Pleating for Mercy

Mama and I had spent another hour reading, rereading, and discussing the note. Excitement at the discovery of a letter from Butch Cassidy to Texana Harlow raced through me. Mama finally left to share the note with Nana, and I tried to get back to work. Each time I sat down to sew, picked up a needle and thread, or handled my rotary cutter or shears, the pipes began creaking, cupboard doors flung open and then abruptly banged shut, or the shelves in the workroom shook, rattling the jars of buttons. It was as if Meemaw was trying to send me a message.

Finally, I realized that I wasn’t going to accomplish any real work. As soon as I put down the needle I had been holding, a wall of air practically lifted me from the stool, pushing me toward the French doors. “Wait!” There was no way I was letting Josie’s ring out of my sight. I broke away and snatched the velvet bag from my cutting table. Immediately, the unexpected strength of Meemaw’s invisible hands propelled me all the way upstairs.

In my room, I opened my closet and grabbed the first thing I saw—a cream-colored blouse and a brown cardigan with a pink-and-cream argyle pattern down either side of the buttoned front. My mind had drifted from Nate and Josie to Butch Cassidy, the ring, and Loretta Mae. Meemaw had answers. I knew she couldn’t hold a real conversation with me, but I asked the questions that came to my mind anyway. “Do you think Nate’s guilty? Will there really be a wedding?” I searched the room for a response.

No ghostlike figures or wraiths appeared. Whatever had propelled me upstairs was gone.

But as I started dressing, a stack of magazines on the bedside table shook. The thick one on top, the spring issue of Vogue, fell with a loud splat. The cover of the most recent Threads flew open. Pages fanned back and forth. Just like the first time Meemaw had communicated with me, tiny drops of water spread on the words she was highlighting. One by one she spelled Miriam; then the pages opened to a jewelry ad, a diamond ring front and center.

Questions skittered through my brain. “But Gracie already said it’s Josie’s ring. She was at the Kincaids’ house with Holly right after Nate proposed. She saw it. I don’t need Miriam to verify that, and she doesn’t want to talk to me anyway. I already tried.”

The pages flapped spastically in response, and then, as if Meemaw were squeezing her hand around my fist, I felt my fingers tighten on the little jewelry bag holding the ring. My head suddenly felt filled with cotton, my heartbeat dull and muffled. It was as if she wanted me to remember something, but what?

I summoned up what I knew. Josie had returned the first custom engagement ring to Nate and he’d had a second one made with another custom-cut diamond. He wouldn’t have been able to simply return the first ring to a store for credit, right? Did Nell steal it from him, or could he have given it to her as a bribe to keep quiet about the baby—if it was his?

I thought of one little glitch. If Nate did give the ring to Nell, she wouldn’t have needed to hide it, and he wouldn’t have needed to kill her to get it back—if that was the motive.

It was more likely that Nell had stolen it. “So if sweet Daisy Duke was a thief,” I said aloud, “she may have been killed over that forty-thousand-dollar ring.”

A soft breeze swept through the room, gathering speed. I thought it was Meemaw agreeing with me.

Will trusted Nate, but did I trust Will? For that matter, did I trust Miriam? I wasn’t sure, but I was willing to take my chances. I wanted to share my theory with her and see if we’d come to the same conclusion.

I no longer needed my great-grandmother’s encouragement to get me to the funeral.

Chapter 40

One phone call and thirty minutes later, Mama and I were on our way, the ring tucked safely in my gray- and-white Burberry handbag. Miriam’s prediction had been right on the money. From the looks of it, the whole community had come out for Nell’s funeral. The service was at the old Methodist church one block off the square, catty-corner to Mockingbird Lane. We cut a diagonal, crossing at the corner of Mockingbird and Elm, skirting the courthouse, crossing Dallas Street at the opposite corner, to join the parade of people filing into the old stone building.

