by Amy Boyles
Reaching down, I wrapped my hand around my grandma's and squeezed. I didn't do it too hard, though. I'd hate to hurt her. Not that squeezing her hand would do any sort of permanent damage—I'm not dense, you know. It's just that when you see the same person day in and out respond to very little stimuli, it's hard to know what causes them pain.
"Hi, Grandma."
She didn't react. She hardly ever did. With Nan's prodding, she would walk and eat, but not much more. I felt like Grandma could hear us, but a barrier stood in her way of responding. Right now, if I grabbed her hands and helped her stand, she would do it, but that's all she would do—stand board still and wait for me to move her around.
The doctors didn't know how long it would last or even what caused it. There were no drugs to help her. Sometimes mutism occurred in stroke victims, but Grandma hadn't experienced a stroke. So we were at a loss as to why this afflicted her. Without the help of Nan, her live-in nurse, I think we as sisters would be lost, too. Literally. Grandma raised us after our parents died in a car accident. I was ten, Sera was eight and Reid just a baby. So she'd been both mother and father to us for all our lives. I can say with confidence that we loved her deeply.
Though I have to admit, she had been a little nutty before the frozen state occurred. Like she'd say strange things sometimes—talk about unicorns and such. I know, right? A little off, that's all.
"Do you think Grandma will eat pizza?" I asked.
Nan ran a hand through her short pepper-colored hair. "Why not? Who doesn't like pizza? And girls, I read today's paper. Loved the article. Those folks at the News did the town justice."
"You think so?" Sera asked, plopping onto a floral-patterned wingback chair.
Nan smiled, her wise eyes sparkling. "I know so."
***
"Want to go to Java Joe's tonight?" Sera asked after we had eaten the pizza.
I sat up on the couch, the weight of food making it hard to move. "Ugh. I think I ate too much. So tired."
She threw a napkin at me. "Which is why you need coffee. Want to go?"
I shook my head. "No. I need to fix Reagan Eckhart's dress. She's going to stop by tomorrow and try it on."
"What's wrong with it now? Is it the wrong dress?" she joked.
Sera knew all too well my problems with Reagan and The Dress, as it had come to be known. At first it was the wrong design, then the wrong color (how many different shades of white could there be?) and now, of course, the bling issue.
"Too many sequins," I said.
Sera patted her full belly. "She told you last week she wanted more."
I sighed. "I know, and now she wants less."
"Lord help that man who's about to marry her. Does he know what he's getting into?"
I pulled my hair over one shoulder and started to braid it. "Pretty sure. He doesn't seem too gaga over her if you ask me."
Reid chimed in. "Would you be gaga over her? I mean, she's pretty and all, but she's a total witch."
"Agreed." I yawned. "Anyway, I'd better go down to the shop and fix that dress so that I don't have to deal with her wrath."
"Why didn’t you bring it home and work on it here?" Reid asked.
“Because it’s huge. Too much train to cram into a car."
Sera caught my yawn. "Good luck on both fronts. Since you don't want to get coffee, I guess we'll be here watching B horror movies."
Crap. I hated missing B horror movie night. "What are you going to watch?"
Reid scrolled through the Netflix options. "Tonight it's Killer Klowns from Outer Space."
"Oh man, I didn't want to miss that one. Let me know how it is, and be sure to turn the volume down so Grandma and Nan don't get scared."
"We will."
With that, I was off to fix Reagan's dress. I hit the Unlock button on my key ring. The car beeped softly. When I reached it, I stood and looked up and down the street. It was completely empty, the quiet hum of the streetlights the only sound. A slow tingle spread over the back of my neck.
If it was so empty, why did I get the feeling I was being watched?
CHAPTER THREE
Perfect Fit jumped and jangled the next day. Okay, so I was the one doing the jumping, and it was really more like jiggling than jangling given the girly parts God blessed me with. But we were slammed. And I mean slammed. The article in the paper had certainly done its job and all too well.
