Pleating for Mercy

Questions floated in and out of my mind, but the one that kept surfacing circled in my brain like a hawk. Who had hated Nell enough to want her dead?

By ten o’clock the next morning, I’d shaken off my grogginess and had found my groove with Josie’s dress. Mama waltzed in just as the clock struck twelve—she always had impeccable timing like that. The smoky scent of barbecue wafted over to me. I dropped the pincushion, turned my back on the dress form, and walked like a zombie to the kitchen. Another of Mama’s gifts was knowing just what I needed, though this was magic that most mothers seemed to possess.

“Bet they don’t make barbecue like this in New York,” she said as she set down the picnic basket she’d filled to the brim.

“No, ma’am, they don’t.” Not even remotely close.

“Brisket, slow-cooked all night long,” she said as she unpacked the earthenware container she’d brought it in. Next came a metal bowl with a snap-on lid. “My secret sauce. Bet you missed this, didn’t you, Harlow Jane?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I could almost taste it, the memories were so strong. Once a month the Cassidy women, and my poor outnumbered brother, would have barbecue right here at Loretta Mae’s house. If the weather was nice, we’d sit out on her back porch. If a thunderstorm hit, we’d huddle under the eaves until it passed. If a real storm brewed, we’d sit around the kitchen table.

“Corn on the cob,” Mama said, the crinkle of tinfoil snapping me out of the past. “Macaroni salad.” She put another bowl on the table. “Now, it’s too early in the season for watermelon, so I made a dump cake. Blackberry.”

I stared at the spread on the table. “There’s enough food here to feed all Nana’s goats, Mama, and then some.”

“Leftovers. I expect you’ll be needing them. Lord knows you won’t be cutting any corners with the detail you put into them dresses,” she said. “You best keep your strength up, and not spend your time cooking.”

I just grinned at her. No matter how old I got, it was always sweet to be mothered. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, let’s get started before it all turns cold.”

The diamond on the ring of her right hand flashed and sparkled as she scooped brisket onto a roll, ladled barbecue sauce over it, and handed me the plate. I forced myself to keep quiet. She’d tell me when she was ready.

We talked about the dresses, moving on to Nell as we finished eating. “What else do you know about Nell Gellen?” There was no need to be subtle with her. Other than hiding our gifts, we Cassidy women were a whatyou- see-is-what-you-get family. The roundabout way of the South was lost on us, just as it was lost on Zinnia James.

“Why?” Mama asked, though from the way she snapped her head and peered at me, I got the feeling she knew exactly why I was asking.

I met her gaze. “I just want to know more about the woman who died on my property. It’s a little unnerving to think there’s a murderer waltzing around town like nobody’s business.”

She lowered her chin slightly, peering up at me. “You don’t think your gift is being a detective, do you?”

“No, I don’t fancy myself a detective, Mama, and I definitely don’t think that’s my gift.” Although I had solved the mystery behind the haunting of Buttons & Bows. Ever since then, I was more and more confident that my Cassidy charm was communicating with spirits. After all, I was the only one who had sensed Meemaw’s presence.

“Good, because you have dresses to make. You don’t have time to get distracted by amateur sleuthing.”

She had a point there, but I said, “I’m just curious. You knew her from the bead shop, right? Was she nice? Did she have a boyfriend? Was she happy?”

“Most of the time. On and off. No,” she answered as she pushed her chair back from the table, carried her plate to the sink, and rinsed it off.

I started packing up the leftovers, stooping to close the lid of the flip-top picnic basket. Inside there were stacks of Tupperware containers holding duplicates of everything we’d just eaten. So this was her first stop—and I knew precisely where stop number two would be.

Curiosity nearly oozed out of me. I bit my tongue as I tucked container after container of my leftovers into Meemaw’s relatively new, yet retro-style refrigerator. Freezer on top, fridge on the bottom. The refrigerator, the stove, and the dishwasher were some of the upgrades Meemaw had done. She’d always known exactly what she’d wanted: to preserve the historic look of the house. All three appliances had stamped metal bodies and were vintage buttercup yellow.

And I loved them.

They were complete functionality under subtle style, just like the clothes I designed. Just like the way I lived my life. But apparently not how Mama was living hers. Hoss McClaine might be as comfortable as a tattered old quilt, but as long as he hid his relationship with my mother, in my opinion he was seriously lacking in style, comfort, and functionality.

But I knew she didn’t want to talk about it, so I pushed the thoughts aside and tried to stay focused on Nell. “Why don’t you think she was happy?”

Mama turned and leaned against the farmhouse sink. “Because she said as much.”

“Mama, how could you not tell me that before? What do you mean?”

“When did you take over the investigation?” she asked.

I lowered my chin, giving her a look. “Oh, just after you got that there ring,” I said.

She slapped her left hand on top of her right hand. Her cheeks turned a blotchy red. “She didn’t say it to me, in particular. She was talking to the whole bead class.”

I felt like stomping my foot, which had the domino effect of sending me spiraling back to childhood and my exasperation with not having a gift. Mama hadn’t been able to explain it. No one had, and it had driven me to the edge a few times. Which is right where I found myself now. “Mama,” I said. “Come on. I know you’ve thought about it. Why do you think she wasn’t happy?”

She folded her arms over her plaid shirt, the fabric gapping slightly between the snap closures. I’d have to fix that for her one of these days. “All I know for sure is that it usually had to do with a man.”

The way she said it made me think that something had changed and Nell’s most recent bout of unhappiness wasn’t because of a man. “You’re holding out on me,” I said, wagging my finger at her like I was scolding a child.

Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second and I knew she caught my double meaning, but they narrowed again just as quickly. She pushed away from the counter and scooped her arm through the picnic basket’s handle. “I’d gotten the impression things were looking up for her, like she had herself a man again. She had a tendency to get a little hyped up sometimes, I guess is the best way to put it. When she simmered down, though, I could always catch glimpses of that broken girl scrounging around for scraps. But you listen here—whatever made Nell happy or unhappy was her business, not mine. Some things are just private.”

The line of what we were talking about turned blurry, but I stayed firmly on the Nell side. “Not if she was killed over it.”

“I’ve already told the deputies everything I know about Nell Gellen. The rest is up to them. What happened to her is tragic. She was a lost woman, but you can’t lay your happiness on the shoulders of the people around you. I don’t think she ever learned that. You’ve got to make your own happiness.” She pointed at me. “You, missy, need to understand that.” She came over and kissed me on the cheek. “Don’t you worry about me, Harlow Jane. I’m just fine.”

As she left, carrying the picnic she’d packed for the sheriff, I wondered when Mama had crossed over to Hoss McClaine’s side of the blurry line.

Chapter 29

Nell might have lost her struggle for happiness, but I wasn’t going to let her memory slip away without trying to win her some justice. I was struggling with concerns that Josie might somehow be involved, but it was easy to push that aside for the time being and stay focused on Nell. She’d been found dead on my property. As a result, the