A Seamless Murder (9 page)

A church tag sale in a small town could always be depended on to bring the people out in droves. Mama, Nana, and I had signed up to volunteer together during the late afternoon shift that Saturday, which had given me the morning to work on aprons.

I had started with a pattern I found in the attic once I got home from the fabric store. It was a retro cocktail apron with three ruffles, and I dubbed it the Susie Homemaker. It was perfect for Bennie, who I knew made her husband dinner every night and who thrived in the kitchen, loved throwing parties, had a classic Victorian house, and couldn’t wait to host her part of the progressive dinner.

She was a homemaker through and through, and this apron was going to be perfect for her. I’d also considered the stack of vintage fabric from my great-great-grand-
mother’s youth and ended up picking two coordinating fabrics, one from my stash, and the second one the cherries we’d ended up buying the day before. There was a vintage cooking theme with the cherries, teakettles, dishes, stoves, and pies. The background of the vintage selection was white, while the primary colors were red and a vibrant green. “This’ll be the top ruffle,” I told Gracie, who’d come over to help me sew.

She held up the green print Bennie and I had agreed on the day before. “How about this one in the middle? Maybe with those little green pompoms hanging from the hem?”

I nodded in approval. She had a real knack for color and design. She was a natural. “Bennie loves yellow,” I said, remembering what she’d told me. I held up the last fabric, another from my own collection. The background was lemon yellow with a white pattern scattered through it, softening the color. “We’ll need to tie in the red from the first piece,” I said, “and bring the yellow up to the top. I think I’ll make the waistband with this, and maybe appliqué a few of the flowerpots from this one.” I tapped the vintage piece that would be the top ruffle.

We laid it all out on the cutting table in my workroom, and thirty minutes later, all the pieces were cut and we were ready to sew. I could do it myself in less than an hour, but Gracie was rubbing her hands together and bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. She wasn’t saying, but she wanted to do this project on her own. I handed her the three main pieces, put my hands on her shoulders, and directed her to the sewing machine. “You take this one,” I said. “I have an idea for Randi Martin’s.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

Her grin was infectious. “Oh yes, one hundred percent. I’m right here if you need me,” I added, but I knew she wouldn’t. She’d made most of her own homecoming dress, and had tackled a slew of other projects. An apron would be easy for her.

She set to work, and I pulled out the fabrics Randi had selected at the store. I’d had an inspiration during the night: the perfect apron to compliment her earthy style. The
background fabric would be muslin. Three short ruffles, one in a fabric I’d found that had writing on it and looked like newsprint, the next in muslin, and the third in a natural green color. A teal piece of ribbon would sit above the ruffles. I’d use appliqué to form the stems sprouting from the teal ribbon, with fabric appliquéd flowers sitting on top of each stem. Finally, I’d use small rectangles of muslin, embellished in fabric pens with inspirational words like “creative,” “inspire,” “evolution,” “vision,” “empower,” and “believe,” sewing them on to make the apron complete.

I spent the next two hours cutting and hand sewing the flowers from some of the colorful fabrics Randi had chosen. I used embroidery floss and simple braiding to form the stems. After my stint at the tag sale, I’d construct the apron itself and begin attaching the appliqués to the muslin. The inspirational words would come last, but they’d be the final touch that would make the apron perfect for Randi.

At two o’clock, I left Gracie working on her project and headed to the church. The front parking lot was full, and there wasn’t a single space along the street. I drove around the lot behind the cemetery, a feeling of déjà vu coming over me as I walked through it and past the very spot where I’d found Delta Lea Mobley’s body. There had been a small funeral ceremony with family only. I wondered whether they’d been afraid that no one would show up if they’d opened it up to the community.

At that thought, a feeling of sadness came over me. Everyone’s life had value and should be honored, and Delta’s had been cut short. I had enough time before my shift to scout the cemetery and look for her final resting place. I found it not far from where she’d died. There was no marker
yet, but I knew it was hers by the bouquet, an assortment of bluebonnets, gladiolus, and other native Texas buds lying at the top of the grave. Jessie Pearl often puttered around the front yard taking care of the flower garden, and I knew these had come from the Mobleys’ front yard.

