A Seamless Murder

by Melissa Bourbon

  Will didn’t look convinced, and frankly neither was I, but we couldn’t rule him out. The motive was there. It was early enough in the morning—or late enough at night—that surely he’d had the opportunity, even if the pastor hadn’t identified his car as one he’d seen that morning. Maybe he’d called Delta, asking her to meet him to talk things out. He might have chosen the cemetery as a secluded location, knowing she wouldn’t be found until much later.

  “He has my historical landmark plaque at his office. He said to stop by anytime. We could go get it.”

  His expression was grim. “You need to be careful, Cassidy. Someone killed Delta. You poking around and asking questions could get the killer, whoever it is, pretty riled up.”

  “Only if I ask the right questions,” I said. “And I’m always careful, Will.”

  He gave my hand a squeeze before I got into Buttercup and headed to the city offices to pay a visit to Jeremy Lisle, Will right behind me in his truck.

  Chapter 14

  We found the mayoral hopeful in his office in between meetings. He was dressed just like he’d been when I’d met him at the Historic Council. Khakis and a button-down shirt made him seem approachable, but there was something about him that put me on edge. It very likely could have been that I suspected he might be a suspect in Delta Lea’s murder . . . or it could have been my imagination. I just wasn’t sure.

  “Thanks for seeing us,” I said, after he ushered us into his office. The space was masculine yet minimalistic in décor. The furniture felt vaguely old and utilitarian. It fit what I knew about Jeremy and his love for the history of Bliss. A framed map of the town, circa 1890, hung on the wall behind his desk. In the corner of the office were boxes of files. All historic information, I imagined.

  “Here for your plaque?”

  I clapped my hands. “Yes! Will’s going to put it up for me. Meemaw’s dream come true.”

  He rifled through a drawer, emerging a moment later with a black box. He opened it to reveal a round bronze and gold plaque. It was about five inches in diameter with an HL in the center. Around the perimeter, it read: PRESERVING THE PAST FOR THE FUTURE. “Here you go,” he said, presenting it to me.

  I thanked him, admired it, and tucked it into my shoulder bag. “Are you already campaigning?” I asked, gesturing to the yard signs toward the back of the office.

  “A politician is always campaigning. Look at Hillary Clinton. She didn’t have to announce her candidacy, yet she led the race as the democratic candidate. Her entire existence is in the spotlight. There’s no distinction between her public and private life. Everything is part of her campaign, even when she’s not running for anything. That’s the life of a politician.”

  “That sounds intense,” I said.

  He sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers under his chin. “That’s what it takes to win.”

  “Would you like me to take an election sign for my yard?” I asked, glancing at the signs again.

  “It’s a little early, but hell’s bells, if Delta Mobley can have one in her yard even after she’s gone from us, then you can have one in yours.” He ambled over to the stack and brought one back for me, the red, white, and blue design subtle yet effective. Jeremy Lisle was a patriot, and that message came across loud and clear.

  Ever the Southern gentleman, Will took the sign for me.

  “Have you been in Delta’s house?” I asked, fishing for more information.

  “Once upon a time, she was my Realtor. Drove me around the Historic District and pointed out her place.”

  So their relationship extended beyond the Historic Council. Interesting.

  “Look,” he said. “I know you’re trying to find out what happened to Delta. She was a lot of things, but she sure wasn’t subtle. If she didn’t like you, she went out of her way to show you just how deep her dislike ran. If she thought she knew something about you but couldn’t prove it, she found a way. If she wanted something, she took it whether it belonged to her or not. She had everyone fooled, but the truth is, she only followed her own rules.”

  I let this sink in. So far, only Delta’s family had made me question who Delta really was, but Jeremy Lisle had some pretty firm beliefs about her character, too. “What do you mean she’d find a way to prove something?”

  He clasped his hands in front of him, looking calm, but I wasn’t fooled. His left eye twitched, just barely, and inside, I suspected that his emotions were going haywire. “Let me preface this by saying that I didn’t kill Delta Lea Mobley. We weren’t friends, but I’m not a murderer.”

