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Friends of the
     Library had donated three years earlier, the large stately windows that overlooked
     the town . . .
    It was all there.
    Picture perfect.
    “Beautiful, ain’t it?” Margaret Louise asked.
    Nodding, Tori looked up from the first page of the book and sought Frieda’s eyes.
     “Where is this?”
    “You mean the fireplace?”
    “The fireplace. The mantel. The room. All of it,” she answered.
    “That’s Mizz Devereaux’s study. That’s where we went when she had her clear moments.
     She was sitting in her favorite recliner when she drew that. That’s why the recliner
     isn’t in the picture—because that’s where she was sitting. In that one, I’d gotten
     out of the rocker to get her some tea yet left my stethoscope on the table.” Frieda’s
     shoulders dropped, her words, her tone taking on a broken quality. “By the time I
     got back with her tea, she’d slipped away again.”
    Silence blanketed the space between them as each woman took a moment to study the
     picture one more time, the nurse’s words reminding them of the reason they were there
     and Charlotte was not. Then, with a determined inhale, Tori closed the book and handed
     it back to Frieda. “Thank you for sharing that with us.”
    “But what ’bout the rest of the pictures?” Margaret Louise protested. “Can’t we see
     the rest?”
    Reaching up to her shoulder, Tori rested a quieting hand on Margaret Louise’s. “Frieda
     needs to get home and get some rest.”
    And it was true. One only had to look at the woman’s eyes to see the pain and the
     sadness. It was obvious Frieda Taylor had lost far more than a patient when Charlotte
     Devereaux passed away. She’d also lost a treasured friend.
    The picture book could wait.
    Compassion couldn’t.
    Tori rose to her feet, extending a hand in Frieda’s direction. “I’m so sorry for your
     loss, Frieda. If there’s anything we can do, please let us know.”

Chapter 4
    Tori could sense the tension in the room as surely as if it were a living, breathing
     person sitting alongside them in the ten-by-ten-foot meeting room of the Sweet Briar
     Town Hall. It had clenched fists compliments of Rose, drumming fingers thanks to Dixie,
     and more than a few noticeable sighs from Leona. Yet at that moment, it still lacked
     a face.
    “I suppose when you’re canoodling with a councilman, you can afford to be late to
     your own committee meeting,” Leona drawled, glancing at the fourteen-carat gold souvenir
     from her latest male conquest while her pet bunny, Paris, sniffed her way around the
     room. “It’s nearly seven forty and the holiday-stomping hussy is nowhere to be seen.”
    Rose released her fists long enough to point an accusing finger across the rectangular
     conference table. “I’m not quite sure why you’re complaining, Leona. You’re the one
     who got us into this mess in the first place.”
    “As if you have something more pressing to do on a Thursday night.” Rolling her eyes
     skyward, Leona snorted. “Let’s be honest, you old goat. If you were home right now,
     you’d be sitting in front of your television with your head tipped forward. Snoring.”
    Tori placed a calming hand on her elderly friend’s arm while giving Leona her best
     evil librarian eye. Sure enough, all insults turned in her direction.
    “Victoria, have you not figured out that your crow’s feet come from making faces like
     that?” Without waiting for a response, Leona touched the outer corners of her eyes
     with her fingertips and tilted her chin upward. “I have three decades on you and I
     don’t have lines like that.”
    “Don’t you mean three decades and a gallon of Botox?” Dixie quipped from her spot
     at the far end of the table.
    Leona’s mouth gaped, only to shut and gape again as the door of the conference room
     opened and a five-foot-two overperfumed blur breezed into the conference room, dropping
     a stack of magazines and a leather-bound appointment