something was fishy with the foliage in my yard.
“Now, where’s the fire?” she said, setting the pot down on the coffee table.
Before I could respond, Nana crashed through the kitchen door and barreled into the shop. “I came as fast as I could. It’s a full moon tonight and Thelma Louise and Junebug are downright rascally. I’ve had to give ’em both a good what-for.” Even her rushed words sounded slow-paced with her drawl. She looked at me, then at Mama and her droopy orchid. “What’s goin’ on?”
I sat them down and filled them in on Josie being taken in for questioning, Madelyn’s pictures, the strange pattern on Nell’s neck, and the sheriff’s people searching Buttons & Bows. I wanted to keep Meemaw to myself a little longer, even just a few hours.
A clatter came from the workroom. Maybe she had other ideas. I spun around and started to say,“Meemaw?” but stopped myself just in time.
The noise vanished.
Mama and my grandmother hadn’t heard a thing. “Ladybug,” Nana was saying, “they can’t possibly think you had anything to do with that poor girl dying. Why, you didn’t even know her. It’ll be fine.”
I sank back against the sofa, pushing my glasses to the top of my head and pinching the bridge of my nose. The dress form with the muslin sample of Josie’s dress beckoned me and Nell’s murder weighed heavy on my mind. I still hadn’t heard from Josie. I wondered what else could happen to turn this day topsy-turvy.
A light swishing sound came from the workroom, like there was a tornado slowly tunneling right inside the house. “Thelma Louise?” Nana shrilled. She jumped up, making the terra-cotta pot with the orchid teeter as she raced through the French doors.
I grabbed the pot to stop it from falling. “It’s coming from outside,” I hollered.
She stopped short, turned on her sock feet, and hurried past me, straight into the kitchen. Mama was on her heels. It wasn’t Thelma Louise, or Junebug, or any of Nana’s goats. I knew that, but I wanted at least one more minute alone with Meemaw before I had to share her. I held open the door to the back porch and the two of them skipped down the steps and into the backyard, spinning around, looking for a goat that wasn’t there.
I stayed inside.
For a second I thought I’d imagined the ruckus, but then a movement next to the stove caught my eye. “Meemaw?” I whispered, afraid that if I spoke too loud the nebulous glow in the corner would spook and vanish.
I stared at the hazy shape, but I couldn’t make out any details. There was no definition to the form, no structure or facial features visible, no limbs, and no color. It was like a curvy cloud. I couldn’t say it was a human form, but I was still sure it was Loretta Mae.
All the possible words to describe what I was seeing flew through my mind.
In true Loretta Mae form, the apparition spun around, turning into a funnel cloud, skirting across the floor, passing right through the cutting table in the center of the room. I gasped.
“Is it really you?” I whispered, but quickly clamped my mouth shut as Mama and Nana plowed back into the kitchen. I held tight to Mama’s flowerpot, my fingers trembling and cold. The orchid shivered. The white of the petals had become brighter and the soft pink streaks had turned to a hot, vibrant color.
I stood there, shaking, as the wispy form shimmied in front of me.
“Did the goat come in here?” Nana searched the room, even crouching and looking under the table, but Mama stared at me. Stared at the flower. “Harlow, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
My jaw dropped. She didn’t see the apparition. Before I could answer, the front door to the shop flew open and Josie stumbled in.
“Harlow.” She collapsed onto the floor, leaning back against the wall as if she couldn’t hold herself upright, her sobs scattering away the spookiness.
With a furtive glance at Meemaw, I hurried to Josie, kneeling by her side. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Mama and Nana followed me back to the shop.
Tears streamed down Josie’s face. A dark trail of mascara stained her pale cheeks. “I-It’s N-Nate.”
Oh, God, was he hurt? Had there been an accident? “Tell me,” I said, my hand stroking her back.
“The sheriff—” She broke off, hiccuping and gasping for breath. “He . . . he . . . he’s saying Nate’s a person of interest . . .” She choked the rest of the words out. “They think he might be involved in Nell’s murder.”
Chapter 19
“Please, Harlow,” Josie begged, “you have to help me. He didn’t kill Nell.”
My mind spun in circles. I wasn’t a police officer or a detective. I was a dressmaker. My expertise was in fabrics and design. Not to mention that given the way the sheriff’s people had combed through Buttons & Bows, I also might be a person of interest.
I didn’t know how to help Josie. But she was a friend—or at least she might become one as we got reacquainted. And her future was skittering down the drain.
Nana had skipped out to do the second daily milking of her does. I had gathered Josie and my mother around the kitchen table, where we sat sipping coffee.
“What exactly did the sheriff say?” I asked.
Josie wrapped her hands around her coral-colored mug and twisted it back and forth. “He asked me about Nell. He wanted to know about our friendship, how long I’d worked for her, plans for the store, if she had any enemies.”
Okay. Those all seemed like good questions. “What did you tell him?”
Her face was drawn. “I’ve worked at the bead shop for three years. I love it. Nell was a pretty good boss. We became friends.”
“What about enemies?” I asked. That seemed like the most pertinent question.
She looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. The morning at the sheriff’s office had taken its toll on her. “Not that I know of. She wasn’t real close to a lot of people, but I didn’t know anyone who didn’t like her.”
“And Nate . . . ?”
She hung her head, her bangs falling over her eyes in bedraggled clumps. “Apparently they went on a few dates once.”
“They . . . you mean Nate and Nell?”
“But it was a long time ago!”
All the breath left my body as Nell’s words came back to me like a sucker punch to the gut. “I hope he doesn’t break her heart.” She’d sounded like she cared about Josie, but what if she’d been speaking from her own experience with Nate? Had he broken Nell’s heart? Had she threatened to tell?
“How long ago?” Mama asked.
“Before I knew Nell,” she said, “so more than three years ago. Nate has no reason to k-kill Nell.”
Mama’s face was pensive as she listened to every word Josie uttered. She lowered her chin and I knew just what she was thinking. Hoss McClaine must have good reason to be watching Nate Kincaid, and a previous relationship with the victim fit the bill. I didn’t love it that the sheriff appeared to be sneaking around with my mother, but he’d always been as honest as the day is long.
If Nate had an alibi, he’d be in the clear. Had he offered one up to the sheriff? “Where was he last night?”
Josie spun her untouched coffee mug around. “Working.”
“With other people?” I asked.
She kept her eyes downcast. “I don’t know. He said he couldn’t talk about it.”
Josie had spent quite a while on her cell phone the night before after discovering Nell’s body in the bluebonnet patch. She’d spent a lot of that time talking to Nate’s mother, but had she talked to him? “Did you call him last night?”
A little spasm crossed her pale face, there and gone so quickly I thought I imagined it. “He wasn’t able to
