A Fitting End: A Magical Dressmaking Mystery

by Melissa Bourbon

  I felt relieved at having unloaded the weight on my shoulders, but Hoss, from the puzzled expression on his face, looked like he was completely lost. “But she’s doin’ better, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. Growing up in the South meant you were taught to say “yes, sir” and “yes, ma’am” to every adult you came across. My old habits had died a painful death in the fashion world. Eyebrows had been raised at me, snickering went on behind my back, and I’d been out and out laughed at by New Yorkers when I’d said “sir” and “ma’am,” but back in Bliss, it was easy to slip back into it.

  “Poor thing.” Mama sat down next to me, taking my hand in hers and giving it a good squeeze. “They’re both getting up there in years. I still can’t believe someone would do that to her. Hoss told me what happened,” she said. “Loretta Mae always told her she was playing with fire, poisoning herself like that. Trudy wouldn’t ever listen. It helped those headaches, and that made it worth it.”

  I shuddered just thinking about the havoc going on under Trudy’s skin. “But I heard Meemaw thought about doing it,” I said.

  Mama recoiled. “Loretta Mae wouldn’t ever do such a thing. You know how she felt about that stuff. Every wrinkle tells a story, and all that? She wanted Trudy to give it up.” She paused, pressing her index finger to her cheek, thinking. “Now, Harlow Jane, where might you have put that notebook, hmm?”

  “I’ll find it.” As I kept looking, I asked, “So nothin’ new?” My brows furrowed the moment I heard the dropped “g” when I’d said “nothing.” The thing about being around Southerners is that it’s mighty easy to pick up the accent.

  “Nothin’ to write home about. Macon Vance was a far cry from squeaky clean. More ground in dirt, from what we’ve gathered. Money coming in from quite a few sources—”

  “He was a savvy blackmailer,” Mama said. “Had an affair, then took the woman for a truckload of her husband’s cash.”

  So Gina from Villa Farina had half the story right. Seemed everyone knew Macon Vance was a player, but not so many people knew he supplemented his income with the proceeds of his extracurricular activity.

  I retraced my steps, yet again, but this time out loud. “I got home. Madelyn Brighton was waiting for me. Will and Gracie Flores came over so Madelyn could take Gracie’s picture in her dress for the Margaret brochure.” Assuming I wasn’t losing my mind and that I had, in fact, brought it into the house like I thought I had, what could have happened to it?

  I remembered something. “Oh my gosh! Thelma Louise and Farrah!” I’d had to chase the goats out. Had the notebook been under my arm? Good Lord, had I dropped it without even realizing?

  Without another word, I raced to the front door, pushed open the screen, and took the porch steps two at a time. The door squeaked open and banged closed behind me. “What on earth are you doin’?” Mama asked.

  I stopped scouring the ground and looked at Mama. She stood on the porch, arms folded across her chest, watching me like I’d gone completely off my rocker. “Looking for Trudy’s notebook. Nana’s goats escaped yesterday. Maybe I dropped it when I was shooing them away.”

  But even as I said it, I knew that the goats, at least in this instance, were innocent. I walked every inch of the yard, though, just in case. I stumbled across one of Meemaw’s ratty old sun hats, a fallen birdhouse, and another thatch of bluebonnets, but not Trudy Lafayette’s notebook.

  “Damn.” I kicked the ground, sending an innocent bluebonnet bloom flying across the yard.

  “Don’t take it out on the flowers,” Mama warned. Nana would protect her goats, Mama would protect the green earth, and I’d protect the garments I made for people. We all wanted the best for our charms.

  After one last, frantic search of the house, I finally collapsed on the chair at the little antique computer table in my dining room. I shoved the mouse aside and buried my head in my hands. “What now?” I muttered.

  As if in response, the computer woke up, the low hum dragging my attention to the screen. I automatically moved to close the Google search page I’d opened the night before, stopping short as I scanned the entries. The words on the computer screen danced, letters popping out, practically shouting to be read.

  The first link was a wedding announcement. I clicked on it.

