Pleating for Mercy

by Melissa Bourbon

  Everywhere I turned, I caught streaks of brilliance.

  My own naked hand immediately set to work on the material of my dress as my gaze went back to Derek. I felt like a pressure cooker, Miriam’s story bubbling inside me until I thought I was going to explode.

  Will cupped his hand on mine. “You sure you’re okay?” he whispered.

  I stopped the catlike clawing motion of my fingers. “Yeah. Fine.”

  “Really? Because you’re giving Derek a death stare. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”

  I forced my gaze back to the bride and groom. The priest was midway through his greeting, telling the story of how Josie and Nate had met, and I couldn’t keep it in a second longer. I leaned close to Mama and whispered, “What’s Sheriff McClaine’s cell number?”

  Her eyes were tearing, but she managed to gape at me. “You’re going to call the sheriff now?” she whispered back.

  I lifted my cell from my lap. “No, I’m going to text him.” My index finger was poised over the touch pad. “Mama?”

  “What makes you think I have it?”

  I had an answer ready. “It’s a small town. Don’t you have everyone’s number?”

  She looked at me a beat too long, like she was trying to decide if I knew something I shouldn’t, but then she caved. “Tissue, please,” she said as she took out her phone and scrolled through her contacts.

  I riffled through my clutch. No tissue. Just the napkins wadded around the velvet jewelry bag. Thinking about the ring got me thinking about Nell. From what I knew of her, she seized opportunities. Miriam had gone to her with a problem, and Nell had added two and two together and seen diamond-studded dollar signs in her head.

  Mama held her hand out, waiting for the tissue. I pulled the napkin off the bag and started to hand it to her. The logo on the napkin stopped me cold. Gold lettering on a textured red background.

  REATA RESTAURANT.

  LEGENDARY. TEXAS. CUISINE.

  My conversation with Zinnia James came back to me. She said she’d seen Nell at the restaurant. Nell had a stack of napkins from Reata in her bathroom. I could hear Nell’s voice as she said she’d never been there. I stared at the napkin. Then where had this come from?

  The adrenaline rushing through me turned to ice. Nell had lied, but why?

  I handed the napkin to Mama, who promptly dabbed her eyes, then showed me the sheriff’s number.

  My text to the sheriff went out the next second: Whistle-blower, and I held my breath to see if he even had his phone with him.

  He shifted in his pew, reached in his jacket pocket, and a few second later, my phone vibrated. Who is this?

  Harlow! I texted.

  And? he messaged back.

  I could sense his annoyance through the satellite waves. And, I wrote, grateful he couldn’t hear my irritation as my fingers flew across the touch pad. Derek K—illegal diamonds.

  SEND.

  My phone buzzed and I read his message. More. He was a man of few words.

  I didn’t want to send him a thesis, but I didn’t want to be so obtuse he wouldn’t understand my point. Miriam didn’t know Nate was blowing the whistle on Derek. She went to Nell about her smuggling theory, but what if Nell was—

  My phone vibrated.

  “Shhh,” Mama hushed me, her finger to her lips.

  I responded by angling toward Will, showing him the texts as I read the sheriff’s message. Miriam K knew . . . told Nell. Then I added one word: Blackmail.

  McClaine turned to look at me over his shoulder, giving me a quick nod; then he dropped his phone back in his pocket. Over and out.

  If Nell suspected that Derek was dealing in illegal diamonds, would she have tried to blackmail him? If she did, and Derek paid, she would have been able to pay back the money she’d borrowed from Karen and Ted to buy the bead shop.

  But what if it was more than that? What if Derek had gotten Nell pregnant? It still didn’t explain why she’d lied about never having been to Reata, but she had been horribly wrong if she’d gotten it in her head that she and Derek plus baby made a family. From what Will and Mrs. James had both said, the Kincaids wouldn’t have welcomed a pregnant Nell into their home, Derek’s child or not.

  I tried to focus on the wedding ceremony, but Nell’s death skulked in and out of my thoughts. I couldn’t stop thinking that Nell had risked it all—and lost.

