A Seamless Murder (4 page)

Seems my great-grandmother didn’t want to wait for Will to find her, so she’d come in search of him.

“Or we can stay here and clean up the kitchen,” Will finished, adding in a whisper so only I could hear, “and then we can skedaddle to my place.”

Instantly, Meemaw shifted to, “Mmm-hmm,” and Will and I burst out laughing. I was thirty-two—he had a year on me—and we couldn’t even snuggle up properly at 2112 Mockingbird Lane for fear of upsetting Loretta Mae. Not that
I wanted a witness to my snuggling with Will, so going to his place always felt like a good idea. If we ever got married, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere besides this house, where I’d practically grown up and where I ran Buttons & Bows, yet Meemaw’s presence put a crimp in my romantic life. Plus Will and Gracie had their own home and wouldn’t want to uproot themselves any more than I wanted to.

Love was complicated.

Snuggle time with Will at his place would have to wait. We cleaned the kitchen, then Will went off to the attic in search of Loretta Mae. I left him to it, so I could get started on Delta’s apron. I plowed through the armoire in the sitting room, looking for the other specific pieces of organza and silk I had envisioned. Once I found them, I sketched out a rough pattern and went to work cutting the underskirt out of muslin. Next I cut the ties from a denim blue silk organza and the waistband out of a pale-rose-colored silk dupioni. I used another polyester organza, this time in cream, for the bottom ruffle, a subdued pink silk chiffon for the top ruffle, and finally, a pop of blue tulle for the center ruffle.

I marked each center point, hemmed each piece of fabric, and layered and pleated as I put them all together. Once the waistband and ties were added, I went on to the finishing touches to add some charm and whimsy. I attached puffy little rosettes at the waist, as well as putting them in a few strategic points on the front where the top layer of taffeta would be gathered and secured with a round puff of fabric with a hole in the middle. These yo-yos, placed every six inches along the lower edge of the taffeta layer, gave the
ruffle a scalloped edge. The heart-shaped pewter button at the hemline was the final accent.

By the time it was finished, the apron was gorgeous. A showstopper, which was just what Delta wanted. If only my charm allowed me to sew something specific into the garments I made, weaving in a little compassion, or stitching in a little joy. From what I’d seen, Delta seemed preoccupied and a touch unhappy. But changing something specific wasn’t my charm. Once she wore the apron, her greatest wish would come true. I just hoped Delta wanted something honorable.

Will had long since said good-bye, lightly kissing my lips. “Did you find Meemaw?” I’d asked when he was on his way out a couple hours back.

He’d nodded, that crooked grin showing up again, for all the world looking like he was up to no good. “Can’t really talk to her, you know. I think she wanted my help fixing a squeaky drawer in one of the dressers. ’Course I could be wrong about that, since she disappeared again after a while. I did clean up the attic a little bit.”

He was a hero. He’d accepted not only my charm (and Gracie’s), but also the fact that a ghost lived here. Not many men could come to terms with that. My own father hadn’t been able to, walking out the moment he’d discovered my mother had a little magic in her.

By the time I placed the last stitch on Delta’s apron, it was nearly three in the morning. I could wait until morning to deliver it, or I could wrap it up and go put it on her doorstep. Finishing a project for someone was exciting. It always felt like Christmas morning when I’d discovered the perfect gift, which filled me with anticipation as I waited for the recipient
to open it. I wanted Delta to see the apron first thing, so I decided to sneak over in the middle of the night when she was fast asleep. Patience was not my strong suit.

I wrapped the apron in a sheet of textured ecru tissue paper, tying it with a rustic burlap ribbon. The temperature outside had finally dropped, so I threw on a
BLISS CHOIR
hoodie Gracie had left behind on her last visit, tucked my feet into my slippers, and headed next door. The house was completely dark—not surprising given the time of night. But the front porch, with its overhang, was especially black, and I hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight.

It took me all of twenty seconds to drop the pretty bundle on the doormat and hightail it back home. I lay down, exhausted but satisfied. The apron was gorgeous, and I hoped it would help me turn over a new leaf with Delta. No more family feud. No more animosity. I wanted to see the side of her that her friends knew and loved.

My little teacup pig, Earl Grey, was asleep in his bed beside mine, and I looked forward to nothing but six blissful hours of sleep ahead of me. The week ahead would be busy, but with Delta off my back, it would be nothing I couldn’t handle. I drifted off, dreaming of Meemaw and her antics, beautiful fabric, and aprons, and knowing the week ahead would be a good one.

