A Fitting End: A Magical Dressmaking Mystery (21 page)

Now to prioritize the list. I was meeting with Fern and Trudy in a few hours. The rehearsal would take place in the morning and would eat up a good half of the day. Which meant the Margaret dresses needed to be done before then. D.O.N.E. So number two moved to the top of the list.

Another visit to the sheriff’s office seemed in order. I could stop by to visit Madelyn and find out just how
widespread superstitions about the Cassidy clan were. Maybe Gavin would be there. Two birds with one stone.

Will could help with Gracie’s pedigree. I’d stop by his place on my way home from the sheriff’s station. I sat back, closed my eyes, and just like that, Mrs. James, decked out and looking like a vision in the dress I’d created, popped into my head. She looked fresh and rested again, fully recovered from the ordeal of being in jail. Her arm was draped around Gracie, looking equally perfect in her Margaret gown. Libby suddenly appeared, her shoulders thrown back and her head held high. Three for the price of one. I knew I was on the right track with all of their outfits.

An hour later, I was in my zone at my worktable, Libby’s dress floating above me, hunched over my sketchbook. One by one, I’d drawn the pattern pieces I’d have to create to make Mrs. James’s dress a reality.

“Harlow!” Nana’s voice shot through the house like a bullet. I jumped, my pencil sliding across the page and leaving a dark line in its wake.

“In the workroom,” I hollered back as I flipped my pencil upside down and erased the mark.

Nana padded in, her white socks gleaming. She wasn’t much for kisses and hugs, but she squeezed my shoulder—almost hard enough to make me wince. All the work over the years on her goat farm had made her strong as an ox. “Whatcha doin’, Ladybug?”

I pushed my sketchbook over so she could see the drawings I’d been working on. That’s when I saw it. A little red-and-black ladybug flittering around the room. “Granny Cress,” I whispered. “She’s here.” I flicked my eyes to where the ladybug had landed on Nana’s shoulder, suddenly understanding that this was how Granny Cress stayed with us.

Nana peered down, looking at it long and hard. A ripple passed over the ladybug’s body and I held my breath, half expecting it to morph into my great-great-grandmother.

But the rippling stopped. There was no morphing. Goose bumps rose on my arms, though, as it turned its bulbous body like it was looking at me, but then it crawled onto the finger Nana held out, flapped its wings, and flew out the window.

I rushed to the window, banging my hip against the corner of the cutting table on the way. “I never knew…” I said, trying to catch another glimpse of the ladybug.

“Our charms are a might persnickety,” she said, as if that explained everything. Then she turned to my sketchbook. Her lips puckered as she leaned closer, studying the various angles I’d done of the ruffle tiered dress, before raising her eyes to mine.

“This is for Zinnia, isn’t it?”

The way she leveled her steady gaze at me sent me reeling back to when she’d caught me marching around her property playing my school-issued recorder. No matter what note I played, her herd of goats refused to follow me. She’d snatched the recorder from me and
bam
! “You can’t force a charm on yourself, Harlow Jane,” she’d said. “It’ll come. Just be patient.”

Now I nodded. “I know you had some sort of falling out, Nana, but she’s not holding any grudges. You are her alibi. I just want to help her—”

“By sewing her a magic dress.”

I was old enough to know that all problems couldn’t be fixed with a simple wiggle of the nose or, say, a spell sewn into the seams of a dress, but I was hopeful enough to believe that in this case, it might. “It’s just as likely to work as not work,” I said.

Nana opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again half a second later. “For her to wear at the pageant?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Nana said, leaving a hint of bittersweet in the air after she spoke. “If you’re going to make this for her, do it right. Add a little bling around the belt, and a sparkle or two right here.” She drew her finger along the overlapping neckline.

I was skeptical. She’d never struck me as the bling type. “You knew her when you were kids, Nana. Are you sure she’d still want that?”

I followed her into the front room, through the dining room, and into the kitchen where she slipped on her Crocs and opened the Dutch door. “Some things in a person never change, Harlow. That’s something you should learn. Once a mama hen, always a mama hen. Once a blood sister, always a blood sister. And once a beauty queen, always a beauty queen.”

“A blood sister?” I skirted around her, blocking her from walking onto the back porch. “You and Mrs. James?”

