“You just go on,” Mama said. “I’ve got this handled.”
“I’ll be back,” I said, and then I was out the door and heading to find Miss Reba Montgomery.
Chapter 8
Buttercup didn’t have the bells and whistles of a new car, and she gave a bumpy ride, but she got me from point A to point B quicker than I could shake a stick, and right now, I wanted to get to Riley’s, the furniture store catty-corner to the square. I’d heard through the rumor mill that Miss Reba hadn’t wanted to stay at home and wallow in her sorrow so she’d gone back to her job at Riley’s.
I rumbled down the street, angling Buttercup into a parking spot in front of the store. Miss Reba saw me through the window and waved me in. She looked this way and that before pulling me to a leather sectional and sitting me down. “Have you found out anything?” she asked.
Cut to the chase. I couldn’t mislead her, so I shook my head and waved my hands. “No, no, nothing really. I was in Granbury, though, at Bubba’s, and then I saw Mrs. Blake. I just have a question for you.”
Her frown deepened, the green of her eyes muting as she waited.
“Mr. Blake is taking Mr. Montgomery’s death mighty hard. His wife is really worried.”
She stared at me like I’d lost my ever-loving mind. “He’s taking it hard? I’m his wife,” she said, pressing an open palm to her chest. “I’m taking it hard. Our kids are taking it hard. Who the hell is he to take it hard?”
“I know, Miss Reba. It’s just, he hasn’t been home since the funeral, and I thought if you still have his phone, maybe I could help Mrs. Blake track him down.”
Miss Reba was no shrinking wallflower. Her unblinking gaze bore into me. “You said you were going to help clear Shane’s name, Harlow. You said you’d help find out what happened to Chris. He did not lose control of his car; someone forced him off the road. Someone did this to him. You’re supposed to be helping Shane.”
“I’m digging around, Miss Reba. Truly, I am. And that’s why I want to find Mr. Blake. They were partners. If someone had a beef against your husband, Eddy Blake might know about it. I think he’ll be able to help us.”
She threw her hands up in frustration. “I’ve never even met the man. He and Chris couldn’t have been all that close. I don’t see how he can possibly help.”
“That may be,” I said, “but I’d still like to talk to him.” Because you never knew. People said things that revealed information they didn’t know they had or didn’t intend to impart, and people often knew things they didn’t realize they knew.
She hemmed and hawed for another minute, but finally waved her hand in front of her as if she were batting at a fly. “It’s at the house. Teagen’s there. She’s refusing to go to school.” She shook her head, her aggravation evident. “She won’t listen. I know I have to let her grieve, but it’s like talking to a brick wall. Go on over and get it, if you want.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, my good Southern breeding surfacing. But she was in a state and no amount of sweetness was going to help.
“I still don’t know what good it’ll do, but you’re welcome, Harlow. Now, please, find out the truth before that overzealous sheriff’s deputy stepbrother of yours puts my Shane behind bars.”
* * *
Ten minutes later I stood at the Montgomery’s front door. I’d rung the bell three times, but Teagen wasn’t answering. I dug my cell phone out of my rag quilt bag and dialed Miss Reba at Riley’s.
“She’s probably in her room with those infernal headphones on and that blasted rap music destroyin’ her mind,” she said. “Try the front door.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to barge in and scare her.”
“It’s fine. She should be doing her homework, not turnin’ her mind off.”
My heart went out to Teagen. Her mother had a Southern way about her, but she was as tough as steel. She’d thrown herself back into work, into proving Shane’s innocence, and into coping with her loss, but she couldn’t assume her daughter was mourning in the same stoic way. She’d lost her father.
It seemed to me that she ought to be allowed to grieve however she needed to. You can’t rush a person’s feelings, Harlow, Meemaw used to tell me when I’d been upset over an argument with Mama or about my unrequited love for some boy I’d crushed on.
I figured Teagen’s grief was the same. It had to run its course, and if a little Rihanna or some Drake helped her cope, then so be it.
