A Seamless Murder (12 page)

This chair was black framed with black-and-white floral fabric on the back and seat cushions. I sat, watching her hands tremble slightly as she unwrapped the next figurine. One by one, she examined the five Lladró figurines I’d brought back with me from the church, and then she raised her head and turned to look at me. “I knew they were missing,” she said to Todd, “But I don’t understand. Todd?”

Todd raked his fingers through his dark blond hair, the ends standing up. “She gave me the boxes to donate. I asked her if there was anything Megan could sell. She said there wasn’t, that this was all a bunch of junk, so I took them.”

“A bunch of junk,” Jessie Pearl repeated, her head low. “Doesn’t that beat all?”

She handed me the Dressmaker. “Would you put them back on the shelves for me?”

“Of course.” I took it, admiring it once more before standing. I ran my finger over the delicate lines of the woman’s dress, over the base. The ceramic was cool to the touch and smooth . . . until my thumb brushed over something barely poking out of the bottom of the figurine. I turned the Dressmaker over to see what looked like a bit of white paper tucked into the small hole there. My mind raced. Surely Delta hadn’t left a message in the figurine. Or had she?

I turned to Megan. “There’s something in here. Do you have a pair of tweezers?”

The color drained from Megan’s face, and she looked as if she’d seen a ghost, but she nodded, popped up, and ran down the hallway, returning a few seconds later with the tool. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as I poked the end of the tweezers into the opening, emerging a moment later with a scrap of paper rolled tightly like a cigarette.

Jessie Pearl peered at me, then at the note in my hand. “Oh my stars, don’t tell me . . .”

“Mother,” Megan said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.

Mama and I looked at each other, then at Megan. “Are you okay?” I asked.

Megan ran the back of her hand under her nose, her face close to collapsing. “Ever since I was a little girl, my mother would leave little notes for me.”

“I did the same for her and her sisters,” Jessie Pearl said, her own voice quiet as she recalled the memory. “I’d put notes in their lunches every once in a while, but they squealed in delight when I got creative. I’d put them in their pillow cases, tape them to their mirrors, I’d roll them around the handle of their toothbrushes.”

“Mother did the same thing,” Megan said. “The best was the time she came on campus after school was out for the day. When I came to school the next day and went to my locker, there was a note taped to the inside of the slats.
Hail or storm, rain or shine, I’ll protect you always, because you’re mine.
I still have that note,” she said.

I went back to the chair next to Jessie Pearl and unrolled the paper, holding it so we could both see the message scribbled there.

Collins College. No record. Alias?

Jessie Pearl’s snapped her gaze at me. “That’s Delta’s handwriting, but what kind of note is that?”

Not a sweet endearment,
I thought.

“Delta packed up the last box for the tag sale after you left that night,” Jessie Pearl said to me. “She must have added the Lladrós, but why?”

A chill crept up my spine. Was the note a clue? Had she suspected harm might come to her? If so, why not simply tell someone?

Megan voiced the same question. “Why would she leave notes in figurines she gave away? If she wanted me—or someone—to find them, why not put them somewhere obvious?”

If the note was discovered and she was fine, she could laugh it off. Or she could have bought back the Lladrós herself. But if something
did
happen to her, there was a chance the note would be discovered by whoever purchased them at the tag sale. Was it a bread-crumb trail?

There was no guarantee of discovery, but on the other hand, if she’d been hypothesizing, hiding the cryptic message was the safest way not to draw undesirable attention.

“Notes,” I repeated, realizing that Megan had spoken in the plural. “Oh mercy, I bet there are others.” I grabbed the bag and withdrew the other four figurines I’d found at the tag sale. One by one, I pried scraps of paper from the hollow insides of the Lladrós, handing them to Jessie Pearl. Each had a different message.

No history. No past.

Regret. It’s useless, but I’m sorry, Megs.

Friendships are not what they seem. Ask Rebecca.

The cemetery, five a.m. I will know the whole truth.

Tears flowed down Megan’s cheeks as she read the brief notes. She looked to the ceiling. “I don’t understand, Mother. What about Collins College? What are you sorry for?”

“Delta didn’t beat around the bush with things,” Jessie Pearl said. “Why in the devil would she be so cryptic?”

