A Killing Notion: A Magical Dressmaking Mystery (12 page)

I’d done triage on Danica’s mum, the rest were finished, Leslie’s dress was complete, and I’d made good progress on Danica’s bubble gown. All in all, things were moving along. I checked the wall clock. Four o’clock. Gracie would be here any minute to work on her own homecoming dress. I’d offered to help, but she wanted to do the whole thing herself.

The dress hung from the privacy screen in my workroom, the spaghetti strap bodice complete. She’d used a creamy embossed jacquard and had structured it using darts. The only thing she’d let me help her with was the fitting. She’d had to know it would fit her perfectly before she added the base of the skirt, and it did.

Each day she went home with a bag of materials, and the next day she returned with the same bag full of the flouncy pink, rose, and red rosettes she’d spent hours making the night before. Attaching them to the skirt was slow and painstaking, but she was determined to finish the dress and go to homecoming . . . with Shane.

The mum she’d been working on had miniature rosettes attached to three of the wider ribbons hanging in front, the perfect complement to the skirt of the dress.

I took a closer look at the dress, once again impressed with Gracie’s natural talent. As if on cue, the front door of Buttons & Bows opened, the string of bells jingled, and Gracie waltzed in. She smiled at me, released her fingers from the bags she held long enough to give a finger wave, and then zipped past me. She dropped the bags and immediately got to work by moving her dress from the hanger onto the open dress form. She threaded a needle, pulled up a stool, opened the bag, plucked out the first full-sized rosette, and got to work.

I knew Shane was back home. Gavin had questioned and then released him, but he was by no means out of the woods. Still, with the new information I’d given to Hoss, he’d already tracked down Eddy Blake’s birth certificate from the Hood County records department. So far, though, he’d found nothing to show Chris Montgomery had ever been born. After he dug a little deeper, maybe Shane could be officially cleared.

I opened my mouth to ask her how Shane was, but closed it again. Something was off. She was too perky, too focused. Gracie normally bounced from room to room, chattered about anything and everything, gave love to Earl Grey, my little teacup pig, and generally brought a lightness to the room.

There was no lightness at the moment, despite the smile that hadn’t left her face.

For the second time, I opened my mouth to ask about Shane, but once again, I was tongue-tied.

The third time I tried to broach the subject, I went
forward with a different approach. “Gracie, I discovered something today. I’m not quite sure—”

Her head snapped up. “About Mr. Montgomery?”

I thought about beating around the bush, but decided being direct was better. Hemming and hawing about the truth wouldn’t dull the pain once it all came out. “Yes.”

She dropped her hands to her lap, yelping when the needle she held pricked her finger. She stuck her finger in her mouth. “What did you find out?” she asked. “Shane’s meeting me here. He sounded really upset. What’s going on, Harlow?”

I’d told the story to Will and to Josie, but this time there was an emotional element to it. I hesitated, thinking Will should be here, but Shane was coming,
and
he was upset, and I knew that Hoss McClaine had already called the Montgomery family in and broken the news, looking for evidence to support the notion. In a small town, the story of Eddy Blake and Chris Montgomery would be all anyone talked about for days. Weeks. Months. Maybe even longer.

Shane might be Gracie’s boyfriend, but
I
wanted to be the one to prepare her for the official announcement the sheriff was sure to make. I knew he’d find hard proof that Eddy and Chris were one and the same. The birth certificate was a start, but it would take a lot of cross-referencing of information to prove it completely. Something I couldn’t wait for.

I dragged the second stool next to her and sat. “I believe that Mr. Montgomery had a pretty big secret,” I said.

She turned the rosette she was holding over in her hands, stopping and fingering a spot of blood on one of
the fabric petals. “Ruined,” she muttered, and then heaved the rosette into the trash can.

I cupped my hand over hers. “We’ll figure it out,” I said.

She bit her lower lip, her chin quivering. Her eyes grew glassy, but she fought against the tears threatening. “What was the secret?”

There was no easy way to say it, so I plunged ahead. “Gracie, I’m pretty sure that he had another family.”

