A Custom Fit Crime (31 page)

I was on her heels, but stopped short as she fired up the engine. The tires squealed against the asphalt, and she tore off. An urgent call to the sheriff’s department was all I could do. Dixie picked up.

“Harlow, honey, Raylene Lewis already done called. Said she was overhearin’ a conversation between you and the deceased’s assistant and that it sounded like the murder was being discussed. One of our deputy sheriffs was on her way when she just intercepted the suspect. Backup’s on the way and they’re fixin’ to bring the woman in.”

“Send an ambulance,” I said, praying that Lindy would be okay.

I collapsed on the porch steps of Seven Gables to wait for help, all the adrenaline that had coursed through me during the confrontation with Jeanette seeping away. Midori was still guilty of plenty, but at least she wouldn’t be accused of murder. And once again, Bliss was safe.

“Is the reporter going to be okay?” Gracie asked.

I pulled her in for a hug. “She is. She didn’t ingest enough to . . . to . . .”

“To kill her like Beaulieu,” Gracie finished. She trembled. “It could have been you.”

I gave her another squeeze before letting her go. “But it wasn’t. And you . . . you are a crime solver extraordinaire. Without your visions, we wouldn’t have figured out Midori’s smuggling scheme.”

Earl Grey squealed in her arms and she laughed, releasing him. He scampered away to the workroom window. On the other side, several of Nana’s La Mancha and Nubian goats milled about. Thelma Louise, however, had her nose pressed up to the glass.

“But you have the real knack,” she said. “Jeanette? Wow. Just wow.”

Will nodded his agreement. “I don’t think anyone even suspected her.”

Gracie’s head bobbed up and down. “She’s cray-cray. Blackmail and poison and dressmaking. It’s like Project Runway behind bars,” she said. “But are they sure?”

“Sure about what?”

“Is Deputy McClaine sure Midori had nothing to do with it?”

“Nothing to do with the murder,” Will said, “but she’s plenty guilty.”

Gracie had on the sweetheart dress—which I still couldn’t believe. “No visions?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “I realized something. Once I see the vision the first time, I can control it. I can close my eyes and sort of, like, summon it up, or I can . . . not.”

“She doesn’t know how or why, but it’s a start,” Will said. He looked as though a burden had been lifted, and I knew that was just what he felt. I felt it, too. Gracie had been plagued with images since before any of us knew her relation to Butch Cassidy or that she was charmed. But now she was figuring out how to control the charm rather than having the charm control her.

“Where’s the bouquet?” she asked just as Orphie and Gavin came in from the porch.

Orphie went straight for the antique armoire that stood against the back wall of the gathering room. Inside, I’d hung the bouquet upside down so it would dry. I planned on making a potpourri from the petals. “It’s not what I imagine you carrying down the aisle,” she said.

Will reached in and took it off the hook. “Me, either.”

I laughed, ignoring the implication that he’d imagined me carrying any kind of bouquet. “I think I’d go for a more natural arrangement, but you know Mama and her flowers. Go big, or go home.”

“And would you have the cowboy hat with the veil like she did?”

“Mmm, I think not,” I said. There was no harm in playing along. Love was step one on the possible path to marriage, and if Loretta Mae got what she wanted, Will and I would be there before too long.

Orphie joined Gavin on the paisley love seat, laying her hand on his knee. It had taken her a while to garner up the courage, but she’d finally done it. Mailing Maximilian’s book back was a step in the right direction for her, phase one of getting her life back on track. What would happen between her and the deputy was anyone’s guess. She was heading back to Missouri in a few days, but long-distance love was not impossible. “We’ll enjoy the time we have together,” she told me when I’d asked. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

Nothing but time, just like Will and me.

Gracie scooted off in search of Earl Grey as her dad launched another question at me. “Day or night?”

“Day or night what?”

“Wedding.”

“Night,” I said, “with lots of twinkling lights.”

“Veil or cowboy hat?”

“Ah, tiara!” I said, laughing. “On my wedding day, I know I’ll feel like a princess.”

“So no bluegrass and barbecue?” he said with a chuckle.

I grinned at him, pushing my slipping glasses back into place. “I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

“No, Cassidy,” he said, pulling me close, his voice playful. “
We’ll
cross that particular bridge together.”

Make Your Own Felt Beads

Try making these fun, easy felt beads! You need just a few grams of carded wool or wool roving and some warm, soapy water. Combine them with more traditional beads, like glass, metal, or ceramic, to make fun, whimsical and one-of-a-kind jewelry.

Instructions

1. Fill a bowl with warm water and add a small amount of liquid dish soap.

2. Gather up a tuft of the wool roving, approximately 4 to 5 inches long. This amount will result in a small, cherry-sized bead. Once you get the hang of it, make beads in all different sizes. For size consistency, weigh each tuft of wool before beading.

3. Roll up the tufts, tightly, until they’re shaped like a ball.

4. Submerge the ball of wool into the soapy water, then add a small amount of dish soap.

5. Roll the ball between your palms, coating it with the soap. Do not apply pressure or compress the ball. If you do, you’ll wind up with a matted, unshapely form rather than a nice, round bead.

6. The ball of wool will begin to shrink slightly, hardening as you continue to roll it between your palms.

7. The completed bead will be firm, but soft enough that you will be able to poke a hole through it. Rinse the excess soap from the bead and allow it to dry, pushing a darning needling through the center to create the hole.

Watch for Harlow’s adventure

in the next book in the Magical Dressmaking series,

A KILLING NOTION

Coming from Obsidian in April!

