly and deliberately let her gaze roam between the elderly spitfire and her own sibling—“and I’ll take snooty over backwoods any day. At least I’ve been to the places Colby writes about. Unlike the two of you, who seem to think Sweet Briar, South Carolina, is the be-all-that-ends-all.”

  “That’s because it is. You just try and show me another town—anywhere—that has the kind of rags to riches history Sweet Briar has. A history that saw this town destroyed by fire at the hands of those blasted Yankees and watched it rebound stronger than ever thanks to hard work, sheer determination, and the undying dedication of its founding fathers.” Rose stared back at Leona, her thick glasses magnifying her eyes to nearly twice their original size.

  “ ‘Undying dedication’? Isn’t that a bit much?”

  “It’s fact, Leona. And you can’t do it, can you?”

  Leona crossed her arms in delicate fashion as her chin tilted upward once again, this time in quiet defiance. “Do what?”

  “Find a more impressive history than Sweet Briar’s anywhere in these parts.” Rose stamped her penny loafer-clad foot ever so slightly as she waited for a response.

  “I’m sure, with a little research, I could—”

  “Find nothing,” Rose finished with authority. “So you can take your fancy cruises and your airplane rides all over the world, Leona. I’ll take a town like this—one that was reborn on hard work and pride—any day of the week. Especially if it comes with someone like that.” The woman’s bony finger rose into the air, effectively aiming their collective focus back where it had started—on the dark-haired hunk sitting in the middle of the library.

  “Amen.” Leona sighed. “Do you think he’s working on his next novel?”

  Tori shrugged as she forced her attention back to the books in front of her, her hands expertly sorting each title into the appropri
ate pile. “He could be, I guess. But I suspect it’s more likely his newspaper column on account of the time he spent in local history.”

  “I’ll get those, Miss Sinclair.” A petite woman with dark skin and even darker eyes breezed her way between the sewing circle members and the counter, setting down one stack of books and retrieving another. “I’m sorry I’m late. Duwayne’s car broke down off Route 25 and I had to go and fetch him. I can come in on Saturday if that’ll help, Miss Sinclair.”

  “It’s not a problem, Nina. Things have been relatively”—she ran her gaze across the smattering of patrons around the room before returning it to her assistant’s worried face—“quiet here so far.”

  “If you can call us quiet,” Margaret Louise piped in from her spot against the expansive countertop that surrounded three and a half sides of the information area. Within the boundaries denoted by the counter stood the branch’s main reference computer, a few filing cabinets, and a stool.

  “True. I forgot about these three.” Tori motioned with her head toward her sewing circle buddies. “They stopped by to—wait. Why did you three stop by?”

  “You haven’t figured that out yet?” Nina asked as her endearing yet tentative smile began to surface. “How long have they been here?”

  “About as long as he has.” She lowered her head slightly, raising her eyes in the direction of the man they’d been gawking at for the past thirty minutes.

  “He . . .” Nina looked over her shoulder, her timid smile giving way to a blush that began halfway down her neck before she finally turned back. “Ahhh.”

  Tori laughed, the sound quiet yet still enough to turn a few heads in their direction. Including Colby Calhoun’s.

  Great.

  Shaking her thoughts back to a semirespectable place, Tori squeezed Nina’s hand gently and motioned toward the stack of books the woman had set down on the counter. “What are these?”