"See, Rose, what'd I tell you? It was worth it."

"Worth it? What was worth it?" Tori pulled her attention from the costumes in her hand and bounced it between her two friends. "What did I miss?"

Rose's head dropped downward as it shook from side to side. "A woman who doesn't listen any better than you do."

"I listen," Tori protested. "Unless-wait. Margaret Louise, did you confuse a statement for a question, too?"

"I suppose." Margaret Louise pried her lips open to reveal a noticeable chip in her front tooth.

Tori looked back down at the dress in her hands and back up at Margaret Louise. "You forgot the scissors, didn't you?"

"Forgot would be to imply thought, Victoria." Rose lifted her head and shook a finger at Margaret Louise. "I tried to warn you."

"Eh, that's okay. It was all for a good cause. Right, Victoria?" Margaret Louise let her head fall backward just a little as a laugh began somewhere deep inside her soul and burst out into the children's room.

Tori looked around the room, her eyes skimming across the murals she'd painted and the costumes she'd collected thus far thanks to the two women in the room with her at that very moment. Friends she'd never have met if she hadn't moved to Sweet Briar.

"Yeah," she finally answered, her accompanying smile warming her body from within. "It's worth it."

"That's my girl," Rose whispered as she took hold of Margaret Louise and nearly dragged the heavyset woman toward the door. "We've taken enough of your time already, but we'll see you tomorrow night, right?"

Tori looked down at the costumes in her hand. "Not this week."

"Victoria . . ."

"I know it wasn't a question, Rose. But I have something important I have to do after work tomorrow. Something I can't put off."

"Does this something have to do with a certain someone?" Margaret Louise teased until Rose jabbed her with a well-placed elbow to the side. "Ow. Watch those bony elbows, old woman."

Tori couldn't help but laugh as she waved off two of the truest friends she'd ever known. Women who were determined to stand by her through thick and thin, supporting her every step of the way. "No, it's not about Milo or any other man for that matter. It's about finding answers. For myself."

Chapter 20.

In the light of day, Stu's Flea Market in Ridge Cove had seemed inviting in a rustic sort of way. In the gathering dusk, however, the one-story weathered building conveyed utter isolation and suffocating loneliness-feelings that made Tori's stomach more than a little bit squeamish.

She should be home, gathering up whatever recipe she might have made and heading off to Leona Elkin's home for the weekly meeting of the Sweet Briar Ladies Society Sewing Circle. But instead, she was sitting alone, in a deserted parking lot, staring at a row of old-fashioned one-room stores and contemplating what may very well have been one of Tiffany Ann Gilbert's last moments of pure happiness.

The girl had been reaching for a dream, taking her first real independent steps toward making it a reality. Yet five days later she was dead. A victim of foul play.

It was a thought she simply couldn't dwell on at the moment. Not when she was trying so desperately to make sense of the troubling thoughts that kept teasing her subconscious, nagging at her for missing something big.

What that something was, though, she had no clue.

Stepping from her car, Tori squared her shoulders and inhaled deeply. It had been a gamble making the drive to Ridge Cove on a Monday evening, but waiting until Saturday wasn't an option. Something had changed Tiffany Ann's demeanor while she was there. How else could one explain a happy and upbeat woman taking off in a rush without so much as a word to the owner of the property? Had she received a call on her cell that sent her running? Had she been scared off by something? Was she angry? Was she sad? Was she hurt?

They were all questions Tori had pondered on the drive from Sweet Briar. The kind of questions she knew she might never be able to answer yet couldn't ignore until she did a little digging.

She tugged her backpack purse onto her shoulder and set out for the main building, a single solitary lamp in a western window giving her hope that Stu was nearby. Although their initial encounter had been fairly brief, she'd seen enough to know he was a decent man or, at the very least, someone who wouldn't do her any harm.

As she approached his front porch the door opened and a shadowed figure emerged from a dimly lit foyer. "Who's there? What do you want?"

"Mr. Stu? I met you over the weekend and you showed me your new buildings."

The man didn't move. "It's a little late to be shoppin' for an office buildin', don't you think?"

"You're probably right. And I'm sorry. I just wanted to talk to you a little bit more about the day Tiffany Ann Gilbert came to see you."

He stepped out onto the porch, the early moonlight picking out the silver strands in his otherwise dark head of hair. "Oh, sure, I remember you . . . though I'm not sure you ever gave me your name."

Tori extended her hand and smiled. "I'm Tori Sinclair. I imagine you're Stu?"

