A Killing Notion: A Magical Dressmaking Mystery

by Bourbon, Melissa

  “Do you have time . . . could you . . . I’d really like a . . .”

  She stumbled with her words, but I read between the lines. “I would love to make you a mum, Teagen.”

  Anything to get a little time back at Buttons & Bows, where I could think and weave together the mess of threads of Bliss’s latest mystery.

  Chapter 9

  Quiet time at Buttons & Bows to make a mum for Teagen was not to be. Before I’d even had a chance to start up Buttercup, my cell phone rang.

  “We have a problem, Cassidy,” Will said when I answered.

  I gripped the steering wheel, knowing that Will calling about a problem was no small thing. He wasn’t a cry-wolf kind of man, so if he thought something was wrong, something was probably very wrong.

  “What is it?” I didn’t know which way to drive, so I stayed put in front of the Montgomery house, the truck in idle.

  “Gracie called from school. There was an anonymous tip about Shane. Gavin came and searched his locker. They found a flask of vodka, instructions on how to sever the steering linkage in a car, and a shirt they say might be the one he was wearing the day his dad died.”

  My head spun as he rattled off the evidence piling up against Shane. “How can they be sure it’s the shirt he was wearing? And what does that matter, anyway?” I added, trying to gather up the pieces Will had just tossed up into the air.

  “The school has surveillance tapes. Apparently the sheriff’s office has been going through them all. They saw Shane on Friday’s tape. When they found the shirt, they put together that it was the same one.”

  “But why does that matter?” I asked again.

  He hesitated. “There’s oil on the sleeve.”

  I suddenly pictured Otis from Bubba’s rubbing his greasy hands on a dirty blue cloth. “Oh no.”

  I threw the truck into drive and headed toward Bliss High School. The nerves in my gut seized. No matter how I tried to spin it, this didn’t look good for Shane.

  “Right.”

  “I’m on my way,” I said. Less than eight minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of the school, tucked the truck into a visitor parking space, and speed walked toward the front office.

  I approached the double glass doors and saw that Gavin was there, along with a female deputy named Kate O’Brian. She’d come in to Buttons & Bows several times as a potential customer, but she’d yet to pull the trigger on having me design something for her. Behind the law enforcement officers, Will stood with Gracie, speaking softly and convincing her she needed to go back to class.

  My head felt light, as if all the blood was draining from it and pooling in my gut. Between the deputies, hands cuffed behind his back, was Shane. He looked as pale and drawn as I felt, his eyes cast down, his chin slack, a look of disbelief on his face.

  “Shane,” I said, but my words stopped on my lips. I had a vision of him in a white wide-pin-striped suit, a throwback from the 1920s, looking dapper and irreverent. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever made, but that didn’t mean it was outside the realm of possibility.

  He lifted his gaze to mine, his brown eyes skittish and scared. He was a sixteen-year-old boy, but he looked like a terrified child who was lost in a crowd. “I didn’t do it,” he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper. “I didn’t kill my dad.”

  Gavin looked at me, his face grim, his lips pressed into a thin line. He shook his head, just barely, and after he’d done it I wasn’t entirely sure I’d seen it—or that I’d interpreted it correctly. The message I’d gotten was that he didn’t think Shane had done it, either. Maybe I was delusional. Or too close to the situation.

  “Let’s go,” he said to Shane, no bark to his words.

  Gavin and I didn’t see eye to eye, but like his father, my stepdaddy, Hoss McClaine, he was a fair man and he certainly didn’t want to arrest anyone who wasn’t actually guilty.

  He flattened his palm on the top of Shane’s head, guiding him into the back of his cruiser. A minute later, Will and I stood at the curb staring after the disappearing taillights of the car.

  Will slipped his arm around me, pulling me close. “I believe him,” he said, his gaze still straight ahead on the empty road.

  “What did he say about the vodka?” I asked.

  “That it’s not his.”

  Of course—what else would he say?