  Will and I shot a glance at each other. Unless Jeremy was a master manipulator and was using reverse psychology on us to throw us off the trail, I suspected that whatever he was about to say was the truth.

  “Okay,” I said, nodding reassuringly.

  He took a deep breath, and then said, “She didn’t just switch to the Radcliffe camp. She wanted to discredit me.”

  “How?” I pressed, wondering to myself if he would be willing to discuss with us something that could possibly be perceived as a motive for murder.

  “I think she wanted to get some dirt on me. Help the Radcliffe campaign. For about a week, I know I was being followed. Everywhere I went, this silver Monte Carlo would show up. It’d be driving behind me, or parked across from my house. It was everywhere.”

  I leaned forward in my chair, fascinated. I thought people in Bliss were much more transparent than they apparently were. My neighbor had been a total and complete mystery to me. Vengefulness. Secrecy. Detective work. What else would I discover about her? “And you’re sure it was her?”

  “She wasn’t actually in the car, if that’s what you mean, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that she hired someone to do her dirty work.”

  “But why are you so sure? What was she hoping to discover?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? I’m sure she wanted to catch me in an impropriety of some sort. Discredit me in the election.” One corner of his mouth went up in a satisfied smile. “Like the pot calling the kettle black, if you ask me.”

  I inched closer to his desk, certain some big revelation was coming. “How d’you mean?”

  “There aren’t many secrets ’round here.”

  That seemed to be a running theme. No one thought anything could be kept on the down low in Bliss. “No?”

  “No. She thought nobody knew why she stopped volunteering at the church.”

  “But people did?” I asked, thinking back to Coco and the pastor. Neither one had seemed to know. Or at least they hadn’t offered up the information.

  He paused, seeming to consider how to respond. “Even a pastor has to have someone to talk to,” he finally said. “He’s a good guy. Came to me knowing I worked with Delta and needing advice.”

  Will and I sneaked another surreptitious glance at each other. The pastor hadn’t mentioned that he knew Jeremy Lisle, let alone that he’d gone to him for counsel. “What kind of advice?”

  “He felt bad for her, about her husband’s affair, but she used her place at the church to snoop into other people’s business.”

  My jaw dropped. “Her husband was having an affair?” I asked.

  “You’re going to catch a fly like that, Ms. Cassidy,” he said, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling. My blatant surprise seemed to amuse him.

  “I just . . . I never suspected . . . I’m stunned is all,” I finally said, but as the words left my mouth, something Cynthia had said came back to me. Delta had told her that you should be able to trust your husband. “So she knew?” I asked after a beat.

  “From what I gather, she told Pastor Kyle that not all husbands could be trusted, and that she’d get her proof delivered to her by a private investigator. I do believe she was inherently untrusting of all the people around her.”

  “But why?”

  “That I do not know,” he said, frowning. “I thought about hiring a PI myself. Prove that Delta was up to no good. Catch her on the wrong side o
f the law, but she was a pro. She manipulated people, but didn’t actually cross any lines, you know?”

  “What would you have done with the information if you’d gotten it?” Will asked.

  Jeremy shrugged. “Use it as leverage. Get her to back off on the election sabotage. She was ready and willing to take the campaign negative on behalf of Radcliffe. And he was ready and willing to let her do the dirty work. I wanted to stop her at the gate. But,” he added, wagging his finger at us as if he realized the implication of what he was saying, “I didn’t kill her. I didn’t like her, I’ll admit that, but I’m not about to ruin my political career for some meddling woman who couldn’t keep her nose out of other people’s business.”

  We said our good-byes and thanked Jeremy for the plaque. On the way home, Will carried the election sign while I carried the unease of knowing that the man we’d just spoken to had a pretty clear motive for killing Delta Lea Mobley. I wanted to believe him when he said he didn’t kill her. He seemed on the up and up, and his political aspirations were great. He’d handed us his own motive, for heaven’s sake. How much damage could Delta have done when she didn’t have anything on him?

