Deadly Patterns (3 page)

Chapter 3

Nurse Jude Cranford, a forty-something woman who lived in her nurse’s scrubs and Dansko clogs and whom I’d become tight with over the last several hours at Presbyterian Hospital, navigated my wheelchair through the corridor. She prattled on about the storm outside, how she lived just down the street from my grandparents, and how she was glad she’d taken the extra shift, since she got to meet me, because normally she worked Labor and Delivery. “Four days a week, twelve-hour shifts,” she said. “But I love the ward, and it’s good for J.R. to wash his own clothes and cook his own meals—not a bad thing, what with how he smells, what with running the farm.”

I shifted my aching body to take the pressure off my bruised hip and continued to half listen to Jude. At the mention of the pregnancy ward, my To Do list suddenly shot to the front of my mind. Finalizing my plans for my friend Josie Kincaid’s maternity outfits for the Winter Wonderland fashion show was at the top of it. I’d left her creations for last in case her baby bump grew. Which it had. She was five months along, but when she’d come for her last round of measurements, her belly had grown several inches.

Nurse Jude wheeled my chair past the information desk, heading straight for the automatic double doors. “So what really happened?” she asked me. “Was there ice? Did you see that poor man fall?”

“No,” I said, wishing, not for the first time, that none of us had lollygagged in the foyer. Maybe we’d have seen Dan Lee Chrisson go onto the widow’s walk and could have stopped him. Or saved him. Maybe then something would have turned out differently.

“He was going to play Santa at the festival?” Jude asked.

“He was,” I said, my mind suddenly spiraling. Not only was the poor man dead, but the kids wouldn’t have a Santa.

We approached the doors and they whooshed open, a wall of brittle cold pushing against us. I pulled my coat up over my lap and the scene from earlier replayed in my head. My chest tightened as I remembered the rush of the air against my face as I’d fallen. I’d had the fleeting thought that I would be joining Meemaw a lot sooner than planned.

I closed the door on those thoughts, thinking instead that I needed to touch base with Mrs. James to make sure the tent was fixed, find someone new to play Santa at the event, and . . . what else? I’m sure there were other things that needed doing, but for the life of me I couldn’t think what they were. The edges of my mind felt fuzzy, some of my thoughts out of reach.

Mama and Nana had left me with Jude while they went to bring Mama’s Jeep around to the pickup area. They arrived and were out of the car in seconds flat as they saw me, each of them taking one of my arms and pulling me up to standing. As Jude moved the wheelchair out of the way, Mama gave me a good once-over and said, “Bless your heart, Harlow Jane.” Her hand fluttered toward me for just a second before she pulled herself together, swallowing hard and throwing her shoulders back. Tessa Cassidy was a tough cookie, but having her only daughter fall nearly to her death had forced a crack in the veneer. “You sure you’re okay, baby?”

Nana scoffed. “She fell from a roof. Of course she’s not okay.” But she lowered her chin and with her next breath she said, “Now then, Ladybug, you’re gonna be just fine, you hear me?”

The Cassidy women weren’t known for their over-abundance of emotions. What with hiding our magical charms since . . . forever, we’d had to learn to be restrained. But Mama and Nana both looked about as strung out as I’d ever seen them. My eyes welled, but Jude clearing her throat broke the moment. “The doctor’s given her the green light to go home. She just needs to take it easy. Probably should steer clear of the widow’s walk over at the Denison place,” she added with a chastising smile.

“You think?” I said with a little laugh. But truth be told, I knew I’d have to go back to the mansion soon. Although it could wait until tomorrow, assuming the raging storm didn’t knock the whole of Bliss off the power grid. Which would be bad. No power would mean it would be next to impossible to work on Josie’s ensembles and get them done in time for the show.

Mama and Nana fussed over me, helping me into the Jeep. I waved to Jude. She raised her hand and gave a little nod. The second Mama drove off of the hospital grounds, she peered at me in the rearview mirror and Nana whipped around to face me. “What in tarnation happened?” Nana practically barked.