The ever awesome Carrie kept each and every client watered and replenished with snacks until I could give them my undivided attention. Part of the Perfect Fit experience was that I pulled the garments I thought best for whatever occasion a client needed to be outfitted for. My knack for finding the correct size and style was legendary. At least in my own mind. Not that I'm super tooting my own horn here, but I have sewn every article of clothing in my store. I know it inside and out, so I'm best qualified to find what someone's looking for.
"I need an assistant," Carrie said as I whizzed past.
"You're my assistant," I said.
"Yes, but it's impossible to make coffee, keep the cucumber sandwiches replenished and refill the nut bowl."
I glanced at the snack area. She was right. We were out of everything. "Run to Sera's and ask for some scones or croissants or something. Be quick."
She returned with an armload of confections. I loved my sister. I owed her one. Or a thousand. A few hours and a dozen or so treats later, the rush finally settled down. I collapsed on the lounging couch.
"Thank goodness that's over," I said.
"I know. I'm exhausted," Carrie said. She inspected her nails. "Drat. I chipped a nail."
"It's a gel manicure. They don't chip."
"Well, this one did." She showed me her finger.
"Oh, so it did."
"Can I go fix it?"
I threw her an incredulous look. "Right now? What if we get another rush?"
"But my nail. It needs it," she pleaded.
Seriously. Girlfriend had a problem. "Okay. But be quick."
I closed my eyes and relaxed. The bell tinkled as the door opened. I groaned. Time to get back at it. "Welcome to Perfect Fit."
"Hey, Dylan!"
Reagan Eckhart. Noooooooo! I opened my eyes and rose. "Reagan, so glad to see you."
She beamed. "I'm guessing you've got my dress ready?"
"And how," I said. "Let me go get it."
I passed Carrie, who wasn't bothering to fix just the one nail. She was redoing both hands. Sheesh. How I ever managed to get any work out of her was beyond me.
I presented the dress to Reagan.
"It's gorgeous. Just the way I always envisioned it."
Sure. Right. At least today. Ask her tomorrow and she'll probably change her mind again. "I'm so glad you like it. That's what I aim for here, a satisfied customer at every corner."
"Well, I am."
"Great. I'll store it until the wedding."
I placed the gown in back. When I returned, Reagan stood beside my blue dress, the one I had been making for the solstice dance. Carrie stood beside her.
"I don't know," Carrie said. "That's Dylan's gown."
"What's going on?" I asked, raising my eyebrows as intimidatingly high as I could.
Reagan rushed over and grabbed both my hands like we were best freaking friends. I thought we'd already covered this. Mortal enemies. At least in high school. Tenuous friends in the present at best.
"Oh Dylan, that dress is simply gorgeous. I absolutely love it."
"Thanks. I'm wearing it to the solstice banquet."
Her face fell in true dramatic princess fashion. "But it would be absolutely perfect for the rehearsal dinner on Friday. I mean, it's a one-of-a-kind Dylan Apel. When everyone finds out I'm wearing a dress made especially for me, your sales will skyrocket."
"Um. I make every dress by hand. They're all one of a kind."
She scoffed. "You know what I mean, Dyl."
Dyl? Were we chums now?
I plastered on my best sincere smile
as I unhinged her claws from my arm. "Reagan, I love that you want to wear it, but it's really been made just for me." I scanned her waif-thin form. "You and I aren't the same size."
"I'll give you three thousand dollars for it."
My ears must not be working. "What?"
"Make it four thousand."
Suddenly all bad thoughts about Reagan were thrown on the floor and squashed beneath my foot. "Carrie, get the dress ready for Ms. Eckhart."
I was not selling out. Really, I wasn't. Of course one of my wedding dresses cost a fortune, but a regular dress—I would never charge four grand for it. More like five hundred. So yes, I see dollar signs the same as anyone else. Besides, paying Nan to take care of Grandma wasn't exactly cheap. Insurance didn't cover most of it. So all my extra money went to her salary. The same can be said for Sera. Reid, so far, hadn't discovered anything she was good at—besides teenage whining, that is—so she couldn't contribute to the family fund.