  But there was a new concern that really had me worried after Will and I parted and I drove home—the fact that if Delta had confronted her husband about him having an affair, then it was very possible that Anson Mobley may have killed his wife.

  Chapter 15

  I loved everything vintage, including the rounded fenders and domed cab of the old Ford truck that I had inherited from Meemaw, and if I had my way, I’d drive it forever. Will and I had gone our separate ways from the church’s parking lot. The town was building a new library, and he was the architect in charge of the project. I, on the other hand, still had aprons to make and only four days until the progressive dinner.

  I drove through town, unable to escape the unease settling in me. One murder and too many suspects. So far Cynthia Homer, Jeremy Lisle, and Anson Mobley were neck and neck to my thinking in terms of motive, means, and opportunity. With the exception of Cynthia, they each could have had their own reasons for wanting Delta dead. Again, with the possible exception of Cynthia, they each would have had the strength to wield the rock that killed her. And they each could have easily created the opportunity. They all lived in town, plus she died in the early hours of the morning when few people were out and about, especially at the cemetery, so truly, it could have been any of them.

  And then there were the rest of the Red Hat ladies. I didn’t want to believe it could be any one of them, but I also couldn’t rule them out.

  The one person whose name had come up quite a few times but I hadn’t yet met with was Mayor Radcliffe. I couldn’t summon up a motive for him—after all, Delta had been on his side in the election antics—but who knew what lay beneath the surface? I added him to my mental list of people I wanted to pay a visit to.

  I pulled onto the pebble driveway of my house under the possumwood trees. Mama’s much newer, but still old, truck was parked there, too. I glanced through the yard. Sure enough, she sat on one of the white rocking chairs on the front porch, gently moving back and forth. The chair next to her swayed, too. Meemaw was right there beside her.

  Mama had taken to coming over daily. It used to be that she’d come just to see me, but I’d begun to suspect that now she came just to be in the presence of her grandmother. As a ghost, my great-grandmother hadn’t mastered the art of communication, but the Cassidy women all felt her around us. Unless she was playing parlor tricks, being in her presence was like being enveloped in a cocoon of warmth, bolstering us up and lifting our spirits.

  I threw the truck into park, and in seconds, I’d joined Mama on the porch, leaning against the railing so as not to disturb Meemaw. Having the three of us, or better yet, the four of us (when Nana was here) in the same place was always a treasured moment. “Where have you been?” Mama asked. “Out sleuthin’?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  She kept both cowboy-booted feet on the ground, pushing with her toes to move the chair back and forth. “And?”

  Mama made a good show of looking chagrined that I was involved in yet another murder investigation, but I knew she was just as curious about the crime as I was, and the mother in her had untold sympathy for Jessie Pearl’s loss. I filled her in on my thoughts, including my suspicions about Cynthia Homer, Jeremy Lisle, Mayor Radcliffe, and the newly discovered information about Anson Mobley.

  “Maybe you need to go have a little chat with Jessie Pearl.”

  “Yes, but under what pretense?”

  A gust of wind suddenly swirled around us, rustling the plastic shopping bag I’d set on a little red table next to me. It held the jeans and figurines from the tag sale.

  We both looked at the bag, then at each other, finally both turning to the empty rocking chair. Meemaw was a smart cookie.

  “I can return these to Jessie Pearl,” I said, taking up the bag. And there was no time like the present. I paused at the bottom of the porch stairs. “Are you coming?”

  Mama stopped rocking and practically jumping off the chair like a child from a swing. “Sure am.” She winked. “When I said you, you know I really meant we. And I reckon it’s time I paid my condolences to Jessie Pearl.”

