Pleating for Mercy

I experienced another wave of profound gratitude that I was back in Bliss, near Mama and my grandparents, and Red and his family. I’d moved away, pretended like it was what I wanted, but when a door opened to come back, I’d run through it. Nell hadn’t had that choice. She’d had no one and no place to go home to. There’d been no open door for her.

“Such a tragedy,” Mrs. Kincaid continued a moment later, “and so close to the wedding.”

“Maybe it should be postponed,” I suggested. That was one surefire way to ensure that Josie wouldn’t marry a killer.

Mrs. Kincaid set her lips in a thin, unwavering line. “Impossible. With Keith’s travel schedule and all the guests coming in, we have to make the best of it and go forward.”

Make the best of having a member of the wedding party murdered. How exactly did you do that?

“Don’t you agree, dear?” she asked her husband.

Mr. Kincaid, looking a little jet-lagged, with dark, puffy circles under his eyes, had been surveying his guests. “ ’Course. Right,” he said absently, but Lori had moved ahead to another conversation, answering a question nobody had asked.

“Miriam is going to step in as maid of honor,” she said.

“Really?” So maybe Gracie’s theory about why Miriam wasn’t in the wedding was all wrong. “Does Josie know?”

“Of course she knows. Goodness, it’s her wedding. She’s quite an agreeable girl—”

Like a Stepford daughter-in-law?

“—and Miriam couldn’t be more pleased.”

All I could think about was poor Nell, followed by a fleeting thought of how easily we could all be replaced. I raised my glass to take a sip.

“Miriam will be by your shop in the morning for her fitting,” Mrs. Kincaid said.

My hand jerked and I gasped. All the wine left in my glass poured into my mouth. My throat spasmed and I choked. Stifling a cough only forced the wine down my windpipe. I slapped my hand over my mouth and nose, using every bit of gumption I possessed to swallow so I wouldn’t spew it all over Mrs. Kincaid’s fancy silk gown.

When I could breathe again, I said, “She’ll be by where? For her what?”

“Buttons and Bows for her fitting, of course. Shall we say ten o’clock?”

She reached up and patted her husband’s shoulder. He started, bringing his distant gaze back to her. He’d been far more interested in the goings-on in the room than in the rotating maid-of-honor situation. “Yes, yes. Do what you like,” he said to her, giving her another thump on her rump.

She lurched forward from it, her neck straining. “Keith,” she warned, but her admonishment fell on deaf ears.

“Unfortunate about Josie’s friend,” he twanged, “but I’m glad not to miss the nuptials.”

I smiled stiffly and nodded, but my mind whirled. Now I needed to add a dress for Miriam Kincaid to my already packed sewing schedule. A completely crazy thought shot through my mind. Could Mrs. Kincaid have killed Nell just to open up a spot for her daughter in the wedding?

Everything was about appearances to them, right? I gave her a good once-over. Tasteful hyacinth blue gown skimming over a well-maintained figure, diamond choker to match the rock on her finger, perfectly applied makeup, immobile hair.

Lori Kincaid could win a Mrs. Texas pageant any day of the week. That part of Gracie’s theory was definitely true.

Was it possible that Mrs. Kincaid’s brain was so soft that she would choose murder over the public slight of having her daughter absent from the wedding party?

God, I hoped not.

If there was a bright side to making a bridesmaid dress for Miriam, it was that I’d get a chance to find out what she, and maybe Nate, knew about Nell’s pregnancy. “I’m sure Nate’s glad you’re here,” I said.

Mrs. Kincaid threaded a possessive arm through her husband’s as she spoke to me. “You’ll be able to do it all on time?”

Nice of her to ask.

I nodded, maybe a tad more confidently than I actually felt, but I was already planning how to tackle the additional dress. Aside from Nell’s funeral tomorrow, I didn’t have to leave Buttons & Bows at all. If Mama could do the muslin mock-up and the slip . . . “Definitely,” I said, but I sensed the beginnings of a headache coming on—the tension in my neck, the pressure at my temples.

Mrs. Kincaid looked me up and down again like she was taking mental snapshots of the beading, ruching, and pleating of Orphie’s dress. “That’s a lovely ensemble.” she said.

My hands instinctively ran down my sides. I started to say, “Thank you,” but an appreciative male voice from behind me cut me off. “Very lovely . . .”

I turned to see Will Flores wearing a hint of a smile and looking spiffy in his Sunday best—black jeans, white dress shirt, and black leather cowboy hat. Men’s formal wear, Texas style. He pulled it off expertly.

Keith Kincaid untangled himself from his wife’s arm and thrust his hand out. “Will, appreciate the help with the bags earlier,” he said, giving him an enthusiastic handshake. “Jet-lagged and gin. Could be worse. Lemme get you a Coke.”

Will laughed. “Sure.”

“What kind do you want?” Keith asked.

“Dr Pepper,” Will said with a wink.

That had to be a joke only a Texan could appreciate. I smiled as Mr. Kincaid let out a belly laugh and slapped Will on the back. “Good to see you, young man,” he bellowed. “You clean up real good. Glad to see those old houses aren’t breaking your spirit.”

He took Will by the elbow with a firm grip. “How’s that girl of yours?”

“Doing real well, sir,” Will said, showing his good manners. Yes, sir. No, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. No, sir. We’d all been raised with manners like our mamas taught us.

“Good, good, glad to hear it. Got a minute?” he asked, leading Will a few steps away from us. “Got something to talk to ya about.”

The phrase triggered something in my brain. A surreal image of Mr. Kincaid leading me by the elbow and steering me out the door and over the bridge played in my mind. It was like watching myself in a dream. “Thank you, sir,” I heard myself say, though I didn’t know why I was thanking him. He looked over his shoulder, hollered for Nate, then snarled, “Got something to talk to ya about.” My legs buckled under me. He did? But like a flash, I was in the backseat of a car, driving, driving, driving . . . until the whole scene disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

My breath caught in my throat as the conversations and people around me came back into focus. “Historical society business, or something else?” Will was saying.

“Little of both,” he said with a wink. “Miriam’s got some cockamamy idea about a bookstore.” He backhanded Will’s shoulder. “Don’t know why we need that. Digital, I told her. E-books, now, that’s the wave of the future, but she wore me down. She found a site off the square. I happen to have a little extra capital to play with, so . . .”

Interesting. Mr. Kincaid was so buddy-buddy with Will Flores, yet according to what Gracie had said, Miriam had been shunned when Will had tried to help her. And if he and Miriam had been involved, it shouldn’t have mattered since there was no Mrs. Flores.

Another knot in Bliss’s tangled social web.

I looked up to find Will back and studying me. It wasn’t what I’d call a slow, steamy look, but it came darn close and had the same effect. I shifted my weight uneasily, raising my glass to my lips before I remembered how I’d so ungracefully finished my wine.

He took the crystal stemware right out of my hand. “Let me get you a refill, Cassidy. Anyone else?” The Kincaids both shook their heads no and Will sauntered off. Mere seconds later, he was back with a fresh glass of ruby red wine.

I thanked him, scrunching my nose to edge my glasses back into place. Then my stomach rumbled and all I could think was that I should have stayed home because I was much better behind the scenes, dressing people for their parties, than being one of the partygoers myself. Another reason it had been so easy to leave New York.

Keith Kincaid had launched back into talking about the new project he was cooking up with Miriam, shifting