“What do you mean, Mrs. James?”
“Oh, it’s just that I thought she was involved with someone.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Odd. I must have been mistaken, then,” she remarked.
“Mrs. James, remember how you told me you’d seen Nell at Reata?”
Her sharp eyes flashed. “Of course.”
“I know you said you couldn’t tell who she was meeting, but do you think it might have been Derek Kincaid?”
“Until the day that poor girl died, I hadn’t laid eyes on Derek Kincaid in more than six months.”
Did I hear her right? “You saw him the day Nell died?”
“Twice, actually. He was driving his mother—so thoughtful. He sat in the car while everyone gathered in your shop. I did see him talk to his brother for a few minutes, and Jeanette McDaniels’s daughter, Ruthann, over there, she chatted with him for a while. Then I saw him later that night, you know. Very odd.”
She started to sashay off, but I stopped her. “Are you sure it was the same day?”
Someone called to her, but she turned, holding a finger up, then said to me, “I specifically remember it was that night because I heard about the murder the next morning.”
“Where did you see him?” I asked, hoping it was near the crime scene. He could have taken that braiding from his parents’ house, met Nell at Buttons & Bows, taken care of his mistress and blackmailer all at once, and been done with it.
“He was down at the Stockyards.”
“In Fort Worth?”
“That’s right,” she said, and my theory flew out the window. “The senator and I met some friends at Billy Bob’s. We walked in as he stumbled out with a group of people.”
My hopes sank. Drinking and dancing at the biggest honky-tonk in Texas meant Derek had not been alone, and he’d also been nowhere near the crime scene.
Which meant he couldn’t have killed Nell.
After the bombshell dropped by Zinnia James, I needed a cold drink. I sidled up to the portable bar, set my clutch on the stool, keeping my cell phone out in case Will texted about his status, and ordered a red wine. Two men leaned against the counter, ice tinkling in their tumblers. I sneaked a peek . . . Keith Kincaid and a tall scarecrow of a man. Their voices were low, but I edged closer after the bartender handed me my glass of wine.
Once again I put a snippet of Meemaw’s advice to practical use:
“Didn’t think any of ’em would take the plunge,” Mr. Kincaid was saying in his John Wayne voice. “Knew right after Derek graduated from high school that
I couldn’t turn around to look behind me, but my heart went out to whoever Derek Kincaid was stringing along.
“Even gave her a ring, the fool,” his father said. “I almost did that. Stopped myself just in time, but she wound up with it anyway and, good God, it bit me in the ass.”
They guffawed. Then the gangly, ginger-haired man said something, his voice so low I had to strain to hear. Something about betting on how long the Kincaids’ marriage would last. “We all lost,” he said. “You and Lori have stuck it out.”
Mr. Kincaid gave a bitter snort. “It would cost me more to divorce her than just deal with her. No prenup. She’d take me to the cleaners. Hell, she’d sell me up the river. A few too much between us to just call it quits. Now I’m trading a homegrown hellhole for an African one. Damn money. It’s an addiction.”
He had a lifestyle to maintain. Once you had money, I imagined it was hard to give it up.
The redheaded friend moved right along in the conversation, never missing a beat. “Derek might fall in love someday, and if he does, he may settle down yet.”
I sipped my wine. Derek Kincaid wasn’t going to any chapel; he was going to jail for his smuggling activities.
“You got Nate out of the nest—”
“Only took thirty-four years,” he said with a scoff.
“And Miriam—”
Mr. Kincaid saved his most bitter laugh for his daughter. “Lasted all of, what? Three years? Lori and me, least we know we’re stronger together than apart.”
Stronger together than apart. If they’d been spoken by someone else, those words would have been poignant and meaningful. As it was, they fell flat and made me feel just a tiny bit sorry for Mr. and Mrs. Kincaid. Whatever was between them didn’t sound like love. That was not the type of marriage I wanted to be in . . . if marriage was in my future.
I caught a glimpse of a silver-haired couple. They held hands, and as he leaned over to whisper something in her ear, she giggled and batted his arm.
I smiled to myself.
Chapter 52
The minutes turned to hours. I’d chatted with Josie’s mother and aunt, gotten a second glass of wine, and strolled the perimeter of the hall, listening for any snippets of conversation that might contain a clue that would help me unravel the final threads of Nell’s murder.
I had nothing but a bunch of details that didn’t seem to add up to any cohesive answer. I checked my cell phone, thinking I’d missed another text from Will. Why was he taking so long?
Josie, Nate, and the wedding party, sheltered from the potential discovery of the murder weapon, laughed and danced to Waylon, Willie, and the boys, easily transitioning a while later to the Macarena.
Mama ambled over to where I sat with Madelyn, who was splitting her time between me and her tweedjacketed husband, Bill. She plopped a plate of food down next to the Easter lily centerpiece. As we picked at the chunks of fruit and cheese, I filled her in on the torn fabric braid Gracie had used on her purse and how the uneven pattern looked like a match to the odd strangulation marks on Nell’s neck. “The thing is,” I finished, “if Derek’s alibi is true, and Nate’s definitely not a suspect, who had access to the bins—and who else would have wanted Nell dead?”
“From what I know, that house is a fortress. Nobody’s gettin’ in who wasn’t invited in,” Mama said.
That was right. Josie had told me about the gate and how she hadn’t been able to get in to give her mother the glass cleaner. For the briefest second, I entertained the idea that Mrs. Sandoval had killed Nell. She would have had access to the fabric bins with the probable murder weapon, she knew Nell was coming back to my shop that night, and she lived alone, so most likely had no alibi. But I couldn’t pin a motive on her. Nell had been good to Josie, even leaving her share in the bead shop to her.
Unless . . .
Could she have somehow known Josie was in Nell’s original will and killed her so Josie would inherit the equal partnership?
Karen and Ruthann came up on either side of me, wrapped their arms around me, and squeezed. “We can’t thank you enough,” Karen cooed. “I don’t know what it is, but Ted is a changed man tonight.” She stood, twirled, and grinned. “I think it’s the dress.”
“Definitely,” Ruthann said. She pulled her arm from my shoulder, her ring catching on a particularly curly loop of my hair. “Sorry!” She freed her finger and did her own spin, dropping her shawl. “I just made a date with George Taylor,” she gushed.
“No!” Karen giggled. “Wait till the wine wears off, Ruthie.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. Gathering up her shawl, she grabbed Karen’s wrist. “Come on. There’s Derek.