“Is it open?”
I blinked at Miss Reba’s voice and tried the handle. “It’s unlocked,” I said.
“Then go on inside. Teagen’s room is at the top of the stairs, second door on the right. I think I put the phone in my bedside table.” She paused. “Or maybe in the bathroom. I don’t know where I put it; just have her find it for you.”
For someone who’d seemed so in control, her nonchalance at not remembering where the phone was seemed odd, but I chalked it up to her buried emotions. I’d learned over the years that you could run from what you felt, but you couldn’t hide it. Mama’s very literal effect on plants was the perfect example. No matter what she felt—or how hard she tried to fight the emotions—the plants responded to her, either withering away from her sadness, growing brittle and thorny from her anger, or blossoming with her joy. That was her Cassidy charm.
I thanked Miss Reba again, then tucked my own phone away before stepping inside. The last time I’d been in the house, the townsfolk had been here mourning Chris Montgomery’s death, the buffet table had swayed from the abundance of comfort casseroles, dump cakes, and fried chicken, and I’d agreed to help the Montgomery family—and Gracie—by proving Shane’s innocence in his father’s death.
The house felt hollow and sad now.
I made my way toward the stairs and started to call for Teagen, but stopped short. If Shane hadn’t had anything to do with the car accident, then someone else had. Someone who knew cars. What if that someone was Miss Reba? Maybe she’d learned from her husband over the years. Maybe that was why she was so stoic with her grief. Maybe her own conscience was the thing driving her need to clear her son. And since I was a dressmaker, not a private investigator, she figured the truth was safe with me looking into it. A safe bet to assuage her guilt.
“Oh, Miss Reba,” I muttered aloud, “I hope that’s not the case.”
Miss Reba was a friend and a longtime resident of Bliss. From what she said, she didn’t spend any time at Bubba’s. Just like Mrs. Blake. Neither one had met the other. As Mrs. Blake said, they didn’t run in the same circles. So if she knew anything about cars, it likely wasn’t from hanging around her husband’s business.
Still, I couldn’t let go of the apprehension I felt, a bundle of anxiety settling on my chest like a weight. I debated my options. Could I, in good conscience, poke around the house?
It was my turn to hem and haw. I’d poked around in plenty of places, but it was too big an invasion of privacy to search the Montgomery house. Miss Reba had asked me to clear her son, but she surely hadn’t reckoned on me redirecting attention on her in the process.
If anything was amiss, I’d have to find it out more honestly. I mounted the stairs, passing photographs of Shane and Teagen hanging on the wall. Just like at my house, the pictures elbowed their way up the wall, a collection of important moments captured in time. There were few of the kids with Miss Reba, and a handful of the older generation. Everyone smiled.
At the top of the stairs, I called to Teagen. The first door was wide open. I stopped and peeked inside. Clothes littered the floor, posters of Carrie Underwood, the Eli Young Band, and several classic cars were pinned to the walls. It looked like what I imagined a typical teenage boy’s bedroom would look like.
Nothing on the surface that would prove or disprove Shane’s innocence.
I hesitated, wanting to sneak in and look around in the closet and his d
rawers, but I resisted the invisible pull. Butch Cassidy might be my kin, but I was basically a law-abiding citizen. Teagen in the house, possibly happening upon me while snooping, would not be a good scenario.
The second door on the right was closed. I rapped my knuckles against the hollow door. Silence.
I knocked again, louder this time. “Teagen? It’s Harlow Cassidy.”
Still nothing.
Lifting my hand, I was about to knock again when the door was ripped open by Teagen, with her ginger hair in disarray, one earbud hanging down in front of her body, and a frown that seemed to start at her eyebrows and continue to the corners of her mouth. “Who are you—?” She stopped. “Wait. Ms. Cassidy?”