She folded her arms across her chest when I didn’t budge. “Zinnia and me… not even a man could tear our friendship apart, no sir.”

“Granddaddy being the man?”

“Right.” She gave a low whistle. “She fancied him, but he fancied me. She landed herself Jeb—or maybe he landed her—and that’s worked out just fine.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Thelma Louise nipping at a Knock Out Rose bush. “Shoo!” I said, letting my guard down. The split second was all it took. Nana barreled past me, trotting down the steps, slapping
her leg with the palm of her hand. She whistled again, and it hit me. Goat whisperer. Nana had used Thelma Louise to distract me from questioning her. “Nana! Wait a sec!”

I grabbed my cowboy boots from the corner of the kitchen, half running, half hopping as I tried to catch up to her and slip one of my boots on at the same time.

She flung up her arm, never breaking stride. Thelma Louise skipped alongside her. “Harlow,” she said, her voice heavy with warning. “Drop it.”

I stopped, shoved my foot into my boot, and ran to catch up. I grabbed her hand, pulling her to a dead stop. “I just want to know what happened that night.”

She spun around, a fire in her eyes like I’d never seen. “We have a bond. A vow we all pledged never to break.”

“Right. Your pact. What, did you kill someone?” I blurted, regretting the words the second they left my mouth.

“Of course not,” she snapped. Thelma Louise had been nibbling at the hem of Nana’s plaid blouse. She stopped, turning her soulful eyes to my grandmother.

Nana patted the goat’s head, her lips moving as she silently communicated with the animal. A second later, Thelma Louise trotted off toward the gate that connected Nana’s property to mine.

“Then
what
?” I asked, after Thelma Louise had knocked the latch up with her nose and slipped through.

Nana tugged at the loose curls in her hair. The streak of blond almost shimmered in the sunlight. “Our secrets,” she finally said.

“Secrets from when you were fifteen years old? Are they even important anymore—” I stopped short. Oh. My. The truth hit me like a bushel of peaches.
Our
secrets.
She meant the Cassidy secrets. “Mrs. James knows about our charms?” I whispered.

“She does.”

“Mrs. Mcafferty, too?”

She nodded slowly. “But they’ll never tell. We swore it. Our charms will vanish if we break the vow,” she said, though I didn’t know how she knew that. “They’ll never tell.”

“But Gavin McClaine knows something. Madelyn Brighton knows. People suspect. Nana, what if one of them already told?”

Nana kicked at the dirt. “Impossible. We made a promise to each other.”

A big ol’ black-and-white-checkered flag went up in my head. “And Eleanor… Mcafferty? What about her? She’s Gracie’s grandmother, but she doesn’t even know it.”

Nana’s hands trembled. “No. Are you sure?”

“Will told Gracie and me everything.”

“Well, I’ll be.” She shook her head, as if she just couldn’t believe the small world we lived in. “Neither one of them will ever breathe a word, Harlow. They can’t because…” She started walking again, hurrying toward the sanctuary of her own property. “They can’t,” she said again.

As I watched her go, I read between the lines, finishing in my head what she hadn’t said aloud. They wouldn’t breathe a word because Eleanor Mcafferty and Zinnia James had their own secrets to protect.

Deputy Gavin McClaine pushed back his cowboy hat and grimaced. “Visitin’ again so soon, Ms. Cassidy?”

I followed him into his father’s office, which he was apparently using when Hoss McClaine wasn’t. I sat in my usual spot. I’d been here with Will Flores recently, discussing a murder, and here I was again. This office was becoming all too familiar.

Keeping my voice steady wasn’t working. The hammering in my chest threatened to knock the wind clean out of me. I didn’t know where to begin. Or
how
to begin.

“
Ms
. Cassidy?” he said, emphasis on the Ms. and a distinct lack of interest dripping from his voice.

I cleared the frog from my throat and scooted forward on my chair. “Mrs. James is innocent,” I blurted when I couldn’t think of a way to sugarcoat it.

He leaned back in his chair, looking a little too high and mighty for my taste. At least Hoss McClaine had some down-home charm to him. Gavin had the down home, but lacked the charm. “That right? Did your”—he made air quotes—“special Cassidy intuition tell you that?”