  The shirt seemed irrefutable, so I left that one alone, although there had to be an explanation. The third item found in Shane’s locker bothered me the most. “Shane worked at Bubba’s. Why would he need instructions on how to cause damage to a car? That doesn’t make sense, does it? Wouldn’t he know?”

  It would be akin to me needing instructions on how to add pleats to a bodice, or how to gather a skirt. It just felt wrong.

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” Will said. “He wouldn’t, which means—”

  “Someone’s trying to frame him,” I finished, the words bitter in my mouth. In my mind’s eye, I saw the crushed expression on Gracie’s face as she stood with her father watching Gavin and Deputy O’Brian lead Shane away. My resolve to help her—to help them both—strengthened. I took out my cell phone and dialed Miss Reba.

  “I just heard. I’m on my way to the sheriff’s office,” she said when she answered.

  “He’s scared,” I said, not wanting to upset her, but not sugarcoating it, either. “The deputy found some things in his locker.”

  “What’s happening, Harlow? Shane didn’t do this. He didn’t do this!”

  “I know, Miss Reba,” I said. I just hoped I could figure out why someone was trying to make it look like he had.

  * * *

  Will and I hung around outside the campus until the bell rang and the students were dismissed. A steady stream of kids filed through the front doors. We caught snippets of conversation, some about homecoming, the football game Friday night, and the new restaurant opening in town where half the student population was hoping to get part-time work. The rest centered around the arrest of Shane Montgomery, the discoveries in his locker, and the utter disbelief that he could have killed his father.

  “He’s, like, the nicest guy,” one girl said, wiping a tear from her cheek.

  “Doesn’t he have an alibi?” the boy with her asked.

  “It’s not like he was right there when the car crashed. It was tampered with before the accident,” another guy said.

  “No, but I heard they played chicken . . . and Shane’s dad lost.”

  “Shane. A killer.” A group of girls shook their heads in unison as one of them said, “I just can’t believe all his bad luck.”

  They walked off before we could hear any more. “What bad luck?” Will asked.

  We moved to the stone half wall and perched while we waited for Gracie. “They had a break-in a few weeks ago,” I said, answering his question. “Nothing major was stolen except for Teagen’s iPod and Shane’s jacket, but some random stuff was taken. Then Miss Reba woke up to the intruder standing over their bed.”

  “I did hear about that.” He went on to say something about there not being any other home invasions or robberies, but my mind slipped back to something Otis had said at Bubba’s.

  He’d said that Shane and his dad had fought. Maybe he and his dad didn’t get along as well as people seemed to think. Otis had thought it was possible Shane had simply snapped. Who was right? Otis, or the kids at school who thought Shane was incapable of hurting anyone, let alone his father?

  “Woolgathering?”

  “What?”

  “You’re at it again, Cassidy. Lost in thought, your mind miles and miles away.”

  I looked up at him sheepishly. “Just trying to make sense of what happened.”

  We looked up to see Danica and Leslie next to us. Their expressions were somber.

  “Girls,” I asked them, “did you hea
r about the burglary at the Montgomery’s a few weeks back?”

  “Sure,” Danica said. “I heard that Mr. Montgomery chased whoever it was down the street, but I don’t think they ever found out who broke in.”

  Leslie shook her head, her brows pulled together. “Pretty scary. Someone just waltzed right in like they owned the place and, from what I heard, scared the bejesus out of Shane’s mom.”

  “Not as scary as murder.” Danica looked back at Will and me. “Everyone’s saying the sheriff came and arrested Shane. Is he okay?”

  Leslie knocked the back of her hand against Danica’s arm. “Really? Do you think he’s okay?”

  Danica’s eyes flew open wide, the reality of Shane’s situation looking like it was hitting her in earnest. She clutched her jacket and fiddled with the strap of her backpack. “No, of course he’s not okay. I didn’t mean . . . I was just . . .” She gulped, regrouping. “How’s Gracie taking it?”

  “He’s innocent.”

  This time we all turned, startled by the force of Gracie’s voice. She came up on the other side of Will and me, her best friend, Holly Kincaid, by her side.