The hushed whispers of the mourners all blended together into white noise. From the back of the sanctuary, I spotted Keith and Lori Kincaid sitting three rows from the front, both with their heads slightly bowed. Miriam sat next to her mother, her back ramrod straight, while Holly slouched next to her.

Josie was in the front row with Nate, her shoulders shaking as she tried to control her grief. Whether she was crying over losing Nell, or over her latent fears that her fiance may have betrayed her, was anybody’s guess. Ruthann and Karen sat on the other side of her, hip to hip. If Nate or either of the bridesmaids moved, I was afraid Josie would topple right over. Her mother and grandmother were at the end of the pew, tissues pressed to their noses.

Strains of a melancholy violin song sounded through the speakers while images of Nell flashed on a screen hanging behind the altar. Nell snuggling a long-haired gray cat. Nell behind the counter of Seed-n-Bead. A group of women with Nell in the center, all holding up their completed bead projects. Miriam and Nell, side by side, smiling into a mirror. Nell looked happy, like everything was right with the world.

My gaze was drawn straight to Nate. His head was bent, his lips close to Josie’s ear. How much effort was it taking him to ignore the slide show? Probably not nearly as much as it was taking him to ignore the intense stare Miriam had trained on him.

I felt the weight of someone else’s stare, but couldn’t identify who was behind it.

Ruthann watched the pictures, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, but Karen stared at the screen, emotionless. She’d said her husband would be here with her, but he wasn’t by her side. She’d set her heart up to be trampled, and I felt sorry for her.

I twisted around to look at the rest of the mourners. The deputy sheriff who’d been first on the scene after we’d discovered Nell’s body sat in the last row, as far to the right as possible. She wasn’t in uniform, but something about her posture and the jerky way she moved her head as she watched the slide show told me she was still here on official business. I looked at the altar just as another bead shop photo flashed on the screen. The deputy, in off- duty clothes, was in the photo, smiling and holding her wrist out to show off a bracelet.

Small-town living—there was nothing like it. You’d never get to know the law enforcement in a big city. New York cops didn’t go to local beading classes. Not so in Bliss.

I spotted Sheriff McClaine standing in the back of the sanctuary. He caught my eye and gave a polite nod. He wasn’t watching the slide show, either. Was he observing, as I was, who else was not watching, wondering if there was guilt behind the uninterest?

By now, almost everyone was riveted by Nell’s life in pictures, except Josie, who was crying, and Nate, who continued to whisper in her ear.

I kept searching the crowd, my gaze flitting over people I didn’t recognize, zeroing in on those I did. Just in case Miriam was wrong and I spotted the real killer diabolically gloating at getting away with murder.

No one gloated.

One man had his head down, as if he was texting or reading e-mail on a phone. He looked familiar, but from the back I couldn’t place him. Then it hit me. It was Ted, Karen’s husband, sitting on his own instead of sitting by his wife. That signified major marital trouble, which directed my theories away from Nate and back to Ted Mitchell as Nell’s secret love.

Thank God I wasn’t a detective. I think it would make me crazy. All those suspects and possible motives. Give me patterns and fabric any day of the week.

Mama and I forged through the throng of people and down the center aisle, looking for a place to sit. Gossip flew from one person to another, echoing in my head as if it were being hollered instead of whispered. “Poor girl.” “I heard she was pregnant.” “Had to keep our husbands locked up.” “Too young to die.” The sentiments were pretty evenly divided. Half the town was genuinely sad that Nell had died, but the other half seemed to think she got what she deserved.

“Pregnant?” Mama grabbed my wrist and whispered, raising an eyebrow at me. “Did you hear that?”

There hadn’t been a chance yet to tell her about Nell’s pregnancy. I nodded, prying her fingers off my arm. Her ring sparkled. I’d assumed Hoss McClaine would have already filled her in, and frankly, I was surprised he hadn’t. My respect for him rose a notch for his professionalism—and another notch for the tasteful bling he’d bestowed on my mother.