A Seamless Murder (5 page)

A short while later, the majority of the Red Hatters had left Buttons & Bows. Only Cynthia Homer, Sherri Wynblad, and Coco Jones stayed. We sat in the little seating area, Coco on the red velvet settee, one of Meemaw’s original pieces of furniture. Sherri sat back on the loveseat, her fingers intertwined in front of her. Cynthia and Mama sat together on the couch, Mama still looking shell-shocked that she’d almost been the one to break the news about there being another murder in Bliss, and Cynthia, if I wasn’t mistaken, looking a little bit thrilled to be part of something so out of the ordinary.

I leaned back against the armoire that housed part of my fabric collection, one cowboy-booted foot crossed over the other, my arms folded protectively in front of me. Delta was dead, and my suspicions had been right. She’d been murdered. I felt the warm presence of Meemaw by my side, buoying me in this moment of crisis. Because once again, it appeared that I was in the thick of a murder.

I’d
discovered Delta’s body.

She’d had in her possession the apron
I’d
just made for her.

She’d been
my
next-door neighbor.

And I was still making aprons for all of her closest friends . . . since, as far as they’d said, the progressive dinner was still on.

I’d been through this sort of thing before, and I still couldn’t make sense of how someone could come to the decision to take another person’s life. Murder seemed to happen all around me, and sometimes, like now, I had to wonder if it was my ancestor Butch Cassidy’s bad karma that kept coming back to me. And I also wondered if helping to solve murders would somehow help right his wrongs from so long ago.

Or maybe I was just plumb crazy.

Coco shook her head. “How will we ever tell Mother that Delta was murdered?”

No one had a good answer to that. Mama shook her head and filled the silence with her own question. “Why would anyone want her dead?”

Cynthia kept her eyes cast downward. Coco and Sherri remained silent.

Coco opened her mouth to say something but closed it again. Whatever her private thoughts were, she was keeping them to herself.

I wasn’t a detective, but I’d had enough experience to warrant butting in. “Having an enemy who would want you dead is big. Murder isn’t easy,” I said to Coco and Sherri. “There has to be a motive, right? The sheriff’ll ask both of you what you think because y’all knew her the best.”

Cynthia cleared her throat and looked up, her gaze passing over each of us. “I don’t mean to interrupt,” she said, knowing full well that’s precisely what she was doing, and seemingly relishing the attention, “and I don’t want to toss
names out, you know, in case they’re innocent, but I saw Delta and Jeremy Lisle, over at the Historic District? They were arguing about something. I wonder . . .”

She didn’t want to toss out a name, but she’d done it anyway. I didn’t know Jeremy Lisle, but I instantly felt bad for him. People argued, but that didn’t mean they would kill someone. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I was capable of murder. I’d been through that once before, and it still left a sour taste in my mouth . . . and had lit a fire under my behind. Nothing like needing to clear your name to help you solve a murder.

“Did you hear what the argument was about?” Coco asked.

The corner of Cynthia’s mouth lifted in a little self-satisfied smile. It was scarcely noticeable, but it was there. “Something about her position on the Bliss Historic Council.”

Sherri’s head snapped up. “What do you mean? She stepped down.”

Cynthia looked like the cat who swallowed the canary, self-satisfied grin and all. “Maybe,” was all she said.

Sherri glared. “If you know something, just spit it out, Cyn.”

“Even if I knew, it’s not my story to tell. Talk to Jeremy,” she said.

“But do you have an idea?” I asked, already making a mental note to ask Will. He was on the Bliss Historic Council as the city architect.

“Like I said, I hate to stir up trouble and drag anyone’s name through the mud, but I will say this,” Cynthia said, her hand splayed dramatically across her chest. “Jeremy Lisle is
running for mayor, and Delta backed the incumbent. Politics. Makes things sticky.” She threw up her hands and looked at me. “You really should talk to Jeremy.”

“The
sheriff
should talk to him, not me. I don’t have anything to do with this.” Because I’d had a hand in a few recent cases, people assumed I was unofficially involved in the goings-on of law enforcement in Bliss. But even if I was curious about what had happened to Delta, all I wanted to do, at the moment, was make aprons.

Coco leaned forward, catching my eye. “Harlow, Delta and I didn’t always see eye to eye, that’s certainly no secret, but she was my sister. She’s left behind a daughter and a mother. And you have the gift of sleuthing. For Jessie Pearl, and for Megan, could you ask around and see what you can find out?”

I blinked at her. And blinked again. Still I couldn’t figure out what to say. As the seconds ticked past, I wondered if I could blink away the curiosity coursing through me, blink away Coco’s wide, crystal blue eyes imploring me to help her mother and her niece, blink away the intent gazes of Sherri and Cynthia, and blink away Mama shaking her head and silently communicating that under no circumstances was I to get wrapped up in another murder investigation.

