I hung her dress on the second dress form in the workroom. “I heard she had a will,” I said as Ruthann disappeared behind the privacy screen.
Like a jack-in-the-box, her head popped out from behind the screen. “No, she couldn’t have.”
“Why not?”
A look of hurt came over her. “I guess I just thought she would have told me something like that. We shared everything.”
“That’s right—you two were close.”
She smiled. “Yes, we were.”
“Ah, well, who knows if it’s true,” I said.
“Oh, it probably is,” she said quickly. “Nell was very shrewd. She knew exactly what she wanted and she worked hard to get it. I can see her not wanting to leave anything to chance, especially considering her upbringing.”
I stayed busy at the dress form, needle and thread in hand, finishing the slip stitch on the sash. I slid the needle through the fabric, gliding it along the inside fold and sliding it back out. “Did she have a boyfriend?”
Josie had filled me in on Nell’s self-destructive love life, but Mama’s take on it was that things had been looking up. But by all accounts, she had a good business mind. Surely the two sides of Nell could be knitted together somehow.
“Oh, she was in love.”
I jerked and the needle pricked my thumb. “She was?” I said, pressing my thumb between my lips to soothe the biting pain.
“She wasn’t telling people yet. Afraid she might jinx it, I think,” Ruthann said from behind the privacy screen. “I only found out by accident.”
“But I thought you two were best friends.”
She reemerged, back in her white capris and floral top, the strands of hair framing her face giving her an ethereal look. “We were good friends, but Nell didn’t get real close to anyone. I think I felt closer to her than she felt to me or to Karen, or even Josie. It was like she always had on battle armor, you know? Like she had to protect herself from being hurt.”
From what little I knew of Nell, that made perfect sense. “How’d you accidentally find out she was in love?”
She looked through the French doors at the empty front room. No one had come into the shop all morning. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked.
I nodded. “Of course.” Unless it was about Nell’s murder, but surely that was understood?
“She was pregnant.” She breathed out a heavy sigh of relief and her shoulders relaxed. “There, I said it.”
Blood surged through my veins, my heart suddenly constricting. “Pregnant?”
“Pregnant.”
“How far along?” I asked, remembering the slight pooch I’d noticed in Nell’s belly. And I had overheard Ruthann and Karen talking about Nell getting sick. It all fit.
“Around fourteen weeks, I think.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But honestly, I’m not sure. She wouldn’t give me any details. Just said she was in love and this time it was going to work out.”
“This time?”
“She’s had a lot of near misses. And some not so near misses. But she said this guy was the one.”
Before I let my imagination run wild, I went ahead with another question. “But why was it a secret?” I asked.
“It wasn’t, I guess. Not exactly. She just wanted to tell everyone in her own way. She’d been planning to make the big announcement at Josie and Nate’s rehearsal dinner.”
“Wouldn’t Josie have minded her stealing the spotlight? I mean, someone else’s wedding festivities doesn’t seem like a very good time to make a personal announcement.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too, but she said Josie wouldn’t mind at all. She was the maid of honor, right? I guess she’d know.”
Ruthann left the shop a few minutes later, but my conversation with her stayed with me long after she’d gone. I didn’t know if the sheriff knew about Nell’s pregnancy, but somehow he’d zeroed in on the two people I kept coming back to as I talked to Nell’s acquaintances. Nate Kincaid and Josie Sandoval.
The scenarios clouded my mind and distracted me from my work. Nate had confessed to a past relationship with Nell. What if it had been more present than past, and what if he was the father of the baby? If he’d gotten wind that Nell was going to make the announcement at the rehearsal dinner, not only about their clandestine affair but about the pregnancy, how far would he have gone to try to stop her?
On the other hand, what if Josie had discovered the affair and the pregnancy? Would she have killed Nell in order to preserve the happily-ever-after she wanted so badly?
I knew that anyone who had been in Buttons & Bows the day Nell had died could have taken some random piece of trim and later strangled Nell with it. Nate and Josie had both been there.
