A Fitting End: A Magical Dressmaking Mystery (18 page)

“Uh-uh,” she said, safely ensconced behind the screen.

I didn’t believe it, but I left her to her own devices, grabbed Will’s arm, and dragged him back into the front room.

“What the devil’s going on? Gracie raced out of the house like a bat out of hell and she’ll barely look at me.” His voice was low and controlled, but anger brewed underneath.

I looked over my shoulder into the workroom. The privacy screen jerked as she struggled to get herself out of the Margaret gown.

I looked back at him. “A letter came for you—from her mother and…”

“And what?”

“And she read it,” I said.

Will’s face instantly shifted from pissed off to shaken. “Oh boy.”

I nodded. My thoughts exactly.

He raked his hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. “I knew she’d find out one day, but I…”

“But what, Dad?” As stealthily as a cat, Gracie had crept to the French doors separating the two rooms, and now she looked ready to pounce.

“Baby—”

Her voice cracked. “Why didn’t you tell me that my mother has family here in Bliss? That I have grandparents?”

So she’d changed her mind. Now she
did
want to talk about it, and right this second by the looks of it. Her tears were gone and I could practically see the steam pouring from her ears.

“What did the letter say?” he asked, and I instantly realized that he was working to regain control of the situation by asking his own question rather than answering hers.

Gracie huffed with more attitude than I’d seen out of her since I’d met her. “That she was coming home to see her parents, and not to tell me because… because…” She sniffled, struggling to stay angry instead of hurt. “She said she wouldn’t be here long enough for a real visit with me.”

Will shook his head and paced around the room, skirting the portable rack of clothes on display, dodging the settee and coffee table, and circling around by the front door until he was facing his daughter. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked her square in the eyes. “Baby, this is why I never told you. She wasn’t ready to be a mother, and she still isn’t. But she loved you enough to give you to me. I never wanted to disappoint you or make you think that she didn’t love you. In her own way, she does.”

Gracie’s face crumpled. She collapsed into Will’s arms, her voice muffled as she sobbed into his shoulder.
“If she loved me, she’d want to see me,” she said when she came up for air.

“She loves you enough to let you go, Gracie,” he said, stroking her hair.

She gazed up at him. “What about my grandparents? They don’t want to know me?” Before Will could answer, she went on. “I bet if they found out I’m going to be a Margaret, then they’d want to know me.”

Will gently pushed her back, his hands on her shoulders. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Why?” Gracie pulled away and folded her arms over her chest. Attitude and defiance. It was a banner day for her. “She said it’s her dad’s birthday. She said if she didn’t show up for the party, that she’d be disowned.”

As he opened his mouth to speak, his eyes met mine. He looked in dire need of a lifeline. “Gracie,” I said, rushing forward. “Maybe you misread it.”

But Will shook his head. His dark hair fell over his forehead and his azure eyes turned smoky. “They might not disown her, but they might disinherit her. Your mom lives off her trust fund.”

“Dad, just tell me the truth.”

He thought for a few seconds, scraping his fingers through his hair again; then he slowly nodded.

Gracie’s shoulders dropped and it looked like the weight of the world slipped right off. She walked to the couch and sank down, looking at him expectantly.

I edged toward the kitchen. “I’ll leave you alone—”

She popped right up, like a jack-in-the-box, and raced to me. “No, Harlow, stay,” she said as she grabbed my hand.

I looked at Will. This was their family business, and I was just… just… The truth
was, I didn’t know what I was. I didn’t know them well enough to be privy to their dirty laundry.

But he said, “Stay,” gave a little nod, and put his hand on my back to guide me to the couch. Gracie plopped back down, and I sat next to her, one leg hiked up under me, angled toward her.

Will perched on the edge of the square coffee table, facing us, and took Gracie’s hands in his. “I met your mom right after college—”

“In Austin?”

“No, here. I’d never heard of Bliss, but they needed a city architect. I was fresh out of school, and I took the job. I met this woman at the Hoosegow and it was like… like she had this light around her.”

I searched his face, looking for regret and wondering if he thought it was ironic that he’d met the woman who’d borne his child and handed her over, effectively changing the course of Will’s life, in a bar named after a prison. If he felt trapped, he didn’t show it. I saw nothing but love and concern lacing his face.