First thing the next morning I headed to Buffalo Bill’s Ranch House, a down-home restaurant on Bliss’s historic downtown square. My friend Madelyn had called me while I walked, canceling our breakfast plans. Left to my own devices, I decided it felt like a waffle kind of day. I ordered mine with a side of strawberries and ate slowly, in case my friend’s schedule changed and she showed, then paid and left when it became clear she wasn’t joining me.

My stomach full, I headed straight to the church to work my shift at the tag sale. The sale itself didn’t start until tomorrow, but we were nowhere near ready. “Thank heavens you’re here.” Georgia Emmons greeted me as I walked inside the enormous white tent that had been set up for the event. “Cynthia and Delta are both late, and the Red Hatters are supposed to be sorting the clothes. Randi’s here, but Bennie can’t make it, and Coco and Sherri both are scheduled to be here at eleven.”

Georgia drew in a breath and continued on. “I’m working on these jeans.”

She pointed to the massive stack of denim on the portable table in front of her. The jeans were folded and piled on top
of one another. Two stacks, three feet high each. The grimace on her face made it clear she didn’t relish this particular job.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a full-length mirror leaning up at the end of the aisle. Jean skirt with a flouncy navy cotton ruffle, my red Fryes, and a white blouse I’d made several years ago, knotted at the waist. Clearly I had nothing against denim.

Georgia had on a floral wrap dress in a deep green pattern, and wide-heeled taupe pumps. She looked like she could have walked straight out of the pages of a 1940s magazine. Denim was not her style.

“I can take over,” I said, thinking she’d jump at the chance to be done with the jeans. But she surprised me. “No,” she said matter-of-factly. Without Cynthia or Delta here to take charge, she’d stepped into the role. Third in command, I reckoned. “It’s a dirty job, and I’m already invested in it.”

I glanced around to gauge where I should go to help. There were plenty of people sorting things, as well as other people standing around chatting, and I wondered if they might not need me after all. I could go home and start on the next apron. A vision of one for Georgia Emmons had popped into my head. It was flirty, with a ruffle that started mid-thigh. A large fabric flower accented a band of contrasting fabric, and the same pattern created the neck ties and a band around the front. The main fabric would be a pale green background with happy pink flowers, and the contrasting bands would be pink and white polka dots. Vintage, yet contemporary. It would be perfect for her.

“We need more price tags, but they’re in my car. I’m up to my elbows in these.” She gestured to the massive pile of denim. “Would you mind?”

“Not a bit. I’ll get them,” I said, already turning to head back to the parking lot. I didn’t want to interrupt Georgia’s system, and I didn’t mind being an errand girl.

“I parked in the east lot,” she said, handing me her key ring. “Behind the cemetery. If you cut through it, it’ll be faster.”

The cemetery was small, shaded by massive oak and pecan trees, and well kept. Tombstones stood sentry at the older graves, while the more contemporary flat markers intermixed on newer plots. Georgia had suggested walking through the graveyard, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to take the shortcut.

“Harlow!”

Georgia hollered my name from the tag sale tent. As I turned toward her, she pointed one finger and rotated it in the air, motioning for me to hurry up.

I held my hand up and nodded, telling her I understood. The cemetery shortcut it was.

A three-foot-high black wrought-iron fence that looked as ancient as the graves surrounded the cemetery. A shiver passed down my spine. I’d seen plenty of death, especially since I’d been back in Bliss, but that didn’t make the town’s graveyard my favorite place to be. If it had been night, instead of morning, dark instead of light, I would have thought twice about entering. But it wasn’t, so I cowgirled up. A tag sale waited for no one, least of all a ninny who preferred to
take the long way round. I opened the gate and slipped through, walking along the pathways between the gravesites.

I felt confident in my planned design for the next apron, but I needed to search out the right fabrics. “The fabric store,” I said aloud. “We need a field trip.” It would be perfect! Each of the Red Hat ladies could pick out just what they wanted, which would help me hone in on the perfect design. Once I had those two elements in my head for all the Red Hatters, putting together the actual garments would be easy as pie.

