But one thought zinged in and out of my mind. If I couldn’t envision a person’s perfect clothing—like I hadn’t been able to with Nell—did that mean that person was destined to die? I squeezed my eyes shut to force the idea into a back compartment of my mind. I didn’t want that kind of information about people.
I fielded a few phone calls while waiting for the wedding party to arrive, jotting down the names of people who wanted to come in for custom garment fittings, another bride in search of the perfect wedding dress, and a few folks who needed alterations to their polyester clothing. I feared the alterations might remain the bread and butter of my business for a while, although things were picking up. I’d noted all the dates and times in my lavender, button-adorned, fabric-covered appointment book. I wasn’t booked solid by any stretch of the imagination, but I wouldn’t be pleading for mercy with the creditors, either.
The phone rang again just as the bells on the front door jingled. Gracie came in, followed by Mama. Even Nana came to help, though she bounded through the kitchen door, as usual. The troops were here.
“Harlow?”
Mrs. Zinnia James’s voice echoed in my ear. “Oh, yes, ma’am, I’m here!” I pointed, directing Mama, Nana, and Gracie to the three bridesmaid dresses. My chest swelled with pride. If Maximilian could see me now . . .
“Harlow,” Mrs. James snapped.
“Yes, ma’am. Here.” I turned my back on the workroom. “What can I do for you?”
“Two things, my dear. First, I want to make appointments for a new dress for that event I mentioned to you and for my granddaughter’s fitting for her pageant dress.”
We set a date for the following week and I jotted it down in my book. “What else, Mrs. James?”
“A fashion show.”
“A fashion show?”
“A fashion show. At Christmas.”
It felt like we were playing an obscure guessing game, but I kept at it. “A fashion show for teenagers, then?”
“Possibly. For women, too. A big event. Your designs. A fund-raiser for the library. Don’t say anything yet. Just let the idea percolate for a while. We can talk more about it after the Sandoval-Kincaid wedding is over. Of course there’s the pageant in July. That will be first.
And then she was gone and I was left holding the phone, visions of black and white and pink dresses floating in my mind. Mrs. Zinnia James, it seemed, was my personal event coordinator, which, as far as I could tell, would be a very good thing for business.
The arrival of the bridal party snapped me out of the fashion show that was going on in my head. Karen and Ruthann sidled in together. Miriam arrived a few minutes later, looking like she was being dragged over the threshold by her mother. Josie straggled in last, her dark hair flat and in need of a wash, her mascara smeared under her lower lashes, and dark circles confirming my suspicion that the bride wasn’t sleeping well.
As the bridesmaids slipped into their dresses, I pulled her aside, grateful that I could still see her as a bride in my mind, perfectly coiffed and ready to walk down the aisle in the dress I’d made for her. “Are you okay?” I whispered.
She brushed her stringy hair away from her face, her eyes looking a little wild, like a tiger who wanted out of her cage. “Nell left the bead shop to me,” she blurted out. “Why would she do that?” She stared at me as if I had a crystal ball that could see right into the past.
“You were friends. Almost family,” I said. It was the best I could do, but I also thought it was the truth. Nell had chosen her family, and she’d chosen Josie. It was a small consolation that she’d felt that kinship before she died.
It took a few minutes for Josie to regroup, but she did, throwing her shoulders back, mustering a smile, and stripping out of her clothes behind the changing screen. It took ten minutes for her to wiggle into her Spanx and then, with my help, into her gown, but when she emerged from behind the screen, the room fell silent.
Ruthann, floating like an ethereal faerie in her pale green chiffon, fluttered her hands as she looked at Josie. Karen, looking curvy and feminine, nearly swooned. Even Miriam, whose dress was the simplest design, yet looked supremely elegant on her trim figure, smiled.
It was Lori Kincaid, the soon-to-be mother-in-law, who finally spoke. “Josie,” she said, “you look lovely.”
And she did. The bride was a vision. The French Diamond ivory silk was perfect against her warm olive skin, the hand-pleated bodice accented her curves in just the right manner, the flowing train made it look as if she walked on clouds, and the painstakingly applied beads caught the light and shimmered like diamonds.
Her eyes glistened as she looked in the oval mirror, her hands lifting to cover her mouth. “Oh, Harlow, you did it! Loretta Mae said you could do it, and you did. It’s beautiful.” She looked renewed, as if a light suddenly shone from inside her. “I feel like . . . like . . . like anything is possible.”
Mama’s hand squeezed my shoulder, and Gracie squeezed my hand. My own eyes pricked. From the looks on the bridesmaids’ faces, they were experiencing the same thing.
Chapter 46
Several hours later, the fittings were over and all the dresses, with the exception of Miriam’s and Holly’s, which still needed tailoring, had been pressed and delivered. I still had a long night ahead of me, but I took a break, sipping lemonade with Mama and Nana at Meemaw’s kitchen table. “My charm,” I announced, my nerves zinging like pinballs through my body. “My charm is my sewing. It’s being able to picture just what a person needs—or wants—and making it a reality.”
Mama nodded sagely. “I thought as much.”
I looked past her at the fluttering curtains above the kitchen sink and smiled. Meemaw. “You did?”
“Loretta Mae dropped enough hints over the years,” Nana said. “Saying you were gifted with your hands and that you’d stitch people’s dreams together one day. The thing about the charms is that you have to discover them for yourself.”
“Looks like all those girls’ dreams are coming true, thanks to you,” Mama said.
She was right. Karen wanted to sparkle and have her husband notice her. I didn’t know for certain that he would, but if he didn’t, he was a fool. Ruthann wanted to feel beautiful on the inside, as well as on the outside. The confidence she exuded in the dress told me she did. Miriam wanted peace, I thought, and from the look on her face, she’d get there soon. As soon as I finished her dress.
And Josie . . .
“I thought Josie was going to cry when she walked in here,” Mama said, “but in that dress, she looked like a princess.”
The kitchen pipes moaned and it almost sounded as if they were saying the word “happy.” Satisfaction and pride filled me. “Happy,” I said, confirming Meemaw’s message.
“Yes,” Mama said. “She looked happy.”
“You did good, Harlow,” Nana said. “And let me tell you, stitching people’s dreams together is a whole lot better a charm than your mama’s or mine. Goat-whisperer. Pshaw,” she spat out. “That was Butch’s joke, if you ask me.”
Mama and I laughed. Nana loved her goats more than life itself. She was all piss and vinegar. And I was floating on air. For the first time since I’d been back home in Bliss, I, too, felt like anything was possible.
Chapter 47
By eleven o’clock the day of the wedding, I fully understood an old Texas saying Meemaw used to spout off: I felt older than two trees. It was just three hours until the ceremony. By the time it was over, I was sure I’d feel older than three trees. I’d stayed up late, adapting one of my off-the-rack Maximilian dresses for Holly and it had fit her perfectly. Only Miriam’s still wasn’t quite done.
I had had plenty of time while I sewed to think about the new information the sheriff had revealed. The father of Nell’s baby still seemed the most logical choice as the killer. He probably had the most to lose. But other than
