After one last, frantic search of the house, I finally collapsed on the chair at the little antique computer table in my dining room. I shoved the mouse aside and buried my head in my hands. “What now?” I muttered.
As if in response, the computer woke up, the low hum dragging my attention to the screen. I automatically moved to close the Google search page I’d opened the night before, stopping short as I scanned the entries. The words on the computer screen danced, letters popping out, practically shouting to be read.
The first link was a wedding announcement. I clicked on it.
Chapter 30
I had to get back to the rehearsal, but what was another two minutes at this point. I still didn’t have Trudy’s notebook. I scanned the announcement.
It was dated seventeen years ago, so Anna and Buckley had made it a long time. There was no mention of Anna’s sister, so I went to the next link. This one took me to an article about Buckley Hughes’s medical practice in Amarillo. I scanned it and was left wondering what had made them leave a place were they’d established such a solid place in the community.
From the front room, Hoss McClaine cleared his throat. The toe of his boot scraped back and forth on the pecan-planked floor. He had a mighty strong resemblance to an ornery bull thinking about whether or not he was going to charge.
Mama hurried over to him. They’d gone from hiding their relationship to full disclosure. She wrapped her arms around his waist and gave him a big ol’ bear hug. My mouth fell open as his hand slipped down from the small of her back to her bum. He gave it a good squeeze, nibbled on her neck, and then they backed away from each other. They might as well not have bothered; the electricity in the air between them sizzled.
I straightened my glasses, more nervous habit than anything else, and looked back at the computer. Mama and Hoss were in love. I was happy for her, but I didn’t need to witness their affection.
I scanned the search results, looking for another wedding announcement and skipping the rest. Finally I found it. It was on the second page of the search results. I clicked on it and started to read.
That couldn’t be right. It was July. I checked the date of the announcement. Last year. But Anna said she wanted a
I tried to remember. She’d said her sister would have done anything for a wedding dress from a New York designer, she’d told me this was number three, and that she wasn’t in the wedding. Anna wanted to impress all the people who’d… She started to say something, but had stopped short, changing the topic. All the people who’d done what? Why had she lied about her sister’s wedding?
I pressed the BACK button, which took me to the Google search page, but before I could peruse the links, my thoughts were swept away by a memory of me entering the shop that flashed in my mind. Will had stood at the door, flirting. Gracie had gone inside. Madelyn was snapping pictures, testing the lighting.
In the boutique, Mama walked the sheriff to the front door. As they stepped onto the porch, the sun-warmed air from outside filtered in, visibly flowing through the room like a dancing ribbon. It circled around the armoire, around the lavender plant on the dining table, finally encircling me, wrapping me up in an invisible blanket of comfort.
My thoughts slowed even more until I was seeing the night before in slow motion. I’d charged past Will, on a mission to get Gracie photographed for the brochure. I’d slowed down just long enough to toss my purse down on the coffee table, along with… I gasped.
Maybe it had fallen and been kicked under the couch or the settee. In an Olympian move, I hurdled down the three steps leading from the landing down to the main room. In two seconds flat, I was on my knees, peering under the paisley couch, then the love seat, then, finally, under the plush settee.
No notebook.
I sat back on my haunches, frowning. What in the devil had happened to it?
That’s when I remembered. Anna Hughes had been in Buttons & Bows the night before.
“She had to have taken it,” I said into my cell phone.
The air between Josie and me was dead silent. “But why would she?”
That was the million dollar question. I had no blessed idea, and I told Josie just that.
“She’s not part of the Margaret Moffette Lea group, so knowing about the dresses doesn’t help her with anything.”
Even if she were part of the pageant, it wasn’t like the dresses were a secret. Why would Anna even care about them? “Her son’s a beau,” Josie said, “but she doesn’t have a daughter.”
“Good point. So something else was in that notebook that Anna wanted.”
“And you’re going to find out what, am I right?” It was a simple question, but a loaded one. We both knew that a murder was hanging over Bliss—and me—again. Everyone was on edge.
“I have to.” Without that notebook, our hands were tied tighter than a bull rope. “We need that book.” Not to mention that I wanted nothing more than to prove my scissors were a random choice of murder weapon, and I wanted to prove once and for all that Mrs. James and I had nothing to do with Macon Vance’s murder. Easier said than done.
“And who knows what else you might discover in it.” Josie was getting to know me pretty well. Pretty soon I wouldn’t be able to hide anything from her.
As Meemaw used to tell me, I was too curious for my own good. “If she took it, it was for a reason. And she had no right.”
“What about the girls?”
“I’m gonna send my mama over. Just have the girls go through their entrance and the introductions. Tell them to be back by four o’clock. It’ll be tight, but we’ll get the final fittings done before the curtain goes up.”
“And you…?”
“I’m heading over to Anna Hughes’s right now to see if I can’t get the notebook back.” And figure out why she took it in the first place.
Secrets, secrets, and more secrets. I grabbed my purse and flew out the door. “Mama, would you go help Josie at the club?” I called, barreling past her and Hoss McClaine.
Their voices tore through the air behind me. “Where’s the fire?” Hoss said, while Mama said, “Of course, but Harlow Jane, where the devil are you goin’?”
I slowed down halfway across the flagstone path leading to the gravel driveway where my old jalopy was parked to look over my shoulder and wave. “Gotta run. Lookin’ for that notebook. Go help Josie, Mama, please!”
Mama stared after me, nodding. A minute and a half later, I was cruising down Mockingbird Lane, away from
