“Libby…” As I started toward her, the woman behind her stood. The resemblance was striking. She was a younger version of Zinnia, only the strong highlights in her dark mane differed from her mother’s silvery hair.
Libby’s face scrunched, the tip of her nose turning red, her mouth quivering. “She didn’t kill him,” she said through her sobs. “Ms. Cassidy, you know her. You know she didn’t kill him.”
“Of course she didn’t, darlin’,” I said, going over to her and wrapping her up in my arms. Her bony shoulders shook as she cried.
I stroked her back and a minute later she calmed down and pulled away. She ran the back of her hands under her eyes, then under her nose.
The other woman put her arm around Libby. “I’m Sandra Allen,” she said. “It’s nice to finally meet you. My mother talks about your designs constantly.” Her smile had a bittersweet quality to it, as though she might never hear her mother raving about Cassidy designs again.
“Nice to meet you, too. I’m…” I didn’t know what type of condolences to offer a woman whose mother was in jail and accused of murder.
She waved away my fumbling words. “We’ll get through this. Excuse me, Duane,” she said, edging the boy out of the way and squeezing Libby’s shoulder. “Everything will be fine, I’m sure.”
“They think she killed someone,” Libby cried. “It’s not fine.”
Fern cleared her throat and we all turned to her. “I’m sure your mother is right, Libby—”
Trudy piped up next. “Harlow here thinks she has proof your grandmother’s fingerprints were on the murder weapon before they were used to… uh…”
Libby’s eyes lit up. “Proof?” she said, as Sandra leaned forward and demanded, “What kind of proof?”
I wanted to swat Trudy Lafayette for opening her gossipy mouth. “Not proof, exactly,” I said. “It’s just that your grandmother’s been in Buttons and Bows so many times. I think she must have picked up the scissors while she was there.”
Libby’s face fell again and Duane moved next to her. He whispered in her ear, but it didn’t help. She’d been spooked by the thought of her grandmother convicted as a murderer. Nothing her boyfriend said was likely to help.
“That’s not enough to exonerate her,” Duane said. “It’s only your word saying she touched the scissors, and I don’t think they’ll take your word since you own the murder weapon.”
I gaped at Duane Hughes. “Is that right?”
Libby managed a sad smile. “Duane’s going to be a lawyer,” she said.
“Prosecutor,” he clarified. “I’m going to A&M. I have it all planned out.”
Thank goodness his daddy was a doctor, I thought. Texas A&M wasn’t cheap.
“I know it won’t exonerate her, but it’s an explanation, at least,” I said. The truth of the matter was, the only way to get Zinnia James off the hook for murder was to figure out who really killed Macon Vance.
Not something I wanted to get involved in. I owned a dressmaking shop. Albeit a magical dressmaking shop.
That’s when the idea hit me. I wasn’t a detective and couldn’t investigate a murder, but I could help them with my charm. If I visited Mrs. James, maybe I’d get a vision of a dress for her. And if I made it and sewed her wishes into it, maybe, just maybe, things would work out for her.
Chapter 14
“Maybe your great-grandmother had headaches, too?” Madelyn Brighton, with her thick black hair, chocolate-colored skin, and British accent, made everything sound elegant—even a conversation about cosmetic enhancements while sitting inside the cab of my truck while I looked for parking on Hickory Creek Road.
“If she did, she never mentioned them to me. But I’m here in an official capacity, not to get some procedure done.”
She arched one of her eyebrows at me. “You’re here in the official capacity of a dressmaker?”
“Yup.” It was just too much of a coincidence that I’d found the old Margaret dresses right before the Margaret festival and I couldn’t get them off my mind. I filled Madelyn in on the gowns in the armoire, thinking that if I talked it out, I could stop thinking about them.
Madelyn listened attentively, and finally, I moved on to my idea about making the perfect outfit for Mrs. James. “The women here tonight might give me ideas about Mrs. James’s perfect garment.”
“High expectations from a cosmetics party,” she said in her very British way.
She looked out the window as I slowly drove down the street. Still nowhere to park. At this rate, we were going to end up clear down at the Johnson ranch, and considering I’d had a run-in with Clevis Johnson and his weather vane back in the day, I preferred not to go near his place. Not to mention we’d have to hoof it a good long way to the Hughes’s property.
“Not to be a party pooper,” she said after a spell, “but even if you figure out Mrs. James’s perfect garment, which believe me, I know you can do—I’ve not been the same since you made me over that first time and just look at me now.” She spread her arms as much as she could in the truck, showing off her stylish outfit: a pair of red, midcalf leggings and a flowing silk crepe de chine white-black-and-red-trimmed scarf blouse I’d made for her. “But even if you figure it out and make it—amidst the gowns you need to finish, may I remind you—how is it going to help her? Your magic is a blessing—”
I sucked in a sharp breath. Madelyn knew the Cassidy secret, but to hear her talk about it so openly made my heartbeat skitter. I’d been so used to keeping it under wraps. I hadn’t told Josie, Gracie, Will… no one but Madelyn.
“—but if she committed murder—”
“But that’s just it,” I said, cranking the steering wheel and flipping the truck around to make another pass in case someone had left the party and a spot along the shoulder had opened up. “She didn’t commit murder.”
“You don’t want her to have killed that poor man, love, but she may have.”
I refused to believe that. I’d already been shocked once by murder in my front yard. Mrs. James was almost like my benefactor. While my business grew, she was helping to keep me working with her custom garment needs. Of course I didn’t want to lose her business, but it was more than that. She was a tell-it-like-it-is kind of woman, just like the women in my family. I liked that about her. I liked her. And because of her past friendship with my grandmother, even if they were estranged now, I felt oddly connected to her. It was as if we shared a piece of history.
“Your lovely Mr. Flores is flagging you down, love.”
I looked to where Madelyn was pointing and sure enough, there was Will, at the end of his long driveway, wiping his hands clean on a blue rag, beckoning me over. “He’s not my Mr. Flores,” I said. For goodness sakes, I just wanted to sew and keep building my shop’s design business. I didn’t even want to think about men.
“You’re scared.”
I snapped my head to stare at her. “What would I be scared of?”
“Plenty. It’s written all over your face. Your Cassidy charm helps other people, but shouldn’t you go after what you want?”
I wagged my finger at her. “Oh no, Madelyn. I’m back home. That’s the only thing I want. Now I just have to keep my shop going so I can stay.”
I could tell Madelyn wasn’t sure if she believed me, but it was true. Sure, I’d wondered how solid my charm really was, and if I was sacrificing certain things to be able to stay in Bliss, but in the end, I was a Cassidy. I’d make Buttons & Bows thrive. Everything else was gravy.