A Killing Notion: A Magical Dressmaking Mystery

by Bourbon, Melissa

  “Are you gonna kill me, too?” Carrie said, but she shook her head, backing away as she lobbed the rest of what she wanted to say. “Did my dad figure it out? Is that why you . . . why you . . . ran him over?”

  “You did that . . . ?” Gracie moved toward Danica. Instinctively, I took a step toward them, but once again the principal grabbed my arm and held me back. I flashed a scowl at him, but he nodded toward the side of the room. Gavin and another deputy hugged the wall as they made their way toward the girls, moving slowly enough that Carrie and Danica didn’t notice.

  I scanned the crowd looking for Will. I spotted him a few yards behind the deputies, a third deputy behind him. We locked eyes, understanding passing between us. We both had to be careful, protect Gracie, and hope that Danica didn’t unleash the violence that had led her to kill her father and nearly kill Otis Levon.

  “She set you up to take the fall,” Carrie said to Shane, flinging her arm out to point at Danica. “Broke into your house, stole some of your things, planted stuff in your locker . . .”

  Shane stared at Danica. “Is it true?”

  The utter coldness on her face said it all. Shane stumbled backward, distancing himself from her.

  But Danica schooled her expression and threw her shoulders back. “I don’t have a family. You are not my brother.”

  I thought about the fact that Danica had chosen Edwards as a last name. Was that a snub to her lying father? And Danica . . . another nod to her dad and their race-car interests? She’d left Granbury, and she might have disowned her family, but they—especially her father—were still part of her.

  Danica swung her head, her gaze scanning the crowd as if she were trying to gauge who people were believing—her or Carrie. I couldn’t tell what she decided, but her shoulders stiffened and she turned back to Carrie. She was all-in at this point. She had no other choice. She clutched her purse, her hand sliding down the gold chain and gripping the main part of the bag. There was something about the way she moved, the look in her eyes, that unsettled me.

  Shane stared her down. “Did you kill him?” he demanded. “Did you really kill my dad?”

  And then I saw it. Danica’s hand emerged from her purse gripping the handle of something, the light reflecting off the exposed shiny portion of whatever she held. A knife?

  Her gaze was intent on Carrie, and she moved stealthily toward her. An alarm went off in my head, but too late. Danica lunged, her arm outstretch.

  “Carrie!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, my voice reverberating in my ears. It did the trick. Carrie lurched to the side in the nick of time, moving with lightning speed, managing to dodge the flashing blade in Danica’s hand.

  I broke into a run, skirting around the people who were riveted by the drama unfolding before them.

  “Is this for real?” someone asked.

  Oh yes, it was for real. Danica had done exactly what Carrie had accused her of, and now she was a caged animal doing whatever it took to escape.

  Danica drew her arm back, the knife in her hand clear as day. “He ruined my life!” she bellowed, and then she lunged, swinging her arm down in a stabbing motion.

  Carrie sidestepped her, careening into Shane. He yanked her out of the way, but Danica slowly turned and fixated on Carrie again. “You’re just like your dad, butting in where you don’t belong. He knew about my dad’s other life. He knew. He used to come to our house, and then one day on the square, I saw him talking to my dad’s other . . . other . . . wife.” She spit out the word as if she could hardly stand to say it.

  “And that’s why you tried to kill him?”

  “He knew!” she said again, as if that explained everything, and then she drew her arm back, the knife clutched in her hand.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Will. He’d sprung into action, charging through the kids in their homecoming finery. At the same time, I barreled toward the two girls. “Danica, no!” I screamed.

  She hesitated just long enough for Shane to wrench Carrie out of the way, for Will to grab Danica around the shoulders to disable her, and for me to snatch the knife from her hand before she did something else she’d regret forever.

  “Carrie!” Sally yelled her daughter’s name as she battled through the rest of the crowd. For a second, Carrie seemed disoriented; then she blinked, her eyes going wide, and she fell into her mother’s embrace, sobbing.