I walked faster, hearing Georgia’s voice in the back of my mind urging me to hurry up with the tags. The parking lot was only ten yards away, but I had to skirt around a digger that was parked smack in the middle of my path. A newly dug grave meant a funeral was imminent. I gave a wide berth to the John Deere, stepping onto a small mound of fresh dirt. As I moved around the backhoe, I caught the first glimpse of a rectangular hole in the ground. Another shiver passed through me. It was one thing to think about death, but quite another to see an empty grave where someone would soon be buried. Someone who’d very recently been a living, breathing being.

More of the hole came into view and I stopped abruptly, gasping and suddenly short of breath. Because inside the hole was a body, and it wasn’t just any body.

Inside the fresh grave lay Delta Lea Mobley.

I scrambled down into the grave, slipping on the dirt and landing on my knees. Yanking my cell phone from my purse, I dialed 911, then bent over Delta.

“Is she breathing?” the operator asked after I told her what I’d found.

I’d put two fingers against the artery in Delta’s neck,
feeling for a pulse. Nothing. Her face was smudged with dirt, her eyes wide-open, and her mouth agape. I crouched closer, calling her name, looking for signs of life. There wasn’t a single one. No breath coming in or going out of her body. No twitching fingers. No movement whatsoever.

“No,” I said into the cell phone. “I’m pretty sure she’s dead.”

I called Hoss McClaine straight away, and seemingly moments later the whole of Bliss’s law enforcement team descended upon the cemetery. Work at the tag sale ground to a halt as the news of Delta’s death traveled over there.

“That’s everything?” the sheriff asked me after his team hoisted me out of the grave. I shook off the morose veil that had settled over me and told him what I’d seen. People often made the mistake of thinking he was nothing but a country lawman, assuming his thought process was as slow as his Southern drawl, but they were wrong. One too many cow-tippings, times climbing water towers, and trips joy-riding in the backs of pickup trucks on private property when I’d been a teenager meant I’d had my share of run-ins with Sheriff McClaine. I knew he was one of the sharpest knives in the drawer.

But we’d come to a peaceful understanding since I’d been back in Bliss, letting bygones be bygones. I’d outgrown my childish antics, and he’d . . . well, he was still the same, but I’d come to respect him. And recently he’d gone and married my mother, making him not only the sheriff, but my step-daddy.

“Yes, sir.” I’d told him about sewing an apron for her and
delivering it to her doorstep in the early hours of the morning.

“That apron there?” He pointed to another deputy sheriff who was pulling the half apron out of Delta’s discarded purse.

“That’s it,” I said. It was a small consolation to think that she’d liked the apron enough to take it with her to the tag sale, presumably to show her friends. In her last hours, I’d given her a bit of happiness.

“Interesting,” he said.

In that one word, I could tell he had prepared a good sampling of questions to start off his investigation. I certainly had questions of my own. Delta had been late showing up at the tag sale. Had she planned to meet someone in the cemetery, and that meeting had turned ugly? Or had she taken a shortcut and happened upon something she wasn’t supposed to see?

So far, the sheriff hadn’t indicated there’d been foul play, but a niggling in the back of my mind made me wonder. But, of course, I had no proof that Delta hadn’t died of natural causes, so I kept my mouth shut. My mind had gone straight to murder as soon as I’d seen the body, but it occurred to me now that it was more likely that she’d fallen. Hadn’t seen the hole, or had misjudged her footing, falling and hitting her head.

Madelyn Brighton snapped pictures of the scene. She was the town’s official photographer, and that meant she was called for in moments like these to document the evidence. She came up next to me, still focused on the scene. “You okay, love?” she said in her British accent as she took another series of shots.

I stood back from the grave taking it all in, one arm folded over my chest, the other angled up, my thumb running along my lower lip. “I’m okay,” I said, pushing away my worry. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Wondering how she ended up in the grave, is all. Seems odd.”

“That it does. Pretty hard not to see a hole that size. She must have been out here pretty early.”

“My thought exactly.”

She leaned toward me, lowering her voice so only I could hear. “Are you thinking . . . murder?”

“Mercy, I hope not,” I said. That would be far worse for her family than an accidental death. But I couldn’t shake the question, and the possibility. Something didn’t feel right about the whole situation.