I stared at them. “What do you mean?”

“How did you fall? That’s what I wanna know,” Mama said at the same moment Nana said, “You attract death like honey attracts a bee. Do you know that, Ladybug?”

“Whoa, what are you talking about?” I threw up my hands, grimacing at the shooting pain in my side. The doctor had given me the green light to go on home, but the painkillers hadn’t completely taken away the throbbing that the fall had inflicted on my body.

The rain changed direction and Mama hit a slick of water. The Jeep skidded and then lurched. I careened against the door, righting myself with a grimace as she straightened the car out.

Mama went on as if nothing had happened, heaving a sigh. “Hoss says those screws were stripped and that railing was an accident waitin’ to happen. He’s comin’ by to talk to you tomorrow.” She paused weightily. “And that boy of his—” She paused, gritting her teeth like she could hardly stand to utter his name. “His boy Gavin had the audacity to say how strange it is that you’re connected first with Nell’s death, next with Macon Vance, and now with Santa Claus.”

“The only unnatural deaths Bliss has had in who knows how many years,” Nana spit out. “Girl, you gotta stop gettin’ yourself involved in stuff like this.”

I stared at them both. “It’s not as if I’m asking for folks to up and die around me. And I certainly didn’t have anything to do with Dan Lee Chrisson falling from a roof. Why in the world does the sheriff think it wasn’t an accident? Dan Lee kept to himself, from what I know.”

“He didn’t say,” Mama muttered, turning her gaze back to the road, the windshield wipers slapping as they tried to keep up with the downpour. I stared at the back of their heads. From the outside looking in, I supposed it did look suspicious. The sleepy little town of Bliss had been just fine until I’d returned home. Now we were two murders in—three if what Sheriff McClaine and Deputy McClaine suspected was true and Dan Lee had been pushed off the widow’s walk.

“I hardly knew the man,” I said, more to myself than to them, and instantly, all the other people who’d been at the Denison place danced through my mind. Mrs. James and Mrs. Abernathy had both been working with Dan Lee, and Arnie and Hattie knew him well. Could anyone else have come and gone while none of us had been looking? I had heard the door slam once or twice, and Hattie had been talking to someone. Raylene, perhaps?

“Well, I knew him. Maggie’s been mighty sweet on him, and she’s beside herself. Hasn’t been back to the farm since she found out, and she practically lived there, you know,” Nana said, shaking her head sadly. “I don’t think she’s coming back to work, bless her heart.”

My head pounded. Even in the protection of the closed-in Jeep, the cold was suddenly bone-chilling. Why did Dan Lee Chrisson have to die, and why, oh why was I involved in yet another murder?

Chapter 4

The Cassidy family story goes way back, all the way to the days of famous outlaw Butch Cassidy. No one ever said outlaws were a faithful bunch. And I’d recently discovered that, thanks to Butch’s unfaithfulness, the Cassidy clan included other Bliss residents—namely Sandra and Libby James, the daughter and granddaughter of Zinnia.

Butch’s long-ago legendary wish in an Argentinean fountain had given good fortune to his descendants in the form of magical charms. Namely: What Meemaw wanted, she’d gotten, including me back home in Bliss. Nana could communicate with her goats. Mama could make plants grow or wither away and die, depending upon her mood. And me? I’d recently discovered that when I designed outfits for people, their deepest desires were realized.

Sandra and Libby James, descendants of Etta James and Butch by way of Senator Jebediah James, were also charmed.

Until now, I hadn’t had the occasion to experience their charms firsthand, but I’d woken up the morning after my fall from the widow’s walk to the soul-comforting scent of biscuits baking in the oven, gravy simmering on the stove, and my favorite Extra Bold Dark Magic coffee running through my coffeemaker.