I sank onto the couch. My temples throbbed from thinking about the murder investigation. “What am I supposed to do now?” I moaned, dropping my head to my hands.
“Do about what?”
My gaze snapped up.
Three inexplicable things hit me at once. One: Will Flores stood just outside the door, which was slightly ajar. Baffling, since I could have sworn I’d closed it. Two: The bells hadn’t jingled, yet there it was, open, and there he was, looking at me like I’d lost my marbles. Three: And sitting right in front of me on the coffee table was a container of ibuprofen.
Chapter 30
As Will Flores tackled the pipes under the kitchen sink, I finished the zipper on Ruthann’s dress and started doing the final measurements from waist to hem. One dress down wasn’t quite one-third done with the bridal dresses. Josie’s gown counted as double. At least. But it was progress, and with Nell’s funeral tomorrow and the wedding just a week and a half away now, the clock was ticking.
Unless, of course, the bride—or the groom—was guilty of murder. That could seriously thwart Josie’s plans to move forward with the wedding.
I’d opened the windows that morning, hoping the spring breeze would clear my head. But it still felt weighted down, like the thick humidity of summer had already descended and was especially concentrated around 2112 Mockingbird Lane in general, and me in particular. “I should just go talk to the sheriff,” I muttered.
“You make a habit of talking to yourself?”
I jumped, whirling around. Will stood at the threshold of the French doors, carrying his toolbox with one hand, scratching his head under his cowboy hat with the other. “I’m just wondering if that’s what I can expect from Gracie after she’s been here with you for a while. People’s peculiar little quirks tend to rub off on one another when they spend time together.”
I bristled, dropping the measuring tape I’d been holding. It looked like a pale lavender snake slithering across the hardwood floor. Heat rose from my core until I was sure my neck was splotched red. I mustered up my best Southern affect, threw my hand on my hip, and drawled, “Well, I am Loretta Mae’s kin, and you know the apple don’t fall far from the tree.”
He let his cowboy hat drop back onto his head. “That a fact? In all the times I’ve been here, I don’t think I ever heard Miss Loretta Mae talking to herself.”
That’s because she didn’t, actually, but I couldn’t tell him that. “Your daughter will be just fine,” I said. Then changing the subject, I said, “She’s a fast learner. Who taught her to sew, anyway?”
“A friend,” he said, but the way his eyes darkened and the sharpness of his answer made it clear this was not a subject to pursue.
Maybe I’d have the chance to ask Gracie more about it sometime. “So what’s the verdict on the pipes?” I asked as I wound up the measuring tape.
“I couldn’t find anything wrong under the sink, but like I told you, I’m not a plumber.”
No, he was an architect and a historical society guy.
“You’ll have to hire yourself a real plumber for that problem,” he said.
“Okay, then,” I said, but I suspected there was nothing wrong with the pipes except Meemaw’s spirit hammering around with them. “What else is on the list?”
He reached one hand into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, handing it to me.
I got a mouthful of grief when I recognized Meemaw’s spindly handwriting. The list was at least fifteen items long, from sealing the window casements to refinishing the kitchen table. Looked like I’d be spending a lot of time with Gracie Flores as payment. “You can cross number ten off the list,” I said, handing the paper back to him.
His eyes scanned the list. “You don’t want help organizing the attic?” One eyebrow arched up. “I’ve been up there.”
I would honor as many of Meemaw’s wishes as possible, but the attic was personal. It was filled with family memories, heirlooms, and Cassidy history. I didn’t want to share that with a stranger. “It’ll be work, I know, but I’ll do it.”
He didn’t mention it again, just folded the paper back into a square and tucked it away in his shirt pocket. “The application to make this house part of the historical society is almost processed,” he said, turning to go.
I blinked with surprise. “What?”
He stopped at the front door. “You didn’t know?”
Slowly, I shook my head. Good Lord, what other land mines had Meemaw set?
“Loretta Mae showed up at the Bliss Historical Society about a month before she passed. Not only is this house one of the original dwellings off the square and one of the oldest homes in town, but when Bonnie and Clyde went on their rampage through the county, they hung out in Bliss, robbed the bank on the square, and hid out in your backyard.”