I stopped to pay my respects, speaking to her in a soft voice. “Delta, I won’t stop until I learn the truth and your mama has some peace.”

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that, Harlow.”

I jumped, startled at the voice. Coco came up behind me, Megan and Todd trailing after her on the path. Rebecca Masters ran up behind them, panting as she handed Megan a wad of tissue.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here,” I said. “I’ll leave you—”

“Of course you’re not going anywhere,” Coco said, putting her hand on my arm. “I’m touched that you would come to pay your respects, especially knowing how Delta treated y’all after the goat incidents.”

“Well,” I said, “she certainly could hold a grudge.”

Beside me, Megan nodded. “Yes she could.”

“You can say that again,” Todd said, his arms folded over his chest. “A personal grudge against me for making enchiladas.”

Megan lightly knocked the back of her hand against Todd’s arm. “But she loved your pasta puttanesca, right?” She kissed her fingertips, fanning them out in front of her. “
Delicioso
.”

“True,” he said, smiling. “She had seconds every time.”

“Thirds, probably,” Coco said. “Cook her things she liked and she could forgive anything—”

“Almost anything . . .” Todd said, grinning.

“Which is why she’d never forgive me,” Coco finished. “You couldn’t pay me to prepare a meal for her.”

“She can probably hear you, you know,” Rebecca said. “And she wouldn’t like that you’re talking about her.”

She said it jokingly, but I glanced behind me, looking for rustling trees and listening for howling wind. Because of Meemaw, I knew ghosts existed, but all was quiet here in the cemetery.

“I’m heading to the church,” I said. People often had to deal with their grief in their own ways, and I didn’t want to intrude on their time at the gravesite.

“You don’t have to go,” Coco said, but Todd stepped closer to Megan, wrapping his arm around her, nodding a thank-you to me.

“I’m late for my shift at the tag sale. Are you stopping by?”

“We’re not buying anything at the sale. I hauled so many boxes of stuff from the house over here for her the day before she passed,” Todd said.

“Nice of you to contribute given your antique business,” I said to Megan.

Megan shrugged. “I sell what I buy and collect, but the stuff Mother donated to the tag sale was mostly Granny’s.”

“Your grandmother didn’t want you to sell it for her instead?”

Rebecca laughed as Megan said, “Oh no. Granny doesn’t get the whole eBay–flea market thing. She thinks it’s a dumb job. Mother would give me something of Granny’s every now
and then, but she’d swear me to secrecy.
Your grandmother would not want this sold,
she’d say,
so just keep this between us.
”

Coco drew in a sharp breath. “Mother’s things were not hers to get rid of. How dare she?”

The color drained from Megan’s face. “I thought you knew.”

Coco used the back of her hand to nudge her glasses back into place, then put her hands on her hips. “You thought I knew that Delta was getting rid of my mother’s things, bit by bit, without telling me or Sherri?”

I asked my own question. “Why would Delta send some of Jessie Pearl’s things to the church tag sale?” I asked. If Delta was trying to be underhanded about it, it seemed easier to have Megan sell the things she’d taken from Jessie Pearl.

Coco rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’ll tell you why. Mother is forgetful. Easier to convince her that she forgot she’d donated something for the church versus giving it to Megan to sell for profit.”

“But why?” I asked. “Why would she give away Jessie Pearl’s things in the first place?”

Coco’s expression grew indignant. “So she could stop Sherri and me from having any of it,” she said matter-of-factly.

We all stared at her. Todd spoke first. “Why would she want to do that? You’re all three her children.”

Coco adjusted her glasses again. “Sibling rivalry, I guess,” she said.

I shook my head, still trying to understand, and wondering if this was a recent change in Delta. Randi’s words about her knowing her time was limited came back to me. But no, that didn’t make sense. I’d spoken with the sheriff, and he hadn’t mentioned anything to indicate that Delta was unwell. “But does taking Jessie Pearl’s things and getting rid of them accomplish that?”

“That I don’t know,” Coco said, “but mark my words, that’s what it was about.”

Todd cleared his throat, getting our attention. “We’re standing next to her grave,” he said. “Maybe we should talk about this some other time.”