“I didn’t mean to startle you, Teagen.” Black eyeliner smudged the area beneath her eyes and dark shadow framed her eyelids. Her fingernails were painted black, a big change from the white and Kelly green they’d been painted just a few days ago. Either Teagen had cleaned up for the funeral, making a big effort to look like the clean-cut good daughter, or that had been the real her and now her grief was sending her hurtling down a black hole. “Your mom asked me to come by—”
She snorted, glaring at me. “Are you kidding me? She sent you to check on me?”
“No, she just said you’d be home—”
She ripped the remaining earbud from her ear and threw the tangled string, along with her iPod, onto the mound of blankets on her bed. Either she hadn’t heard, or she wasn’t in the mood to listen. “She’s completely crazy, you know? Ever since the break-in last month. And now since Daddy died, she’s a thousand times worse—and she was pretty bad before.”
“Bad how?”
“Way overprotective. She kept me and Shane both on a tight leash, but now? Might as well be in cages.”
“But you’re here and she’s at work and Shane’s . . . ?”
“Shane went back to school today, and he’s going to Bubba’s later. He didn’t do what they’re saying, you know, but even our mother isn’t sure. He just up and left. Said he was going to work on cars just like Dad. She didn’t want him to go, but then she went back to work, so she couldn’t really argue, could she?”
Guilt gnawed at my gut for even thinking Miss Reba could have had anything to do with her husband’s death, but Teagen had presented an opening I couldn’t ignore. “I’m sure it’s been hard on all of you,” I said, not knowing quite how to comfort her. I’d lost my dad long ago, but he hadn’t died; he’d walked out on my brother, Red, my Mama, and me once he’d found out about the Cassidy charms. Tristan Walker walked away and never looked back. And that wasn’t the same thing at all as having your dad die in a suspicious car accident.
“Yeah, well she’s not making it any easier.” Her shoulders hunched as she turned and plopped down on an oversized beanbag chair in the far corner. “She doesn’t get it. I want to go to school. What does it matter, anyway? Everything could end tomorrow. Splat. Done. Over. So what’s the point?”
Aside from the beanbag chair, which Teagen occupied, and the unmade bed, there wasn’t a place to sit. I leaned against the doorframe. “I must have misunderstood your mom. I thought she said you didn’t want to go to school.”
She huffed, overly dramatic, but effective for conveying her utter frustration with her mom. “Nooo. She doesn’t think I can handle people talking about Shane and our family. She treats me like I’m still eight years old. Like I can’t deal with conflict, you know?”
“Teagen, I’m sure it’ll get easier. Just give her some time.”
Her lower lip trembled, making her look more like an eight-year-old who’d gotten in trouble for using her mom’s makeup than the tortured new teenager she was. “How much time?”
I crossed the room in five quick strides, crouching down in front of her. “I’m trying to figure out what happened to your dad. Trying to clear Shane’s name. Knowing the truth will help her get through this,” I said, hoping I was right. I could only imagine the dark hole Teagen would fall into if her mom ended up involved in her dad’s death.
Something she’d said a few minutes ago resurfaced in my mind. “You said you had a break-in last month? I don’t remember hearing about that.”
She ran her fingers under her eyes, whisking away the tears that had spilled and smudging her eyeliner even more. “My dad wasn’t worried about it. He didn’t want to even report it, but it freaked my mom out.”
I stood from my crouched position and went to perch on the edge of the bed. “What happened?”
She shrugged. “This is Bliss. No one locks their doors, right?”
“Right.” Back in New York, Orphie and I had had three deadbolts and a chain on our loft apartment. Here, people trusted one another, and while it was a bad habit to leave your door unlocked, it was something we were all guilty of.
“Yeah, well, this one night, somebody just walked right in. Guess it wasn’t really a break-in since they didn’t actually break the lock or anything.”
“Did they steal anything?”
She shook her head, but said, “Some of my clothes were missing. A few of Shane’s things. His letterman jacket. Some pants. My iPod.” She gestured to the one she’d tossed onto the bed, a glaze coating her eyes. She swiped at her nose as she said, “My dad bought me another one the next day.”
