3. Using the same color ink as the flower image, stamp a greeting on white cardstock. Cut out the greeting by using a medium oval punch or decorative-edged scissors.
4. Use a large scallop oval punch to create an oval piece from the same color cardstock as the flower image. Attach the smaller greeting oval on top of the larger oval, then attach the larger oval to the card front, lower right corner, using self-adhesive foam dimensional.
Courtesy of www.mashedpotatoesandcrafts.com.
A twinge of guilt struck my heart when my phone vibrated with a text message from Dallas.
Looking forward to seeing you tonight.
I tapped out a response:
Me too.
I tried not to think about how I wished I’d given Luke my number. I smoothed the emotions from my face before I entered the shop. Hopefully Lorea wouldn’t see anything in my eyes that hinted at a story to tell. I was saving Luke the Harley owner for later.
“You look better. Maybe Clay puts something in your fried pickles.” Lorea stepped forward and wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a barbeque, though.”
I laughed. “Someday I’ll get you to come with me.”
Lorea waved me off and smoothed out the fabric she was stitching. “Thanks for listening to me whine earlier.”
“We’ll figure this out,” I said. “For now, I’m going to concentrate on finishing those bridal shower invitations someone tricked me into making.” I hoped that keeping my hands busy would give my mind a break from worrying about the missing dresses and my looming financial ruin.
Lorea lifted her chin. “I didn’t trick you. You practically begged me to let you design them.”
“Ha! If I left it up to you, Natalie’s shower guests would have received an invite on dollar store party notes.”
With a snort, Lorea tossed a wad of packing tape at me. “I would never, not when I have a mashed crafts expert within spitting distance.”
I shook my head at Lorea’s nickname for mashedpotatoesandcrafts.com. She knew that I’d been creating handmade cards with my family long before rubber stamping hit the big time. Some of my mom’s stamp sets were more than twenty years old, and she still used them for her thank you cards. “Wait until you see the finished product. I’m using vintage buttons as an accent.”
That got the seamstress to look up. “Thanks, Adri. I would be a pretty wretched bridesmaid without you.”
“You know that isn’t true. Natalie is lucky to have you as a friend and her assistant wedding planner.”
Lorea smiled as I carried a basket full of card-making supplies to my desk. Within thirty minutes, I had creased all the cards, added a punched lace edging, and stamped a bouquet of roses onto nearly fifty cream-colored squares of paper. I rounded the edges of each square and glued the image of the roses to the front of the cards. Then I attached a button near the right edge of each card, threaded burgundy embroidery floss through the back, and looped it over the button. The guests would unwind the simple closure to open the card and read the details of Natalie’s bridal shower. The date and time were printed on vellum and attached with a flower-shaped brad to the inside of the card.
“I can feel you peeking,” I said.
“Well, aren’t you going to show me?” Lorea leaned over my shoulder. “Those are gorgeous.”
I handed her a finished invitation. “Tell me what you think about the inside.”
Lorea read the details and nodded. “Thank you for making these. They’re perfect.”
“I’m glad you like them.” I gave in to a yawn as I finished cleaning up scraps of paper and stamp supplies. “I’m bushed. I think I’ll head out early.”
“Have fun on your date tonight,” Lorea said. “You deserve a break. Oh, and shut off your inner critic and give Dallas a chance. He was so cute the other day when he stopped by the shop.”
“I’ll try,” I replied. “I forgot I wanted to straighten my hair.” I tugged at an unruly curl. “I’m going to have to hurry to get ready.” At least there would be a silver lining to my cloudy day. “Try not to worry about Sylvia. We’ll figure something out, and maybe the police will find the dress.”
“Natalie’s coming Monday afternoon for her fitting. Can I stop by tomorrow and pick up her gown?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t finish taking out that hem yet.” Not thinking of diamonds! I gave her a half smile.
Lorea nodded. “I might have to forgive you, especially since you made all of those invites.”
With a grimace, I stacked the cards. “What was I thinking when I offered to help you with that hem?”
“That you love me. Also, you’re very kind, and I would never turn down service.” Lorea laughed and backed away as I tried to swat her with a stack of paper.
“I think I’ll let you handle Sylvia’s next tantrum.”
Lorea rolled her eyes. “I want to hear all about your date.”
I headed for the back door, jingling my keys. “Let’s hope I have something good to tell.”
It was difficult to relax when scenes of murderous rage—starring Sylvia Rockfort with me as the victim—kept flitting through my mind. Lorea had called Sylvia, hoping to schedule an appointment for Tuesday, but Sylvia insisted on coming first thing Monday morning. If the dress hadn’t turned up by then, we would have to tell her. And there was the other problem concerning a certain quilt in my living room, but I wasn’t thinking about that right now. It all felt too overwhelming.
At fifteen minutes to six, I sat at my kitchen table trying to reconstruct some of the details from Natalie’s stolen wedding binder. My fingers kept wandering to a loose string near the hem of my minidress, or extra-long shirt, depending on who was describing the outfit—my mother or me. With black leggings under the turquoise dress, my clothing was appropriate for an evening ice show.
The night breathed cool air from the peaks of the mountains down on
