Pleating for Mercy

by Melissa Bourbon

  Strains of a melancholy violin song sounded through the speakers while images of Nell flashed on a screen hanging behind the altar. Nell snuggling a long-haired gray cat. Nell behind the counter of Seed-n-Bead. A group of women with Nell in the center, all holding up their completed bead projects. Miriam and Nell, side by side, smiling into a mirror. Nell looked happy, like everything was right with the world.

  My gaze was drawn straight to Nate. His head was bent, his lips close to Josie’s ear. How much effort was it taking him to ignore the slide show? Probably not nearly as much as it was taking him to ignore the intense stare Miriam had trained on him.

  I felt the weight of someone else’s stare, but couldn’t identify who was behind it.

  Ruthann watched the pictures, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, but Karen stared at the screen, emotionless. She’d said her husband would be here with her, but he wasn’t by her side. She’d set her heart up to be trampled, and I felt sorry for her.

  I twisted around to look at the rest of the mourners. The deputy sheriff who’d been first on the scene after we’d discovered Nell’s body sat in the last row, as far to the right as possible. She wasn’t in uniform, but something about her posture and the jerky way she moved her head as she watched the slide show told me she was still here on official business. I looked at the altar just as another bead shop photo flashed on the screen. The deputy, in off-duty clothes, was in the photo, smiling and holding her wrist out to show off a bracelet.

  Small-town living—there was nothing like it. You’d never get to know the law enforcement in a big city. New York cops didn’t go to local beading classes. Not so in Bliss.

  I spotted Sheriff McClaine standing in the back of the sanctuary. He caught my eye and gave a polite nod. He wasn’t watching the slide show, either. Was he observing, as I was, who else was not watching, wondering if there was guilt behind the uninterest?

  By now, almost everyone was riveted by Nell’s life in pictures, except Josie, who was crying, and Nate, who continued to whisper in her ear.

  I kept searching the crowd, my gaze flitting over people I didn’t recognize, zeroing in on those I did. Just in case Miriam was wrong and I spotted the real killer diabolically gloating at getting away with murder.

  No one gloated.

  One man had his head down, as if he was texting or reading e-mail on a phone. He looked familiar, but from the back I couldn’t place him. Then it hit me. It was Ted, Karen’s husband, sitting on his own instead of sitting by his wife. That signified major marital trouble, which directed my theories away from Nate and back to Ted Mitchell as Nell’s secret love.

  Thank God I wasn’t a detective. I think it would make me crazy. All those suspects and possible motives. Give me patterns and fabric any day of the week.

  Mama and I forged through the throng of people and down the center aisle, looking for a place to sit. Gossip flew from one person to another, echoing in my head as if it were being hollered instead of whispered. “Poor girl.” “I heard she was pregnant.” “Had to keep our husbands locked up.” “Too young to die.” The sentiments were pretty evenly divided. Half the town was genuinely sad that Nell had died, but the other half seemed to think she got what she deserved.

  “Pregnant?” Mama grabbed my wrist and whispered, raising an eyebrow at me. “Did you hear that?”

  There hadn’t been a chance yet to tell her about Nell’s pregnancy. I nodded, prying her fingers off my arm. Her ring sparkled. I’d assumed Hoss McClaine would have already filled her in, and frankly, I was surprised he hadn’t. My respect for him rose a notch for his professionalism—and another notch for the tasteful bling he’d bestowed on my mother.

  “I told you, she never went for the right sort of man. Wonder if that’s what was eating at her,” she was saying.

  Someone waved to me from a center pew. I grabbed Mama’s hand and we picked our way past knobby knees and feet, finally squeezing in next to a cluster of women. Zinnia James, and her husband, the senator, scooted over to make room for us. I recognized the other women as the ladies Mrs. James had come to Buttons & Bows with the day Nell had died, including Mrs. Abernathy. We all nodded at one another.

  The music ended, though the slide show kept playing, and the pastor stepped to the pew and began the service.

  Mrs. James leaned toward me. “Very sad,” she said quietly.

