Pleating for Mercy

needle through the fabric, gliding it along the inside fold and sliding it back out. “Did she have a boyfriend?”

Josie had filled me in on Nell’s self-destructive love life, but Mama’s take on it was that things had been looking up. But by all accounts, she had a good business mind. Surely the two sides of Nell could be knitted together somehow.

“Oh, she was in love.”

I jerked and the needle pricked my thumb. “She was?” I said, pressing my thumb between my lips to soothe the biting pain.

“She wasn’t telling people yet. Afraid she might jinx it, I think,” Ruthann said from behind the privacy screen. “I only found out by accident.”

“But I thought you two were best friends.”

She reemerged, back in her white capris and floral top, the strands of hair framing her face giving her an ethereal look. “We were good friends, but Nell didn’t get real close to anyone. I think I felt closer to her than she felt to me or to Karen, or even Josie. It was like she always had on battle armor, you know? Like she had to protect herself from being hurt.”

From what little I knew of Nell, that made perfect sense. “How’d you accidentally find out she was in love?”

She looked through the French doors at the empty front room. No one had come into the shop all morning. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

I nodded. “Of course.” Unless it was about Nell’s murder, but surely that was understood?

“She was pregnant.” She breathed out a heavy sigh of relief and her shoulders relaxed. “There, I said it.”

Blood surged through my veins, my heart suddenly constricting. “Pregnant?”

“Pregnant.”

“How far along?” I asked, remembering the slight pooch I’d noticed in Nell’s belly. And I had overheard Ruthann and Karen talking about Nell getting sick. It all fit.

“Around fourteen weeks, I think.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But honestly, I’m not sure. She wouldn’t give me any details. Just said she was in love and this time it was going to work out.”

“This time?”

“She’s had a lot of near misses. And some not so near misses. But she said this guy was the one.”

Before I let my imagination run wild, I went ahead with another question. “But why was it a secret?” I asked.

“It wasn’t, I guess. Not exactly. She just wanted to tell everyone in her own way. She’d been planning to make the big announcement at Josie and Nate’s rehearsal dinner.”

“Wouldn’t Josie have minded her stealing the spotlight? I mean, someone else’s wedding festivities doesn’t seem like a very good time to make a personal announcement.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too, but she said Josie wouldn’t mind at all. She was the maid of honor, right? I guess she’d know.”

Ruthann left the shop a few minutes later, but my conversation with her stayed with me long after she’d gone. I didn’t know if the sheriff knew about Nell’s pregnancy, but somehow he’d zeroed in on the two people I kept coming back to as I talked to Nell’s acquaintances. Nate Kincaid and Josie Sandoval.

The scenarios clouded my mind and distracted me from my work. Nate had confessed to a past relationship with Nell. What if it had been more present than past, and what if he was the father of the baby? If he’d gotten wind that Nell was going to make the announcement at the rehearsal dinner, not only about their clandestine affair but about the pregnancy, how far would he have gone to try to stop her?

On the other hand, what if Josie had discovered the affair and the pregnancy? Would she have killed Nell in order to preserve the happily-ever-after she wanted so badly?

I knew that anyone who had been in Buttons & Bows the day Nell had died could have taken some random piece of trim and later strangled Nell with it. Nate and Josie had both been there.

I sank onto the couch. My temples throbbed from thinking about the murder investigation. “What am I supposed to do now?” I moaned, dropping my head to my hands.

“Do about what?”

My gaze snapped up.

Three inexplicable things hit me at once. One: Will Flores stood just outside the door, which was slightly ajar. Baffling, since I could have sworn I’d closed it. Two: The bells hadn’t jingled, yet there it was, open, and there he was, looking at me like I’d lost my marbles. Three: And sitting right in front of me on the coffee table was a container of ibuprofen.

Chapter 30

As Will Flores tackled the pipes under the kitchen sink, I finished the zipper on Ruthann’s dress and started doing the final measurements from waist to hem. One dress down wasn’t quite one-third done with the bridal dresses. Josie’s gown counted as double. At least. But it was progress, and with Nell’s funeral tomorrow and the wedding just a week and a half away now, the clock was ticking.

Unless, of course, the bride—or the groom—was guilty of murder. That could seriously thwart Josie’s plans to move forward with the wedding.

I’d opened the windows that morning, hoping the spring breeze would clear my head. But it still felt weighted down, like the thick humidity of summer had already descended and was especially concentrated around 2112 Mockingbird Lane in general, and me in particular. “I should just go talk to the sheriff,” I muttered.

“You make a habit of talking to yourself?”

I jumped, whirling around. Will stood at the threshold of the French doors, carrying his toolbox with one hand, scratching his head under his cowboy hat with the other. “I’m just wondering if that’s what I can expect from Gracie after she’s been here with you for a while. People’s peculiar little quirks tend to rub off on one another when they spend time together.”

I bristled, dropping the measuring tape I’d been holding. It looked like a pale lavender snake slithering across the hardwood floor. Heat rose from my core until I was sure my neck was splotched red. I mustered up my best Southern affect, threw my hand on my hip, and drawled, “Well, I am Loretta Mae’s kin, and you know the apple don’t fall far from the tree.”

He let his cowboy hat drop back onto his head. “That a fact? In all the times I’ve been here, I don’t think I ever heard Miss Loretta Mae talking to herself.”

That’s because she didn’t, actually, but I couldn’t tell him that. “Your daughter will be just fine,” I said. Then changing the subject, I said, “She’s a fast learner. Who taught her to sew, anyway?”

“A friend,” he said, but the way his eyes darkened and the sharpness of his answer made it clear this was not a subject to pursue.

Maybe I’d have the chance to ask Gracie more about it sometime. “So what’s the verdict on the pipes?” I asked as I wound up the measuring tape.

“I couldn’t find anything wrong under the sink, but like I told you, I’m not a plumber.”

No, he was an architect and a historical society guy.

“You’ll have to hire yourself a real plumber for that problem,” he said.

“Okay, then,” I said, but I suspected there was nothing wrong with the pipes except Meemaw’s spirit hammering around with them. “What else is on the list?”

He reached one hand into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, handing it to me.

I got a mouthful of grief when I recognized Meemaw’s spindly handwriting. The list was at least fifteen items long, from sealing the window casements to refinishing the kitchen table. Looked like I’d be spending a lot of time with Gracie Flores as payment. “You can cross number ten off the list,” I said, handing the paper back to him.

His eyes scanned the list. “You don’t want help organizing the attic?” One eyebrow arched up. “I’ve been up there.”

I would honor as many of Meemaw’s wishes as possible, but the attic was personal. It was filled with family memories, heirlooms, and Cassidy history. I didn’t want to share that with a stranger. “It’ll be work, I know, but I’ll