Read Death Threads for Free Online Page B

studying the woman as she did. There was no doubt about it, Ella May Vetter was a tad peculiar. One only needed to see the petticoat-style dress and Little Bo Peep-curled hair to know that. But just because she did things a little differently didn’t mean she was a lost cause as Rose, Margaret Louise, and Leona made it sound. If anything, Tori found her to be sweet and unassuming. “Did you enjoy your selections?”
    “Very much. Thank you.”
    “There you are!” Milo flashed a warm smile at Ella May as he stopped beside Tori with a paper plate in his hand and a hint of powdered sugar on his upper lip. “Hi, Ella May. Are you enjoying the festival?”
    The woman nodded as a smile broke out across her face as well. “It’s lovely.”
    “Couldn’t wait, could you?” Tori looked from Milo’s lip, to the plate, and back again.
    “I waited . . . see?” Milo held up the plate, a perfectly formed latticework of powder-topped golden fried dough shimmering in the sunshine.
    “Then what’s this?” She reached out, swiped a finger across his upper lip, and then held it where he could see.
    “I—er.”
    “Busted!” She tucked the newspaper under her arm and rocked back on the heels of her tennis shoes.
    Ella May laughed as Milo’s cheeks reddened. “You two are so cute, you remind me of the way Billy and I are together.”
    “Who’s Billy?” The moment the words were out of her mouth she knew the answer. Billy was the guy—the smart, charming, intelligent, well-traveled Mystery Man no one in Sweet Briar had ever seen.
    “He’s simply the most amazing man ever.” The woman sighed.
    “Does he buy and hide second helpings of things, too?” Tori asked as she eyed Milo accusingly.
    “I did not buy a second helping. I swear. I just”—he looked down at the plate and back up again—“happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
    “Translation, please?” Tori prompted as she winked a smile at Ella May before looking back at Milo and waiting.
    “Dirk Rogers’s nephew didn’t care for his funnel cake. And Dirk was in a foul mood.”
    “Dirk Rogers? Why does that name sound familiar?”
    “Dirk owns the garage out on Plantation Lane.”
    Tori nodded. “Okay, so what does his nephew’s dislike for funnel cake and his foul mood have to do with you?”
    “Someone had to eat it,” Milo pleaded. “Wasting food is a sin.”
    “Ohhh. I see now.” Tori crinkled her forehead as she looked at Ella May. “He simply couldn’t stand by helplessly as an innocent plate of funnel cake faced an uncertain fate.”
    “Milo Wentworth is a true philanthropist in every sense of the word.” Ella May’s near-perfect crack at a straight face, coupled with the words she’d chosen to speak, set Tori into a fit of giggles—giggles that only intensified as Milo rolled his eyes.
    “Mock me all you want, ladies. You’ll change your tune once you try a bite.” Carefully, Milo tore a piece of dough from the creation in front of him and extended it toward Ella May. “Would you like some?”
    “No, thank you.”
    Milo shrugged and held it toward Tori. “You promised.”
    “I did.” She took the sprinkled dough from his outstretched hand and took a bite. “Mmmm. Wow.”
    “See? I told you.” He fixed his gaze on her face for a moment before letting it travel slowly down her soft yellow T-shirt and formfitting stonewashed jeans. “And with your body, you can eat this stuff all day and not worry.”
    She felt her face redden with a mixture of flattery and embarrassment. Flattery because he liked what he saw and embarrassment because Ella May was still standing there, soaking it all up. “Yeah, but do you hear that sound?”
    Milo shook his head, his brows furrowing. “No. What sound?”
    “This”—Tori parted her lips ever so slightly and then inhaled deeply—“that’s the sound of my arteries clogging as we speak.”
    Milo waved the comment aside with his free hand. “We’re at a festival. We