Pleating for Mercy (13 page)

I stared at the hazy shape, but I couldn’t make out any details. There was no definition to the form, no structure or facial features visible, no limbs, and no color. It was like a curvy cloud. I couldn’t say it was a human form, but I was still sure it was Loretta Mae.

All the possible words to describe what I was seeing flew through my mind.
Wraith, specter, spirit, ghost, spook, apparition, phantom.
I didn’t know what to call her. I took a gingerly step forward. “Meemaw?”

In true Loretta Mae form, the apparition spun around, turning into a funnel cloud, skirting across the floor, passing right through the cutting table in the center of the room. I gasped.

“Is it really you?” I whispered, but quickly clamped my mouth shut as Mama and Nana plowed back into the kitchen. I held tight to Mama’s flowerpot, my fingers trembling and cold. The orchid shivered. The white of the petals had become brighter and the soft pink streaks had turned to a hot, vibrant color.

I stood there, shaking, as the wispy form shimmied in front of me.

“Did the goat come in here?” Nana searched the room, even crouching and looking under the table, but Mama stared at me. Stared at the flower. “Harlow, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

My jaw dropped. She didn’t see the apparition. Before I could answer, the front door to the shop flew open and Josie stumbled in.

“Harlow.” She collapsed onto the floor, leaning back against the wall as if she couldn’t hold herself upright, her sobs scattering away the spookiness.

With a furtive glance at Meemaw, I hurried to Josie, kneeling by her side. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Mama and Nana followed me back to the shop.

Tears streamed down Josie’s face. A dark trail of mascara stained her pale cheeks. “I-It’s N-Nate.”

Oh, God, was he hurt? Had there been an accident? “Tell me,” I said, my hand stroking her back.

“The sheriff—” She broke off, hiccuping and gasping for breath. “He . . . he . . . he’s saying Nate’s a person of interest . . .” She choked the rest of the words out. “They think he might be involved in Nell’s murder.”

“Please, Harlow,” Josie begged, “you have to help me. He didn’t kill Nell.”

My mind spun in circles. I wasn’t a police officer or a detective. I was a dressmaker. My expertise was in fabrics and design. Not to mention that given the way the sheriff’s people had combed through Buttons & Bows, I also might be a person of interest.

I didn’t know how to help Josie. But she was a friend—or at least she might become one as we got reacquainted. And her future was skittering down the drain.

Nana had skipped out to do the second daily milking of her does. I had gathered Josie and my mother around the kitchen table, where we sat sipping coffee.

“What exactly did the sheriff say?” I asked.

Josie wrapped her hands around her coral-colored mug and twisted it back and forth. “He asked me about Nell. He wanted to know about our friendship, how long I’d worked for her, plans for the store, if she had any enemies.”

Okay. Those all seemed like good questions. “What did you tell him?”

Her face was drawn. “I’ve worked at the bead shop for three years. I love it. Nell was a pretty good boss. We became friends.”

“What about enemies?” I asked. That seemed like the most pertinent question.

She looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. The morning at the sheriff’s office had taken its toll on her. “Not that I know of. She wasn’t real close to a lot of people, but I didn’t know anyone who didn’t like her.”

“And Nate . . . ?”

She hung her head, her bangs falling over her eyes in bedraggled clumps. “Apparently they went on a few dates once.”

“They . . . you mean Nate and Nell?”

“But it was a long time ago!”

All the breath left my body as Nell’s words came back to me like a sucker punch to the gut. “I hope he doesn’t break her heart.” She’d sounded like she cared about Josie, but what if she’d been speaking from her own experience with Nate? Had he broken Nell’s heart? Had she threatened to tell?

“How long ago?” Mama asked.

“Before I knew Nell,” she said, “so more than three years ago. Nate has no reason to k-kill Nell.”

Mama’s face was pensive as she listened to every word Josie uttered. She lowered her chin and I knew just what she was thinking. Hoss McClaine must have good reason to be watching Nate Kincaid, and a previous relationship with the victim fit the bill. I didn’t love it that the sheriff appeared to be sneaking around with my mother, but he’d always been as honest as the day is long.