  Chapter 33

  The homecoming dance was over, and the kids had all gone to their after parties. With the exception of Carrie, who’d gone home with her mother, Gracie’s friends converged at Will’s house, as planned. But instead of playing spoons and swimming, they sat on the sofas, still in shock.

  “Will they charge Danica with attempted murder?” Shane asked.

  That was a good question, although I didn’t think it mattered. Yes, she’d attacked Carrie, but she’d actually killed her father, and she’d be charged with that crime.

  “How’d Danica get the knife?” I asked.

  “She must have taken it from the restaurant,” Gracie said.

  “She didn’t get one at her place setting.” Libby twirled a strand of her dark hair around her finger, creating a soft ringlet. “She asked the waiter for one.”

  Gracie snapped her fingers. “I bet she did get one, but she put it in her purse right away.”

  “So she planned on attacking Carrie the whole time?” someone asked.

  The kids fell silent at that revelation, no doubt trying to reconcile the girl they thought they’d known with the murderer she turned out to be.

  “She snapped,” Will said. We sat side by side. He had his arm draped around me, his fingers absently tapping against my shoulder. “How’d she figure Carrie knew the truth?” he asked.

  Shane looked at me, shaking his head slightly. “How did you figure it out?”

  “I think Carrie recognized Danica as Sue Blake the first time she saw her here in Bliss. The day y’all were taking pictures with your mums in the park, she even told her she looked like someone she’d known. Someone said that everyone had a twin, and Carrie laughed it off, but I don’t think she ever doubted who Danica really was.”

  “How’d Danica get into my locker to plant that stuff?” Shane asked.

  “She was an office aide,” Gracie said.

  Everyone nodded, as if that simple fact explained how she might have gotten access to secure information.

  “But why’d she do it?” Shane asked, half to himself.

  I’d given that a lot of thought. “She killed her father, and I’m guessing she blamed your mother for making your father fall in love with her. Which means she probably blamed you, too. What better way to get back at you than to frame you for murder?”

  “Twisted.” He snapped his fingers, his eyes popping open. “My dad taught me and Teagen how to break into our house by picking the lock. He probably taught her how to pick locks, too.”

  Gracie nodded. “Yeah, and how’d she know what to do to the car?”

  Shane sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “My dad taught her,” he said, as if he were one hundred percent sure of it. “He was always talking cars, showing me and Teagen his car magazines, and explaining things under the hood. Anything mechanical, he messed with it and taught us. I bet he did it with her, too.”

  “I think you’re right,” I said, remembering the line of cars outside the Blake’s home. She’d grown up with cars, learning just as Shane had. “She went to driving school, too. Her mom said she was really good. Believing that she tampered with the steering and then barreled down on him, forcing him off the road, isn’t a stretch.”

  I thought about what Sue Blake had wanted deep down inside. She’d learned the truth about her father, plotted a way to make him pay for his betrayal, and had started a new life as Danica Edwards to put the ball in motion. But I’d made her a homecoming dress, so wha
t deep desire had she realized? Was it revenge, pure and simple? I closed my eyes for a minute, reeling at the horrible way the Cassidy charm could manifest itself.

  “Her poor mother.” Gracie cast her gaze down. Her own mother had chosen to leave her behind, so the idea that a daughter would choose to turn her back on her mother was something she probably couldn’t understand.

  Now Danica couldn’t go back. She’d made irreparable choices and she’d pay for them for the rest of her life.

  * * *

  Texas’s Hill Country. No sewing. No dress designing. No murder. Only the rugged hills topped with limestone and granite, a tiny town outside of Austin, and a bed-and-breakfast with Will Flores.

  “I heard that Otis is past the danger zone,” Will said. He had one hand on the wheel of his truck, the other clasping my hand in my lap. He wore his cream, woven cowboy hat, jeans, and a T-shirt. With his goatee and swarthy skin, he was wickedly handsome. But with his compassion, his Southern sense of humor, and our shared passion for our crafts, he was everything I’d ever wanted in a man, and I melted inside.

