Free Death Threads by Elizabeth Lynn Casey Page A

Melissa’s, one thing was certain. Colby had put up a struggle.
    “Victoria!”
    The sound of her name and the stamp of a foot made her head snap up from behind the computer monitor.
    “I’m sorry, Miss Sinclair, I tried to get your attention.”
    “What? Oh. I’m sorry, Nina, I guess I was woolgathering . . .”
    “Miss Elkin wants a moment with you.” Her assistant’s hand rose into the air and pointed toward the hallway that led to their office and the children’s room.
    Sure enough, Tori’s self-appointed southern etiquette-coach-turned-reluctant-sewing-pupil stood guard, her slight figure set off by the pale pink skirt and jacket she wore with an air of regality.
    “Can you handle things up here for a few moments?” She looked from Leona to Nina and back again, her gaze drawn to the conflicting emotions playing on the elderly woman’s face.
    “Of course. Take your time. If I need anything, I’ll buzz you.”
    “Great, thanks. I won’t be long.” Tori stepped out from behind the information desk and made her way over to the woman whose pursed lips suggested irritation while concern ruled her eyes. “Leona, is everything okay?”
    “You tell me, dear.” Linking arms, Leona Elkin fairly tugged Tori down the hall and into the tiny office she shared with Nina. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
    She stared at her friend as the woman continued on, her mouth moving at warp speed. “Rose called me first thing this morning. At first I thought maybe it was all wishful thinking on her part after the article, but seeing you just now . . . I knew it had to be true.” Leona pushed the door closed and led Tori to the pair of cushioned chairs in the corner of the room. “But, dear, no matter how difficult a morning you might have, you must always—always—apply makeup to de-emphasize your flaws. Which today”—she leaned forward as they both sat, her left thumb sweeping the skin beneath Tori’s right eye—“would be some mighty big black circles that are making you look just like one of those stuffed raccoons Carter Johnson hangs from the wall as art.”
    A raccoon?
    “Which isn’t to say they’re not understandable, dear, because they are. But even under the direst of circumstances you must always be prepared to meet a man.” The woman sat back in her chair, gently clasping her hands in her lap. “Gold doesn’t just fall in one’s lap.”
    “I—uh.” She stopped, sputtered a few nonsensical words, and then stopped again, her mouth at a total loss for words.
    “Close your mouth, dear. Gaping it open like that is most unbecoming. It makes you look as if you’ve given up on a flyswatter and opted to collect those pesky creatures with your mouth instead.”
    She nibbled her lower lip inward, her mind reeling from the unexpected yet irrefutable impact that was Leona Elkin. There was so much she wanted to tell her, so much she wanted to vent to a willing pair of ears, yet the surge of loyalty toward Debbie prevented her from saying anything.
    Sure, the actual unfriendliness at last night’s circle had come from Rose and Georgina, but Leona had sat by and let it happen, her nose buried in her travel magazine. Did that kind of loyalty—or lack thereof—deserve answers?
    “I feel just awful to know Debbie is suffering right now. And with two such young children to care for.” Leona brushed her hands down the length of her pale pink skirt. “You’d think that sabotaging her business, ostracizing her children, and taunting her husband would have been enough.”
    “Then why didn’t you say anything last night while Rose and Georgina were all but attacking her? Why did you just sit there and act as if it wasn’t happening?” Tori stood, strode across the room toward her desk, and then leaned against it, her hands braced against the steel gray metal. “Do you have any idea how much they hurt her?”
    Leona tilted her head downward, peered at Tori atop her glasses. “I do. But I also knew you’d