“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 he was completely lost. “But she’s doin’ better, isn’t she?”
“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.
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.
Mr. and Mrs. William Lambert are happy to announce the
engagement of their daughter, Miss Anna Marie Smith,
to Mr. Buckley Hughes, son of Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Hughes.
A July 13th wedding is planned.
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.