  Chapter 30

  I had to get back to the rehearsal, but what was another two minutes at this point. I still didn’t have Trudy’s notebook. I scanned the announcement.

  Mr. and Mrs. William Lambert are happy to announce the

  engagement of their daughter, Miss Anna Marie Smith,

  to Mr. Buckley Hughes, son of Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Hughes.

  A July 13th wedding is planned.

  It was dated seventeen years ago, so Anna and Buckley had made it a long time. There was no mention of Anna’s sister, so I went to the next link. This one took me to an article about Buckley Hughes’s medical practice in Amarillo. I scanned it and was left wondering what had made them leave a place were they’d established such a solid place in the community.

  From the front room, Hoss McClaine cleared his throat. The toe of his boot scraped back and forth on the pecan-planked floor. He had a mighty strong resemblance to an ornery bull thinking about whether or not he was going to charge.

  Mama hurried over to him. They’d gone from hiding their relationship to full disclosure. She wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a big ol’ bear hug. My mouth fell open as his hand slipped down from the small of her back to her bum. He gave it a good squeeze, nibbled on her neck, and then they backed away from each other. They might as well not have bothered; the electricity in the air between them sizzled.

  I straightened my glasses, more nervous habit than anything else, and looked back at the computer. Mama and Hoss were in love. I was happy for her, but I didn’t need to witness their affection.

  I scanned the search results, looking for another wedding announcement and skipping the rest. Finally I found it. It was on the second page of the search results. I clicked on it and started to read.

  Mr. and Mrs. William Lambert are happy to announce the

  engagement of their daughter, Miss Gayle Melinda Smith,

  to Mr. Samuel Bradley, son of Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Bradley.

  A May 28th wedding is planned.

  That couldn’t be right. It was July. I checked the date of the announcement. Last year. But Anna said she wanted a Wow! dress for her sister’s wedding. Hadn’t she?

  I tried to remember. She’d said her sister would have done anything for a wedding dress from a New York designer, she’d told me this was number three, and that she wasn’t in the wedding. Anna wanted to impress all the people who’d… She started to say something, but had stopped short, changing the topic. All the people who’d done what? Why had she lied about her sister’s wedding?

  I pressed the BACK button, which took me to the Google search page, but before I could peruse the links, my thoughts were swept away by a memory of me entering the shop that flashed in my mind. Will had stood at the door, flirting. Gracie had gone inside. Madelyn was snapping pictures, testing the lighting.

  In the boutique, Mama walked the sheriff to the front door. As they stepped onto the porch, the sun-warmed air from outside filtered in, visibly flowing through the room like a dancing ribbon. It circled around the armoire, around the lavender plant on the dining table, finally encircling me, wrapping me up in an invisible blanket of comfort.

  My thoughts slowed even more until I was seeing the night before in slow motion. I’d charged past Will, on a mission to get Gracie photographed for the brochure. I’d slowed down just long enough to toss my purse down on the coffee table, along with… I gasped. Trudy’s notebook!

  Maybe it had fallen and been kicked under the couch or the settee. In an Olympian move, I hurdled down the three steps leading from the landing down to the main room. In two seconds flat, I was on my knees, peering under the paisley couch, then the love seat, then, finally, un
der the plush settee.

  No notebook.

  I sat back on my haunches, frowning. What in the devil had happened to it?

  That’s when I remembered. Anna Hughes had been in Buttons & Bows the night before.

  “She had to have taken it,” I said into my cell phone.

  The air between Josie and me was dead silent. “But why would she?”

  That was the million dollar question. I had no blessed idea, and I told Josie just that.

  “She’s not part of the Margaret Moffette Lea group, so knowing about the dresses doesn’t help her with anything.”

  Even if she were part of the pageant, it wasn’t like the dresses were a secret. Why would Anna even care about them? “Her son’s a beau,” Josie said, “but she doesn’t have a daughter.”

  “Good point. So something else was in that notebook that Anna wanted.”