“We dated for a few months. I liked her, but… I don’t know. There was something off. She’d put her headphones on and crank up the music. She used to say she was trying to cover up the voices—”

He broke off, his eyes downcast, and I knew he was worried about what kind of voices Gracie’s mom had heard and if mental illness ran in her genes.

But Gracie didn’t pick up on that train of thought. “Did you love her?” She wasn’t pulling any punches. She wanted answers. Now.

Will lay his forearms on his thighs and dropped his head for a second before meeting her gaze again. Debating how much truth to give her, I guessed.

Finally, he shook his head. “No, I didn’t. It was almost as if the light she’d had in her when I first met her just faded away. She was itching to get out of Bliss, but I wasn’t. I liked it here.” He glanced at me, the barest trace of a smile on his lips. “Still do.”

I smiled at him, loosening the slack on the lifeline I’d tossed out to him earlier and willing him to keep his strength and resolve as he told Gracie the rest of their story.

Gracie drew in a shaky breath, but kept her face steady. “But she got pregnant.”

“I didn’t know,” he said. “We’d both agreed that we wanted different things. That it wasn’t working. We decided not to date anymore, and she took off. I had no idea who her family was. Hell, I didn’t even know she
had
family here. She vanished, and I didn’t see her again for a year.”

“After she already had me.”

I took one of her hands and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

“Yes,” he said. “She showed up at my door one day—”

“At our house?”

“No, no. I had an apartment back then. A one bedroom off of Orange Drive.” Gracie nodded, and he continued. “She knocked on the door, and when I opened it, she just stood there. She had you wrapped up in a blanket. It had tiny little roses on it, and your fingers poked out the top and pulled it down. You were screaming at the top of your lungs and she looked so tired. She looked like she’d aged ten years. She had gray streaks in her hair.…” His voice faded away for a few seconds while he stared over our shoulders as if he could see her there behind us. “She said she hadn’t slept in days, that she
couldn’t get you to stop crying, and that no matter what she tried, you didn’t seem to hear her, and the music wouldn’t cover it up anymore. When she handed you over to me, you stopped crying.” He snapped. “Just like that. It was like someone turned a switch off. You were just done.”

Gracie and I had both inched forward on the couch, riveted by the story. “What happened next?” I asked.

“That was it. She turned and walked away.”

Gracie swiped at the tears that had welled in her eyes, shaking her head as if to get rid of the pain the story must have caused her. “That’s it? She just left me there with you?”

He nodded. “You only ever cried when you were sick. I never could figure out why you carried on when you were with her, but not with me.” One side of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “Guess you liked me.”

“I made up for the crying today,” she said, giving a little laugh through her tears.

“You know who they are?” I asked him. I couldn’t imagine grandparents not wanting to know their grandchild. But then I remembered something Zinnia James had said to me a few months ago. Some people couldn’t turn a blind eye to what they deemed immoral—even if they were guilty of the same—or worse. I was betting that Gracie’s grandparents fell into that category, but I so wanted to be wrong.

“Before your mother walked away, she said one thing.” Will ran his hand over his face. He suddenly looked tired and drawn. “She said that maybe now her parents would let her back into their house.”

“Because she didn’t have me anymore?” Gracie asked.

“Not you, exactly,” he said. “Hell, Gracie, they don’t
even know who you are. They just know Naomi had a baby.”

Gracie and I both stared at him. “They don’t?”

Will shook his head. “Your mom left a diaper bag. Your birth certificate was there. Grace Mcafferty Flores. She’d given you both of our names and listed me as the father. But seeing her name is what threw me. She’d told me her last name was Williams, but it wasn’t. I found out later that was her mother’s maiden name.”

“So she wanted her family’s money, but not their name?”

Will shrugged. “Baby, I honestly don’t know. She came to see you a few times, but you cried whenever she touched you. It was like she’d taken away a piece of candy. You screamed bloody murder.”

“Why?” Gracie whispered.

“You were still a baby, so you couldn’t tell me why.”

Gracie stared at him, the pitch of her voice rising slightly. “You know how you said you saw a light around my mother?” He nodded and she went on. “I feel that lightness now. I don’t know. I can’t really explain it.”