“Someone killed her, Jessie Pearl,” Todd said. “She must have been scared and trying to tell us something.”

“Why not just call us into the kitchen and say whatever was on her mind? For pity’s sake, how are we supposed to know what all this means?”

“She met her killer at the cemetery,” I mused aloud. “Why not go to the sheriff? Why would she risk her life?”

“She wasn’t sure about whatever she knew,” Mama said matter-of-factly. “But she was taking precautions. Just in case it went badly. If she wasn’t sure, she couldn’t just come out and accuse someone of whatever it was they’d done wrong—Delta had more integrity than that.”

I had to agree. She’d driven me crazy with the goat feud, but Delta wasn’t generally unreasonable.

“We need to show these to Hoss,” Mama said.

Everyone nodded in agreement, and Mama pulled out her
cell phone, making the call. “He’ll be here lickety-split,” she said a minute later.

“Put the figurines back,” Jessie Pearl said, handing me the Dressmaker.

I stood, carefully turning the tasseled key and opening the door to the hutch, and put the Dressmaker back where it had been. Todd handed me another Lladró and took the last three himself. “That one goes there,” he said to me, pointing to an empty space on the glass shelf. After he placed the three he held in their spots, I started to close the door, but stopped. There were at least nine other figurines in the curio cabinet, as well as three mini teapots and a few other knickknacks. Could there be messages in any of the others?

Quickly, I picked up each figurine, turned it over, and felt along the base for evidence of anything hidden inside. Nothing. I moved to the teapots, half listening to the chatter behind me about how Delta and Coco had created a system for communicating and passing notes to each other, excluding poor Sherri. “She was five years younger than Coco, seven years younger than Delta,” Jessie Pearl said. “The poor thing idolized her older sisters, and they tortured her.”

“That’s the benefit of being an only child,” Megan said, “but I still wish I had a brother or sister.”

I lifted the lid off one of the small teapots, tilted the base, and peered inside. Once again, I came up empty. I wasn’t holding my breath that I’d find anything more.
Wishful thinking
, I thought, but when I lifted the lid of the last one and looked inside, I saw a folded-up sheet of paper. My pulse kicked up a notch at the discovery. “There’s something here,” I said, poking two fingers inside of the opening to withdraw the potential clue.

“Let me see that,” Jessie Pearl said before I had a chance to unfold it myself. I’d wanted the first look, but instead, I handed it over to her. Her arthritic fingers slowly maneuvered the paper, undoing the folds. Finally, she had it spread out on her lap, and as she peered at it, she drew in a sharp breath. “Good Lord,” she muttered under her breath.

From where I stood, the half sheet looked worn and faded. “What is it, Granny?” Megan asked.

“Sherri wrote this one,” Jessie Pearl said, looking up at Megan, her eyes glassy. “To your mother. Let’s see, you’ve been married, what, going on six months now, is that right?”

“Right.” Todd nodded. “Love at first sight,” he added, winking at Megan.

She smiled faintly, turning to Mama and me with an explanation. “We fell in love practically overnight. Todd asked me to marry him on our one-month anniversary.”

“Wow, that’s incredible,” I said.

Will and I were taking our time getting to know each other, and I preferred it that way. I wanted to know just what I was getting before I made a lifelong commitment, and he did, too. But part of me admired people like Todd and Megan, who knew just what they wanted and didn’t wait before they went for it.

“What’s the note say?” Mama asked, circling back to Jessie Pearl.

“This must have been when they had that falling out, do you remember that?” Jessie Pearl asked. To us, she said, “Sherri and Delta were a bit like oil and water. Sherri was always trying to impress her big sister, but Delta wasn’t easily impressed. Sherri had told Delta about some antique show
she’d been at over in Plano and some of the people she’d met there. Someone she thought Delta knew or something. Do you remember that?” she asked Megan.

But Megan shook her head. “Not at all. They didn’t talk for a while, right? Sherri almost didn’t come to the wedding, remember that?” she asked Todd. He nodded, and she continued. “She told me that my mother was too mule-headed to listen, but I talked her into it. I told her it was my day, and that I wanted her there. I don’t think she wanted to come and see Mother, but she did anyway.”

“She stayed at a back table the whole reception,” Todd said, shaking his head at the memory. “What was the point? She just sat there, wouldn’t talk to anyone, hardly ate.”

