Pleating for Mercy (16 page)

She gave a solemn nod. “He did leave quite a legacy with the Cassidy women, didn’t he?”

This time I felt the color drain from my face. If people didn’t often talk about Butch Cassidy, they talked less about the charms his descendants were rumored to possess. First Madelyn Brighton had confronted me on the family magic, and now Mrs. James alluded to it. Was there no more subtle pretending in Bliss?

Mrs. James turned back to Gracie. “Knowledge is power. Your daddy is a fine man, and he’s done right by you. It’s not every man who would sacrifice everything to raise his child by himself.”

Any thought about my family’s charms flew out of my head. What had Mrs. James said about Will? Sacrifice everything and raise his child . . .
alone
?

My heart went out to Gracie. Her insistence that a mother should be there for her daughter hadn’t been indignation over Mrs. Kincaid and Miriam. It must have stemmed from her deepest desire to have her own mother with
her
, something Meemaw had known wasn’t likely to happen.

This
is why Meemaw had bargained with Will. She wanted me to have a relationship with this girl, to be that woman she could talk to, just as Mama and Nana and Meemaw had always been there for me. She wanted her safe in the cocoon of 2112 Mockingbird Lane.

Gracie didn’t blink, didn’t move, hardly breathed. “My dad says my mom blew right out of Bliss like a hurricane. She only came back so she could hand me over to him.”

Mrs. James considered Gracie thoughtfully. “Her loss,” she said.

I’d been in Gracie’s shoes. My father had left my mother when she was six months pregnant with me, when he discovered her gift. His first and only thought was that she was a witch and from that moment on, he’d wanted nothing to do with her—or me. He’d run straight for the hills and had never looked back.

Mama maintained I was all Harlow and Cassidy and had no part of my father’s lineage. Tristan Walker had left Bliss behind. I was well adjusted, but even at thirty-three I thought about him, wondered if I had even a sliver of him left in me. Sometimes I longed for the wisdom a father might give his daughter, but if I let myself think about it for too long, an ache began to grow within me until I could taste the hole.

My hand brushed against Gracie’s and I could almost feel the barriers she had in place to protect her heart.

“My father left before I was born,” I said quietly. “I’ve never met him.”

She linked her fingers with mine and whether she knew it or not, we were initiated into a secret sisterhood all our own at that moment. Mrs. James noticed, and nodded.

“My mom hasn’t been back in a while, but she’s due for a visit real soon,” Gracie said.

The words were colored with hope.

Mrs. James cleared her throat. “I should leave. I don’t want to interrupt the two of you any more than I have.”

Gracie grabbed Mrs. James’s hand. “No. Please stay.”

“But you’re working . . .”

I waved away her concern. “It’s fine. We’re getting ready to do the bridesmaid fittings.”

“Of course. I was here the day you were meeting with the bridal party.” She glanced at the dress form that held the very beginnings of Josie’s gown. “I can’t imagine who could have done such a horrible thing to that poor girl.”

“Did you know Nell?”

“Oh, no. I’d seen her around, of course, but no, I didn’t
know
her.” Her perfectly preserved, immobile face clouded. “But there is something . . .”

My ears perked up. My impression of Mrs. James was that she was a smart senator’s wife who knew what she wanted and was rarely at a loss for words. Not so at this moment. She trailed off, patting her silvery hair, sighing in frustration.

“About Nell?”

“Mmm-hmm. I came here to see . . . That is, something she said that day . . .”

“Something Nell said?”

“Yes, yes. Something she said that day . . . well, quite frankly, it’s been bothering me. Though,” she added, “it may be nothing.” She hemmed and hawed another few seconds before fluttering her hand. “Sometimes my mind doesn’t work the way I expect it to, you know.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “An unhappy consequence of growing older.”

“If it’s about Nell, maybe you should go to the sheriff—”

“No, no. He might just laugh me out of the office.”

“Oh.” My hope deflated. I glanced at the clock. Karen and Ruthann were late, which meant they really would be here any second. “What
is
it, Mrs. James?”

Her nervous fluttering tapered off as she drew in a bolstering breath. “Nell Gellen lied, my dear,” she stated very matter-of-factly. “She stood right here in this room and lied. I’d bet my life on it.”