She stared. “What do you mean?”

“Another wife. A child.”

She stared, slack-jawed. “Like one of those bigamists?”

“Kind of.” I took the needle and thread from her, plucked a rosette from the bag, and moved closer to the skirt. I started to sew it on as I told her the full story, hitting the highlights without bogging it down with the extra details of how the Levons and Blakes were friends, how Shane’s parents first met, and the phone numbers on the cell phone.

By the time I was done, her mouth gaped open and the tears she’d held back spilled to her cheeks. It might be young love, but her emotions were deep. “Poor Shane,” she said softly.

“It’s going to be rough for him.” Not only dealing with the knowledge that his father had loved another woman and had another family, but also small town gossip. Chris Montgomery would be tried by Bliss’s jury of public opinion, and that meant more scrutiny for Shane. People would wonder if he’d known, and then they’d come to the decision that he had to have known, which would lead them to his motive, and voilà! Shane would be
guilty in their eyes, whether or not he’d had anything to do with his father’s death.

The front door opened again and this time Shane lumbered in, his shoulders slumped. From his body language it was clear he’d heard about his dad’s double life, and he wasn’t taking it well. He stopped in the doorway, his head hung low.

The instant Gracie saw him, she stood, a trio of rosettes dropping from her lap to the floor. She walked to him without saying a word, and opened her arms wide. He lifted his gaze to her as she reached him, and she curled her arms under his, pulling him close. He lowered his head and they fit together, her head leaning against the hollow of his neck.

My throat tightened and I tried to swallow the lump. If I couldn’t prove Shane’s innocence, Gracie was going to be devastated.

“I heard,” she said after they finally pulled apart. “He really had another family?”

Shane’s face was drawn, his eyes hollow and ringed with dark circles. “That’s what the sheriff said. I didn’t believe it at first, but then . . . I don’t know, it started to make sense.”

She led him to the little seating area in the front room and sat next to him on the love seat. I sat across from them on the red velvet settee, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “How did it start to make sense?” I asked.

He looked up at me, surprised, as if he just realized I was there. “I feel like an idiot. We all believed he was just working so hard, putting in long hours at the Granbury store, but he was with his other family.”

His voice dripped with disdain. Any sorrow and love he’d had for his dad had vanished when he’d learned the truth. My heart went out to him, poor thing.

“He loved you, though, Shane,” I said. “I know it’s not much consolation, but he fell in love with your mother and figured out a way to be with her. In his mind, I think he did what he did so he wouldn’t hurt the people he loved.”

From the grimace Shane wore, I don’t think he believed my more compassionate explanation for his father’s betrayal any more than I did.

“How’s your mom handling it all?” I asked, knowing it was more of a rhetorical question than anything. She’d just discovered that her whole life with her husband was based on a lie, and that had to be difficult to swallow.

His answer was a halfhearted shrug. “She said she’s not up for a visit, but she wanted me to give this to you.”

Gracie dropped her arm from around his shoulder as he stood and retrieved something from his back pocket and handed it to me.

It was a square linen paper envelope with
Harlow Cassidy
written in the center in pretty cursive. I peeled open the lightly sealed envelope and slipped out the notecard, an
M
at the top center.

Harlow,

I’m sure by now you’ve heard the news about Chris and the second life he was leading in Granbury. It has taken me by utter and complete surprise. So far, I have not been able to wrap my head around it. The fact that he could have been lying to me—to the kids—for so long is mind-boggling.

I keep telling myself that maybe there’s more to the story. I know the police will look at us with more scrutiny now, wondering if we knew and if that was the reason Chris was killed. Shane . . . I need to protect Shane.

More than anything, I don’t want their father’s selfish and stupid decisions to define Shane and Teagen’s lives. Please, Harlow, keep looking into this horrible situation, and if you find out anything, come straight to me.

Yours,

Reba

“Shane,” I said, wanting to ask him one question before I left him and Gracie alone. “Can you think of anything strange your dad did? Anything that didn’t strike you as odd then, but now that you know the truth, you see it differently?”