We all turned back to the half sheet of paper Jessie Pearl had in front of her. “What does it say?” I asked.

Jessie Pearl cleared her throat and read aloud.

Will you ever listen to me, Delta? I’m right, and I hope that whenever you realize it, there isn’t a trail of broken hearts along the way because it was too late. You’ll always be my sister and I love you, but good God, you’re stubborn. I’ve hidden this note, as you and Coco used to do. Someday, when you find it, you’ll remember how I tried to warn you.

~Sherri

We stood in silence, processing the message from Sherri to Delta, hidden away. I didn’t understand the family’s penchant for note writing and note hiding. Why not simply say these things to one another? Why leave a note so well hidden
that it might never be found? “It’s like a purging of the soul,” I said under my breath. Maybe, as Sherri indicated, she’d tried to say what she’d wanted to in person, but it had fallen on deaf ears. Writing the note was a way to rid herself of the worry she couldn’t get her sister to listen to.

Were Delta’s notes the same? Maybe she didn’t care if they were ever found. Maybe they were more of a touchstone for herself. A way of getting her thoughts out without committing them to a diary or some other form of writing that could be found and misinterpreted.

I sighed. Too many questions and no way to answer them.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jessie Pearl said. “Sherri and Delta were fine. They picked at each other their whole lives, but sisters do that.”

“Sherri doesn’t much like conflict,” Todd said. “Maybe she was just unloading in a safe way.”

“Just what I was thinking,” I said.

Todd helped Jessie Pearl to her feet again, holding her by the wrist and elbow of one arm as he carefully guided her upright and handed her the crutches. “At least it wasn’t out of spite,” Jessie Pearl said, so softly I almost didn’t hear. The cryptic messages aside, it was a comfort to her that one of Delta’s last acts hadn’t been one of bitterness and sibling rivalry.

Megan dried her eyes as I looked at each of the notes again. After a moment, she sat us straighter. “What did it say about Rebecca?”

“Friendship is not what it seems. Ask Rebecca,” I said, repeating what was on the slip of paper.

“Ask Rebecca what?” She clasped her hands to the sides
of her head, pressing, her fingers curling until her fingernails clawed into her scalp.

“Call her,” Todd said, handing her his cell phone. “Ask her to come over.”

Megan shook her head. “I’ve been calling her since yesterday, but she’s not answering, and she hasn’t called me back.”

“Try again,” he prompted, handing her his cell phone.

Megan took it and stepped out of the way, letting Todd and Jessie Pearl lead the way back into the kitchen. Mama and I followed. “Still no answer. I left a message,” she said when she came in a minute later. She went back to the counter, sliding cookies off a tray and putting them on a plate. The kitchen held an array of aluminum casserole dishes, Styrofoam containers, a CorningWare dish filled with what looked like banana pudding, a few bottles of wine, and a variety of other things people had brought over. Feed a cold, starve a fever, and stuff grief.

She brought the plate to the kitchen table, setting it in the middle, then poured more coffee into the mugs we’d brought with us. Her eyes were vacant and unfocused, and my heart ached for her. She didn’t know what was going on any more than the rest of us, and it had been her mother. The notes, the apology, the reference to her friend. It was all puzzling, and Megan looked as if she was going to crack any second.

After the coffee was poured, she perched on her husband’s lap. Todd rested one hand on her hip. Despite their loss and the drama of the last half hour, they seemed close. A happy, young married couple with their future in front of them. I closed my eyes for a second, a glimpse of an apron for Megan coming to my mind. It was flirty with a gathered band
across the chest, a wide waistband, and a flared and ruffled skirt. Youthful and playful in a way the ones for the Red Hat ladies weren’t.

A quick image of a black, traditional apron flashed through my head. Todd wore it, a metal spatula in his hand. If I had time, I’d make one for him, too. I added it to my mental list.

Hoss McClaine would be here soon, and he’d start asking his own questions. In the meantime, I asked another of my own. “How’s your dad doing?”

Megan wiped away the last of her tears and said, “He’s still shaken up. We had the memorial for the family, and he couldn’t say good-bye. Wouldn’t go up to the casket. Wouldn’t look at her.” She squeezed Todd’s hand for strength.