I debated how to answer. From what he’d said at the jailhouse, I suspected Gavin knew something about the Cassidy women’s magic. What I didn’t know was how deep his knowledge went. Did he have an inkling that something was off with us, or had Mrs. Mcafferty or Mrs. James broken their pact with Nana and said something? I supposed Madelyn could have spilled the beans. I didn’t know her well, but she was one of the first friends I’d made back in Bliss. I hoped she’d kept my secret.

“Yes… and no,” I finally answered. “I don’t have any proof—”

“Without proof, what you think doesn’t mean diddly-squat.” He crossed one leg over the other, letting his knee flop to the side. His frown deepened. “But just so you know, we released her. Seems your grandmother and Miss June over at the teahouse ponied up an alibi.” He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if he still couldn’t believe it. “Until we have some solid evidence and bring charges, the case against her’ll be dropped.”

The blood that had been coursing through my veins suddenly calmed. “Gee, Deputy, you look upset. I’m real sorry to hear your theory didn’t pan out,” I said, not bothering to suppress the smile in my voice.

“Yeah, I can see you’re all broken up about it.”

“Do you have any other leads?”

He dropped his leg and leaned forward. “You mean besides you?”

The blood that had calmed to a gentle flow burst through me again like a dam breaking. “Me?”

“Your scissors. I haven’t forgotten.”

“B-but…” Criminy. At least Mrs. James had a potential motive. I hadn’t even known the man.

“Blackmail,” he said, a smirk on his face.

The word spiraled through my head. “You think he was blackmailing me?”

“No, Harlow. Relax. Your damn scissors are a pain in my ass, but I don’t think you killed the guy. Blackmail, meaning Macon Vance was hittin’ the Jameses up for a hefty sum.”

“Oh!” I released the anxious breath I’d been holding. Damn him for scaring me like that.

“I’m just not sure what he had on them, and they’re not talkin’. But everybody’s got some dirty laundry, don’t they, Harlow? Even a senator and his wife. Even… you.”

There it was, the big ol’ white elephant in the room. What did he know, and how did he know it? “I don’t know what you mean,
Gavin
,” I said.

He dropped his knee again and leaned forward, steepling his fingers and propping his chin on them. “No matter how hard you try, it’s tough to keep things a secret in a small town.”

“And…?” I schooled my expression, doing my best to mask the fact that I had no idea what he was talking about, but my mind raced. “Gavin, if you have something to say, just spit it out, would you?”

He narrowed his eyes, and I could tell he was trying to read me. He angled his chair so he could drum his fingers on the desk. “We found a rough drawing of a family tree in Vance’s house,” he said. “It was right there. The intersection of two family lines. Butch Cassidy was with Etta Place around the same time he was with Texana Harlow.”

Gavin nodded, looking smug. “Seems our deceased golf pro, Macon Vance, was trying to blackmail the
Jameses over this very information. It would be bad for the senator’s career—or so Vance thought—to be related to outlaws and folks like you—from the wrong side of town.”

Related to? I barely stopped my mouth from gaping open. What he was saying dawned on me. It was common knowledge that Zinnia James’s husband, Jebediah, was a descendant of Etta Place, but if Etta had been with Butch Cassidy, then…

Gavin seemed to see realization on my face. “That’s right, Harlow. Young debutante Libby Allen, the James’s granddaughter, is your cousin thanks to Butch Cassidy and his philandering ways.”

“And Mrs. James knows?” I asked once my voice returned.

“Oh yeah. She confessed it all. Don’t make her guilty of nothin’, of course, but a lot of ugly truths.”

Lord almighty. Could it really be true?

Deputy Gavin McClaine folded his arms across his chest, tucking his hands close up under his armpits. “I’m bothered by somethin’.”

Outside, the clouds had finally released their water and a light rain fell. As if on cue, thunder cracked and jagged lightning lit up the darkening sky. I dragged my attention back to Gavin, trying not to take the ominous summer storm as a sign of worse things to come. “What’s that?”

“How would Vance know so much about Etta and Butch and their family line?”

It was a good question, and one I was pretty sure Mrs. James hadn’t considered whenever she’d fessed up to the deputy.