If Nate had an alibi, he’d be in the clear. Had he offered one up to the sheriff? “Where was he last night?”

Josie spun her untouched coffee mug around. “Working.”

“With other people?” I asked.

She kept her eyes downcast. “I don’t know. He said he couldn’t talk about it.”

Josie had spent quite a while on her cell phone the night before after discovering Nell’s body in the bluebonnet patch. She’d spent a lot of that time talking to Nate’s mother, but had she talked to him? “Did you call him last night?”

A little spasm crossed her pale face, there and gone so quickly I thought I imagined it. “He wasn’t able to take any calls.”

So Josie didn’t know where he’d been, hadn’t talked to him, and he wasn’t offering up an alibi. That didn’t bode well for Nate. But if Nate had killed Nell, why would he step one foot in the sheriff’s office? Wouldn’t the murderer steer clear of the authorities?

Either he wasn’t guilty . . . or he was playing a dangerous game.

“He burst in on the sheriff and me this morning and demanded to know what was going on, why I was being interrogated again. He was like my knight in shining armor, you know?”

What I knew was that Josie sounded like she was trying to convince herself that he was her white knight.

“It’ll sort itself out,” Mama said, laying her hand on Josie’s shoulder.

One way or another.

Josie’s face clouded as she looked at Mama. “I don’t know. The sheriff asked me to step out so he could talk to Nate alone. They were in there for a good hour. And when they came out of the room—” Her mouth pulled down on either side and her eyes welled with tears. “When they came out of the room,” she said around her sobs, “he warned Nate to stick around and said he’d be seeing him real soon.”

My sketchbook was propped up on the kitchen counter, still open to the final sketch of Josie’s wedding gown. It was like a beacon, drawing my eye. I’d wanted so much for it to be the perfect dress for her, to weave in her wishes and dreams so they’d come true. But everything in Bliss was suddenly unraveling and I was completely at a loss. “I don’t know what I can do,” I said, circling back to her asking me for help.

Clutching my hands, she looked at me with her doe eyes. “He had nothing to do with Nell’s death.” She pulled one hand free and wiped away a stray tear. “I shouldn’t have brought up the investigation. The wedding’s in eleven days. All you need to do is make the dresses.”

Mama and I both started, flashing each other another look.

“Josie,” Mama said, “maybe you’d best sleep on things. See how you feel in the morning.”

She scraped her chair back and stood up, pulling herself together. “Uh-uh. I don’t need to sleep on anything.” She angled her head to the side, looking calm and in control again. “He’s innocent.”

She knelt in front of me, taking my hands. “He’s the one, Harlow. I know Nell never believed he loved me. I don’t know, maybe she still had feelings for him. Maybe she saw everyone else in relationships and was jealous. But he loves me. I
know
he does. Just like I know he’s innocent.”

Suddenly Josie was eleven years old and trailing behind me, telling me she wished she was a Cassidy and had a family like I did. I blinked, and the image slipped away. Slowly, I nodded. “If I have anything to do with it, there will be a wedding. I’ll make the dresses, Josie, and I’ll keep my ears open, too.”

“Harlow!” Mama hissed under her breath, but I ignored her.

I’d do whatever I could to either prove Nate’s innocence or prove his guilt. Either way, Josie would have an answer, and hopefully the security of the family she’d always wanted. And I’d be able to live with myself.

Josie stood up and flipped her bangs out of her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, breathing out as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. “Should we do a fitting or something?”

The muslin mock-up was far enough along for her to try on. I started to follow her to the workroom, but Mama grabbed hold of my sleeve, pulling me to a stop. “Harlow Jane Cassidy, what do you think you’re doin’?”

I gingerly unwrapped her fingers from my arm. “I’m helping a friend.”

“You’ve known that girl for twenty-four hours.”

I tapped my thumb against the tips of my fingers like I was counting. “Plus about twenty-five years, give or take.”