A burst of noise came from an approaching group. Madelyn and I both looked up as Delta’s daughter, Megan, walked up to where we stood. She was escorted by her husband, Todd, Rebecca, Megan’s friend, whom I’d met the day before, and another man, whom I presumed was Anson Mobley, Megan’s father. He was tall and thin, with an abundance of shaggy brown hair blowing in the breeze, his cheeks ruddy from the shock. I’d only ever seen him flying down Mockingbird Lane in his car. Seeing him now, I thought what an odd couple he and Delta must have made. She was on the short
side, not more than five feet four inches, but he had to be more than six feet. She’d had dark hair, and his was almost blond. She was robust and he was rail thin. They seemed opposite in every way.

But opposites did attract, or so the old adage said. The sobbing continued, drawing me out of my thoughts and back to the group descending on the gravesite. Coco and Sherri trudged behind Megan, Rebecca, Todd, and Anson, holding on to each other’s hands. Sisterly comfort. And behind them came the other Red Hat ladies, each looking incredulous at the unexpected loss of their friend. Each woman was dabbing a tissue or handkerchief to her eyes. Each one was sobbing.

The other people who’d been working the tag sale came to the edge of the cemetery, most staying outside the fence, but some venturing in. The pastor broke through the crowd, making a beeline for the family. He wrapped his arm around Megan, letting her face fall against his shoulder in grief.

There were other onlookers I didn’t recognize. They seemed to have come in droves to see the woman in the grave. I knew death brought out the morbid curiosity in people, but it still gave me an uneasy feeling.

I stayed put just until Hoss McClaine gave me permission to leave. “Try to keep out of trouble, Harlow,” he said as I started to walk away. The message was clear. It was bad enough that I’d discovered the body. That had happened a bit too frequently. He didn’t want me getting wrapped up in whatever had happened to Delta.

But back at Buttons & Bows a few hours later, I was surrounded by the Red Hatters. They had shown up at the shop in a big group, gathered around me, and started asking a million questions at once, wanting to get the nitty-gritty straight
from the horse’s mouth. “The sheriff said she fell and hit her head on a rock in the grave,” Georgia said.

My imagination was running wild. Did she fall, or was she pushed? I had no way of knowing, so I shoved the thought away and tried to focus on the women before me.

“How long was she there before you found her?” Randi asked.

“Did you see anything, Harlow?” Cynthia asked, but before I could answer, Sherri, Delta’s younger sister, burst into sobs and tried to wipe away her flowing tears. “She found Delta, Cyn,” she said, steadying her trembling voice. “She didn’t see what happened.”

“We need to pray,” Bennie said softly. “Your poor mother, Sherri. I can’t imagine what Jessie Pearl’s going through. Megan, too.”

“Mother’s in shock,” Sherri said. She cupped her hands over her eyes, her chin quivering. “She’s lost. Delta was . . . was . . .”

“She was horrible to Mother,” a new voice said. We all turned to see Coco Jones, Delta and Sherri’s youngest sister, standing in the doorway of Buttons & Bows. She had one hand on the doorframe, the other on her hip. Her blond hair curled above her shoulders, and though her eyes were red-rimmed and bright, her voice was steady and indignant. “You all know it. You heard the way she spoke to Mother. The way she manipulated her. I’m sorry Delta’s dead,” Coco said, “but there was no love lost between us. I’d be lying to pretend otherwise.”

Sherri’s jaw dropped, and we all looked on in stunned silence as she stared at her sister. “Coco, Delta is dead! How can you even say that?”

Coco trained her eyes on her sister. “And how can you
not
? You heard plenty of times how Delta spoke to Mother. You
know
what she did to us both.”

“Shht.” Sherri glared at her sister. “Don’t, Coco.”

Coco’s gaze traveled over each of the Red Hatters in a circle. “You can’t sugarcoat things and make Delta out to be something she wasn’t now that she’s dead. I’m not saying Mother’s better off with Delta gone, but things could be a might easier for her.”

“You sound so heartless,” Sherri said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.

Coco blinked heavily, lowering her chin, almost looking chagrined.

“Will you say a prayer for your mother, Coco?” Randi asked.

“Well, of course. She’s my mother and I love her. I loved Delta, too, for all her faults.”

That was all the suggestion the Red Hatters needed. The women formed a circle and clasped hands. I stepped back, joining the circle, taking Randi’s hand on my right and holding my left hand out for Coco to take.

She’d let the door close behind her, dropping her cloth purse on the loveseat, and stepped into the open space in the circle. She took Bennie’s hand, then took mine, our gazes locking for a moment. I felt as if she were trying to send me a silent message, but I couldn’t decipher the meaning behind the look.