I gawked in disbelief. “I’ve never heard that story.” I folded my arms over my chest and tapped my foot. “Is that really true? They hid out here?”
“It’s true, Cassidy. This house is going on the registry. The society sent your great-grandmother letters for years, but she never answered them. Then one day, she just showed up and asked what in tarnation we’d been waiting for,” he said with a chuckle.
“Well, I’ll be. Do I need to do anything?”
“I’ll bring the final documents by when they’re done. At some point, we’ll have our photographer come out. The society’s making plans for a calendar and a book of Bliss history and unforgettable characters. This house will be in both.”
Out back, the slap slap slap of the gate banging in the breeze sounded like raucous clapping. Meemaw—she was up to her usual tricks. Once again, she’d gotten what she’d wanted. “Do you have that gate latch on your list?” I asked. If Meemaw kept messing with it, Thelma Louise, or one of Nana’s other feisty goats, was sure to find the way back into my yard.
“Yep.”
“Good. Maybe it can move to the top?”
He nodded. “Gracie’s going to stop by this afternoon,” he said as he headed out.
So I had a few hours. I needed a break from my workroom. And I needed to talk to Hoss McClaine. I grabbed my purse, stepped onto the porch, and locked up. On a little hook to the right of the door, I hung up a little custom chalkboard sign I’d had made.
The Dressmaker’s on a fashion errand.
Back at ______.
I filled in the blank with “3:00 p.m.,” then hightailed it down the steps to the sidewalk. I turned left on Mockingbird Lane and started walking toward the Sheriff’s Department.
Before I’d accompanied Josie, the last time I had been in the sheriff’s office was when I was eighteen. I’d been accepted at UT-Austin. I’d packed my bags and I’d been itching to shake the dust of Bliss off my boot heels and strike out on my own, but my brother, Red, had persuaded me to go joyriding through a field of Longhorns out on Old Hickory Road one last time. Too bad the rancher who owned that land and those cattle hadn’t thought our riding through was a joy. He’d called the sheriff, then come out to play chicken with us. Red drove Nana’s beat-up old pickup, and Old Man Poindexter manned a brand-spanking-new Ford 4x4. “There’s no way he can win,” Red yelled. He revved the engine, then gunned it, dirt spewing from beneath the back tires as they spun.
But he’d underestimated the rancher’s gumption. He didn’t want teenagers messing around on his ranch, troubling his cattle. “He’s not turning!” I shrieked, squeezing my eyes shut and ducking my head.
“Shit!” Red cranked the steering wheel to the left, round and round and round. I braced myself, waiting for the impact of the crash, but instead, we spun out, and then finally jerked to a stop.
Poindexter was already out of his truck, bearing down on us, the barrel of his rifle steady. We stayed like that till Deputy Sheriff Hoss McClaine came to haul us away.
It took everything I had not to slip back into the memory of being read the riot act by McClaine before he’d been sheriff. That was then, this was now. I was years wiser than my eighteen-year-old self. Hopefully, he realized that.
We sat opposite each other, his monstrous oak desk like a battlefield between us. I had the sudden feeling that he knew that I knew about him and Mama, though how he’d know, I didn’t know, and it was a big ol’ white elephant in the room. But Mama’s words had stuck with me. She was making her own happiness. I might not like that Hoss McClaine was keeping their relationship on the down-low, but it wasn’t my business.
“What can I do for ya, Harlow?” His gravelly voice was like sand under my bare feet. It was warm and soothing, despite the roughness.
“I have some information about Nell Gellen that I think you should know.” The weight of the promise I’d made to Ruthann pressed on my heart, but I’d deal with that later. If it helped bring Nell justice, surely Ruthann would understand.
McClaine listened, his hands laced together on the desk, while I told him about Nell’s reckless love life, the fact that she thought she’d finally found love, and her pregnancy. “If Nate is the killer, Josie can’t go through with the wedding. And if Josie’s the killer, then . . . then . . .” Then my faith in old friendships, my judgment of character, and maybe of humanity, would be totally shattered.