  An hour later, the ceremony was over, we’d made our way to the banquet room catty-corner from Bliss’s Opera House on one corner of the square, and I was still unraveling the threads of my tangled thoughts.

  The room was an organized sea of round tables covered in white linen tablecloths. Triangular folded napkins, silverware, water goblets, and wineglasses sat at each place setting. Instead of vases filled with cut flowers, fresh Easter lilies in pale green ceramic pots, softened with shimmery white organza ribbon, dressed each table.

  The room was festive with white, pale olive green, and lavender helium balloons strategically placed at the entrance, next to the deejay’s speakers, and at either side of the buffet tables. Twinkling white lights edged the exposed beams of the ceiling and dotted the cascading rose trees on the cake table, the buffet table, and around the room.

  It was magical—if only it hadn’t been tainted by murder. Josie was effervescent, floating from table to table, Nate by her side. Karen snuggled close to her husband. She’d told me that Nell’s will had been read and she was now partners with Josie. I hadn’t thought she wanted to own the bead shop, but I’d never seen her look happier. Her husband’s adoring gaze probably helped.

  Gracie glided up to us wearing a sleeveless dress, a fabric purse slung over one shoulder and cutting a diagonal across her body. “Wasn’t that beautiful?” she gushed.

  She reminded me of Liesl in The Sound of Music, ready to break into song and dance. Looking at her, I suddenly realized why. “Did you make your dress?”

  She beamed, nodding.

  It was a straightforward pattern without any design lines, but she’d constructed it well. She’d used an inexpensive polyester blend. A cotton blend would have worked better for the simple shift, but for her first attempt at an entire dress, and from what Will had said, made in the wee hours of the night, she’d done an amazing job. I hugged her. “It’s fantastic, Gracie.”

  Her flush deepened. “Thank you,” she whispered, fingering the long, braided strap of her purse.

  “You make the purse, too?”

  She nodded, pulling the rectangular bag from her hip to show me. “Isn’t it awesome? It’s like a hippie purse from the seventies.”

  “Minus the fringe,” Will said.

  Reaching out, I brushed my fingers over the thick weave of the torn fabric braid with its frayed and feathery edges. The pattern was distinct. One of the three strands was significantly wider than the others so the design was lopsided. “Did you weave this yourself?”

  She shook her head no. “There was a whole bunch of it in one of the boxes I got from Holly’s mom. It’s, like, flawed, right? Kind of uneven, but that’s why I like it. Cool, huh?”

  My breath hitched, half of her words fading to black. “The fabric bins? Miriam gave you those, too?”

  Will spoke up. “She said she hasn’t used any of it in years. Probably been sitting in a closet in her house. When she dropped them off, I thought she wanted me to take them to the rummage sale, but then she said she wanted Gracie to have fun and just experiment.”

  Gracie grinned. “So I made a purse.”

  A thread unwound from the mess of details in my mind, and an idea began to form. I searched the room until I spotted Madelyn Brighton, and waved my arms over my head to flag her down.

  Will and his daughter stared at me. “Darlin’, what in the world—”

  My wide-eyed look froze the words on his tongue. “Those bins weren’t at Miriam’s house. They were at her parents’ house. Where Derek stays when he’s in town,” I added slowly. “And he’s been in town
for almost five weeks.”

  “Crap,” he muttered, whispering, “You really think so?”

  “Think what?” Gracie asked, flicking her gaze back and forth between me and her dad.

  Before we could answer, Madelyn sidled up to us. “Trying for a position with air traffic control, love?”

  “Moonlighting as a wedding photographer?”

  She raised her voice slightly to be heard above the cacophony of voices. “The man they’d contracted with canceled at the last minute and since Bill and Nate were schoolmates . . .”

  “Ah. Got it.”

  I took my glasses off and tried to wipe away the smudge, but my fingers trembled with nervous energy. I shoved them back on, looking past the streak. Will laid his hand on my back, infusing me with his calm mojo.