I stepped gingerly down the stairs, taking it nice and slow, pausing and regrouping at the landing. I’d been sore the night before, but now I was stiff, too. And black and blue under my black stretch workout pants and long-sleeved gray thermal tee. Fuzzy socks with skid-resistant soles completed the outfit. A designer’s look it wasn’t, but for practical post-fall recovery? Perfect.

“We’re here to help,” Sandra, my half cousin, announced as I hobbled into the kitchen. “I don’t really sew, and neither does Libby, but we can cook and clean and help you with whatever you need while your mom and grandma help you with the dresses you have left.”

“Thanks—,” I began, but Libby piped up.

“And the Santa suit.”

The smile that had been forming on my lips, the only part of my body that wasn’t aching, froze. “What Santa suit?”

A visible shiver passed over her. “If I was a kid, there’s no way I’d sit on Santa’s lap if his suit had blood on it.”

I swallowed. “Blood?”

Sandra took the tray of biscuits out of the oven, plopped one on a plate next to an over-easy egg, and ladled white, peppered gravy on top until the biscuit and egg were practically floating in it. She set it down on the pine table, pulling the chair out and gesturing for me to sit.

“The impact from the fall,” she said, darting a worried glance at Libby.

Death was never easy, but the demise of Santa Claus, even if he was just playing dress-up, felt particularly bad.

“I figured you’d whip up a new one,” she said.

People who didn’t sew seemed to think a seamstress could simply bat her eyes, as in
I Dream of Jeannie
, and voilà! An outfit would be ready. Yes, I could make a Santa suit. It was just yards and yards of velvety red fabric trimmed with white fur. But it was one more thing to add to my To Do list. The same To Do list that was already the length of my left arm.

“I suppose I can,” I said finally. I’d have to take some measurements, do a fitting or two, but I could pull it off. “But we don’t have a replacement Santa yet,” I went on, taking a bite of gravy-smothered biscuit and egg.

We all turned as heavy-booted steps came from the back porch, the Dutch door swung open, and my protégée, Gracie Flores, rushed in. And then, as if the universe had heard my unasked question and was providing an answer, her father, Will, stepped over the threshold.

Long before I ever set foot back in Bliss, Meemaw did a fancy behind-the-scenes two-step with Will Flores. The deal they agreed on was that if he did handyman work for her, I’d give sewing lessons to Gracie whenever I returned home.

The handyman work continued, and Gracie’s sewing lessons had turned into an apprenticeship. The girl had talent. She was interested in draping, pattern design, and the intricacies of the fashion world, and having her around after her school day and on weekends made my days feel pretty complete. She could read fabric as if the cross grains were words on a page. The result was that the Floreses spent nearly as much time in my farmhouse as they did in their own house out on Hickory Creek Road.

All Meemaw’s doing.

Will stopped in the doorway, his gaze quickly landing on me, an unspoken thread of concern passing between us. A burst of emotion welled up in me at the expression on his swarthy face. His lips pulled into a frown above his goatee, and he pushed back the Longhorns cap he wore. It seemed as if he was ready to say something, but then he looked at the others in the room and closed his mouth, stifling whatever it was he’d wanted to say.

But the second Gracie laid eyes on me, she rushed forward, her brown-flecked green eyes puffy and red-rimmed. “I’m sorry we didn’t come to the hospital,” she blurted, swiping her fingers under her eyes and brushing her dark hair back from her face.

I fluttered my hands, waving away her concern. In all my years away from Bliss, I’d only ever been close friends with Orphie Cates. My jobs in fashion had kept me so busy that I didn’t have any time to form a real social circle in Manhattan. Now I looked around my kitchen with the distressed pale yellow cabinets, the butter-colored replica appliances, the deep white farmhouse sink, and the large red-and-white-checkerboard-patterned curtain on a pressure rod below the sink—and the people who were part of my family, both by blood and by choice.

Sandra was plating more biscuits and eggs. Southern hospitality meant feeding whoever crossed our threshold. Libby made another cup of coffee in one of my black and gold Maximilian mugs.

