A Seamless Murder

A Killing Notion

“Fantasy and cozy small-town mystery mix nicely in the Magical Dressmaking series by Melissa Bourbon. . . . Cassidy’s adventures are consistently entertaining with their mix of small-town Texas color, fashion, and all of Harlow’s quirky female relatives with their distinctive little magical gifts.”

—Locus

“An engrossing puzzle of crime, drama, a smidge of paranormal elements, and, not in any way least, romance.”

—Once Upon a Romance

A Custom-Fit Crime

“This challenging caper will have you guessing till the end and then stun you with another twist. The characters are all amusing, and the added haunting of Meemaw makes it a real page-turner. Can’t wait for more from this author.”

—
Romantic Times

“As much humor, magic, and fashion as any reader could ever desire.”

—Kings River Life Magazine

Deadly Patterns

“As usual, Melissa Bourbon delivers a fun mystery full of intrigue and suspense.”

—Fresh Fiction

“An engaging, amusing paranormal amateur sleuth.”

—Genre Go Round Reviews

“Filled with familial bonds, small-town craziness, romance, fun, humor, and mystery,
Deadly Patterns
sets the bar high for a cozy mystery with more than a touch of the paranormal. This book is a great read for young and older alike and would provide you with a fabulous read to while away a winter’s day.”

—MyShelf.com

A Fitting End

“A fun family affair. . . . Fans will enjoy Harlow Jane’s amateur sleuthing, with advice from her late great-grandma and the Texas posse.”

—The Best Reviews

“Bliss is a wonderfully Southern town, with all its charms and foibles, traditions and society. . . . This enchanting mystery with down-home charm is as comfortable as slipping into your favorite dress and sitting down and drinking sweet tea with engaging characters who quickly become old friends.”

—The Mystery Reader

“Harlow is a delight. . . . There’s something a bit magical about this series. Ms. Bourbon has taken a premise, characters, and a setting that may not have worked with anyone else at the keyboard and created a fab-tastic series.”

—Once Upon a Romance

“A fun book, with the wide assortment of characters filling the page.”

—Fresh Fiction

Pleating for Mercy

“Enchanting! Prepare to be spellbound from page one by this well-written and deftly plotted cozy. It’s charming, clever, and completely captivating! Fantasy, fashion, and foul play—all sewn together by a wise and witty heroine you’ll instantly want as a best friend. Loved it!”

—Hank Phillippi Ryan, Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity award–winning author “A seamless blend of mystery, magic, and dressmaking, with a cast of masterfully tailored characters you’ll want to visit again and again.”

—Jennie Bentley, national bestselling author of the Do-It-Yourself Mysteries “A crime-solving ghost and magical charms from the past make
Pleating for Mercy
a sure winner! The Cassidy women are naturally drawn to mystery and mischief. You’ll love meeting them!”

—Maggie Sefton, national bestselling author of the Knitting Mysteries “Melissa Bourbon’s new series will keep you on pins and needles.”

—Mary Kennedy, national bestselling author of
Nightmares Can Be Murder

“Cozy couture! Harlow Jane Cassidy is a tailor-made amateur sleuth. Bourbon stitches together a seamless mystery adorned with magic, whimsy, and small-town Texas charm.”

—Wendy Lyn Watson, author of the Mystery à la Mode series “As the daughter of a sewing teacher, I found the dressmaking tips at the end of the book to be completely true and helpful, and I found Harlow’s character to be compelling and relatable as a down-to-earth designer and seamstress.”

—Fresh Fiction

“Well done, Ms. Bourbon! You’ve created a well-designed and delightful set of characters in a ‘charm’-ing setting with a one-of-a-kind premise.”

—Once Upon a Romance

Pleating for Mercy

A Fitting End

Deadly Patterns

A Custom-Fit Crime

A Killing Notion

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

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penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

Copyright © Melissa Ramirez, 2015

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

ISBN 978-1-10160278-2

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For sewing enthusiasts everywhere,
and for those who love a little magic in life

As always, a big thank-you to Kerry Donovan, Isabel Farhi, Maggie Powers, the amazing art department at NAL for the cover of
A Seamless Murder
, surely the best one yet, and to Holly Root for continually championing my work. Also, a loving thank-you to Carlos, A.J., Sam, Jared, Sophie, and Caleb for their ongoing support. I couldn’t do all that I do without you. I love you all!

Aprons aren’t couture garments. They aren’t even knock-off couture. But it was looking as though they were going to be my next project. Seven individual and unique aprons for the members of Bliss’s Red Hat Society chapter, to be exact.

I had to laugh. Last week I’d been creating a suit for a Fort Worth woman who wanted a highly tailored linen ensemble—not an easy task. But as my great-grandmother, Loretta Mae Cassidy, always said, success is something you have to work for. Harder than you may want to, most times. That linen suit pushed me to the edge of my ability, but I ended up on the other side a better dressmaker and tailor. In the end, the outfit could have competed with any high-end handmade Italian design—and come out on top. And I’d made it, not in Florence, Rome, Milan, or New York, but in little ol’ Bliss, Texas.