  “I’ve been wanting to come by your shop and have you work your magic.” Madelyn gestured up and down her body as if her outfit said it all. “As it is, I was forced to wear the same drab skirt and blouse I always do.” She gave a spastic little laugh. “I will be by, now that you’ve finished the bridal dresses, eh?”

  “Anytime,” I said. I already had ideas on what to make for her. Color to bring out the emerald green of her eyes. Something a little less structured. More flowing to match her magic junkie bent. I took a deep breath and got to the point. “Madelyn, do you still have your camera?”

  She patted the purse at her side. “Of course.” She set it down on a nearby table.

  “Is that a camera bag?” Gracie peeked at the light green interior.

  “It’s an Epiphanie,” Madelyn boasted.

  “I don’t know what that is,” Gracie said, “but I love it.”

  “Only the most stylish camera bag out there. Never would have bought it for myself, but my dear heart does the spectacularly unexpected sometimes.” She stroked the faux leather with affection. “He got it for me the day after the party at the Kincaids’, in fact.”

  Gracie peered up at Will with a coquettish smile. “Daddy?”

  “Uh, no.” He read the one word like a psychic. “First comes a camera, then a bag. Maybe.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Madelyn had taken her Canon out, removed the lens cap, held the camera up, and focused. “Smile,” she directed.

  I put my palm out. “Oh, no, not for us,” I said. Her finger depressed a button and the camera clicked.

  Too late.

  “No?” She lowered the camera and shot me a puzzled look. “You don’t want your picture taken? But you all look splendid together.”

  “No—”

  Gracie frowned. “We don’t?”

  “What I mean is—”

  “She means yes,” Will said.

  I stared at him. “I do?”

  He pulled Gracie next to him and put his arm around my shoulder. “You do.”

  Madelyn went into photographer mode. About a hundred pictures later, she finally got one she liked.

  Gracie started to wander off, but Will called her back. “Let me hold your purse for you,” he said.

  “I got it, Dad,” she said just as Holly called to her from across the room. She held up a cup of sparkling pineapple punch.

  “Harlow wants to take another look,” he said. A hasty nod of my head and a wink convinced her. She handed the purse over and, with a wave, hurried over to Holly.

  Quick thinker, that Will Flores.

  When Gracie was out of earshot, I told Madelyn my theory. “I know patterns and design,” I said. “The braid on this purse has the same sort of scheme as the markings found on Nell’s throat. The strangulation markings,” I added.

  Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she took a closer look. “You may be right.”

  A rush of heat swept through me. I was one hundred percent sure I was right. “Do you still have the pictures of—” I lowered my voice to a whisper and finished, “Of Nell’s neck?”

  Chapter 51

  I tapped my foot impatiently. Will and the sheriff had been gone only five minutes, but already it felt like hours.

  “How long will it take to know for sure?” Madelyn asked.

  I had no idea. “I guess the sheriff’ll have to—I don’t know—take it to some forensics lab. In Fort Worth, maybe? Doesn’t it take a while to run fiber tests?”

  “It doesn’t on TV, but—”

  “But this is real life.” So unless the killer stood up and waved a guilty hand, we’d have to wait for confirmation that the murder weapon was from the same torn fabric braid Gracie used for her purse, and that could take days.

  Josie and Nate worked the room, gliding from table to table, greeting, hugging, and chatting with all two hundred of Nate’s parents’ closest friends. Lori Kincaid had schmoozing down to an art and she was teaching it, on the fly, to Josie. She led the newlyweds, made introductions, said something witty, and stepped back as her son and new daughter-in-law spread their social wings.

  She whispered to Josie as they moved to the next cluster of guests. But Josie hung on every word Nate uttered, gazing at him with adoring eyes.

  “He really loves her,” Madelyn commented.

  Nate looked at Josie with equal adoration. “He sure does.”

  There was still no sign of Derek.

  Josie’s mother and aunt were already seated. They each had their hands primly folded and resting on the table. The aunt looked like she wished she could be anywhere else, but Mrs. Sandoval’s expression was filled with hope. Just like Mrs. Kincaid’s dreams for Nate, or any mother for that matter, it was clear that Mrs. Sandoval wanted nothing more than for her daughter to be happy.