“I’m fine,” I said once I knew my voice wouldn’t tremble. “Truly.”

“Did you really fall off a roof?” Gracie blurted. In true teenage fashion, the girl cut to the chase.

“I sure did. Guess I can check that off my scuttle list.” I laughed.

Gracie’s brows pulled together. “What’s that?”

“You know, a scuttle. A bucket. Like a bucket list. Things to do before I die. Falling off a roof—” Holding an imaginary pencil, I made an invisible mark in the air. “Check.”

Sandra glided across the kitchen, sliding the two plates of biscuits and gravy onto the table. I breathed in the ribbon of scent from the food until a calmness settled over me. Her gift. Her cooking accentuated a person’s emotions. Thankfully, right now all I wanted was to feel calm, and Sandra’s food filled me with a sense of ease I hadn’t felt since the fall. I knew that with each bite of the biscuits and gravy, I’d find more and more tranquillity. As long as nothing else happened to stir the pot.

Will, on the other hand, looked like he was getting more agitated. This was the thing about the Cassidy charms. They weren’t always a blessing. Just the aroma of the food Sandra had made heightened Will’s emotions, and right now he seemed to be pretty worked up over my fall. His hands clenched and he finally stepped inside, sucking in a deep breath before he said, “You could have died.”

“Right,” Sandra said. “She’s lucky she lived to tell the tale.”

“Yes, she is,” Will said. He still hung back, shoving his hands in his pockets. I got the feeling he wanted to move closer, to inspect my injuries, make sure I was okay, but he stopped himself, letting his shoulders hunch in as he leaned against the molding at the door.

“It was an accident—”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re damn lucky,” he said. “I’m going over to that house today to see exactly what happened.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want him spending his time at the Denison mansion. “Don’t the police have it cordoned off, or something? Are we even allowed in?”

“They were in and out of there. I’m pretty sure Mrs. James got the senator to pull a few strings and make sure the Winter Wonderland festival and fashion show could go on as planned.”

“You don’t have to go, Will. The railing came loose. Hattie said it had been giving Arnie and Dan trouble,” I said. “I slipped is all.” Maybe it was denial, but I didn’t want to believe something sinister was behind Dan Lee’s death. Bliss had seen enough of murder in recent months.

“But it shouldn’t have come loose,” he said.

“Dad.” Gracie stretched out the word, her message clear. She wanted him to drop it.

Sweet girl. When I’d first met her, it had taken all of five minutes for her to grab hold of a piece of my heart. Already I knew she wasn’t ever letting go, and I didn’t want her to. She was like a little sister, or a close friend . . . or even a daughter.

But Will wasn’t going to be placated by Gracie. His normally mischievous, sparkling eyes were dark and brooding. “You fell off a second-story roof, Cassidy,” he said, and suddenly he pushed away from the wall and strode to where I sat at the table. He flipped his baseball cap around to face backward and bent down beside me, laying a hand on my knee. Then he touched his fingers to my cheek. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I’m fine,” I said, part of me wanting to convince him that I wasn’t shaken up from the fall, and a smaller part of me wanting to lean against him and feel safe.

Before I could do either, the pipes in the ceiling moaned. Which could mean only one thing: Meemaw was nearby. My great-grandmother had gotten what she wanted when I returned to Bliss—it was her Cassidy charm—and while her passing had made that happen, she hadn’t let go of this life yet. Her ghostly presence had lingered in the old farmhouse, flipping pages of books, causing warm patches of air to encircle me, and occasionally trying to materialize, but mostly she just made the pipes creak. It was her most reliable means of communication. Right now she was probably worried about me, too, and that concern might well work her into a ghostly tizzy. Not something I wanted to deal with at the moment, since only Nana and Mama knew that my house was haunted.

“Mrs. James called while you were sleeping,” Sandra said. “She’s awful worried about you.”

