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Authors: Elizabeth Lynn Casey
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momentary appreciation shown Leona—unreadable.
Finally, he spoke, his gaze coming to rest once again on Leona. “Are you Dixie Dunn?”
Leona’s shoulders slumped along with her jaw, Rose’s laugh igniting the indignant sputtering that followed. “Of—of course I’m not
Dixie Dunn
. I have class . . . I have standards . . . I have—”
The man held his badge up for all to see. “I’m Detective Jay Pollop of the NYPD. I’m here to speak with Dixie Dunn.”
Tori gently pushed her way past a still-sputtering Leona and held out her hand. “I’m Victoria Sinclair, Dixie’s friend. Can I ask what this is about? Dixie is sleeping.”
“It’s in regards to the murder of John Dreyer. Wake her.”
Chapter 7
“If you don’t quit all that pacin’ back ’n forth, Victoria, you’re gonna wear a hole in that fancy carpet.” Margaret Louise patted the empty chair to her left. “And I for one don’t have the money to replace a rug that’s probably worth more ’n my car.”
Tori turned around and made yet another pass in front of the still-closed door that separated them from the conversation between their friend and Detective Pollop, then sank onto the chair with a sigh. “I think one of us should have gone in there with him and held her hand while he fills her in on John’s death. She’s been through enough already.”
“She didn’t want us in there, Victoria, remember?” Rose’s arthritic hand, calmed by the movement of her sewing needle, worked on the sample for their flower pin project. “She’ll be all right. Dixie has rebounded from worse in her lifetime. She’ll mourn, of course, but the fact remains she spent just one morning with the man.”
“I still can’t get over the fact he was really murdered,” Debbie mused over a late afternoon cup of coffee. “I’m shocked.”
“I’m not.” All eyes turned in Leona’s direction, the woman’s pallor still reflective of the trauma of being mistaken for a woman nearly ten years her senior. “Frankly, it was only a matter of time, if you ask me.”
“Why?” It was a question Tori had wanted to ask since they’d set off to find John after their taping at the studio the day before, but she’d refrained when the discovery of his body moved Dixie to the forefront of her concerns. “What was so awful about this guy that you’d actually say something like that out loud?”
Leona looked down at the man’s nose-twitching namesake then leaned the back of her head against the sofa. “The first time I saw John was in a bookstore coffee shop.”
“Was it that lovely little one closest to the Eiffel Tower?” Beatrice asked as she set down the novel she’d been reading in order to listen more closely.
A pregnant pause was soon followed by a shifting of Leona’s legs. “Um . . . not that one, no.”
“But you met him in Paris, right?”
Leona pinned the British girl with a death stare then continued with her story. “What caught my eye about John was how enthralled he was by his companion.”
“With
you
in the room, Twin?” Margaret Louise teased. “How is that possible?”
Turning to Tori, Leona made a face. “Do you want to hear my answer about John or don’t you?”
“Yes I do.” Then to Margaret Louise, Tori said, “Please. Can we let Leona speak?”
Satisfied, Leona took center stage once again. “There he was, sitting across the table from this older woman who obviously wasn’t in the habit of being in the company of a male.”
“Why do you say that?” Rose asked.
“She was awkward, for starters.”
“Okay . . .”
Leona’s gaze swung back to Tori. “And she fidgeted constantly. Like a middle school girl talking to a boy for the first time. Only this particular boy was handsome.
Extremely
handsome.”
Rose, Margaret Louise, and Beatrice exchanged looks, their heads nodding in unison amid dreamy thoughts of the man’s eyes and facial structure.
“He had this day-old stubble on his face
Finally, he spoke, his gaze coming to rest once again on Leona. “Are you Dixie Dunn?”
Leona’s shoulders slumped along with her jaw, Rose’s laugh igniting the indignant sputtering that followed. “Of—of course I’m not
Dixie Dunn
. I have class . . . I have standards . . . I have—”
The man held his badge up for all to see. “I’m Detective Jay Pollop of the NYPD. I’m here to speak with Dixie Dunn.”
Tori gently pushed her way past a still-sputtering Leona and held out her hand. “I’m Victoria Sinclair, Dixie’s friend. Can I ask what this is about? Dixie is sleeping.”
“It’s in regards to the murder of John Dreyer. Wake her.”
Chapter 7
“If you don’t quit all that pacin’ back ’n forth, Victoria, you’re gonna wear a hole in that fancy carpet.” Margaret Louise patted the empty chair to her left. “And I for one don’t have the money to replace a rug that’s probably worth more ’n my car.”
Tori turned around and made yet another pass in front of the still-closed door that separated them from the conversation between their friend and Detective Pollop, then sank onto the chair with a sigh. “I think one of us should have gone in there with him and held her hand while he fills her in on John’s death. She’s been through enough already.”
“She didn’t want us in there, Victoria, remember?” Rose’s arthritic hand, calmed by the movement of her sewing needle, worked on the sample for their flower pin project. “She’ll be all right. Dixie has rebounded from worse in her lifetime. She’ll mourn, of course, but the fact remains she spent just one morning with the man.”
“I still can’t get over the fact he was really murdered,” Debbie mused over a late afternoon cup of coffee. “I’m shocked.”
“I’m not.” All eyes turned in Leona’s direction, the woman’s pallor still reflective of the trauma of being mistaken for a woman nearly ten years her senior. “Frankly, it was only a matter of time, if you ask me.”
“Why?” It was a question Tori had wanted to ask since they’d set off to find John after their taping at the studio the day before, but she’d refrained when the discovery of his body moved Dixie to the forefront of her concerns. “What was so awful about this guy that you’d actually say something like that out loud?”
Leona looked down at the man’s nose-twitching namesake then leaned the back of her head against the sofa. “The first time I saw John was in a bookstore coffee shop.”
“Was it that lovely little one closest to the Eiffel Tower?” Beatrice asked as she set down the novel she’d been reading in order to listen more closely.
A pregnant pause was soon followed by a shifting of Leona’s legs. “Um . . . not that one, no.”
“But you met him in Paris, right?”
Leona pinned the British girl with a death stare then continued with her story. “What caught my eye about John was how enthralled he was by his companion.”
“With
you
in the room, Twin?” Margaret Louise teased. “How is that possible?”
Turning to Tori, Leona made a face. “Do you want to hear my answer about John or don’t you?”
“Yes I do.” Then to Margaret Louise, Tori said, “Please. Can we let Leona speak?”
Satisfied, Leona took center stage once again. “There he was, sitting across the table from this older woman who obviously wasn’t in the habit of being in the company of a male.”
“Why do you say that?” Rose asked.
“She was awkward, for starters.”
“Okay . . .”
Leona’s gaze swung back to Tori. “And she fidgeted constantly. Like a middle school girl talking to a boy for the first time. Only this particular boy was handsome.
Extremely
handsome.”
Rose, Margaret Louise, and Beatrice exchanged looks, their heads nodding in unison amid dreamy thoughts of the man’s eyes and facial structure.
“He had this day-old stubble on his face
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