Carrie wiggled her nails at me. "Can't. They're wet."
For goodness' sake. Why was she my assistant again? "Come on, Reagan. Let me put it in a room for you."
I unzipped the back and pulled the dress off the mannequin. The fabric felt warm, but it was hot in the store, what with the rush of bodies we'd had earlier, so I didn't give it another thought. After hanging the gown in the dressing room, I left Reagan to try it on.
After a few minutes of straightening clothes on hangers, I noticed Reagan still hadn't emerged. Odd. I made my way down the hall and knocked on the door.
"Reagan?"
No answer.
I knocked harder. "Reagan, are you okay?"
Still no answer.
Okay, do I barge in? What if she's naked? I didn't want her to kill me. I gave it one more round of hard knocks.
"Reagan?"
When she failed to answer for the third time, I turned the knob. She hadn't locked it. That was awfully brave of her. Not that anyone would charge in and try to see her unclothed. But I never entered a dressing room without locking the door. Did that make me paranoid?
I edged the door open a tad. The acrid scent of sulfur assaulted my nose. Reagan must have ripped the biggest fart ever for the room to smell that bad. I pinched my nostrils shut.
"Reagan?" I pushed the door all the way open. She stood in the middle of the room, the blue dress hanging limply from her body. Her peachy flesh was no more. In its place, blackened skin sizzled as if it had been fried to a crisp. A sulfurous smell wafted off her body, filling the room.
Dear Lord.
My dress had killed her, which meant—
I'd killed Reagan!
CHAPTER FOUR
Ten minutes later, half the town was swarming outside the building, trying to see what all the fuss was about. I swear, I hadn't seen a line so deep in Silver Springs since Gus's reopened after they updated the interior. That's how this town was—the slightest hint of new or different and everyone plus their mother showed up.
Sera handed me a Styrofoam cup of sweet tea. I smiled weakly. "Thanks."
She hugged me. "Sure thing."
Trying to drown my sorrows with refreshing liquid sometimes worked, but I doubted it would wash this guilt away. Somehow a dress I'd made had killed Reagan. How could that be? I was making it for myself, not her. Not that I could kill someone even if I tried. My clothing always made people happy. It didn't physically hurt them. Never. Ever.
I shook the cup to break up the ice clumps, and took a sip. The sugar very nearly crystallized on my tongue. If it hadn't, the tea wouldn't have been sweet enough for my taste. This one was perfect. Of course it was. Sera had made it.
"So she was burned up?" Sera snapped her fingers. "Just like that?"
"Yeah," I murmured, my heart heavy. I rubbed a patch of goose bumps from my arm.
"Like a chicken on the spit too long?" Reid asked.
"Shush," I warned her. "It's awful as it is."
"Is Carrie okay?" Sera asked.
I nodded toward the hall of dressing rooms. "She's talking to the police now."
A tall, dark-skinned detective in a navy-blue suit jotted down notes on a pad while Carrie told him what she knew. He'd introduced himself as Detective Blount. His suit jacket hung a little loose on him. Hmmm. I should start making men's clothing. I could really improve on what was currently out there. Was that wrong of me? Thinking about business when a woman had died in my store?
"Have you talked to him?" Sera asked.
I nodded. "Told him what I knew, which wasn't much." Only that I was a total murderer, if by accident.
Detective Blount made his way over to us. He gave me a weary smile. "We should have the scene cleaned up pretty quick. I'd like to ask you to keep the victim's name to yourself until we've had time to contact the family."
"Of course," I said.
He placed a hand on his hip. "Your assistant mentioned that you were making that dress for the town banquet."
"Yes," I said. "I was working on it here, and Reagan happened to see it and wanted to try it on."
He wrote in his notepad. "And you let her?"
"Yes. After she offered me four grand for it."
He raised an eyebrow. "Four thousand dollars for a dress?"
"Detective Blount, in case you didn't know, the Eckharts are wealthy."
"Fabulously," Reid confirmed.