  “Of course he is,” Leslie said, while Danica added, “It’ll all work out. It has to.”

  “Shane’s mom’ll get him a lawyer,” Gracie said. Her gaze skittered over each of us and she nodded. “She’ll get him the best, and the sheriff’ll realize his mistake, and you’ll figure out the truth,” she said to me, “and it’ll all be okay. You’ll see.”

  Will squeezed Gracie’s hand. “We’ll do what we can to help, sweetheart.”

  Gracie nodded, but instead of falling apart or looking to her dad for more reassurance, she turned to me, her eyes fiery. “I want to go work on our homecoming mums; is that okay, Harlow? Can I go to Buttons and Bows?”

  “Gracie,” I said, “are you sure—”

  “You don’t have to come. I can do it alone,” she said quickly. Her eyes glazed over and she dipped her chin, her strength wavering. “Please, Harlow.”

  “I want to work on mine, too,” Leslie said quickly. “And I’d love to see my dress again.”

  Danica nodded. “Me, too. We can order some pizza and get not plumb crazy, but mum crazy.”

  The girls all looked at Danica like she was from Neptune; then they each grinned. It was a silly joke, but it had done the trick of lightening the moment. Even for Gracie.

  Holly had her cell phone out, her thumb poised and ready to dial. They all looked at me, their fearless mum leader, to give the okay. At some point, I would trek out to Granbury and return Mr. Blake’s phone to his wife, but right now, I wanted to do whatever Gracie needed me to do to help her feel better, and I had to make Teagen her mum. Those two things were more important than anything else.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  An almost enthusiastic cheer went up from the girls, and Holly dialed, stepping aside as she placed a delivery order. The girls split up, each walking to their respective cars. Gracie went with Holly in her Jeep, Danica drove off in her old vintage car, and Leslie walked toward the road. Danica stopped and said something to Leslie through the open passenger window. Leslie nodded and climbed in, the engine revved, and they were off.

  A little piece of my heart swelled at the budding of the friendship between the two girls. They’d met because of Zinnia James and her charity, but now they were becoming closer, and that was worth all the dresses in the world.

  Will walked me to my truck. “You sure you can handle four teenage girls?”

  I laughed. “If I can handle Loretta Mae, I can handle them.”

  A short while later we were settled around the dining table at Buttons & Bows. I’d already had a base put together, so I spent the first twenty minutes tying on charms, bells, and plastic decorations, including a sparkly pink cell phone.

  “For Teagen,” I said when the girls asked who it was for.

  They nodded in unison, each of them silently acknowledging that, bless her heart, Teagen needed a great mum to help her in her time of need.

  It was smaller than the others because she was in middle school, but the way I saw it, she had plenty of time to grow into the enormous creations as she worked through her high school career. Kids had to have something to look forward to, after all.

  They kept working on their creations, but I moved on to Danica’s dress. There was nothing like working with fabric to help ease my mind and calm my thoughts. But more than anything, what I wanted was inspiration about how to help Shane get out of the shackles he was currently in.

  Chapter 10

  My dining table had been doubling as a workstation pretty much since I’d moved into the house at 2112 Mockingbird. Thanks to the four teenage girls, now the workspace was spilling into the rest of the kitchen. Half-made mums, strands of ribbon, and small trinkets littered the entire dining area, while lengths of discarded grosgrain coiled like small snakes on the kitchen floor.

  As I sewed in my workroom, I listened to the girls’ chatter. Holly, Danica, and Leslie worked hard to bolster and distract Gracie. Gracie, for her part, was trying like the dickens to be positive. She was a born and bred Southern girl, which meant, just like the rest of us, she’d been raised to keep a smile on her face, hide whatever might be bothering her, and act like a lady. These tenets were the core beliefs behind the Margaret Moffette Lea Pageant and Ball, an annual event that wasn’t quite a debutante ball, but was pretty darn close. Gracie had been part of it recently and had learned the lessons well.