  I watched the images on the screen. “It sure is,” I whispered. I could feel tears welling at the corners of my eyes. You didn’t have to know a person to be sad at his or her passing, particularly when it was a life cut short, like Nell’s. If there was a lesson to be learned, it was that things could change in an instant.

  The pastor spoke about Nell’s contribution to Bliss, the energy and vitality she brought when she’d come here, and the friends who would sorely miss her. By the time he finished, there was hardly a dry eye in the church. She may have been a troubled girl, but she’d grown into a woman who’d touched a lot of people’s lives. More than she probably ever realized.

  As we filed out of the church, I lost Mama in the crowd, but stuck close to Mrs. James and her husband, making small talk and trying to chase away the lingering sadness by mentioning chartreuse as a color I’d like to explore for the gown I’d be making for her. Many people gathered in clusters on the sidewalk, while some headed straight to their cars and still others were strolling to the square and Seed-n-Bead, where the reception would be.

  The Kincaids passed us, followed by a group of people I didn’t recognize. Josie and her family shuffled past. I blinked and for a second I could see her in her wedding gown, gliding down the aisle toward her groom. I closed my eyes again and the vision was gone. When I looked up, Nate’s arm was at the small of her back, gently guiding her.

  “They’re a lovely couple,” Mrs. James said to her husband. Or to me. Or maybe to both of us.

  The senator mumbled a noncommittal reply. I nodded, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that the loveliness might be short-lived.

  Ted Mitchell came next, his smartphone in his hand, his thumb working furiously as he tapped the keyboard. I leaned close to Mrs. James and pointed at him. “Do you know him?” I asked in a low voice.

  “Who, the Kincaids’ lawyer?”

  My mind screeched to a halt. The Kincaids’ what? “He’s their lawyer?”

  “Yes. His name’s Ted Mitchell. Oh!” She snapped her fingers. “His wife was at your shop that day. One of the bridesmaids, in fact. Can’t say I trust him—he’s a lawyer, after all—but he’s friendly enough.”

  “Zinnia,” the senator said in a quiet voice. “Gossip.”

  The warning in those two words was clear, but Mrs. James just shrugged. “You feel the same way,” she said to him.

  He dug his hand into his suit pocket, pulling out his vibrating cell phone. “Prying eyes and ears,” he replied, adding, “Excuse me,” as he wandered away from us to take a call.

  She dismissed him and his warning with a wave of her hand. “Punctilious to a fault.”

  That word wasn’t part of my Southern vernacular, but I connected the dots. “I guess senators need to be careful what they say.”

  “Oh, yes, perfect decorum and behavior at all times,” she said, wagging her finger like she was scolding me. Luckily she smiled. She and her husband seemed to understand each other, all the more reason she and Nana should let bygones be bygones, I thought.

  She took my elbow, guiding me down the steps of the church. We turned and walked along the sidewalk toward the bead shop.

  “So why don’t you trust him? Ted Mitchell, I mean.”

  She took a moment to consider her words before responding. “Besides his career choice? Did you ever see The Godfather?”

  I smirked. “Oh, yeah. My brother’s all-time favorite movie. I’ve probably seen it a hundred times. I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse,” I said, barely moving my lips, doing my best mumbled Marlon Brando.

  “Nicely done.” She chuckled. “It�
��s a classic.” We walked half a block in silence before she said, “Jeb was right. I don’t really know him, so I shouldn’t say a word.”

  I felt a but coming.

  “But . . .”

  Ha!

  “. . . with the Kincaids being an oil and gas family, I can’t help but think of Tom Hagen. Remember him?”

  Remember him? I could hear Don Corleone’s adopted son, played by Robert Duvall, in my head as he said, “Sonny . . . ?”

  We crossed the street at the corner. Mrs. James’s high heels slowed her down. I filed away the observation so I’d remember to recommend a low heel to go with the gown I designed for her. “Ted’s a bit taller, and has more hair than Tom Hagen,” she said, “but he has the same blind loyalty.”

  I never figured the Kincaids as a Mob-type family but it would explain why Ted Mitchell was on duty at the funeral instead of comforting his wife. The lawyer knew who buttered his cornbread.