“A weekend getaway, Cassidy. You. Me. The hill country.” Will Flores leaned against the archway between the dining area and the kitchen of 2112 Mockingbird Lane, his arms folded over his chest, a cream-colored straw cowboy hat on his head. He looked like a cross between Toby Keith, with his bandanna biker look, and Tim McGraw, goateed and lean. “The place is called Biscuit Hill. You’re going to love it.”

“Do they have homemade scones?” I asked. No bed-and-breakfast would be complete without sweet biscuits, British style.

“I’m sure they do.”

“With Devon cream? If you’re going to have scones, you have to have clotted cream to go with them. Or lemon curd. Lemon curd could work, too.”

He stifled a grin. “I’ll call and make a special request for lemon curd and cl—?”

“Clotted cream,” I finished.

He pushed off the wall and ambled over to the sink, where I’d been rinsing our dinner dishes.

“Your chicken-fried steak is mighty tasty,” he said, taking up the dish towel and drying my hands.

“Secret recipe.” We’d grown into an easy rhythm with each other since I’d moved back home to Bliss and Meemaw had done her matchmaking from beyond the grave. Dinner together a few times a week, a shared teacup pig, which Will and Gracie had given me for Christmas, and even comfortable silence when I was working on a project and Will, on my sofa, was drawing sketches to remodel an historic building in Bliss all got me thinking more and more how we belonged together.

“Biscuit Hill sounds lovely. But being alone with you for the weekend,” I said with a wink, “sounds even better.”

He took the towel from my hands and tossed it on the counter beside me; then he placed his arms on either side of me, moving in close and lowering his lips to mine. I started to wrap my arms around his neck, but stopped as the bells in the front room jingled, announcing someone’s arrival.

“Dad! Harlow!” Gracie’s voice bellowed, echoing in through the rooms as if she were shouting into a megaphone.

I didn’t know how Meemaw could affect Gracie’s voice, but I had a feeling she was magnifying it somehow. The power of a Cassidy ghost. Communication with Loretta Mae was sketchy, at best, but it was getting easier. Until she went and threw a wrench in things by adding a new supernatural skill.

“In the kitchen,” Will said, pulling away from me and dropping his arms to his sides. The warmth that had seeped into the space between us chilled. It was more than just the space created when Will stepped back. Meemaw, I knew, was reacting to something.

The second I saw Gracie’s face, I knew that was the reason. Will and I moved forward at the same time. “What’s wrong?” I asked as Will clutched her shoulders and said, “What happened? Are you okay?”

She half nodded, half shook her head. “Shane,” she said, breaking down into a sob.

Will’s spine stiffened and he went into what I was beginning to recognize as full-protective-Dad mode. “If he hurt you—”

“Daddy, no. He didn’t. He wouldn’t!”

“What is it, Gracie?” I asked.

Her anxiety flooded the room, weighing down the air and pressing down on us. “The sheriff said they think someone tampered with Mr. Montgomery’s car, and . . . and . . . and they think maybe it was Shane. Just because he works at Bubba’s, they say he’d know how. They think he might could have caused the accident that killed his dad.”

Will and I both stared at Gracie. Death wasn’t anything new to either one of us. We’d each seen our share and helped solve a mystery or two right here in Bliss. But Gracie’s young boyfriend being accused of murdering his father? That was too close to home.

“Harlow,” she said, dragging the back of her hand under her nose. “You have to help him.”

“Whoa.” Will held his hands out to her, palm first, the message clear.
Simmer down and knock that thought right out of your head.
“Harlow isn’t going to get involved in this. The sheriff has it under control, Gracie.”

Her mouth dropped open and her head jutted forward. “No, they don’t. Not if they think Shane had anything to do with it. Daddy, he couldn’t possibly kill anybody. Certainly not his father.”

Will’s jaw pulsed and his eyes narrowed. “I hope not.”

“Innocent before proven guilty,” I said, stepping closer to Will. He looked like a panther ready to attack, and I was grateful Shane wasn’t anywhere near Buttons & Bows because he’d get the brunt of that force.

“He’s innocent,” Gracie said again, but this time, instead of looking at her dad, she looked at me. Tears pooled in her eyes and her lower lip quivered again. She was barely holding it together.

“I’m sure he is, darlin’,” I said, taking her hand. “The sheriff”—who just also happened to be my new stepdaddy— “is a fair man. He’s got to look at all sides of a situation before he can know what happened.”

“What about his son? The deputy? You don’t like him much, Harlow. What if he thinks Shane’s guilty?”

“I like Gavin McClaine just fine.” More, even, since he was carrying on a real, albeit long-distance, relationship with my good friend Orphie Cates. The deputy sheriff had grown up with a chip on his shoulder, but love at first sight with Orphie had dug away at it. He still got my craw, but not quite as often as he had in the past. “But more important than that, he’s good at his job. He and Hoss both believe in justice. They’re not going to do anything that would falsely accuse an innocent person.”

I hadn’t really thought about it so succinctly before, but now that the words had left my mouth, I knew it was true.

Gracie didn’t look like she believed me, so I gave her hand another squeeze. “Let them do their jobs,” I said. “You just be a friend to Shane right now. He’s going to need that more than anything.

Gracie shook her head, her dark hair swinging into her face with the motion. “No, Harlow, you have to help him. You’ve done it before, solved a murder.” Tears pooled in her eyes, one slipping down and streaking her cheek. “Please,” she said, her voice quiet and pleading.

I looked squarely at Gracie, nodding, then turned to Will. “Biscuit Hill is going to have to wait.”