pageant without her notes.
I thought I’d brought it into the house, but if I had, it wasn’t here now. I’d checked Meemaw’s old truck to no avail. It was just…
The
“Meemaw, did you hide Trudy’s book from me?” My voice sounded loud in the empty room, but I cleared my throat and kept going. “Eighteen girls are back at the country club, waiting on me to get them into their dresses and start the rehearsal. And the pageant!”
I paused, cocking my head to the side to listen for a change in the fan’s clicking, or for some other sign that Meemaw heard me. The
Still no sign of my ghostly great-grandmother. Great. When I needed her, she was nowhere to be found. “This is getting aggravating, Meemaw,” I grumbled, “and I don’t have time for it.” Trudy and Fern had put their trust in me to take over their final fittings. Mrs. James had come to me to take over her role as the pageant’s coordinator.
I hoped that Meemaw might take pity on me and show herself. No such luck. I was still alone, and completely at a loss. My thoughts ran a little wild as I started my search again.
The Art Nouveau–style magazine rack I’d brought back with me from my one trip to France caught my eye. It sat next to the plush red velvet settee, hand-painted flowers cascading down the avocado green front. I flipped through the fashion and home decor magazines standing upright between the wrought-iron frame. I hadn’t put the notebook in the rack, but maybe Meemaw was playing games and had slipped it between the glossies.
One look proved that she hadn’t.
The rumble of an engine came from out front. I pulled back the sheers to see Hoss McClaine’s black SUV, HOOD COUNTY SHERIFF emblazoned on the side, pull up in front of the house. Mama popped out of the passenger side before Hoss could amble around to open her door for her. Mama was not one for pretense or social expectation. Her voice carried through the screen door. “I’m perfectly capable of openin’ my own door, Hoss McClaine, thank you very much.”
“Good Lord, woman,” he drawled. “It ain’t a crime to let me do somethin’ for you.”
“You do plenty,” she said, giving him a flirty wink. “Ain’t nobody who can…”
I dropped the sheers and covered my ears real quick. I didn’t want to hear what Hoss McClaine did plenty of.
I kept searching the boutique while they took their sweet time coming up the flagstone walkway. If I couldn’t find Trudy’s notebook, I’d have to call up Fern Lafayette, and that was not at the top of my list of things I wanted to do. She needed to be with Trudy and didn’t have time to even think about the Margaret dresses. Not to mention the fact that me losing the notebook wouldn’t instill a lot of confidence about my ability to take their place in the final preparations.
Finally, I heard the thump of Mama and Hoss’s footfalls as they climbed the porch steps. The screen door opened with a squeak and I turned to greet them. “You two are up and out early.” I kept my voice light and bright. No point in worrying Mama.
“Thought you might need some help this morning,” she said. She looked around, then settled her narrowing eyes back on me. “Looks like you’ve been and gone and come home again. What did you lose?”
The hairs on the back of my neck went up. Reading minds was not her Cassidy charm. “What makes you think I lost something?”
“It’s as clear as day,” she said, pointing to the magazine rack with the glossies leaning forward, buttons and fabric swatches from the embossed metal box scattered on the coffee table, the lookbook tossed on the paisley couch, and the pattern pieces for Mrs. James’s dress tossed haphazardly on the floor. I liked things relatively neat and orderly, and there were plenty of signs, I realized, showing that I was not in control at the moment.
The concern in Mama’s eyes opened up a floodgate. “Mrs. James asked me to take over for her at the pageant. So I am, but then Fern Lafayette gave me her sister’s notebook with all their dress notes and fitting information because Trudy’s in the hospital, and there’s a dress rehearsal right now at the country club and the pageant’s tonight, but the girls aren’t even in their dresses because I can’t find Trudy’s notebook and without it, I’m totally lost.” I gulped in a big breath of air, heaved it back out in a loud sigh, and sank down onto the love seat.
I felt relieved at having unloaded the weight on my shoulders, but Hoss, from the puzzled expression on his face, looked like
“Yes, sir,” I said. Growing up in the South meant you were taught to say “yes, sir” and “yes, ma’am” to every adult you came across. My old habits had died a painful death in the fashion world. Eyebrows had been raised at me, snickering went on behind my back, and I’d been out and out laughed at by New Yorkers when I’d said “sir” and “ma’am,” but back in Bliss, it was easy to slip back into it.
“Poor thing.” Mama sat down next to me, taking my hand in hers and giving it a good squeeze. “They’re both getting up there in years. I still can’t believe someone would do that to her. Hoss told me what happened,” she said. “Loretta Mae always told her she was playing with fire, poisoning herself like that. Trudy wouldn’t ever listen. It helped those headaches, and that made it worth it.”
I shuddered just thinking about the havoc going on under Trudy’s skin. “But I heard Meemaw thought about doing it,” I said.
Mama recoiled. “Loretta Mae wouldn’t ever do such a thing. You know how she felt about that stuff. Every wrinkle tells a story, and all that? She wanted Trudy to give it up.” She paused, pressing her index finger to her cheek, thinking. “Now, Harlow Jane, where might you have put that notebook, hmm?”
“I’ll find it.” As I kept looking, I asked, “So nothin’ new?” My brows furrowed the moment I heard the dropped “g” when I’d said “nothing.” The thing about being around Southerners is that it’s mighty easy to pick up the accent.
“Nothin’ to write home about. Macon Vance was a far cry from squeaky clean. More ground in dirt, from what we’ve gathered. Money coming in from quite a few sources—”
“He was a savvy blackmailer,” Mama said. “Had an affair, then took the woman for a truckload of her husband’s cash.”
So Gina from Villa Farina had half the story right. Seemed everyone knew Macon Vance was a player, but not so many people knew he supplemented his income with the proceeds of his extracurricular activity.
I retraced my steps, yet again, but this time out loud. “I got home. Madelyn Brighton was waiting for me. Will and Gracie Flores came over so Madelyn could take Gracie’s picture in her dress for the Margaret brochure.” Assuming I wasn’t losing my mind and that I had, in fact, brought it into the house like I thought I had, what could have happened to it?
I remembered something. “Oh my gosh! Thelma Louise and Farrah!” I’d had to chase the goats out. Had the notebook been under my arm? Good Lord, had I dropped it without even realizing?
Without another word, I raced to the front door, pushed open the screen, and took the porch steps two at a time. The door squeaked open and banged closed behind me. “What on earth are you doin’?” Mama asked.
I stopped scouring the ground and looked at Mama. She stood on the porch, arms folded across her chest, watching me like I’d gone completely off my rocker. “Looking for Trudy’s notebook. Nana’s goats escaped yesterday. Maybe I dropped it when I was shooing them away.”
But even as I said it, I knew that the goats, at least in this instance, were innocent. I walked every inch of the yard, though, just in case. I stumbled across one of Meemaw’s ratty old sun hats, a fallen birdhouse, and another thatch of bluebonnets, but not Trudy Lafayette’s notebook.
“Damn.” I kicked the ground, sending an innocent bluebonnet bloom flying across the yard.
“Don’t take it out on the flowers,” Mama warned. Nana would protect her goats, Mama would protect the green earth, and I’d protect the garments I made for people. We all wanted the best for our charms.