Rebecca coughed, turning away, and Megan dabbed her eyes with the tissue in her hand. Coco turned to look at Delta’s burial spot. “She’s probably in there listening and laughing,” she said. “Delta would be the first to admit that charity was not something she believed in. Get up and help yourself, that was her motto, wouldn’t you say, Megan?”

Megan’s brown eyes were wide as quarters. She stole a quick glance at the grave, but nodded. “She kicked me out of the house once, all because I didn’t want to go to a college readiness class she signed me up for. I told her I didn’t want to go to her alma mater, and that I wanted to be a police officer. And what’s wrong with that, anyway? But she got so mad, I thought she was literally going to explode.” She turned to Todd, tears spilling from her eyes. “I don’t think you ever saw her like that. She was clenching her fists, and her neck turned bright red. If she’d been in a cartoon, the top
of her head would have popped open and steam would have poured out.”

Her lips quivered, and the quiet sobs she’d been holding in turned to a slight giggle, then a full-on laugh. “She was always mad at me, I think. More often than she wasn’t, anyway, but . . . but . . .”

“But she loved you,” Todd said, pulling her close.

“She should still be here,” Rebecca said, taking Megan’s hand. “It’s not right. But Todd’s right. She loved you more than anything, and I bet that you were the last person to cross her mind before she died. She was willing to go to the mat for you, Megs, whatever it took.”

Coco reached over to take Megan’s hand. “She didn’t always know how to show it, Meg, but she did love you. No mother in her right mind would cheer at her only daughter becoming a police officer. There are crazy people in the world.”

The statement hung there over Delta’s grave like a dark cloud. Someone had been crazy enough to kill her, and we all wanted answers. But right now I had nothing but a few hypotheses, and none of them seemed any good. If I believed Coco, Delta had something against her own sisters, and there was some strife between her and Megan, too. None of the relationships in Delta’s life seemed to have been easy or conflict-free. But I thought Coco was right. Delta had loved Megan, and the poor girl needed to understand that or she’d carry the weight of disappointment her whole life.

In the distance, I could see people swarming around the tent, moving up and down the aisles. In the church itself, the pastor peered out the window, taking in the fund-raising efforts of the congregation. It was a sight he had to be proud of.

Something Delta had said that very first day when the Red Hat ladies had cornered me about the aprons suddenly came back to me. The town leaked like a sieve, she’d said. I’d forgotten about it, but now I couldn’t get it out of my mind. What church incident? And did the pastor know about it?

Seize the moment, that was my motto. With the pastor alone inside the church, this was my opportunity to see what he might know about any incidents in Delta’s life.

I checked my watch and edged toward the pathway that led to the church. “I’ll see you at the tag sale?” I asked.

“In a little while,” Todd said. He took Megan’s hand and guided her closer to the grave. They needed their own moment of silence and time to grieve privately. Another reason for me to take my leave.

I hurried off, leaving the cemetery, and minutes later I was skirting my way through the tent. Before I made it past the first aisle, someone called my name. Make that two people. Mama and Nana stood at the end of the next row over, a mess of trinkets covering every square inch of their table. Vases, bowls, salt and pepper shakers, figurines. I’d never seen so many knickknacks in one place. They seemed to have quadrupled since I was here last. And there wasn’t anything I was inclined to bring home.

“Darlin’,” Mama said, waving, “over here. Come over here.”

I waved back. “Coming.”

I headed toward her but stopped in my tracks when I caught sight of a sparkling pocket on a rectangle of blue denim. I’d never been attracted to the bling so many Texas women adored. But there was something about this particular pair of jeans that drew my eye. I just didn’t know what it was.
I picked them up, checked the tag. They were my size. Meant to be, I reckoned. And they looked as if they’d fit me perfectly. Tucking them under my arm, I scanned the rest of the table. Another pair jumped out at me. Not jeans, I realized. Overalls. They weren’t my size. They weren’t particularly stylish. The faded color. The soft denim. The oversized pocket on the front panel.

I passed them by, but backtracked a moment later. There was something about them that I liked. They’d been worn, but that didn’t mean they had no use left in them. Deconstruction was always an experiment in creativity, and what better tool to start a deconstruction project with than a pair of denim overalls? I had no idea what I’d make with them, or whom I’d make it for, but I knew I had to have them.