  If Derek’s indiscretions came to light, the Kincaids would be dethroned, forced to relinquish their title as first family of Hood County. I hoped the love Josie and Nate had for each other would be enough to weather the storm Nate was bringing on them, as well as the news that his brother, Derek, was a murderer.

  Madelyn touched my shoulder. “My husband beckons,” she said, pointing to her own personal professor. “Let me know when Will gets back, will you?”

  “Definitely,” I said. She headed off in one direction and I made a beeline for Dulce Sandoval to offer a little reassurance that Josie had done good.

  But Zinnia James sidelined me. “Sugar, you look spectacular,” she gushed. “When word gets out about Josie’s gown and the bridesmaids’ dresses—and the next Kincaid wedding—you’ll be turning customers away at the door . . .”

  Her voice slipped to the background as I quickly scanned the room looking for Derek. I didn’t see him anywhere, but noticed that Ruthann had found herself a handsome man. With her posture, her dress, and her demeanor, she reminded me of a politician’s wife. Or an oil tycoon. That girl needed to get out of Bliss. She seemed destined for bigger things.

  “Mark my words, your designs are going to be featured in D magazine,” Mrs. James was saying. “The festival and pageant this summer, followed by the fashion show in the fall, will put you on the map. I can see it now.”

  I hoped she was right. “Thank you, Mrs. James,” I said, then asked, “Who’s that with Ruthann?”

  She peered at the table I indicated. “That is George Taylor.”

  “Ah,” I said. “So that’s what an eligible bachelor looks like.” I’d hoped Ruthann would find someone classier than a man who talked about his conquests.

  She raised one eyebrow. “If you say so.”

  I laughed. “Ruthann told me how he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in town. Maybe they’ll start dating.”

  “Hmm. Young people don’t give it much time, these days, do they?”

  “What do you mean, Mrs. James?”

  “Oh, it’s just that I thought she was involved with someone.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Odd. I must have been mistaken, then,” she remarked.

  “Mrs. James, remember how you told me you’d seen Nell at Reata?”

  Her sharp eyes flashed. “Of course.”

  “I know you
said you couldn’t tell who she was meeting, but do you think it might have been Derek Kincaid?”

  “Until the day that poor girl died, I hadn’t laid eyes on Derek Kincaid in more than six months.”

  Did I hear her right? “You saw him the day Nell died?”

  “Twice, actually. He was driving his mother—so thoughtful. He sat in the car while everyone gathered in your shop. I did see him talk to his brother for a few minutes, and Jeanette McDaniels’s daughter, Ruthann, over there, she chatted with him for a while. Then I saw him later that night, you know. Very odd.”

  She started to sashay off, but I stopped her. “Are you sure it was the same day?”

  Someone called to her, but she turned, holding a finger up, then said to me, “I specifically remember it was that night because I heard about the murder the next morning.”

  “Where did you see him?” I asked, hoping it was near the crime scene. He could have taken that braiding from his parents’ house, met Nell at Buttons & Bows, taken care of his mistress and blackmailer all at once, and been done with it.

  “He was down at the Stockyards.”

  “In Fort Worth?”

  “That’s right,” she said, and my theory flew out the window. “The senator and I met some friends at Billy Bob’s. We walked in as he stumbled out with a group of people.”

  My hopes sank. Drinking and dancing at the biggest honky-tonk in Texas meant Derek had not been alone, and he’d also been nowhere near the crime scene.

  Which meant he couldn’t have killed Nell.

  After the bombshell dropped by Zinnia James, I needed a cold drink. I sidled up to the portable bar, set my clutch on the stool, keeping my cell phone out in case Will texted about his status, and ordered a red wine. Two men leaned against the counter, ice tinkling in their tumblers. I sneaked a peek . . . Keith Kincaid and a tall scarecrow of a man. Their voices were low, but I edged closer after the bartender handed me my glass of wine.