  And we were headed for three days and two nights of our own bliss in the Hill Country. “That’s what Sally told me, too. Carrie’s doing better. Still upset about everything, but better.”

  “Good deal,” he said. “The girl was wound tighter than a tick, all that anger and fear up under her skin.”

  He got that right. Now that her dad was out of the woods, I hoped she’d be able to let it all go and move on. “I’m going to make her a dress.”

  He kept his attention on the road, but gave my hand a squeeze. “Good idea.”

  “So maybe her desire will be for her dad to make a full recovery—”

  “Which means it’ll happen,” Will said.

  “Right. Sometimes I love having a charm.”

  He flashed that wicked grin of his. “If you make your own dress, will your wishes come true?”

  Good question, and one I’d thought about many times, but hadn’t quite gotten around to testing. “I don’t know,” I said, honestly.

  “And if you make something for me, will I get what I want?”

  I gave him my own flirty grin. “Depends what you want.”

  He turned into the driveway of Biscuit Hill, pulled off the road, and leaned over to kiss me. “Darlin’, I already have you, so I guess I’m good.”

  “Shucks,” I said, laughing. I hadn’t felt this light and happy, maybe ever. I’d helped Gracie and Shane, I had Buttons & Bows, and I was here with the man I loved. “Will Flores, I’m good, too.”

  Sewing Tips

  Sewing is a process, so enjoy the act of craftsmanship, not just the end result.

  Fit your pattern to the body you have, not the body you wish you had. If a garment fits well, it will look good!

  Ask for help if you need it.

  Buy a seam ripper.

  Prewash your fabric, unless it is dry-clean only.

  Mahi Mahi Tacos with Strawberry-Mango Salsa

  Serves 4

  2–3 pieces of mahi mahi, approximately 6–8 ounces each, cubed

  1 tsp cumin

  ½ tsp salt

  ½ tsp garlic powder

  2 tb olive oil

  4–6 soft corn tortillas

  Strawberry-Mango Salsa

  1½ cups fresh strawberries, chopped

  1 cup frozen or fresh mango, chopped

  ½ cup frozen or fresh pineapple, chopped

  ½ red onion, minced

  ½ cup cilantro, minced

  ½ lime

  Cilantro-Lime Rice

  1 tb canola or vegetable oil

  1 cup long grain white rice

  2 cups water

  ½ tsp salt

  ½ cup cilantro, chopped

  Juice from one lime

  Toss cubed mahi mahi with cumin, salt, and garlic powder. Adjust seasoning to taste. Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a frying pan. Sauté cubed and seasoned mahi mahi until browned and cooked through, stirring occasionally.

  For Salsa:

  Mix chopped and minced ingredients together (strawberries, mango, pineapple, red onion, cilantro) and squeeze lime juice into the mixture.

  For Cilantro-Lime Rice:

  Heat oil in sauté pan. Add uncooked rice and cook until browned. Add salt and water, cover, and simmer until rice is cooked, approximately 15–20 minutes.

  Stir in cilantro and lime juice.

  To Serve:

  Spoon mahi mahi into warmed soft corn tortillas and top with salsa. Serve with Cilantro-Lime Rice.

  Enjoy!

  Continue reading for a special preview of

  A SEAMLESS MURDER

  Available from Obsidian in January 2015.

  Aprons.

  No, they aren’t couture garments. They aren’t even knockoff couture. But it was looking like they were going to be my next project. Seven individual, unique, stylized aprons for the women of Bliss’s Red Hat Society chapter, to be exact.

  I had to laugh. Last week I’d been creating a suit for a woman in Fort Worth who wanted a highly tailored linen ensemble, not an easy task. But as my great-grandmother Loretta Mae Cassidy always said, success is something you have to work for. Harder than you may want to most times. That linen suit pushed me to the edge of my ability, but I came out on the other side a better dressmaker and tailor. In the end, the outfit could have competed with any high-end handmade Italian affair—and come out on top. And I’d sewn it not in Florence, Rome, or Milan, but in little ol’ Bliss, Texas.