As it often did, a question surfaced in my mind.
What would Meemaw do?

I went over the possible answers:

1) Stay out of it—after all, although Delta had been my neighbor, it was none of my business;

2) Ride the sheriff and deputy sheriff’s coattails to satiate my curiosity while still staying out of the fray; or

3) Help a friend in need.

I nodded, and for a second it felt as though Meemaw were right behind me, her hands on my shoulders, slowly pushing me forward. She needn’t have bothered. There was no question what she would do if she were in my place. Up until her dying breath, she’d helped everyone around her, and if she could do anything to ease Jessie Pearl’s pain at losing her daughter, she’d do it.

And so would I. “Yes. I’ll see what I can find out,” I said.

Mama leveled a
We’re gonna have words about this later
look at me. Sherri wrung her hands and fought back her tears. But Cynthia sat up a trifle straighter, her lips thinning as her grin widened. “Excellent. As luck would have it, the Historic Council meets tonight. Jeremy will be there. I can go with you, introduce you around, and you can talk to him. It’ll be the perfect chance to find out what he and Delta were arguing about.”

Before I could decide whether I wanted to dive right into investigating Delta’s death by talking to Jeremy Lisle or if I needed some time to think things through, perhaps while making an apron, Coco piped up. “Well, you certainly don’t think I’m going to sit around by myself while you two are out solving Delta’s murder. I’m coming, too.” She looked at Cynthia, silently daring her to argue.

Cynthia’s smile wobbled, but she managed to maintain it. “Don’t let me stop you. It’s open to the public. Starts at six thirty on the dot.”

Coco cocked her head, forcing her own smile. “Wonderful. I’ll be there at six.”

Bliss’s Historic Council held its monthly meeting on the third Thursday of the month in the City Hall Annex building on Austin Street. It was located one block off the square. Buttercup, the vintage pale yellow pickup truck Meemaw had left me when she’d died, chugged along, bouncing with ancient charm as I passed through the square and headed to my first ever Historic Council meeting.

“I’ll pick you up at five forty-five,” Cynthia had said before she left Buttons & Bows earlier, but I’d managed to back away, wave my hands, and insist that I could get myself there.

“I don’t mind,” she pressed.

I’d pointed to Buttercup sitting under the row of possumwood trees along the side of the driveway between the Mobley house and mine. Behind the trees was a five-foot-deep thicket of shrubs Delta and Anson had planted nearly twenty years ago when Nana and her goats first intruded on their property. “I can get there on my own,” I said, “but thanks.”

Cynthia’s chin dropped to her chest as she peered at the ancient truck. One eyebrow arched. “
That
is yours?”

“Sure is. I used to ride all over town in it with Loretta Mae when I was a girl.” I grinned, remembering how we’d
sometimes head to the outskirts of town to visit some old rancher Meemaw needed to talk to, and how my brother, Red, and I would sit in the bed of the truck as she drove through the pasture, the longhorns and Black Angus cattle within spitting distance.

Mama had sidled up beside me. “You can take the girl out of the country,” she said proudly, “but you can’t take the country out of the girl.”

Wasn’t that the truth? If I’d lost my Southern sensibilities during my time working with a renowned fashion designer in Manhattan, Mama might never have recovered. A girl could not hide her Texas heritage, and even though I’d tried to suppress it while in New York, it never really worked. I’d missed the Lone Star State, and my down-home qualities shone through no matter how I tried to lose my accent to appear more sophisticated.

Finally, I’d given up. Even back then, most of my designs were influenced by my Southern and Western roots. Slowly but surely, my slow Texas drawl had returned. It hadn’t taken long for me to settle back into life in Bliss, with all its quirks and subtleties.

As I walked into the City Hall Annex, I stood in the hallway for a moment wondering which room the meeting would be in. “Hello there, Sunshine,” said a male voice from behind me. A voice I knew well. Will Flores.

His hands settled on my hips, skimming them as I turned to face him, tuning out the other people milling around us. “Hello to you, Mr. Flores.”

“Never thought I’d see you at one of our these meetings.”

“I like to keep you on your toes,” I said before letting my lips brush his.

He grinned. “You do a good job of that. Never know what you’re going to be up to next.”

Will had been one of the first people I’d met after I’d set up shop in Bliss. He’d had a key to the house, courtesy of Meemaw, and had done handyman tasks around the place, also courtesy of Meemaw. What Loretta Mae wanted, she got. That was her charm, and she used it well. She’d wanted something to develop between Will and me, and she’d set out to make that happen by bartering deals with him prior to her death. She’d arranged for Will to do work around 2112 Mockingbird Lane in exchange for me instructing Gracie, his daughter, on basic sewing skills. Turns out Gracie didn’t need my tutelage, but after I got to know him, I didn’t mind having Will hang around.