Now, standing on the sidewalk in front of Bliss’s United Methodist church, I agreed to create aprons for the local group—women who celebrated life at every age and who
spent their time together in fellowship and friendship, and I was good with that. Working in the fashion industry in New York had taught me to expect surprises. Living back in my hometown of Bliss had taught me to embrace them. After my great-grandmother’s death, I’d moved home to live in her old yellow farmhouse right off the town square. I’d opened up Buttons & Bows, a custom dressmaking shop, and had since made two bridal gowns and countless bridesmaids’ dresses and homecoming frocks, as well as designs for town events such as period dresses for the Margaret Moffette Lea Pageant and Ball and a Christmas fashion show.

But at the moment I needed to focus on the bevy of red-hatted, purple-dressed women who had surrounded me. They had presented me with a task—to do something completely different from anything I’d done before.

I was ready for the challenge—or lack thereof, considering that an apron pattern didn’t require any advanced sewing skills. I homed in on Delta Lea Mobley, my neighbor—and apparently the leader of Bliss’s Red Hat ladies, all of whom currently stood in a half circle around me, looking expectant. Delta was a robust, rosy-cheeked woman with lots of soft curves, but her personality didn’t quite match. Although she looked like a middle-aged Mrs. Claus, there was no twinkle in her eye, no laughter in her voice, and no spring in her step. She had a serious demeanor and was known to get to the point in conversations—two characteristics that had helped her to gain a reputation as a no-nonsense businesswoman.

Her sisters, Coco and Sherri, on the other hand, had the same huggable shapes, but each had a joyful and friendly personality their sister lacked. Unfortunately, though, neither
of them happened to be anywhere near the church or the big white-tag sale tent set up in the church parking lot. So I was stuck with Delta.

“Harlow, I know you’re a big-shot fashion designer and all, and at first we thought Jeanette Mayweather could make them, but her mother has pneumonia. Do you think you can handle making these aprons?”

So I was the second choice. Not surprising, given the animosity between my family and Delta’s. Nana’s goats had destroyed the Mobleys’ foliage more than once, and it chapped Delta’s hide that she had to share a property line with a goat farm. The granddam of Nana’s Sundance Kids herd had led the other goats straight into the Mobley yard on more than one occasion, and I’d had a few run-ins with my neighbor since I’d moved back to Bliss, mostly because of Nana’s goats. Delta; her husband, Anson; her daughter, Megan, and her husband, Todd Bettincourt; and her mother, Jessie Pearl Trapper, all lived next door to me. I knew I was responsible for the goats’ trespassing simply by association. At least in Delta’s mind.

“I thought—” She broke off, then waved her hands at the other Red Hat ladies. “
We
thought you could probably make aprons, too. I’m not sure how creative you can get with them. We want something more than burlap sacks, you know.”

“I’m not a big shot, Delta,” I said, knowing her abrasive attitude didn’t spill over to the other women in her Red Hat group.

Cynthia Homer, her ginger hair shimmering in the soft light of the morning, sucked in a bolstering breath. “We’re
hoping
you’ll be able to fit it into your schedule,” she said,
shooting daggers at Delta. “We’d be honored if you’d do our small project, in fact. Just tickled pink.”

I ignored Delta’s mean streak and mustered up a healthy dollop of sweetness, dropping it into my voice. “I’d love to make y’all some aprons,” I said, knowing the moment I spoke that it was absolutely true.

The tense expressions on the women’s faces relaxed. Cynthia clasped her hands together. “Harlow Jane, that’s wonderful. They’re for our first ever progressive dinner. Of course, you’ll have to come to that, too. Bring that nice fellow of yours.”

I would gladly bring my boyfriend, Will Flores, anywhere, but I had no idea what a progressive dinner was.

“It’s a dinner party on the go,” Delta said. She must have recognized the confusion in my expression. “The dinner is broken into courses. We start with appetizers at one house, then move on to soup or salad at the next, and so on. By the time the evening is over, we’ve been to five or six houses and had a full meal.”

“It’s a dinner party on the move,” Randi Martin said. “Shakes things up a little bit.”

Cynthia extended her index finger and counted the women surrounding me, her mouth moving but no words coming out. “With everyone, that’ll be seven aprons. We need ’em finished a week from next Friday for the dinner. Can you do that?”

I barely stopped myself from sputtering. “Two weeks?”

They were just aprons, but still, I had other obligations. Although I could push off the good-luck outfit I was putting together for my grandmother for her upcoming Sundance
Kids open house—that wasn’t for another month, and I hadn’t quite decided what to make for Nana that would suit her.