McClaine waved one of his weathered hands around in front of him. “It’ll be okay. You always did go straight for the drama.”
My hands gripped the arms of the chair. “What?”
“This is good information, Harlow,” he rumbled.
I breathed slowly, letting his comment slide away. “So you’ll look into it?”
I half expected him to respond by saying something like “Is a gopher happy in soft dirt?” Instead, he nodded solemnly. “Oh, I’ll be lookin’ into it, don’t you worry.”
I thanked him and started to leave, but stopped at the door. “Sheriff?”
He leaned back, the front legs of his chair lifting from the ground. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m making Josie’s wedding dress.”
“I heard tell about that. Heard it’s bad luck to make another woman’s marriage gown.”
Ah, he’d been talking to Mama. “That’s silly, and I don’t believe it. I was just wondering, do I keep working on it? If she or Nate did—”
The front legs of his chair dropped to the ground. “You keep working on it, Harlow. We don’t know yet what happened to that woman. As of now, the Sandoval-Kincaid wedding is on, which means that girl needs a dress. You stop working on it, they’ll wonder why, and that won’t help my investigation none.”
Hoss McClaine was a straight shooter. Had to appreciate that about him. I thanked him again and stepped back into the hallway . . . and bumped right into Madelyn Brighton.
“Harlow!” Her eyes darted to McClaine’s door. “Everything okay?”
I grabbed her sleeve, pulling her down the hallway with me. “It’s nothing. He’s, uh, seeing my mother, but shhh.” I held my finger to my lips. “It’s a secret.”
She pressed her lips together, turned an imaginary key with her fingers, and smiled. “Got it.” We walked together down the hall toward the exit. “I was just about to ring you up,” she said.
I lifted my shoulders and smiled. “You were?”
“Yes.” She bounced slightly as she walked, like she was
bubbling over with excitement. “The Kincaid family’s having a big gala for their foundation.”
“Uh-huh.”
“My husband can’t make it. He’s got a committee meeting at the college. Scholarships, you know. There’s so much administrative work to be done. Anyway, I have an extra ticket if you want to come along.”
My stomach instantly knotted. I was more a behindthe-scenes kind of person. I made garments for other people to shine in while I steered clear of the limelight. Being front and center at a Kincaid event wasn’t my style. “I have a lot to do, what with the wedding—”
She dropped her voice to a whisper. “It might give you an opportunity to snoop around a little bit. Talk to people. Do a little of that sleuthing we talked about. What do you say?”
I wavered. I could dress up like Cinderella and snoop like Jessica Fletcher or Miss Marple. “On second thought, it sounds great, Madelyn. Thank you.”
“Excellent! Pick you up at six thirty. See you then. Ta-ta!” She pivoted on her practical, flat-heeled shoes and headed back down the hall, skipping every third step. Nell’s pregnancy, and her plan to announce it at the rehearsal dinner, had changed everything for me. Madelyn was right. Going to the gala would be a great opportunity to talk to people, but I no longer thought I was helping Josie by proving Nate innocent.
Chapter 31
What I found as I searched my closet was that I had plenty of classic pieces, the foundation of any wardrobe, but not much that was really gala-worthy. I’d never had a need, so I’d never created a gown for myself. My best option was the little black dress I’d designed for my roommate and fellow Maximilian minion back in New York, Orphie Cates. I’d almost finished the dress, but before the final fitting, the pressure of Maximilian had gotten to her. She’d up and quit one day, packed her belongings, and left Manhattan. I hadn’t heard from her since.
To leave the dress undone was the equivalent of starting a book and not finishing it. I couldn’t leave characters hanging in my mind with no conclusion to their story. By the same token, I couldn’t leave an article of clothing I was working on incomplete, unable to realize its potential for the wearer, whoever that might be. I’d adjusted the sizing and finished the dress so it would fit me, but I’d never had an occasion to wear it.
Pleating for Mercy Page 16