  Seed-n-Bead was already crowded when we arrived. Josie waved to me from inside. Even from this distance I could see how drawn her face was. It looked like she’d lost ten pounds since she’d first set foot in Buttons & Bows. Her dress was going to need altering and I wasn’t even finished with it yet. “Best be fixin’ to work on it to the very last second,” Mama had said after she’d caught a glimpse of Josie in the church. If there ended up being a wedding.

  A group of people walked around Mrs. James and me, filing into the shop. The senator brought up the rear. Mrs. James said good-bye to me, took his arm as he approached, and they went in together.

  Ted Mitchell strode up the sidewalk, Karen scurrying along after him, taking twice the number of steps that he did. “The same loyalty,” Zinnia James had said, comparing Don Corleone’s lawyer, Tom Hagen, to Ted Mitchell. The image stuck in my mind. What else did I know about him? So Ted worked for the Kincaid family. At Karen’s insistence, he’d helped Nell write a will. If his loyalty to Keith Kincaid extended to Keith’s sons, then maybe meeting with Nell about a will was just an excuse. If the family had gotten wind of the pregnancy, maybe he’d really been trying to intimidate Nell to stop her from revealing it.

  On the evidence of how’d they treated Miriam during her divorce and what Will had said about the Kincaids, it was a safe bet that they would not want Nell’s secret coming out.

  Just a few yards shy of reaching the door to Seed-n-Bead, Ted answered his cell phone and abruptly changed course. With a quick, dismissive wave to Karen, he darted into the street, dodged a truck, and cut across to the grass in front of the courthouse, phone still pressed to his ear.

  I made a split-second decision and dashed across the street after him.

  Chapter 41

  Ted Mitchell disappeared around the north side of the courthouse. I slowed. Barreling around the corner in funeral attire might be a little obvious. Surely not how a private eye would do it. Of course I was just a dressmaker, but being the great-great-great-granddaughter of Butch Cassidy and Texana Harlow meant adventure was in my genes.

  I was doing a fast walk now, jabbing my glasses back into place and blowing upward to get the spirals of hair out of my face.

  I turned the corner and stopped short. Whirling around, I scanned the courthouse green. Where in tarnation did he go?

  “There you are,” a man said loudly just as a hand clasped my elbow. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  I tried to shrug free, but the grip tightened. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I looked up into Will Flores’s face. “What are you talking—”

  “Shhh!” he interrupted, never breaking his stiff smile. He lowered his voice. “Are you crazy, following Ted Mitchell like that?”

  “How did you—”

  “Darlin’, you’re about as inconspicuous as a copperhead at the beach.”

  My confidence deflated. Being a descendant of Butch Cassidy didn’t mean my reconnaissance skills rivaled his during his primo train- and bank-robbing years. “What’s going—”

  He pulled me to him until not a puff of air could have slipped between our bodies. “Pretend like you’re happy to see me,” he whispered.

  The short, staccato squeeze of his arms zapped the air from my lungs and cut me off. His warm breath through my hair tickled my ear. “I’m saving your ass, that’s what’s going on,” he murmured. “You don’t want to mess with Ted Mitchell. He works for the Kincaid family, and if he thinks you’re snooping into their business . . . Let’s just say it wouldn’t be good.”

  He released me and I pushed away from him. From the corner of my eye, I saw the flash of Ted Mitchell’s eyes looking at Will and me as he crossed the street. “What’s over there?” I asked after he disappeared behind a closed door.

  I started to point at the space next to a vacant space on the square, but he gently pushed my hand back down to my side. “Not pointing at his office would be a good idea. I’ll lay money down that he’ll be watching us from his window.”

  I started to turn my head to look, but he caught my chin with his fingers, tilting it up until I looked in his eyes instead.

  “Don’t quit your day job,” he said.

  I’d been married to my sewing machine and the fashion world for so long that there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d quit designing. But it also meant I hadn’t remembered what it felt like to be this close to a man, and it was throwing me for a loop. My fluttering heartbeat turned my thinking upside down. In a movie, this would be the moment when the hero lowered his head until his lips lightly brushed the heroine’s in a long-awaited kiss.