Meemaw had gotten what she wanted. Will and I were going strong, in love, and looking toward a future together.

“About that,” I said, lifting my gaze to meet his. “You know Delta Mobley—”

He dropped his hands back to his sides and took a step backward. “Don’t do it, Cassidy.”

He probably knew he couldn’t really stop me from digging into Delta’s death, but I had no doubt he felt honor-bound to try. He preferred that I didn’t get involved in the mysteries that seemed to abound in Bliss, but he also accepted that I tended to get involved anyway.

I crinkled my nose in a show of contrition. “It’s a little bit too late. Coco, Sherri, and Cynthia were over at the house, then Mama stopped by, and, well, before I knew what was happening, I said I’d poke around and see what I could find out.”

He cocked his head and gave it a slow, steady shake. “Cassidy, Cassidy, Cassidy. Will you ever learn?”

I closed the gap between us, slipping my hands around his waist. “Flores, Flores, Flores,” I said, but instead of shaking my head, I lifted my chin and stood on my toes until our lips touched. “I am learning. Every time I help right the wrongs in this crazy town, I’m learning.”

He wrapped his arms around me and grinned. “I meant, will you ever learn to stay out of the crime business?”

“Probably not,” I said, then added, “but at least I’m on the right side of it.”

His response was an extra squeeze. “Let’s keep it that way.” A minute later, he led me into a nearby room and to the front row of portable chairs. He sat down next to me. “Since you’re here, we should finally finish getting your house designated as a historic landmark. I have Loretta Mae’s file, and everything’s in order.”

I knew that my great-grandmother had shown up at a council meeting about a month before she passed. The house that I now owned was one of the original dwellings off the square and was one of the oldest homes in town. Legend had it that when Bonnie and Clyde went on their rampage through the county, they hung out in Bliss, robbed the bank on the square, and hid out in my backyard. That, along with our connection to Butch Cassidy, made the house all the more
interesting. If any house in town had history built into the walls, it was 2112 Mockingbird Lane.

When I’d first met Will, the house was nearly through the historic designation process, but it had been stalled because of the change of ownership. Actually, unbeknownst to me, I’d owned it since I was born. Loretta Mae had deeded it to me the day of my birth. But years later, she’d submitted the paperwork to the Bliss Historical Society in her own name. A minor thing that anywhere else could have been fixed with a little white-out and a ballpoint pen. But in Bliss, it meant we had to go through the entire process again. Something I simply hadn’t had time to do.

Whenever it was complete, the house would go on the registry. Pictures would be taken. And it would become part of a book on Bliss history and unforgettable local characters.

Forget about the fact that a ghost resided inside and that the Cassidys, who’d built it, were charmed. My house had a pretty stellar identity all on its own.

“All you have to do is sign the form, since you’re the owner,” Will said. “Then give the group some context as to your intentions—”

“My intentions?” He made it sound like I needed to explain myself to a judgment committee.

He tilted his head toward the people milling around the horseshoe tables positioned in front of the room. “It helps them feel connected to the houses they approve,” he said, his voice lower than it had been a second ago.

“But they already approved it the first time around.”

He nodded, his brows furrowing. “Right. They just want to hear from you before they approve it in your name. Make
sure you plan to stick around and honor the Historic District’s guidelines.”

This was all a little too intense. The house had become my home—and I had no intention of doing anything crazy like painting it purple or ripping out the yard and pouring cement. Maybe the committee, minus Will, of course, was a little power hungry. I thought about Delta and how headstrong and vocal she’d been. She very well could have rubbed someone on the committee the wrong way if they didn’t want people voicing their opinions.

I stared at him. “Tonight? Right now?”

He chuckled and took my hand. “Tonight. When you told me you were coming, I added you to the agenda. They can designate, and then we’ll get someone out to take pictures of the house. Of course tonight you’ll have to give a statement—”

“Whoa, there, back up, cowboy,” I said, taking back my hand. “What do you mean, make a statement? I have to get up and speak in front of the committee?”

“It’ll be easy. Loretta Mae did it, you know.”

Meemaw had stood right here in this room and addressed Bliss’s Historic Council? How could I not have known that?

But of course she did. It made perfect sense. She’d almost completed the process before she died. She’d wanted the house designated, which meant I needed to follow through with getting it done. Even if it meant standing up in front of the Council to tell the story of my house.

