Free Pinned for Murder by Elizabeth Lynn Casey Page B

into a rage because of something he did. Can you imagine what he would do if someone else triggered that rage?”
    Dixie nodded.
    Margaret Louise shook her head.
    Beatrice grew paler.
    Tori held up her hand. “Wait a minute. So the guy has a temper . . . big deal. You have a temper, Leona. And so do you, Dixie.”
    “I most certainly do not,” Leona argued, followed by a sniff of indignation.
    “Yes, you do. Your claws come out every time Rose calls you old.”
    “Because I’m not old. She’s old,” Leona hissed through clenched teeth.
    “If you don’t have a temper, Twin, why are you turnin’ beet red?” Margaret Louise took a few steps in her sister’s direction, only to halt when she was given the stare down. “I rest Victoria’s case.”
    “You’re right about Leona, Victoria, but I certainly don’t have a temper.”
    Tori turned her attention on her former predecessor-turned-nemesis. “You don’t? Then what would you call all those nasty barbs you hurled at me during my first meeting with the library board?”
    Dixie’s cheeks turned crimson.
    “Look, I’m not trying to make anyone feel bad. Everyone has a temper sometimes. And Kenny Murdock is no exception.” Exhaling an errant strand of light brown hair from her forehead, she continued, her voice still quiet yet firm. “Branding him a killer because of it is simply ludicrous.”
    Problem was, she wasn’t buying what she was selling. She’d seen Kenny’s face the previous afternoon. She’d heard the blatant threat he’d hurled in Martha Jane’s direction. She’d felt the rage simmering inside him.
    And now the woman was dead. Strangled by a piece of rope that sounded a lot like the kind he’d been using that very day to bundle sticks in Rose’s backyard.
    “Victoria is right,” Beatrice said, her accent and her innate shyness making them all lean closer to hear. “What’s that expression? Just because it looks like a duck and acts like a duck, it doesn’t mean it’s a duck.”
    Margaret Louise laughed, her hand slipping around the nanny’s shoulders in a conspiratorial fashion. “They may say it like that across the pond . . . but here, in the States . . . if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck it is , in fact, a duck.”
    “Oh.” Beatrice flashed a look of apology in Victoria’s direction. “I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.”
    She reached out, patted the girl’s hand. “I know. But don’t worry. It will be okay. Martha Jane’s killer will be found.”
    What that would do to Rose when it happened, though, was anyone’s guess.
    Squaring her shoulders, she grabbed hold of a stack of books and began thumbing through them, her hands sorting them into smaller piles based on where they were shelved around the library. “So what do you think? Can you tell we were semiflooded just two days ago?”
    Four heads turned to scan the main room of the Sweet Briar Public Library.
    “You mean other than the fact that the bottom shelf of every section is empty?”
    She ignored Leona and grabbed a second stack, sorting those books into the correct piles. “I was referring to the carpets and the walls . . . though right now all I have on the wall is a special paint that covers water marks. If all goes well, I’m hoping we’ll get a fresh coat of paint up in the next few weeks.”
    “Did you take pictures of the damaged books?” Dixie asked.
    “I did. I dried them out the best I could and then boxed them up and put them in the basement until a claims specialist can make it in.”
    “Very good, Victoria, you’re on the ball. And the carpet looks good.”
    She smiled at the woman. “You picked a good one, Dixie. It held up well. Just needed a few power fans to dry it out.”
    Dixie beamed at the praise.
    “How is Rose’s place doin’?” Margaret Louise asked.
    “Better.” And it was. In just the first twenty-four hours since his arrival, Doug had made rapid progress, repairing damaged shingles, removing downed