“That should be a piece of cake for you, Harlow,” Delta said, shouldering Cynthia out of the way. “Especially for something as pedestrian as aprons. Why, I’ve seen you whip out homecoming dresses and those bridal gowns in a matter of days. Aprons have to be the easiest thing on the face of the earth for someone with your sewing finesse.”

I couldn’t decide whether she was trying to be nice now and I’d just been imagining the healthy dose of sarcasm I’d heard in her voice a minute ago or if she really was just wickedly nasty. Maybe it was a genuine compliment and she
was
trying to butter me up, but I wasn’t sure.

What I couldn’t tell her was that my hesitation wasn’t due to how easy or difficult the aprons themselves would be to make. She was right. I could pull off a period dress in a day if I had to. My hesitation stemmed from my magical charm. I had inherited a family charm that enhanced my dressmaking skills, but I had to get a sense of someone’s personality before I could select the right design for them or even pick out the best textiles to use. Two weeks did not allow for much time to get a reading on seven women—not to mention that I had made a commitment to volunteer at the church tag sale.

“Of course, if you
can’t
do it . . .” she said, trailing off.

And just like that, I recognized that she was challenging me for some reason. She wanted me to fail.

“Oh, I can do it,” I said, realizing a second too late that I’d fallen smack into her trap, hook, line, and sinker.

She shook her head and directed her gaze toward the
porch roof, as if she didn’t believe I could make seven complete aprons in time. “I don’t know. . . .”

“Well, I do.” This time I was fully aware that I was being played.

But Delta Lea Mobley would not get the better of me.

Or maybe she already had.

“If you’re sure,” she said, still not sounding convinced, but I noticed the corner of her mouth quirk up and her eyes crinkle just slightly, and a new thought crossed my mind. Maybe she really wanted me to make the aprons, and she just didn’t know how to get past the Mobley-Cassidy family feud.

“Enough, Delta, good Lord,” Cynthia said, batting Delta’s arm. Her jaw was set, her mauve-colored lips thinning with her aggravation. “They’re aprons for a dinner party, for pity’s sake, not
Project Runway
extravaganzas.”

“And Harlow said she can do it,” Georgia Emmons said. Georgia looked like a former beauty queen with her long eyelashes, thick auburn hair, and hourglass shape. She was like an ageless Mary Tyler Moore.

They were talking about me as if I weren’t right there front and center. I wanted to wave my hands and shout,
I’m here! I can hear you!
But instead I kept my mouth shut. I knew the Red Hatters were showing me their support, but I felt I had gotten a glimpse behind the curtain, seen a softer side of Delta. Or at least as soft as she was able to show me. She was always tough as nails, but she had a heart.

They were all so different, but the Red Hats united them, and I could tell they were a tight group of friends. Figuring each of them out and making their aprons would be a fun task, and I was already anticipating the challenges and end results.

“Right,” Bennie Cranford added. “We’re not walking the runway, it’s just dinner. Well, not really
just
dinner, with the down-home theme, but you know. This isn’t Dallas high society.”

Randi Martin hung back, clearly uncomfortable at the direction of the conversation. She wrung her hands in front of her without saying anything. Her short, spiked silvery hair made her long, narrow face look longer and more narrow, her tan skin accentuating the map of wrinkles. She’d enjoyed too much sun during her salad days, and now her skin was paying the price. “Harlow said she’d do it, so you can stop arguing,” she finally said, her voice small. If someone yelled,
Boo!
, I was afraid she’d clutch her heart and keel over. Still, most of the ladies acknowledged her with a nod. She had made a good point.

“You know me,” Delta said brusquely. “No holds barred. Life’s too short to not say what you mean. Harlow,” she said, turning to me, “I’m pleased you’ll make the aprons. Do us proud.”

“Delta thinks she should say every thought she has just the second she has it. Not always a good thing,” Cynthia said.

“No, it’s not,” Delta admitted. Under her breath, she muttered, “I’ve learned that the hard way,” but then she smiled.

“Water under the bridge,” Randi said, squeezing Delta’s upper arm.

Cynthia nodded. “Like Delta always said, this town leaks like a sieve. It’s a lesson learned. You have something to hide, you best do your business in Granbury or Glen Rose, or some such. There aren’t any secrets in Bliss.” Cynthia stepped closer to Delta, leaning in and lowering her voice a touch,
although we could all still make out what she was saying. “You know that now.”

I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, but that’s what came with years and years of friendship. It was almost like a secret language between tribe members, and no outsider could decipher the true meaning of what was being said.

After another minute of whispering, they turned back to me. “All set, then? Seven aprons by next Friday?”

“I’ll start planning them right away,” I said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Harlow,” Delta said, recovered from whatever pall had slipped over her a moment ago, “I’ll see you later at my house. We can talk about my apron then.” I was happy to oblige, but I didn’t have time to say so before she turned on her sensible flats and marched off in the direction of the cemetery.