He sat back down and thought for a minute. Gracie rubbed his back with her hand and I could see him sit a bit taller, her compassion infusing him with strength.

“I’ve been dissecting everything he’s done for the past sixteen years,” he said, “and I’m seeing
everything
differently. All those nights he said he was staying at Bubba’s in Granbury when he was really with his other family. All Teagen’s cheerleading competitions he never made because of work, but was he really off watching his other kid play sports? He had two wedding anniversaries. My mom is freaked about that. All these inside jokes and traditions they had, he had with someone else, too. How could he do that to her?”

Despite the horrible circumstances, it was powerful to see Shane so completely concerned with what his father had done to his mother and sister, rather than making it all about him.

He pursed his lips, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t know how my mom’s going to get over all of that.”

“Your mom is strong,” I said.

“She is,” he said, “but this . . . this is huge. This is monumental. He lied about everything!”

Shane was right—a double life for his entire life was an unfathomable betrayal. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. But the Cassidy women adhered to a strict belief that whatever didn’t kill us would only make us stronger. It was the truth. We were tested, sometimes mightily, but at the end of the day, you had to recognize all the blessings.

“We might never be able to make sense of it all or understand why your dad made the choices he made, but your mom and your sister are strong, inside and out, and they’ll be okay. They will.” I looked him squarely in the eyes. “And you will, too.”

Barbara Ann Blake was as much a victim as the Montgomery family, I thought, although I didn’t say this aloud to Shane. Too much, too soon. She would move on, too. I couldn’t help but feel a stronger compassion for Barbara Ann. For whatever it was worth, Miss Reba, Shane, and Teagen had one another. Barbara Ann Blake had no one left, and that was the greatest tragedy of all.

An hour later, Gracie walked Shane out to his car and I headed to the kitchen to make a late dinner. I perused the refrigerator, then the freezer, waiting for something to entice my appetite. It wasn’t quite fall yet, and summers in Texas usually went on and on and on. There were still strawberries in the market, although they were less red and robust than they’d been a few months ago. I’d stocked up on them, and an abundance spilled from a container in the refrigerator. I grabbed the bowl, a red onion, a bunch of cilantro, a package of corn tortillas, and a large piece of mahi mahi from the freezer and set to work.

I soaked the plastic-wrapped fish in cold water to start the defrosting, then cubed it with my sharpest knife, tossing the pieces with cumin, a dash of salt, and garlic powder. Setting aside the fish, I washed and then finely chopped strawberries, half the red onion, the frozen mango and pineapple I’d also grabbed from the freezer, and a large handful of cilantro. Mixing it together released the
different aromas, and my stomach growled in response to my creative end-of-summer cooking.

As I sautéed the mahi mahi, I thought about my next steps, both with my sewing projects and with helping Shane. I’d hit a wall with Danica’s dress. I had a clearer direction now, but I needed to think on it. Let the design simmer as I worked through the problems I saw with it. She’d be coming by for a fitting before the football game the next day, so my time was limited. At that point, once I knew if any adjustments were needed, I could finish and suggest styling tips to her.

Leslie’s dress was all done. The mums were finished, so that was one thing I could check off my list. I wanted to get Gracie to let me finish attaching the rosettes to the skirt of her dress, but so far she’d resisted my help.

But now she was almost out of time.

Tomorrow was Friday, the day of the parade and the homecoming game. The kids would wear their mums all day at school, then take pictures wearing them and their fancy dresses on Saturday night before they headed out in limos or newly washed cars to dinner and then the dance.

I heated up the corn tortillas and warmed up some cilantro-lime rice and black beans I had leftover in the fridge. Just as everything was ready, Gracie came back in the front door and Will’s truck pulled up, parking behind mine under the possumwood trees.

Two minutes later, I heard his voice from the back deck. He finished a phone call, gave a quick knock on the Dutch door, which opened from the deck to the kitchen, and walked in. “Ah, just in time for supper, I see,” he said with a grin and a kiss on my cheek.

“Yeah, how’d you manage that timing?”