  If I looked at her long enough, I could see her lower lip droop and tremble, but for the most part, she was keeping it together.

  The pizza arrived, and I made a pitcher of lemonade and set out a few cans of soda. Holly, Danica, and Gracie each took one piece at a time of the pizza, but Leslie took three, eating quickly, almost as if the food might disappear and she’d be left with nothing. The response of someone who had gone without food, I reckoned.

  “He has his mom,” Danica was saying. “That’s more than you or I have.”

  She was right about that. Gracie’s mom had taken off a long time ago and she’d been raised by her dad. He’d done a great job of rearing a strong, confident young lady, even if she was burying her true feelings at the moment. When we were alone, I hoped I could get her to let down her defenses and fess up to what she was going through.

  I still didn’t know Danica or Leslie’s whole story, but I’d worry about that later. For now, my focus was on Gracie.

  “My dad said you went to Bubba’s,” Gracie said, swallowing a bit of pizza and washing it down with a gulp of lemonade.

  “I did. Here and the one in Granbury.”

  “What did you find out? Do you have a lead?” Her voice rose, her anxiousness to get answers and help Shane lighting all of her nerves. She was like a ball of energy.

  I waved my hands so she’d simmer down. “I talked to a guy named Otis. He didn’t say much,” I said, not mentioning his suggestion that Shane and his dad didn’t see eye to eye on things. “He did mention that Mr. Montgomery spent the night at the shop in Granbury sometimes.”

  The girls all looked to Gracie as if she could corroborate the story. She nodded. “Shane said that, too. His dad would work late and just stay the night instead of driving the narrow country roads in the dark.”

  “And yet that’s how he died,” Danica said, shaking her head, her voice sad. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  There was no response. The girls just dipped their chins toward their chests, taking a moment of silence.

  “My dad wasn’t home half the time, either,” she continued. She was trying to draw a connection between her and Gracie. Despite the trauma of losing her own parents, she was compassionate and wanting to make her new friend feel better.

  “If Shane didn’t do it,” Leslie said, “then who did? Why would anyone want Mr. Montgomery dead?”

 
; That was a very good question. I listened to them talk, hoping to glean some tidbit of information to help me decide if any of my theories had any merit.

  “Maybe Teagen did it,” Leslie said. “Maybe she secretly hates her brother and father. She killed her dad and set up Shane—”

  “Stop!” Red splotches appeared on Gracie’s neck and her temples pulsed. “Teagen didn’t kill her father any more than Shane did.” She dropped her half-eaten piece of pizza and buried her head in her hands.

  Leslie froze, her eyes wide with shame. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Maybe it was that guy you met, Otis,” Danica suggested.

  We all looked at her, letting this sink in. “But why would he kill Mr. Montgomery?” I asked.

  Her brow furrowed, her jet-black hair falling over her eyes. “He worked for Montgomery, right? Maybe he was stealing from his boss, or maybe Mr. Montgomery was going to fire him?”

  Leslie flattened her hands against the tabletop. “Or maybe,” she said, “this Otis guy was having an affair with Mrs. Montgomery.”

  “Shane’s mom was not having an affair,” Gracie said.

  “How do you know? If they were, it would be a secret. It’s not like people go around talking about their affairs. And if they were, it would be motive, right? Could have been Otis or Mrs. Montgomery. Or maybe,” Leslie continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, “it was both of them together.”

  I shifted in my seat, trying to figure out how to interject. “Have you met Otis from Bubba’s?” I asked Leslie.

  “No.”

  “Have you met Reba Montgomery?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  I thought about Otis’s grease-stained coveralls with the name patch and his slicked-back hair; then an image of Miss Reba came to me with her sweater sets, fashion scarves, and blingy jeans. “I don’t really see them together as a couple.”

  I didn’t mention the fact that I couldn’t see Miss Reba as an adulterer at all, with Otis or anyone else. The idea of Miss Reba sleeping with another man while her husband spent his nights in Granbury after a long day of work didn’t sit well.