Randi cleared her throat, squeezing my hand. At first I thought she was gathering strength from me, but she stood up straight, pushed her shoulders back, and exuded more confidence than I’d ever witnessed from her. She’d seemed so
timid the last time I’d seen her, but right now her expression was forceful, and I realized she was bolstering everyone in the room. “Divine Mother of us all, your essence is within us and within all things. We ask for your energy and power on this sad day, that you may fill us with your sacred light, and help Jessie Pearl find peace, wholeness, grace, and wisdom during this time of trial.

“We ask that you help each one of us connect with your divine self, that we may be empowered by you and your love, and that Jessie Pearl may receive all your love and grace.”

We all stood silent for a moment, taking in the words Randi had offered. It wasn’t your typical Baptist or Methodist, or even Catholic offering, and I got the impression that none of the Red Hatters knew quite what to make of the prayer.

Finally, Coco arched a brow. “What the hell was that?” she demanded.

I thought Randi might shrink back from the criticism, but instead, she stood even taller. “You pray to God, I pray to the Goddess,” she said. “Jessie Pearl needs all the support she can get. You’re her daughter, you should know that.”

“Thank you for that, Randi,” Cynthia said, clearing her throat. “Let’s have a more traditional offering, too.” She went on before anyone else could say a word, her voice ringing out clear and strong. “Dear Lord, we ask that you watch over Jessie Pearl, Sherri, Coco, Todd, and especially Megan and Anson as they grieve the loss of Delta. We ask this in the name of your son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone said at once.

And just like that, the little prayer circle disbanded.

If Randi was offended at the second prayer, she didn’t let
on. “Should we cancel the progressive dinner?” she asked, not really directing the question to anyone in particular, but more to the room at large.

Coco was the first to respond. “No, it should go on as planned. We need to make things upbeat for Mother.”

“She needs to grieve, Coco,” Sherri said, once again shaking her head as if she just didn’t understand her sister.

“And she’ll have plenty of time to grieve, but we need to keep things normal. We can’t let her sink into her sorrow or we might never get her back out again.”

The ladies all nodded in silent agreement. Jessie Pearl was going to need a lot of support as she came to terms with losing her eldest daughter.

“Harlow Jane!” The Dutch door in the kitchen was flung open and Mama’s voice rang through the house. “Harlow Jane, I’ve got news. You’ll never believe it. Hoss said that woman, your neighbor? She was murd—”

Mama came through the archway between the kitchen and dining room and stopped short, a startled expression on her face when she saw all the people still gathered in a circle in the front room. “What the devil?” she blurted.

“Mama, this is the Red Hat group I was telling you about.” I swung my arm toward Coco and Sherri. “These are Jessie Pearl Trapper’s daughters.”

Mama sputtered, regaining her composure. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said to them. “If I can do anythin’ to help your mother, you be sure to let me know.”

The women all stared at Mama, looking flummoxed. Only Coco had the wherewithal to speak her mind. “What were you saying about Delta?”

I already knew what she’d been about to say. It wasn’t
hard to fill in the blank on the word she’d cut short. It had been in the forefront of my mind since this morning’s discovery of the body. And it had been a word far too present in my life since I’d been back in Bliss.

Murder.

Before Mama could answer, a cell phone rang. Then another. In mere seconds both Coco and Sherri had answered their phones, and they were both listening intently.

“Hit with it? That can’t be right, Sheriff,” Sherri said. So she was talking to Hoss.

Coco muttered something under her breath and hung up without saying anything more. I suspected the bearer of bad news for her had been Deputy Sheriff Gavin McClaine, Hoss’s son. We’d run in different crowds in high school, but he’d found his confidence since he’d joined his dad’s posse. Overconfident. If he weren’t halfway decent at his job—and in love with one of my best friends, Orphie Cates—he would have driven me completely batty.

Coco and Sherri looked at each other. Sherri’s eyes welled with tears. Coco nudged her glasses up with the backs of her fingers, jamming them back into position. And then Coco said, “Delta didn’t fall and hit her head. The deputy said she had blunt force trauma to the back of her head.”

The women stood frozen, each of them processing what Coco had said.

“What does that mean?” Cynthia finally asked.

Coco scanned the circle, looking at each of the women who’d been closest to Delta. “It means she didn’t fall, and it wasn’t an accident. It means,” she said, “that Delta was murdered.”