I made a mental note to phone her later, to reassure her that I was fine and to let her know that I would still be able to finish everything for the Winter Wonderland festival.

The bells on the front door of the house, which doubled as the entrance to Buttons & Bows, jingled, the hard clomp of cowboy boots sounded against the scraped pecan wood floors, and Deputy Gavin McClaine and his father, my mother’s boyfriend, Sheriff Hoss McClaine, appeared. They traipsed through the front room of my shop, up the three steps to the little dining area, and through the archway to the kitchen. “Well, well,” the deputy said. “Got yourselves a nice little party here.” He nodded to me. “Harlow. Good to see you up and about after your tumble yesterday.”

Gavin McClaine had an ego the size of Yosemite Sam’s ten-gallon hat and then some, and while he said the right thing, his words dripped with sarcasm. He seemed anything but glad to see me up and about, mostly fallout from the fact that he didn’t like that his daddy and my mama were sweet on each other.

Will stood and leveled his gaze at the deputy. “The same fall killed a man. I’d say that was more than a tumble.”

The deputy folded his arms over his chest, eyeing Will’s UT hat. Gavin was an Aggie, a natural rival to a Longhorn, and the scowl on his face made it clear he didn’t like the burnt orange Will was sporting. “I reckon you’re right,” he said. He let his gaze slip to me for just a second as he added, “Harlow always was a little bit charmed.”

Oh Lord, there it was. We all worked so hard to fly under the radar and keep our charms mostly to ourselves. None of us wanted to be on the receiving end of a witch hunt. But try as we might, people saw the flowers Mama grew, and they witnessed Nana’s connection with her goats. The rumors were there, and Gavin had dropped more than a few hints about my family’s gifts. What I didn’t know was if he was just spouting off, or if he really knew something about our magic.

Hoss, bless his heart, had a mite more sense under his cream-colored suede cowboy hat than his son had under his black one. The sheriff ran his thumb across the tuft of hair just below his lower lip, but stopped to pat the air with the palms of his hands. “All right, now. Let’s just simmer down. Harlow, your mama was worried sick. Glad to see you’re all right.”

The sheriff and I had had our share of run-ins years ago. Tipping cows and outrunning trains in the dark were not just rural activities done by country kids in the movies. They were real-life happenings in a small town like Bliss, and my brother, Red, and I had done our fair share of troublemaking. But we’d reached a truce, which was more than I could say about me and Gavin. “Thank you kindly, Sheriff,” I said.

For a good while, I thought I’d lost all my Southernness, but bit by bit it crept back into me. You could take the girl out of Texas, but you couldn’t take Texas out of the girl. “What can I do for you?” I asked as Libby handed a mug of coffee to Will and another to Gavin. The sheriff shook his head at her, so she went back to her plate of biscuits and gravy.

“Have a few questions for you. Figured it’d be a mite easier on you if we came here instead of having you come on down to the Sheriff’s Department.”

The Sheriff’s Department was a converted Baptist church just a hop, skip, and jump away from Buttons & Bows, but the idea of walking there, or trying to climb into my old truck, sent a shock wave through my body. I didn’t think I could walk to my workroom without grimacing from the pain.

“Mighty peculiar that you happened to be in the vicinity of yet another dead body, don’t you think, Harlow?” Gavin hadn’t taken his eyes off me, and now he set his lips in a hard line. “Mighty peculiar.”

“More bad luck,” I said, although to be truthful, I didn’t think he was that far off the mark.

Hoss sent his son a look that said to zip his lips, and then turned back to me. “We have reason to believe that the railing on that widow’s walk was tampered with, Harlow. Did you know Dan Lee Chrisson? The deceased,” he added.

And we were off to the races. “Depends how you define the word ‘know,’ Sheriff. I’ve met him a few times. He’s been working on the renovations, and I’ve been there working on the fashion show plans.”

“He was playing Santa at the festival, is that right?” Gavin sounded more like he was cross-examining me than doing a friendly post-accident follow-up.