“Goin’ to school together doesn’t mean you know her. Or Nate Kincaid.” She gave me a slow, appraising look. “You and I both know that family will do anything they can to get out of a prickly situation.”

“Maybe Nate really
has
changed.”

She shook her head, not willing to give an inch.

No matter what Mama thought, Josie had asked me for help. She wanted to believe in her fiancé. How could I turn my back on her?

But he’s a Kincaid,
I thought,
and being a Kincaid means looking out for no one but yourself
.

I slammed the door on the little voice in my head. I’d made my mind up and nothing would change it. “If he
is
guilty, she’s going to need a friend. And if he’s not, then someone else killed Nell on
my
property. Maybe even after being in
my
shop.” None of that sat well with me. In fact, it pretty much had my head swirling in a frenzy of disbelief.

I’d always gauged a lot of my decisions by Loretta Mae’s standards, just like all the Cassidy women did. She was like our moral compass. “What would Meemaw do?” I asked, shooting a lightning-quick glance around the kitchen in case Meemaw’s nebulous form suddenly reappeared, but there were no disturbances to the air.

“She’d help out a friend, no question,” Mama said with a sigh.

And that was that.

By the time I ushered Mama out the back door and got to the workroom, Josie was in her body shaper and the muslin dress sample, such as it was, holding it closed at the side.

My stomach was still twisted over the revelation that Nell and Nate had dated. Did that mean dated, as in chaste and innocent, or
dated
, as in a passionate relationship? I doubted Josie knew the details, so despite her brave front, her gut was probably in complete knots.

She climbed onto the old milk crate I’d found in the backyard as I looked for my pincushion. It was not where I’d left it. I finally spotted it on the shelf that had attacked Nell, sitting in front of a row of button-filled mason jars.

“
Meemaw,
you trickster,” I said under my breath, but inside I smiled. It comforted me to know that she was present in the house. I studied the sample dress on Josie, thinking about the cut and the fit. Meemaw had taught me to “check twice, sew once.” No pattern—ready-made or custom—ever fit a person perfectly. This was no exception.

I got right to work, using a red, fine-tipped marker and pin-basting the new seams on the muslin so I’d get the perfect fit on the actual garment. Making a muslin sample took extra time, but it was worth the effort. It would serve as my pattern when I was done, and it would guarantee the wedding dress would fit properly. Better to tweak and manipulate inexpensive muslin than the expensive silk.

My hopes for Josie—that Nate was innocent and that their marriage would be filled with love and family—flowed through my fingers and into the fabric as I pricked it with the sharp points of the dressmaker pins. But if I was going to help them, I had to ask the hard questions. “So Nate never mentioned he and Nell had . . . dated?”

There was a heavy pause before she answered.

“No. Neither did she.” She swallowed before continuing and I knew she was working hard to hold herself together. “He . . . he told me after he talked to the sheriff. He said he didn’t want me to hear it from someone else.”

I couldn’t help the grimace that immediately crinkled my lips. It sounded to me like Nate had ’fessed up because the sheriff had found out and called him on it.

Mama’s voice in my head kept repeating,
He’s a Kincaid
.

Nate worked for the family oil business, but from what Josie said, his passion was the charity organization his grandparents had started: The Justin and Vanetta Kincaid Family Foundation. Grabbing my sketchbook, I flipped to the back page and scribbled down a few quick questions as they popped into my head.

I closed the book and moved to Josie’s other side, sliding a pin in to tighten the seam along her torso. “And you never suspected they’d dated?”

“No, never.”

She fell silent and when I looked up at her, she was frowning.

I stopped pinning. “What?”

“It’s just . . . she always said things like, ‘The Kincaids are all charmers, Josie. Don’t get involved’ or ‘Hope you know what you’re doing.’ Stuff like that. Now I’m wondering if she said all that because she was still . . .”

She broke off, but I finished the sentence in my head:

. . . in love with him
.

“Do you think she wanted you to break it off?”

“I never thought so, not really, but now . . .”