I knew just what she meant. For me, I was sure it was because I was back home where I belonged, had discovered my charm, and was content. I imagined Gracie’s lightness had to do with her growing more mature and figuring out who she is as a person.

We talked for a few more minutes before Will said to her, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, baby, but I just didn’t know how. I’ve never met your grandparents and I don’t know much about them. They run in a different circle than we do.”

Right. They were definitely part of the haves in Bliss, and ran with Mrs. James and company.

“Your mother refused to talk about it and said they couldn’t meet you. I probably shouldn’t have gone along with it, but I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

Gracie sat quietly for a few seconds before standing, then leaned down to give him a hug. “It’s okay, Daddy.” When she stood, she had a determined look on her face. “But I’m going to be a Margaret and everyone can see how a regular country girl like me cleans up, and one day Mama can just eat a big ol’ helping of crow when I go up and introduce myself to my grandparents.”

Even though it was made of red bricks, Bliss’s jailhouse looked about as secure as an old outhouse. But no matter how crumbly and ramshackle it appeared, it was enough to keep Zinnia James from fleeing Hood County. I felt like Scarlett O’Hara when she got herself all gussied up to go visit Rhett Butler in jail. Only instead of plantation curtains–turned-gown, I’d worn a pink-white-and-black skirt and a tank top that was a slightly lighter shade of pink.

When I walked into the old building just off the square, the air-conditioning sent a chill through me and I wished I had on velvet instead of cotton. They must have set the temperature at sixty degrees. Hoping to freeze confessions out of the guilty.

At least this wasn’t a horse jail like Rhett had been in, but then again, Mrs. James wasn’t having nearly the fun he’d had. I was prepared for the worst, but with any luck the fabric swatches I’d brought with me would cheer up Mrs. James. I waited at the receptionist’s counter to check in. Which was taking forever… and a day.

“Harlow Cassidy, as I live and breathe.” Deputy Gavin McClaine sidled up next to me, knocking back his cowboy hat so he could give me a slow, appraising look.
All he needed was a toothpick between his teeth to complete the picture of a hillbilly lawman with too much power and too much good looks. “I heard tell you keep yourself pretty well concerned with all the goings-on in Bliss. And here you are to see an accused murderess. Imagine my surprise and delight… considering the murder weapon belonged to you.”

“I had nothing to do with Macon Vance, Gavin,” I said, my accent deepening to match his. Southern speech was contagious. Before long, I’d have my drawl back completely.

“Deputy McClaine,” he said, adding, “And ’course you didn’t. But I wouldn’t leave town if I were you, Harlow.”

My feathers ruffled. “Ms. Cassidy.”

He cracked what he probably considered a smile, but really it was a muscle in his cheek pulling up and his eye twitching downward until they met in a stiff spasm. “What can I do you for?” he asked.

“I’m here to see Mrs. James.” I pulled opened the tote bag full of fabric samples and my sketchbook so he could take a peek inside.

“Let me guess. You’re making her a dress.”

“No wonder you’re a deputy,” I said. “Nothing gets by you.” I didn’t know if he was playing or if he was really this cocky, but he was a laugh a minute either way.

“Takes a lot of training to be able to make deductions like that,” he said, offering up a wink.

So maybe he wasn’t
all
bad. The tension broke, and I started to close the bag, but his hand jetted out and grabbed hold of it. “Not so quick, missy,” he said, and he pulled out the sketchbook, then dumped the swatches on the receptionist’s desk. “I need to have a closer look. Mrs. James is
being detained on murder charges and your sewing scissors were the weapon of choice. Can’t have you smuggling in needles or something else to help her escape.”

“Needles. Pshaw. To what, pick a lock?” I laughed, but a thud rolled through my body. “I had nothing to do with that poor man’s murder, Deputy, and neither did Mrs. James. My scissors,” I added, “were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“If you say so, Ms. Cassidy.” He put extra emphasis on the Ms. part of my name, like he was mocking me, although I couldn’t figure out why. Unless it had to do with the fact that his father was dating my mother. I had a crazy thought—if they did end up getting married at some point, something Mama was downright skittish about, Gavin McClaine and I could be stepsiblings.