He didn’t have a chance to answer me. The elevator stopped on the eighth floor, the doors opened with a whoosh, and we stepped out. I checked the hallways, feeling very spylike. Nurses walked from a room to the nursing station, taking care of patients. Other than their bustling, the floor was quiet.
“She’s in 21A,” I said, channeling the nurse’s focused attention and hurrying toward Trudy’s hospital room.
But Will pulled me to a stop. “You can’t go barging in there, scaring them half to death. You’re not the sheriff, Cassidy.”
No, I was just a dressmaker. “Right. Be calm.”
I left him pondering that. There was no time to waste. I just prayed we weren’t too late.
I sucked in a deep breath, stopped in front of room 21A and pressed my ear to the door. To make sure Buckley really was gone. Or to hear Fern and Trudy talking. Either one would have eased my mind. Instead there was complete silence. My heart sagged. Did that mean…
Will reached down, cranked the handle down, and pushed the door open.
As we walked in, a man turned to face us. I drew in a sharp breath. It wasn’t Buckley Hughes… it was his son, Duane.
Fern slouched in a chair in the corner of the room, a knot on her forehead, blood trickling down her temple, and thick shards of broken green glass mixed with bent flower stems scattered on the linoleum floor.
Duane was hunched over Trudy, syringe loaded and pricking into her skin, his head cranked to the side as he stared at us. The next instant, he reacted, jabbing the syringe toward us as if it were a switchblade.
“Don’t do it, Duane,” Will said.
I skirted around the far side of the bed and hurried to Trudy’s side, looking to see if Fern’s chest was moving up and down. I exhaled in relief as I saw it rise and fall.
Will let the pneumatic door whoosh closed behind him as he walked farther into the room. He reminded me of a wary animal stalking his prey. “Just stop, Duane. You don’t want to do this.”
“He wouldn’t stop.”
“Who? Your dad?”
Duane stared bleakly, his eyes glassy.
Will moved closer. “Son, your dad—”
“Not my dad. Vance! Why couldn’t he just leave us alone?” A quick sob escaped his mouth, and he jammed his fists on his hips, turning slightly and looking up at the ceiling.
“Put the syringe down,” Will said.
Trudy’s skin was warm to my touch, but her breathing was shallow and labored. I studied her face, looking for a trace of life. A pinprick of blood on her cheek caught my eye. I reared back, glaring at Duane. “What did you do to her?”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen my dad do it. I had to stop her. She told people—”
Oh, God, no. He’d injected more of the poison into her. The area around the pinprick of blood was puffy. I wanted to squeeze the stuff out of her, but I knew from what the doctor himself had told Trudy after her injection at his house and from reading the newspaper article online that massaging the area could spread the toxins… and the paralysis.
“Told people what?” I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I backed away, ready to make a break for the door to summon a real doctor.
But Duane didn’t answer directly. “First Vance blackmails my dad, then she”—he glared down at Trudy— “she starts saying my mom’s having an affair with the guy. Why can’t people just leave us alone? It was an accident! He didn’t mean for that lady to die.”
As Will moved toward him, I read between the lines of what Duane was saying. Dr. Hughes was being blackmailed, but had he killed Vance over it? Duane would have had access to the country club and the stage area. He would have been able to steal a Botox vial from his own home, put something in the lemonade at the club to make Trudy and Fern both drowsy enough to sleep through the break-in. And he would have been able to inject Trudy.
“Your dad wasn’t charged, but your family was chased out of Amarillo,” I said to Duane, everything suddenly making sense. “You didn’t want that to happen again.”
He nodded, his arms limp by his side, the syringe dangling from his fingers. I moved with as much stealth as I could muster. Almost to the door. Three more steps.
Will moved closer to Duane as I lunged for the door, careening into the hallway and right into Sheriff Hoss McClaine as Will tackled the teenager to the ground like a good ol’ Friday night Texas football player.
“It’s not the doctor. It’s Duane Hughes,” I managed, all the fear I’d been keeping at bay bubbling up. “In there.” I pointed, then I hurried on, stopping the first nurse I saw, begging her to come help Trudy and Fern Lafayette.
Chapter 40
“That poor misguided boy,” Nana said. We sat on the front porch of 2112 Mockingbird Lane—Mrs. James, Mama, Nana, Libby, Sandra, and me. All the Cassidy women, together at last.
“Too many secrets. He just couldn’t handle it?” Sandra asked after she’d heard the whole story.
My rocking chair started rocking, slowly, but with a force I wasn’t controlling. Meemaw. She was here with us, too.
I nodded, realizing that Meemaw had probably turned the pages of Trudy’s book so I’d see the truth. But Anna and Duane had happened by first. I didn’t know which of them had actually taken the book, but it didn’t matter. Duane had seen Trudy’s scribblings about his mother and Vance and that was enough to send him over the edge again. He’d already crossed that line when he’d confronted Vance. The second time was far easier.
My thoughts drifted to Will and Gracie. He was taking her over to meet her grandparents, at long last. I wanted to be here for her when the meeting was over. If I knew Gracie, and I thought I did, she’d be back to sew. It was her comfort.
Libby would be here for her, too. She sat at the bottom of the porch steps. “When do I tell her?” I whispered under my breath so only Meemaw would hear me.
My chair squeaked as I rocked back and forth. Now, now, now, it seemed to say.
Now. Was Libby ready to hear the truth?
The chair creaked some more.
“Ladybug?” Nana said.
“Bless your heart, you look flushed,” Mrs. James said.
Mama tilted her head, a look of concern flitting across her face. “You all right, darlin’?”
“I am.” I smiled at the circle of women around me. I cleared my throat. “Y’all?” All eyes turned to me, even Thelma Louise, who was tethered to the pecan tree in the yard. “I have some Cassidy family business to discuss, and I think you’ll all want to hear it.”
Sewing Tips
Using tearaway stabilizer, particularly when working with sheer fabric, can help avoid gathering and puckering during machine stitching.
When hand stitching, use an embroidery hoop instead of tearaway stabilizer to keep the fabric taut.
Always start each project with a new needle. A sharp needle means less chance of damage to your fabric.
Thimbles come in different sizes and materials; if you do handwork, find a thimble that fits the middle finger of your sewing hand.
Take things a step at a time and never rush!
Read on for a preview of the next
captivating mystery in the
Magical Dressmaking series,
DEADLY PATTERNS
Available in October 2012 from Obsidian
Mrs. James, Mrs. Abernathy, and I stood in the foyer of the Denison mansion, the centerpiece of Bliss’s historic district. “The traffic light on Henrietta Street is out,” Mrs. Abernathy said.
“Really? I just came over on Henrietta. Not a soul on the street and the lights were working just fine,” I said.