“Nell lied—” she said again. “And now she’s dead.”

“Okay,” I said, “people lie. But whatever she lied
about
, it’s bothering you. You can’t ignore
that
. It’s like my grandmother always says. You can’t ignore the girls in the attic.”

Her mouth twitched into a small grin. “Does she still say that?”

I nodded. “Which means, don’t ignore your intuition.”

She shuffled a low-heeled foot against the floor, then sighed, making up her mind to speak. “Yesterday, when the bridal party was here, Lori Kincaid talked to Miss Sandoval and the bridesmaids about shopping in Fort Worth. Do you recall?”

It was imprinted in my memory. Mrs. Kincaid had tried to pull the rug right out from under my feet. “I remember.”

“She asked if they’d been to a restaurant called Reata—”

“Right.” It felt like Gracie and I had breathed in every bit of air and were holding it in our lungs as we waited.

“Nell said she’d never been,” Mrs. James continued, “but the thing is, I saw her there not too long ago.”

I exhaled. Loudly. “She probably thought Mrs. Kincaid was talking about someplace else.”

She wagged her finger. “I don’t think so. The name of the restaurant was repeated several times. Someone said it was at Sundance Square. She knew. In fact, I swear I could see it in her eyes.”

I decided to play devil’s advocate, even though I was beginning to wonder if Mrs. James was a little bit dotty in the head. “Okay, so you saw Nell at Reata at Sundance Square,” I repeated, “but she’d said she hadn’t been there. Why does that bother you?”

“Think about it a moment, Harlow Jane.”

And
bam!,
the lightbulb went off over my head. I also saw Gracie out of the corner of my eye. Oh, God. Was it even okay for her to be hearing all of this? “How old are you, Gracie?”

“Fifteen. And I’m old enough to know what’s going on,” she said, hands on her hips. “My dad says knowledge is power.”

“He’s not the only one, so he’s in good company, then,” Mrs. James said.

“Well?” she demanded. “Why does it bother you? Did you see who she was with?”

Mrs. James shook her head, tapping her temple with the pad of her index finger. “I have glasses but prefer not to wear them. Pride and beauty trump age, you know.”

Not for me. Like a Pavlovian response, my finger immediately pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

“I was close enough to be fairly certain it was her. When I heard her say she’d never been to Reata, I started doubting myself, but the more thought I’ve given it, the more I’m sure it was her. Unfortunately, whoever she was meeting was already seated and too far away for me to see. But now . . .”

Gracie gasped. “But now what?”

“But now,” I said, finishing Mrs. James’s sentence, “it’s pretty clear she was with someone she shouldn’t have been with.”

Mrs. James touched a finger to her nose. “Exactly.”

 

The sound of Gracie sliding buttons across the hardwood floor was like steady rain on the roof. One by one, she plucked them off the floor and dropped them with a
ping
into the jar.

“I’ll be right back,” I told her, following the senator’s wife into the front room.

Instead of going to the front door, Zinnia James headed straight to the display wall of my designs. “You’re quite talented.”

She wasn’t a celebrity, but I’d take it. A politician’s wife, especially a fashion-conscious one, was a close second. “Thank you.”

“Your great-grandmother talked about you all the time, you know. She missed you something fierce. She was convinced you belonged here. No—that you were
needed
here.”

Instinctively, I looked around the room, hoping for a sign that Meemaw was around, but all was still. “She said that? That I was needed?”

Zinnia James nodded solemnly. “She said New York wasn’t a good fit for you.”

I hadn’t ever admitted it out loud—possibly I hadn’t ever admitted it even to myself—but with every minute I spent back in Bliss, I knew this was where I belonged. I wasn’t wired for the high stress and fast pace of Manhattan. “She was right.”

“She usually was,” Mrs. James said with a chuckle.

“I didn’t realize you knew my great-grandmother that well.”

She gave me an affectionate smile. “Oh, goodness, yes, everyone knew Loretta Mae. But I was actually friends with your grandmother in school. And of course there was the Margaret Festival. We were in it together.”