  “And you’re going to find out what, am I right?” It was a simple question, but a loaded one. We both knew that a murder was hanging over Bliss—and me—again. Everyone was on edge.

  “I have to.” Without that notebook, our hands were tied tighter than a bull rope. “We need that book.” Not to mention that I wanted nothing more than to prove my scissors were a random choice of murder weapon, and I wanted to prove once and for all that Mrs. James and I had nothing to do with Macon Vance’s murder. Easier said than done.

  “And who knows what else you might discover in it.” Josie was getting to know me pretty well. Pretty soon I wouldn’t be able to hide anything from her.

  As Meemaw used to tell me, I was too curious for my own good. “If she took it, it was for a reason. And she had no right.”

  “What about the girls?”

  “I’m gonna send my mama over. Just have the girls go through their entrance and the introductions. Tell them to be back by four o’clock. It’ll be tight, but we’ll get the final fittings done before the curtain goes up.”

  “And you…?”

  “I’m heading over to Anna Hughes’s right now to see if I can’t get the notebook back.” And figure out why she took it in the first place.

  Secrets, secrets, and more secrets. I grabbed my purse and flew out the door. “Mama, would you go help Josie at the club?” I called, barreling past her and Hoss McClaine.

  Their voices tore through the air behind me. “Where’s the fire?” Hoss said, while Mama said, “Of course, but Harlow Jane, where the devil are you goin’?”

  I slowed down halfway across the flagstone path leading to the gravel driveway where my old jalopy was parked to look over my shoulder and wave. “Gotta run. Lookin’ for that notebook. Go help Josie, Mama, please!”

  Mama stared after me, nodding. A minute and a half later, I was cruising down Mockingbird Lane, away from the square and toward Hickory Creek Road and Anna Hughes’s house.

  Bliss was a small town, so it wasn’t long before I was parked in front of the Hughes’s house. Unlike the night of the party, I’d had no trouble finding a spot. For all my bravado to Josie, and my hurried departure in front of Mama and her sheriff boyfriend, my nerves skittered through me like butter in a hot frying pan.

  I wasn’t big on confrontation. Walking toward Anna’s front door, I was feeling like a cowboy who was all hat, no cattle. Really, what was I going to say to the woman? I couldn’t very well grab her by the collar and tell her to give back the book, or else.

  Tamping down my nerves, I raised my knuckles to the front door, but before they landed in a knock, the door flung open and Buckley and Duane Hughes strode out. Buckley half turned as he started to pull the front door closed behind him.

  “Oh!” I backed up before they plowed right into me.

  The doctor pulled up short, whipping his head around. The door opened, bringing the bought air, as Meemaw’d always called air-conditioning, wafting out into the Texas heat. “Good grief! You startled me.”

  I forced a tense smile. I’d been prepared to see Anna at the front door, not the doctor, and it threw my mojo off.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “I didn’t notice you drive up.” He peered over my shoulder as if he couldn’t believe he’d missed seeing the truck parked on his horseshoe driveway.

  “Anna stopped by my shop last night, but I was too busy to talk dress design for her sister’s wedding. Hey, Duane,” I said, lifting my hand in a wave.

  “Hi, Ms. Cassidy.”

  Turning back to Buckley, I asked, “Is she here?”

  The doctor stared at me, his brows pulled together. “Her sister’s wed—”

  “Just chatting about a dress,” Anna said, appearing at the front door. “You know how I hate scrambling at the last minute and feeling like I’m always playing catch-up.”

  Buckley’s reaction verified my suspicion. There was no wedding.

  “That, I do.” Buckley frowned, deep vertical lines shooting down between his eyebrows. So he didn’t partake in his own cosmetic treatments. Interesting.

  The doctor gave his wife a peck on the cheek before sidestepping me and heading across the spotty lawn toward the back of the house. “See you tonight,” he said with a final wave. Duane trotted after him, hanging a valet bag, probably holding his suit for the pageant, in their car. His dad tossed a ring of keys to him, they got in, and they drove away, Duane at the wheel.