“Were you here when it happened?”
She spit out a laugh. “Oh yeah. My mom woke up screaming when she saw someone just standing over their bed holding a box, or something. It was all really Friday the Thirteenth, minus the blood.”
A chill wound through me. I knew what it was like to wake up to weirdness, but my sleep was almost always interrupted by Meemaw, not by a stealthy burglar. “Did the sheriff ever figure out who it was?”
“Nope,” she said as she pushed off the beanbag chair and headed for the door. I took one last look around her room before following her.
“I’m going to return Mr. Blake’s phone to—” I stopped, not wanting to bring up how distressed he was to Teagen and that I’d be returning it to Mrs. Blake. “Your mom sent me over to collect it.”
She paused, one foot in midair on the staircase. “Oh. Well, then . . .” She swung her foot around and headed back into her room, yanking open her top dresser drawer and digging inside. A moment later, she handed over the phone. “Me and Shane were going to take it back to him. We thought maybe he could tell us something more about our dad.”
“Like what?”
She shrugged. “Like who’d want to drive him off the road. Maybe Dad was a drug dealer or something and we didn’t even really know him.”
Oh boy. Teagen had been watching too much TV. I sure didn’t see Chris Montgomery as a secret crystal meth cooker, dealer, or anything else remotely similar. Then again, people did have secrets, and he had spent a lot of nights away from home. Anything was possible. . . .
I scrolled through the contacts on the phone looking for Eddy Blake’s home number so I could call Mrs. Blake and let her know I’d bring the phone back. When I found it, I pulled my own phone out and dialed, but I looked up as Teagen cleared her throat. The house phone rang, but she didn’t make a move to go answer it.
“If you’re calling Mr. Blake, it’s the wrong number,” she said, the phone still ringing somewhere outside her bedroom.
I pressed END. “What?”
She moved back to the door, held it open, and lifted her chin slightly. “It stopped.”
“What stopped?”
She turned back to me. “The phone.” She flicked her head back, looking at the cell phone in my hand. “It’s programmed wrong. Mr. Blake’s home phone rings here instead of wherever his house in Granbury is. I bet my dad did it for a joke. He would have thought that was hilarious.”
When I’d ended the call, the Montgomery phone had stopped, but to test it again, I dialed HOME from the cell phone. Sure enough, the house ph
one rang again until I ended the call. “Wonder if he changed anything else,” I said, going back to the contact list. Of course there was no way to tell. I ran through the list anyway, looking for anything that might jump out. Reba Montgomery was there under M. Teagen and Shane were both listed, too. Under S was Sue—his missing daughter, I remembered. I could only imagine how awful it had to be to see her name there every day. The only thing more painful would be to actually remove it from the list. Doing so would give her loss a permanence that had to be impossible for a parent to cope with.
“Do you have your dad’s phone?” I asked, thinking that if Mr. Blake had Chris’s emergency numbers, Mr. Montgomery probably had his partner’s numbers, too.
But Teagen shook her head. “He had it with him. The sheriff said it was melted.”
The heaviness of the statement hung between us. Neither one of us spoke for about thirty seconds. Finally, I tucked Mr. Blake’s phone in my bag and headed down the hallway toward the stairs. “Hang in there, Teagen. I promise, it’ll get better. You have to give it some time.”
“Ms. Cassidy,” she said.
I paused at the door, turning around.
“I heard you’re, um, making homecoming mums.”
I nodded. “You should see my shop. It’s mum city in there.”
“You’re making one for Shane?”
“And Gracie.”
“Is he . . .” Her eyes welled with tears and her lower lip quivered. “Will he be able to go to homecoming? Is he going to be”—her voice hitched as she finished—“arrested?”
Her words felt like a vise around my heart. “I’m making the mums so he and Gracie can wear them. The sheriff is trying to find the truth,” I said. “And so am I.”
A Killing Notion: A Magical Dressmaking Mystery Page 7