I gaped. “Really? Nana was a Margaret?” Bliss was famous—or infamous, depending on the source—for its annual Margaret Moffette Lea Pageant and Ball. The debutantes were called Margarets after Margaret Moffette Lea herself. She’d been the third wife to Texas’s favorite son, Sam Houston, former president of the Republic of Texas, back when Texas tried to be its own country. She’d become a respected first lady of the state when he’d been governor, though being shy, she’d probably roll over in her grave at the celebration we’d created in her name.

“Reluctantly,” she said, “but yes, she was. You should have seen her gown. Spectacular. I spent my fair share of time right here in this house.”

I’d spent my whole childhood here, but I’d never seen hide nor hair of Zinnia James visiting Nana when I was growing up. Or a pageant gown fit for a Margaret.

She continued, as if she’d read my mind. “We had a little . . . falling-out. I remember it to the very hour of the very day it happened.” Her voice took on a hint of regret. “We both had a crush on the same young man. We said we’d never let it break up our friendship, and I think we both meant it, but then he asked
her
to homecoming instead of me. I’m ashamed to admit it now, but jealousy reared its ugly head.”

“You and Nana liked the same boy?”

She laughed, nodding. “Hard to believe, looking at us now.”

Yes, it was. She’d ended up with a good-ol’-boy politician and my grandmother had married a cowboy and talked to goats. I couldn’t imagine the type of man who would attract them both.

“When he asked her to marry him, well, that was it. We haven’t spoken since.”

I stared and poked my finger in my ear. Had I heard her right? “
You
were in love with my grandfather?”

She nodded sheepishly. “I got over him, of course. Jeb and I are quite happy. But, yes, Wood Jenkins was my first love.”

“And you and Nana never made up?”

“It was one of those touchy situations. When Coleta tried, I wasn’t ready. When I tried, she wasn’t ready. Loretta Mae acted as a go-between once or twice, but it just never quite worked.”

I couldn’t believe I’d never heard this story. Did Mama know her father had had two women fighting over him? “Wow. Meemaw was right.”

“About what?”

“Every day, you learn something you never knew before. The day you don’t is the day you die.”

“Things happen for a reason,” Mrs. James said. “I do believe that. And I think Coleta and I will reconnect one day. Loretta Mae believed it would happen.”

“If Meemaw wanted you and Nana to be friends again, it
will
happen. Trust me on that.”

“Oh, believe me, I do,” she said with a little laugh. “Now, I did come here for a reason.” She pointed to the display board. “I want to commission a gown. The senator and I are hosting a fund-raising event. It’s not until late summer, but I wanted to make sure I’m on your calendar.”

Months away. That was good because I couldn’t possibly add another dress to my current schedule. “You’re the
only
one on my agenda.”

“Also, I have a few other events up my sleeve,” she said, a glint in her soft gray eyes. “An event at Christmas, but before that, the festival and pageant.”

“The Margarets?” If I remembered correctly, it was held around the Fourth of July, when Texas was nearing the top of the heat index.

“I’d like to commission you to make my granddaughter’s gown.”

I sputtered. “Um . . . aren’t the Margarets’ dresses period pieces?” Straight from the mid-1800s, if memory served. I had nothing like
that
in my portfolio.

She nodded, her lips thinning as she smiled. “Indeed, and Libby will look lovely in one. I’ll give you more details soon, but put that on your books, too.”

She didn’t give me a chance to argue. “You’re a delight, Harlow Jane,” she told me as she walked down the steps. “Loretta Mae would be proud.”

Those two sentences filled me with equal parts joy and sadness, but knowing Meemaw would be proud of me—and that she was here, somewhere—edged away a little of the grief.

I pushed the festival and pageant out of my mind and went back to the workroom. The subtle scent of vanilla floated in the air. Everything Zinnia James had said about Miriam, Will, Gracie, Nana, Nell, and Reata bounced around in my head. Was there something in the jumble that would point me toward Nell’s killer?

Gracie watched my every move as I laid pieces of fabric over the dress form, trying to get a sense of the garment I was going to make for Karen.

“Your dad keeps pretty busy,” I said, making conversation. Gracie had gone too quiet. “I wouldn’t have thought that many people would need handyman work done.”