  “He’s growing up so fast,” Anna said, watching as the car disappeared. “He can’t make up his mind whether to be a doctor or a lawyer, you know? He’s so interested in both.”

  “I’m sure he’ll do great at either,” I said.

  She looked at me, dark shadows creating half circles under her eyes. Her skin looked sallow. My guess was that she hadn’t slept a wink the night before. The fight with her husband, or guilt at stealing Trudy Lafayette’s notebook from my house? Or maybe both. She stood back and opened the door wide. “I guess you’d like to come in?” she said without a trace of actual Southern hospitality. I got the distinct impression she’d prefer I didn’t come in.

  Truth be told, I didn’t want to, but I did want Trudy’s notebook back, so that made my decision. “Sure.”

  She held the door open wide and I stepped past her.

  “I figured you’d be coming.” Her voice was off, the consonants slurred and stretched out. As I passed into the living room, I saw the open bottle of wine and the quarter-filled glass on the coffee table. Ah, that explained it.

  I glanced at my watch. Ten seventeen. Way too early to even say it was close to noon, and unless you were Charlie Sheen, most people thought lunchtime was about the earliest time in the day to start with the cocktails.

  Something was not right in the world of Anna Hughes.

  Behind me, the door closed with a bang. I turned around and my jaw dropped.

  Her eyelids fluttered at half-mast as she walked toward me. “I suppose you’re here about this?” she said as she held up Trudy’s cloth-covered notebook.

  Chapter 31

  Anna perched on the edge of her tasteful brown sofa across from me while I tried not to sink into the well-worn easy chair. She knocked back the rest of her wine, setting her glass on the occasional table by her side.

  The last two times I’d seen her, I’d had immediate visions of her in black taffeta, but this time, my mind was drawing a blank. I could see her, but her image was fuzzy around the edges, and the outfit she wore was a dull, nondescript gray.

  “Buck doesn’t know,” she said.

  I cocked my head to the side, trying to be patient so I wouldn’t rip the book from her hands. “Doesn’t know what?”

  She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have a little confession.” A hiccup, followed by a little giggle, escaped her lips. She pressed two fingers to her mouth, as if that could stop the hiccups from continuing. Another one came, and her eyes went wide.

  A drinking problem, I thought grimly, just as I’d suspected. “What kind of confession?”

  Her fingers closed tightly around t
he notebook, her knuckles going white from the pressure. “I… that is… m-my sister… she already had her wedding.”

  “Yup, I figured that out.”

  Her pencil thin eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. “How?”

  I filled her in on my ten minutes of Googling. “You can find anything on the Internet.”

  The tension between us lessened. I had a sudden flashback of my New York roommate and fellow Maximilian flunky, Orphie Cates. Whenever our sycophant boss, Luciano, would ramble on about Maximilian and his brilliance, Orphie would lean over and in her Low Country Carolina drawl, she’d whisper, “I wish that man would just cut to the chase, already.”

  Precisely what I felt at this very moment. “Anna?”

  “Yes?” She smiled tightly, her skin taut either from her husband’s Botox treatments or from her nerves at being busted as a thief. Maybe both.

  “I have eighteen girls waiting on me to put them in their dresses. The pageant’s tonight.” My eyes darted to the notebook clutched in her hands. “I need that book.”

  Her grip had softened just a touch, but now it tightened again, her knuckles going white. “I know, but…”

  “But what, Anna? If there’s something wrong, you can tell me.”

  She swallowed, trying to maintain what little composure she’d managed to gather up, but I could see her struggle, like little fissures cracking from the inside out. She lifted her wineglass to her lips and tilted it to drink. One lone drop of red liquid slid down the crystal.

  “I just started flipping through this last night while I was waiting on you…” She trailed off, looking toward her empty wineglass for fortification.

  “All Trudy’s and Fern’s notes about the Margaret dresses are in there. Without it, I don’t know which dress belongs to which girl.” I stretched my arm out, hoping she’d just hand it over.

  Instead, she rose and reached for the wine bottle across the coffee table, refilling her glass. “I started reading—”