Pleating for Mercy

Before we could answer, Madelyn sidled up to us. “Trying for a position with air traffic control, love?”

“Moonlighting as a wedding photographer?”

She raised her voice slightly to be heard above the cacophony of voices. “The man they’d contracted with canceled at the last minute and since Bill and Nate were schoolmates . . .”

“Ah. Got it.”

I took my glasses off and tried to wipe away the smudge, but my fingers trembled with nervous energy. I shoved them back on, looking past the streak. Will laid his hand on my back, infusing me with his calm mojo.

“I’ve been wanting to come by your shop and have you work your magic.” Madelyn gestured up and down her body as if her outfit said it all. “As it is, I was forced to wear the same drab skirt and blouse I always do.” She gave a spastic little laugh. “I will be by, now that you’ve finished the bridal dresses, eh?”

“Anytime,” I said. I already had ideas on what to make for her. Color to bring out the emerald green of her eyes. Something a little less structured. More flowing to match her magic junkie bent. I took a deep breath and got to the point. “Madelyn, do you still have your camera?”

She patted the purse at her side. “Of course.” She set it down on a nearby table.

“Is that a camera bag?” Gracie peeked at the light green interior.

“It’s an Epiphanie,” Madelyn boasted.

“I don’t know what that is,” Gracie said, “but I love it.”

“Only the most stylish camera bag out there. Never would have bought it for myself, but my dear heart does the spectacularly unexpected sometimes.” She stroked the faux leather with affection. “He got it for me the day after the party at the Kincaids’, in fact.”

Gracie peered up at Will with a coquettish smile. “Daddy?”

“Uh, no.” He read the one word like a psychic. “First comes a camera, then a bag. Maybe.”

She rolled her eyes.

Madelyn had taken her Canon out, removed the lens cap, held the camera up, and focused. “Smile,” she directed.

I put my palm out. “Oh, no, not for us,” I said. Her finger depressed a button and the camera clicked.

Too late.

“No?” She lowered the camera and shot me a puzzled look. “You don’t want your picture taken? But you all look splendid together.”

“No—”

Gracie frowned. “We don’t?”

“What I mean is—”

“She means yes,” Will said.

I stared at him. “I do?”

He pulled Gracie next to him and put his arm around my shoulder. “You do.”

Madelyn went into photographer mode. About a hundred pictures later, she finally got one she liked.

Gracie started to wander off, but Will called her back. “Let me hold your purse for you,” he said.

“I got it, Dad,” she said just as Holly called to her from across the room. She held up a cup of sparkling pineapple punch.

“Harlow wants to take another look,” he said. A hasty nod of my head and a wink convinced her. She handed the purse over and, with a wave, hurried over to Holly.

Quick thinker, that Will Flores.

When Gracie was out of earshot, I told Madelyn my theory. “I know patterns and design,” I said. “The braid on this purse has the same sort of scheme as the markings found on Nell’s throat. The strangulation markings,” I added.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise as she took a closer look. “You may be right.”

A rush of heat swept through me. I was one hundred percent sure I was right. “Do you still have the pictures of—” I lowered my voice to a whisper and finished, “Of Nell’s neck?”

Chapter 51

I tapped my foot impatiently. Will and the sheriff had been gone only five minutes, but already it felt like hours.

“How long will it take to know for sure?” Madelyn asked.

I had no idea. “I guess the sheriff’ll have to—I don’t know—take it to some forensics lab. In Fort Worth, maybe? Doesn’t it take a while to run fiber tests?”

“It doesn’t on TV, but—”

“But this is real life.” So unless the killer stood up and waved a guilty hand, we’d have to wait for confirmation that the murder weapon was from the same torn fabric braid Gracie used for her purse, and that could take days.

Josie and Nate worked the room, gliding from table to table, greeting, hugging, and chatting with all two hundred of Nate’s parents’ closest friends. Lori Kincaid had schmoozing down to an art and she was teaching it, on the fly, to Josie. She led the newlyweds, made introductions, said something witty, and stepped back as her son and new daughter-in-law spread their social wings.

She whispered to Josie as they moved to the next cluster of guests. But Josie hung on every word Nate uttered, gazing at him with adoring eyes.

“He really loves her,” Madelyn commented.

Nate looked at Josie with equal adoration. “He sure does.”

There was still no sign of Derek.

Josie’s mother and aunt were already seated. They each had their hands primly folded and resting on the table. The aunt looked like she wished she could be anywhere else, but Mrs. Sandoval’s expression was filled with hope. Just like Mrs. Kincaid’s dreams for Nate, or any mother for that matter, it was clear that Mrs. Sandoval wanted nothing more than for her daughter to be happy.

If Derek’s indiscretions came to light, the Kincaids would be dethroned, forced to relinquish their title as first family of Hood County. I hoped the love Josie and Nate had for each other would be enough to weather the storm Nate was bringing on them, as well as the news that his brother, Derek, was a murderer.

Madelyn touched my shoulder. “My husband beckons,” she said, pointing to her own personal professor. “Let me know when Will gets back, will you?”

“Definitely,” I said. She headed off in one direction and I made a beeline for Dulce Sandoval to offer a little reassurance that Josie had done good.

But Zinnia James sidelined me. “Sugar, you look spectacular,” she gushed. “When word gets out about Josie’s gown and the bridesmaids’ dresses—and the next Kincaid wedding—you’ll be turning customers away at the door . . .”

Her voice slipped to the background as I quickly scanned the room looking for Derek. I didn’t see him anywhere, but noticed that Ruthann had found herself a handsome man. With her posture, her dress, and her demeanor, she reminded me of a politician’s wife. Or an oil tycoon. That girl needed to get out of Bliss. She seemed destined for bigger things.

“Mark my words, your designs are going to be featured in D magazine,” Mrs. James was saying. “The festival and pageant this summer, followed by the fashion show in the fall, will put you on the map. I can see it now.”

I hoped she was right. “Thank you, Mrs. James,” I said, then asked, “Who’s that with Ruthann?”

She peered at the table I indicated. “That is George Taylor.”

“Ah,” I said. “So that’s what an eligible bachelor looks like.” I’d hoped Ruthann would find someone classier than a man who talked about his conquests.

She raised one eyebrow. “If you say so.”

I laughed. “Ruthann told me how he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in town. Maybe they’ll start dating.”

“Hmm. Young people don’t give it much time, these days, do they?”