  Now it looked like I’d be making aprons, and I was good with that. Working in the fashion industry in New York taught me to expect surprises. Moving back to my hometown of Bliss taught me to embrace them. I’d come back home to live in my great-grandmother’s old yellow farmhouse right off the town square. I’d opened up Buttons & Bows, a custom-dressmaking shop, and made two bridal gowns (one for my mother, which was more like a cowgirl dress than a fantasy gown), countless bridesmaid dresses and homecoming frocks, period dresses for the Margaret Moffette Lea Pageant and Ball, and holiday creations for a Christmas fashion show.

  But at the moment, surrounded by a bevy of red-hatted, purple-attired women, I was being challenged with something completely different from anything I’d done before.

  “Aprons,” I said, contemplating the idea. I was ready for the challenge. Or lack thereof. I homed in on Delta Lea Mobley, my neighbor—and apparently the leader of Bliss’s Red Hat ladies, all of whom currently stood in a half circle around me, looking expectant. Delta Lea was a robust, rosy-cheeked woman with lots of soft curves, but her personality didn’t quite match. Although she looked like a middle-aged Mrs. Claus, there was no twinkle in her eye, no laughter in her voice, and no spring in her step.

  Her sisters, Coco and Sherri, on the other hand, had the same huggable curves without the abrasive personality. Unfortunately, though, neither of them happened to be present under the big white tent in the church parking lot, so I was left with Delta. “Yes, aprons. I know you’re a big-shot fashion designer and all, but I thought—” She broke off, then waved her hands at the other Red Hat ladies. “We thought you could probably make aprons, too. Since you come from simple stock, I’m not sure how creative you can get with them. We want something more than burlap coffee sacks, you know.”

  Sarcasm dripped from her voice, and I swallowed the anger that had quickly bubbled up. Delta Lea Mobley brought out the worst in me. We’d had a few run-ins since I’d moved back to Bliss, mostly because of Nana’s goats. Delta; her husband, Richard; her daughter, Megan; and her mother, Jessie Pearl, all lived next door to me. Thelma Louise, the grand dam of Nana’s Sundance Kids herd, had led the other goats straight into the Mobley yard on more than one occasion, and I was guilty of letting it happen by simple association. As if Thelma Louise listened
to me. Nana was the goat whisperer. My Cassidy family charm worked through my dressmaking, allowing the deepest desires of the person I designed for to come true. The goats weren’t my domain, not one little bit.

  “I’m not a big shot, Delta,” I said, knowing her abrasive attitude didn’t spill over to the other women in her Red Hat group. I hoped they would back me up.

  Cynthia Homer, her ginger hair shimmering in the diffused light of the morning, sucked in a bolstering breath. “We’re hoping you’ll be able to fit it into your schedule,” she said. She was shooting daggers at Delta as she continued. “We’d be honored if you’ll do our small project, in fact. Just tickled pink.”

  I ignored Delta and mustered up a healthy dollop of sweetness, dropping it into my voice. “I’d love to make y’all some aprons,” I said, realizing the moment I spoke that it was absolutely true.

  The tense expressions on the women’s faces relaxed. Cynthia clasped her hands together. “Harlow Jane, that’s wonderful.” She extended her index finger and counted the Red Hat women surrounding me, her mouth moving but no words coming out. “With everyone, that’ll be seven aprons. We need ’em finished by next Friday, in time for our first annual Red Hat progressive dinner. Can you do that?”

  I barely stopped myself from sputtering. “Next Friday?”

  They were just aprons, but still, with my other obligations, that was a tight deadline.

  “That should be a piece of cake for you, Harlow,” Delta said, stepping forward and shouldering Cynthia out of the way. “Especially for something as pedestrian as aprons. Why, I’ve seen you whip out homecoming dresses and those bridal gowns in a matter of days. Aprons have to be the easiest thing on the face of the earth for someone with your sewing finesse.”

  I couldn’t decide if she was really trying to be nice, and I was just imagining the healthy doses of sarcasm I heard in her voice. Maybe she was trying to butter me up, but somehow I doubted it.