"This is my sister, Reid," I said, answering his question before he asked. "Reagan could easily afford a four-thousand-dollar dress."
"Had you let anyone else try it on?"
"No. It was obviously an unfinished piece. It had a ragged hem and strings at the shoulders."
"But you let her try it on."
The room felt very hot. Stifling, in fact, as I realized the detective's questions pointed more and more toward me doing bodily harm to Reagan. Which apparently was true. I wanted to tell him the truth, admit my guilt, but what was I going to say? Officer, my clothing has a strange effect on people. Normally this doesn't harm them, but this time I managed to kill someone.
I wanted to puke.
"Do you know anyone who's an expert in chemicals?" he asked, changing gears.
"You mean like a chemist?" I asked.
He nodded.
"No. Why?"
He shrugged. "Just trying to figure out what happened. I have a dead woman, her skin cooked like she'd been baked in an oven, and a dress that's perfectly intact."
"That is super odd," Reid said. "Good luck with that."
I gave her a scornful look.
"Who are you again?" he asked.
I shoved Reid back. "My little sister who likes to butt her nose into places it doesn't belong. Detective, I'll tell you anything I can."
"Great. How about a list of where you get your fabric from?"
"I'll get it for you right now."
A couple of hours later the police and bystanders were gone. I had sent Carrie home to recuperate. I hoped she wouldn't be forever scarred by this. I sank onto a lounging couch, trying to figure out the best way to turn myself in.
Sera called from the back hall. "At least she didn't leave a mark."
"Sounds like you're talking about a dog," Reid said.
"Reid, have some compassion," I snarled.
She shrugged. "It's not like I'm spouting off that Reagan was a mega-meanie from hell. I only said the way Sera made it sound, it seemed like she was referring to a dog who'd pooped on the carpet, and not a dead woman."
"That's awfully ladylike of you," I said.
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
Reid scoffed. "Sorry for saying it like it is."
"You're forgiven."
Sera appeared from the hallway. She brushed her hands together. "It's not so bad in there. I was afraid there'd be some sort of grim stain, but there's nothing."
"Nothing except the fact that somehow a dress I made killed her. I mean, I know we're gifted and all, but I've never, not once in my life, killed someone!"
"You can say it," I said. "It's the absolute truth. I killed Reagan Eckhart."
"You didn't kill her."
We did a collective head turn toward the front door. I'd been so lost in my self-deprecating announcement that I hadn't heard the bell above the front door tinkle. But it had, and in the doorway stood the redhead from the day before. She wore bangles on her wrists again, and they clinked as she crossed her arms over her chest.
"Like I said, you didn't kill her."
I didn't know what to say. I didn't talk about my gift with strangers. None of us did. I wasn't sure if the best course of action was to laugh off what I’d said or listen to her. I glanced at Sera for backup, but she looked just as dumbfounded as me.
I had to say something. "Okay? Thank you for your input, but the store's closed. We've had a tragedy occur."
She dropped her purse to the floor, apparently settling in for the long haul. "I know. I told y'all you'd stirred up a fire-ant bed with that article."
"Yeah," I said. "Want to explain what that meant?"
She smiled. "Sure thang. You know when that reporter wrote that she looked younger when trying on one of your dresses? Only one way that can happen. That little article let the whole wide world know exactly what you are."
I swiveled my hips and planted my feet on the floor. "And what exactly is that?"
Her upper lip curled into a half smile, half snarl. "Darlin', you're a witch. And now someone wants to kill you."
CHAPTER FIVE
I yanked my ear. I must have missed some wax when I cleaned it this morning. "What?"
"Did she just call us the B word?" Reid asked.
"That's what it sounded like," Sera said. "That's pretty rude."
"That ain't what I said. I called you witch—"
"That's what I thought she said, too!" I added.
The redhead adjusted her clanking bangles. "That ain't what I said."
Reid crossed her arms defiantly. "Then what did you say?"
"I called you witches."
My sisters and I exchanged glances. Then we busted our guts in laughter.