"Yep. Stu Walker." He lifted his hand to his chin and rubbed it along stubbled skin. "Miss Gilbert isn't going to rent with me, is she?"

Dumbfounded, she shook her head. "Um, well, I can't answer that. I di-don't know her." She cringed inwardly at the lie, mentally chided herself for being so evasive. But she couldn't find the words to wipe away Tiffany's dream.

"I feel like I lost two clients on that same day." Stu slid his fingers farther up his jawline. "One I have money from, the other I thought was a done deal."

"Two? Oh-wait. There was the other guy, too, right? The repairman." She pulled her purse from her shoulder and set it on the porch floor. "Now what happened with him again?"

Stu shrugged. "That's just it. No one seems to know. To hear his wife rantin' 'n ravin' he's probably run off with some little hussy. And after seein' his wife, I can't say as I'd blame him."

"His name was Travis, right?" she asked, her voice quiet against the constant chatter of crickets.

"Travis it is." He crossed his arms and leaned against the back wall of the porch, a swarm of moths and late fall bugs taking advantage of the still-open door and lighted foyer. "He was a stickler that one. He read every single paper five times each before he'd sign anythin'. Wanted to see the papers I signed guaranteein' my tenants a nightly po-lice presence."

"About that paperwork . . . I was wondering how that really works, how Sweet Briar can promise-"

"Now you sound just like Travis. He had questions, too. And since I was busy givin' Miss Gilbert a tour and explainin' it all to her, my contact took a few moments to answer his questions once and for all."

She considered the man's words as she looked out into the night, five outlines drawing her gaze and her thoughts back to Tiffany Ann. "Would it be possible if . . . well . . . for me to take a look at those papers?"

A smile crept across his face. "You're thinking about rentin' aren't you? Why else would you come out here after supper? Flea market's not even open."

She shrugged quickly, guilt over the mounting lies nagging at her soul. But what else could she do?

"I'll be right back." The man disappeared inside the open door only to return less than a minute later. "Here you go, Miss-now what was that name again?"

"Sinclair," she offered as she studied the document he'd placed in her hand. Sure enough, it was an official Sweet Briar contract offering police coverage to the people of Ridge Cove. The paperwork itself was fairly easy to read, the language more palpable than any legal text she'd ever seen.

"Who signed off on-" She flipped to the last page, her gaze seeking the signature at the bottom. "Oh, Georgina Hayes, the mayor."

Stu puffed out his chest in pride as he retrieved his contract from Tori's outstretched hand. "That's right. It doesn't get much more official than that now does it?"

"I guess not." She pushed her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and rocked briefly onto her toes, her heart saying it was time to go despite her head's gnawing argument to stay.

What was she hoping to find? A golden pathway leading to Tiffany's killer?

Exhaling and blowing a stray piece of hair from her forehead, she looked out at the buildings once again. "Can I ask one last question?"

"Shoot."

"If Tiffany Ann-I mean Miss Gilbert-was so excited about the building you showed her, why do you think she took off like she did? Did she have an explanation?"

"Nah. When we were done she mentioned wantin' a little time. I suspect she was wantin' to play a little hard-ball . . . make me think she had other prospects. So I played along. Even pointed out back to the creek bed that runs parallel through my property. When she headed that way, I went back inside. Next thing I knew she was heavy footin' it out of my parking lot. Last I seen of her."

And the last you will.

"Thank you for your time, Stu." She lifted her purse back onto her shoulder and turned toward the parking lot, her gait slow and preoccupied as she descended the porch steps.

"If Miss Gilbert doesn't get in touch with me by Friday, you can have the one in the middle if you want."

On impulse she turned back toward the man as she lowered her purse into her hands. "If I give you my card, would you call me if something comes up-on any of the buildings?"

"I'd be happy to. Seems to me you know a good thing when you see it." He extracted the card from her hand and looked down at it, his hand tipping back and forth in the poor reading light. "Victoria Sinclair-Sweet Briar Librarian." The man glanced up, her card still held outward in the few stray rays of light from the open doorway. "What kind of business would you be openin' up?"

"Uhhh, well, I was thinking about maybe opening a-a bookstore." It was a bold-faced lie but it was all she could come up with on short notice. And, considering her background, it wasn't too far outside the realm of possibility.

Assuming she was looking to open a business.

Which she wasn't.

After promising she'd be in touch and extracting the same from him, Tori got back in her car and headed home, her favorite songs virtually unheard above the chatter in her brain as she sped along Route 190 on her way back to Sweet Briar.