  This wasn’t a movie. There was no kiss.

  Will dropped his fingers from my chin, put his hand at my lower back, and started guiding me back to Seed-n-Bead. When we were out of Ted Mitchell’s potential line of vision, he stopped walking suddenly. Facing me, his black suede cowboy hat blocking the sun from my eyes, he demanded, “Cassidy, just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Chapter 42

  “It’s possible it was a married man,” Mama whispered. “She was awfully secretive about it.”

  “You mean an engaged man.”

  “Someone who was already taken,” she amended.

  I’d avoided Will’s question and he’d escorted me back to the reception, leaving me at the door. He headed to the hardware store to buy some wood glue so he could finish repairing Meemaw’s antique shelf while I went in search of my mother. Now we huddled in the corner of Seed-n-Bead, talking under our breath.

  I showed her the ring and told her my theory that Nate might well be Nell’s killer. One by one, I ticked the facts off on the fingers of my left hand. “First, he was in Buttons and Bows that day, so he could have taken something to use as the murder weapon. Second, Nell’s mirror. I found it in my yard, all scratched up. She must have had it with her the night she died. Maybe she was hiding that, too.”

  “Or wanted to break it and give whoever she met that night seven years of bad luck,” Mama said.

  I went on. “Third, Nell told me she hoped Nate wouldn’t break Josie’s heart, but she said it like she’d experienced that particular heartbreak firsthand. Fourth, she was pregnant and told her friends she was going to announce something big at the rehearsal dinner. What better place to ruin the man who’d wronged her? Fifth, there’s Miriam. She’s worried Holly will get hurt, so she won’t come forward about whoever she thinks the killer is, which means it has to be someone close to her . . . like her brother. Sixth, Nell tried to hide the ring in my shop. She must have thought the diamond was her insurance policy. Nate wouldn’t dare hurt her unless or until he had that ring back. Seventh . . .” Was there a seventh? “Oh! The lawyer. He met with Nell to write her will. How creepy is that? And it doesn’t quite compute, since he doesn’t do wills and trusts. Karen told me so herself. I think he might have been trying to intimidate her into giving the ring back. Maybe even threatening her.”

  They were seven suspicious facts, but they were all circumstantial. I’d watched enough television crime shows to know it
took more than circumstantial evidence to bring a murderer to justice. I dropped my hands, no more facts to tick off on my fingers. Perfect timing, since Josie immediately walked up to us. “What are you two whispering about?”

  “Sweetheart, we were just wondering if you’re really sure about holding the wedding so soon,” Mama said. “Are you up to it?”

  I snuck a surprised look at Mama. She’d never been good at fibbing, even with all the practice she’d had trying to hide her magical green thumb. All that sneaking around with Hoss McClaine had made her smooth as Texas honey.

  “I wasn’t, not at first,” Josie said, “but now I am. Nell wouldn’t have wanted me to cancel.”

  Yes, well, I was afraid Josie didn’t know Nell nearly as well as she thought she did.

  The funeral guests had all gone. Just Josie, Ruthann, Karen, Mrs. Sandoval, and I were left. A pearl white SUV pulled up to the curb in front of the shop. Nate got out and popped the back hatch. We loaded the car with the leftover food. “What are you going to do with it all?” I asked Josie.

  “Nate’s taking it to the women’s shelter in Granbury.”

  I carried the last rectangular foil tray out to the car. Nate slid it into the back and pressed a button on his key ring. The hatch clicked, automatically closing. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Sure.” I looked at him, wondering how a person could look so innocent, yet be so diabolical. What if he figured out where Nell had hidden the ring? Was I safe in my house? I looked at him, suddenly horribly afraid he’d be able to read every one of my thoughts.

  “I meant what I said at the sheriff’s,” he said quietly.

  I thought back. He’d said Josie wouldn’t know how to hurt anyone, let alone kill Nell. And that he loved her. All the more reason for him to protect Josie from Nell’s big announcement and his own betrayal of the woman he loved.