He plucked a cube of sautéed mahi mahi from the pan, and I batted his hand away. We’d grown into a comfortable relationship, and once again I was grateful to Meemaw for having the foresight to know the kind of man who could make me happy, and the kind of woman who could do the same for Will Flores.

He positioned himself behind me at the counter, his head bent, his lips brushing against my neck. I started to sink into him when the pan on the stove literally jumped at the very same time Gracie cleared her throat from the archway between the kitchen and the dining room. “Hello,” she said, “teenager present.”

And a ghost present, too, I thought, eyeing the frying pan, ready to grab it if it moved again.

Will stepped back, but instead of releasing his hold on me, he pressed his hand on my hip and spun me with him. He’d been grinning, but stopped when he saw Gracie’s face. “You heard,” he said. Not a question, but a dismayed statement. He couldn’t protect his daughter from the real world.

She dipped her head in a slight nod. “I can’t even believe it. It’s crazy, right? Who does that, has two families?”

She looked at her dad, then at me, as if we had the answers. We didn’t yet, but I hoped we soon would.

When we didn’t answer, she went on. “Shane left this for you. Told me not to look at it.” Gracie handed me a lunch-sized brown paper sack folded down at the top. “It’s for my mum.”

Once again, I was impressed with the sixteen-year-old. Even in the midst of his world falling apart—the
death of his father, the realization of the man’s second family, and the accusations hurtling his way—he’d thought about Gracie. I unfolded the bag and peeked inside, half expecting a tiny bear or maybe an eagle, since that was the high school mascot. But I was wrong on both counts. Inside the bag was a miniature antique sewing machine on a sewing table. It had intricate metal details and looked like the perfect accessory for a shadow box or a dollhouse.

I smiled, my admiration for Shane increasing even more. He hadn’t just offered up some clichéd mum sentiment, he’d
really
considered her.

The sewing machine would be the perfect centerpiece for the mum.

I folded the bag again and took it to the workroom. It would be a surprise for Gracie.

We ate our dinner of mahi mahi tacos with the strawberry salsa, cleaned up, and a short while later, Will and Gracie got ready to head home. Gracie looked at the homecoming dress she’d abandoned when Shane had arrived, the three rosettes still on the floor. The bag of fabric flowers she’d intended to attach to the skirt to finish the dress right sat where she’d left it.

“Let me work on it, Gracie. I can attach the flowers so you don’t have to worry about it.”

She hesitated, considering my offer, but after a beat, she shook her head. “No, but thanks. I really want to do this all myself.”

She scooped up the wayward rosettes and tossed them in the bag, and then she took the half-flounced dress off the dress form. I helped her put it back on a hanger and
zip it up into an inexpensive garment bag so she could get it home safe and sound.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” I said as she walked down the porch steps, her arms loaded down. She turned right and followed the flagstone steps through the English flower garden and out the side gate to the driveway.

Will and I watched her. I felt the helplessness emanating from him. There was nothing either of us could do to make her feel better. I took comfort in the fact that she could help herself with her sewing. She was a natural, and the craft that fueled me and had defined my charm was beginning to be what she turned to for comfort, too.

“She’s determined,” he said.

That she was. She wouldn’t let either of us even help her carry her things to the truck. Stubborn might be another word for it, but she was entitled to be dogged if it helped her get through this tough time.

“Don’t let her stay up all night,” I said.

He gazed after her, watching as she hung the garment bag on the hook in the extended cab portion of the truck. “The distraction is good for her.”

“It is, but I’m worried about her,” I said. She’d been through a lot for a girl her age.

He sighed, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. Gracie had suffered her share of drama, first when her mother had abandoned her on her unwitting father’s doorstep as an infant. Next, when she’d found out her maternal grandparents had been living in the same town with her all these years, unbeknownst to her or them.
The most recent discovery had been that she was a descendant of Butch Cassidy and was charmed.

But now she’d added being the girlfriend of a potential murderer to the list of things she had to recover from. And much as I liked to think fashion was the be-all and end-all that could solve most problems, the reality was that sewing could only do so much.