But as she pulled into town she found herself bypassing her own quiet street in favor of the library, the one place she could always find answers. Though what answers she was hoping to find in the pages of a library book was anyone's guess. Sure, there were books that could offer a nifty escape or a ray of hope during a trying time. But a book capable of finding a specific person responsible for a specific crime? Not in her lifetime.

She let herself in the employee entrance with the key Winston Hohlbrook had provided on her first day as branch librarian. She'd been so proud that day, so excited to finally be running her own library-feelings that had faded into the background all too quickly as she realized she was an outsider in every sense of the word.

Yet there'd been hope along the way. Both before she'd discovered Tiffany Ann's body and after. Kind overtures from people who'd seemed happy to welcome her into the town. Leona had turned a lonely day around. Georgina had extended the invitation that put her in contact with her two truest Sweet Briar friends. . . .

Georgina.

What was it about those documents Stu had shown her that wouldn't let go of her thoughts? She'd seen the contract, read the basic agreement, noted the signature at the bottom . . . So what was her problem?

"Ridge Cove can't buy that kind of services and Sweet Briar most certainly can't sell them."

Milo's words flashed through her thoughts, the insistence with which he spoke them every bit as clear as it had been during their walk. Yet no matter what he'd said, she'd held the impossible contract in her own hand less than two hours earlier. . . .

Was Milo simply unaware of city policies or had Georgina done something illegal? She didn't know. Not for sure, anyway. Though, for some reason, she couldn't help but feel as if the latter was more likely than the former.

Grabbing the portable phone off her desk, Tori headed down the hallway and into the library, her hand instinctively finding the light switch despite the darkened room. As the fluorescent lights hummed to life she dialed Milo's number.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Milo? It's Tori. Tori Sinclair." She wandered behind the information desk and settled herself onto one of the two stools. "I hope I'm not calling too late."

"No! Not at all." The obvious pleasure in his voice made her smile. He liked her, that was fairly obvious. And, judging by the butterflies that took flight the second he answered, it was impossible to ignore her similar feelings. "How was your sewing circle tonight?"

"I didn't go." She pulled the phone tighter to her ear and leaned her back against the counter. There was something about the presence of so many books that simply calmed her, made her feel as if everything would be okay.

"Why not?"

"I went back out to Ridge Cove instead."

"Alone? At this time of night?"

She nodded then put a word to the gesture he couldn't see. "I did. I wanted to talk to Stu again. You know . . . about buying police services from Sweet Briar."

"Tori, I already told you they couldn't do that. Why did you waste an unnecessary trip just to hear the same thing?" An awkward pause filled her ear momentarily before he asked another question, his voice much more hesitant. "Or were you trying to avoid your sewing circle?"

She couldn't help but smile. Milo Wentworth was an observant man. Had she not felt such an overwhelming urge to talk to Stu, she probably would have avoided the weekly gathering if for no other reason than to keep from throttling Dixie Dunn.

"I truly wanted to talk to Stu. And he was right. He did sign a contract with the city for a nightly police presence and rapid response in the event of an emergency." She looked around the room, her mind making mental notes on little additions she wanted to make-a few more cushioned chairs, a few small end tables. "I saw it with my own eyes."

"You saw it? You mean you saw a contract for this supposed agreement?"

Again she nodded. And again she felt foolish. "Not a supposed agreement, Milo. A real one. Signed by Georgina Hayes herself."

"But she can't do that."

"Well, she did." Tori narrowed in on a far corner of the library, a section with countless shelves but no place to read. Perhaps a recliner would fit . . .

"But she can-"

Milo stopped midsentence only to speak again, his voice bordering on harsh. "What does Sweet Briar get in return for this little agreement? Did you happen to catch that on the contract?"

"Ten thousand dollars. Every three months."

"Ten thousand dollars?"

She pulled the phone from her ear and then replaced it, all thoughts of recliners and end tables gone. "You still think they can't do this?"

"I don't think, Tori. I know. Georgina Hayes can't do this."

Was Milo right? Had Georgina really done something illeg- "And since I was busy givin' Miss Gilbert a tour and explainin' it all to her, my contact took a few moments to answer his questions once and for all."

She heard herself gasp as the implications of what Stu Walker had said took root in her mind. He'd told Tiffany Ann about the agreement for police protection. Could she have realized it was wrong as well? Could that have been what made her take off without warning? And could that explain her strange moods prior to her death?

Her mouth grew dry as another question-one far more frightening-begged to be answered. . . .