  I stifled a smile as she threaded her arm through mine, and together—feeling a little bit like Dorothy and the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz as we walked arm in arm up the brick path in my front yard—we went next door to the Mobley house. Although I had seen Todd pulling weeds and mowing the small lawn since Delta’s death, their yard looked sad somehow. As if the garden could sense the mourning happening inside the house and responded. The colors of the grass and flowers seemed muted, and the stems of the shrubs had grown leggy and drooped in a way they hadn’t just a week ago.

  As we walked to the front door, I looked back over my shoulder, knowing that Mama’s charm had kicked in. The colors were brighter. The flowers bloomed, petals opening wide to reveal vibrant reds, yellows, and purples. Even the grass was greener.

  “Nice, Mama,” I said, nudging her with my elbow.

  She grinned and gave a small shrug. “It’s the least I can do.”

  Todd opened the door after we knocked. He greeted us, stepping aside so we could enter. He glanced past us at the yard, then did a double take, his brows knitting together. “What the . . . ?” he muttered.

  “Sorry to come by unannounced,” I said quickly. “Is Jessie Pearl here?”

  He shook his head, as if he were clearing away cobwebs, looked one more time at the yard, then focused on me. “No problem, she’s here.”

  We stepped inside, and he shut the door behind us. I knew the way, so I wove through the furniture, moving toward the kitchen. Behind me, I heard the sharp intake of Mama’s breath as she took in the array of knickknacks and antiques. I hadn’t prepared her for what to expect in the house. She murmured under her breath, in awe. She wasn’t a collector, but Nana was. Mama had grown up in a house where every piece of furniture, every vase, picture frame, and trinket had a story.

  Todd led us inside to the dining table where Jessie Pearl sat, her crutches leaning against her chair. She was looking at a sketch of their front yard. We offered our condolences to her before Todd continued. “I was thinking of putting paper lanterns out for the progressive dinner,” he said. “Make it more festive.”

  Jessie Pearl patted his hand as he sat down at the table next to her. “It’s a fine idea, Todd. It’ll be a nice way to honor Delta.”

  He slid the sketch toward me. “This is what I was thinking. White lights in the trees. The lanterns along the walkway. And if I have time after work this week, Megs and I thought we’d plant some flowers in the pots by the front porch.”

  Now Jessie Pearl’s chin quivered in earnest. She squeezed her hands tighter together to control the shaking. “Lovely,” she said, but her voice was tight. “Delta would have enjoyed that.”

  “I can’t wait to see it,” I said t
o Todd.

  He grinned, turning the gold band on his finger. He was shy, I realized, and self-conscious from the praise. “Should have skipped law school and gotten into landscape architecture instead.”

  Just then, Megan came out of the kitchen. She wound a white and red ticking dishcloth in her hands. She came up next to him, rubbing her hand on his back. “You can do both.”

  “And a chef, right? A man of many talents,” I said.

  Mama ran her fingers over the yellowed leaves of a neglected houseplant. “Do you work in Bliss?”

  He shrugged modestly. “Bliss already has its fair share of attorneys. I would have to consider working in Fort Worth. Maybe as far as Dallas. But that would mean moving, and Megs is settled here. So, no, I’ve given up on the law.”

  “You just have to put your resume out there,” Megan said. “Something’ll turn up.” She looked at us. “In the meantime, he keeps busy around here, and he’s doing some special projects for the church. Plus he’s cooking Friday night. The array of desserts will be awesome!”

  “I thought Bennie was helping y’all with that,” I said, thinking maybe I’d misunderstood Bennie at the fabric store.

  “She wanted to. In fact she asked me to show her how I made my cream puff pastry. Said she could make those for the dinner to help me out.”

  Megan laughed. “He told her it was a trade secret.”

  He put his hands out, palms up. “It is. And I don’t need any help, thank you very much.” He turned back to Mama and me. “I told her I could handle it.”

  “Where did you go to cooking school?” I asked, but he was already out of his chair. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few seconds later with five coffee mugs. He disappeared again, this time returning with a coffee pot, and started pouring.

  “He went to the culinary institute in Chicago,” Megan said, answering for him. “Then to law school here in Texas. That was all before I met him, can you imagine?”