Will left me to my own devices as he slipped into his seat at the front of the room. He’d blindsided me. Smart man. I might not have shown up otherwise. I looked around at the tables arranged in a horseshoe shape. Will sat on the far side,
facing me. Eight other people sat around in their designated spots, all with a name placard in front of them. In the center was Jeremy Lisle. He rapped a gavel against the table, calling the meeting to order. The minutes of the previous meeting were approved, and the first order of business was dealt with. I used the opportunity to observe Will. I’d seen him in his office, working at the Courthouse on the Square, and at his house building architectural models. But I’d never seen him as part of a group like this. I was impressed by what I saw. He was the kind of man who could fit in almost anywhere. He was rugged and had a cowboy swagger, but put him in a suit and tie, and he’d do just fine.

The first order of business was a couple who had put in a request to paint their historic house. Even the paint color had to be approved by the council. A city representative stood at the podium and took the council through a PowerPoint presentation about the Queen Anne house, the acceptable colors, modifications that had been done previously, and her recommendation.

One of the council members raised her hand to comment. “I did a bit of research,” she said when Jeremy Lisle called on her. “The green and burgundy color choices fit the style and era of the home. These colors were appropriate for Queen Anne homes, so I think it’ll be a nice addition to the Historic District. I recommend we accept the application for a color change.”

Jeremy Lisle called for a vote. The council voted with a show of hands. It was unanimous. “Approved,” he said a moment later.

That had been easy, I thought, noting that the couple who’d submitted the application had declined to speak.
Maybe I could just wave my hand, smile sweetly, and they’d let me slide without addressing them, too. “Wishful thinking,” I muttered just as Coco slid into the seat beside me. In the blink of an eye, a vision of her in an apron appeared in my head. It was a full apron with a straight bodice and a ruffle on the skirt. The fabric itself, however, I couldn’t see. Blue. That’s all I could identify, but it was a start.

She greeted me, then whispered, “I saw Zinnia James back there. We go way back. I sold her and Jeb their first house here in town. That was when Jeb was first starting out in politics, and I was new to real estate. Sold them all their houses, in fact. Zinnia, she’s connected to everyone, and I just bet she knows something about the brouhaha between Delta and Jeremy.” She glanced behind her. “But Cynthia plunked down right next to me, and then she leaned over and started talking over me,” she whispered, “so I didn’t have a chance to talk to Zinnia about it. I’ll talk to her after the meeting. She comes to all of these, did you know?”

I knew Zinnia James pretty well. She’d been one of my first clients in town, and she had become a mentor and unofficial benefactor of Buttons & Bows, funneling clients and events my way, both of which had helped to keep my shop afloat for the past year. Between Coco and me, I had no doubt we’d get every last nugget of information Mrs. James might have about Delta, Jeremy, and the Historic Council kerfuffle.

But that would have to wait because at that moment, the next agenda item was called. “The designation of 2112 Mockingbird Lane as a historic landmark,” Jeremy Lisle announced. “Are the concerned parties present?”

I met Will’s gaze, and he gave a slight nod. My cue. I half stood, half waved, and then sat back down. A twenty-
something black woman rose and walked to the podium. I recognized her, and the outfit she wore, right away. Janice Sweetwater. She’d come to Buttons & Bows to ask me a few questions about the history of the house, I just hadn’t known that information would be compiled and shared in this environment. We’d sat on the porch and I’d told her all about how my great-great-great-grandmother Texana, having adopted the Cassidy name—the only name she’d ever known her true love by—and using Butch’s money, had built the house for herself and Cressida, her daughter with Butch, and how it had stayed in the family for all these years.

Now she stood in front of the room, acknowledged me with a little smile, then pointed a small remote device toward the projector. My house appeared on the screen behind Jeremy Lisle. Yellow clapboard siding, redbrick accents, the wraparound porch with the rocking chairs. It was the home where Loretta Mae had taught me to sew. Where stacks of quilts told the story of the Cassidy women, beginning with Cressida.

When Janice was finished, the committee began asking questions. “In what year was the house built?” one member asked.

“Nineteen oh six,” Janice replied. “Built by Louis Sacher, contracted by Texana Cassidy. It’s unclear if Butch Cassidy himself ever saw the house, although it’s purported that his money funded it. The house has remained in the Cassidy family ever since.”

For a moment, I could almost envision my ancestor, Butch, hammer in hand, piecing together the boards of the house just as the love of his life, Texana, and then Cressida, had used fabric to piece together the ancestral quilts I
treasured. She’d used bits of old fabric and clothing to tell the stories of her life. These were the threads that bound us all together and were the foundation of our family.

“The application is complete,” Will said, after a few more questions had been asked and answered. “The house is a perfect example of the historical architecture in Bliss. It’s right next door to the Mobley house, which we designated six months ago.”