I barely knew Will, and to hear him using my first name seemed . . . intimate and unfamiliar. I pushed away from him, a little whopper-jawed by how I felt. “I was looking for Josie,” I said. “I saw her come up here. I wanted to see if she’s okay. Since Nate’s . . .”
I hesitated. For all I knew, Will and Nate were old friends. And since one of the scenarios for Nell’s murder put Nate as the killer, talking to one of his friends about it probably wasn’t a good idea.
“Nate’s what?”
“I was just wondering how long you’ve known the Kincaids.”
He folded his arms over his chest, studying me. “Uh-uh. You’re not getting off that easy, darlin’. Answer me this: Do the ghosts follow you everywhere you go?”
I started. Did he know that Meemaw’s ghost seemed to be hanging around my house? Had Gracie told him something? “Well, of course not,” I said, waving away the very idea with an idle laugh. “I’m just looking for Josie.”
I started back down the hallway to where I had last seen Karen. Will stayed right beside me. It hadn’t escaped my notice that he hadn’t answered my question. “So, are you friends with Nate?” I asked.
“I know him.”
The hallway and landing were empty. Maybe Karen had gone back downstairs. We stood side by side at the banister. Down below, people spilled out the French doors onto the stone-and-brick patio. There was no sign of a distraught brunette in polyester pants. Maybe she and Josie were comforting each other.
A willowy blonde glided through the room, stopping to chat with a few people before moving on to the next group. Ruthann. It wasn’t her party, but it might as well have been. She looked like the quintessential hostess, ready to meet and greet her guests, throwing out her naked left hand to be kissed, the only adornment sparkling from her right hand. She was clearly available, and every man’s gaze was instantly drawn to her. I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. Did she know she was the most beautiful woman in the room?
Will leaned against the banister, his attention firmly on me. He had to have seen Ruthann below—she was impossible to miss—but he didn’t seem fazed by her ethereal beauty.
I tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. A wish that contact lenses didn’t feel like boulders in my eyes came and went. There was no point in worrying over things you can’t change. Glasses, contacts, or twentytwenty vision, I was no Ruthann.
“Why’d you ask about Nate?” Will said.
“Just curious,” I answered him, and left it at that.
A few minutes later, I made my escape from the event, rounding up Madelyn and hightailing it back home to the familiarity of my butter yellow appliances, hand-stitched quilts, Meemaw’s settee, and my sewing machines. This was my cocoon. The scent of lavender enveloped me as soon as I walked in the door. This was home.
Chapter 35
Calling in the cavalry was nothing short of essential if I was going to finish the bridal dresses. I’d called Miriam to make sure that she was really going to be in the wedding, confirmed her appointment, then stayed up past two in the morning sketching designs for her dress. With no time to shop, I’d dragged bins of Meemaw’s fabric down from the attic, riffled through them, and resketched so the design and the fabric would work together. To keep myself going, whenever I grew tired I flipped to the last page of my sketchbook and worked on a list of suspects and scenarios for Nell’s murder. Josie, Nate, Karen, and Ted each had possible motives for wanting Nell out of their lives.
I’d slept on it, but in the morning I was no closer to any answers. I had to figure out a way to find out who Nell had been seeing and who had put the bun in her oven. Otherwise I was going to be too distracted to complete these dresses for the wedding.
With the wedding just days away, Nell’s funeral at two o’clock, and Miriam already fifteen minutes late, I was running on pure adrenaline. There were a million and one tasks that needed to be done on the garments, but thankfully, the troops had been deployed.
Mama hunched over Meemaw’s old Singer, finishing the French seams on the skirt of Josie’s gown. Gracie bounded into the shop. “We’re here!”
I’d been expecting her, but not her father. Will came in after her, a soft black tool bag in one hand, a little white paper bag and a disposable coffee cup in the other.
“Morning,” he said.
Mama whipped her head around the second she heard a man’s voice. “Will Flores,” she cooed. “It’s been a coon’s age.”
A coon’s age? Had Mama gone hillbilly?
Will set his tool bag down next to the shelves, smiling. “Yes, ma’am, it sure has.”
“I guess introductions aren’t necessary,” I said.
“Will and I go way back. Now when was that problem you had with, what was her name, Maggie Sue?” Mama looked to the ceiling like she was trying to remember.
“Mama!”
She looked at me like I was off my rocker. “What?”
Will chuckled, a smooth, silky sound. “Maggie Sue is my neighbor’s goat. She got through the fence onto my property and was harassing my horses.”
He had horses. So he wasn’t all hat and no cattle.
“That rascally doe wouldn’t budge,” Mama said. “Was that a year ago already?”
He nodded. “I tried everything, but she just laid down and stayed put. I’d heard stories about your grandmother. Cesar Millan is to dogs what Coleta Cassidy is to goats.”
Mama flapped her hand at him. “Stop,” she said, as if the praise was hers and not her mother’s.
“I didn’t believe it, but it’s true,” he said, admiration in his voice.
“Never doubt a Cassidy,” I said. “Have you seen Nana with her herd? They follow her everywhere.”
“Does she bewitch them?” Gracie asked.
Mama looked aghast. “Good heavens, no! She just happens to have a connection with them.”
“That’s an understatement,” Will said. “She came right over, sat down next to Maggie Sue and had a conversation about God knows what, and would you believe that goat just popped right up and toddled back through the fence to her own yard.”
“Goats are funny animals,” Mama remarked. “My mama says most of us just don’t appreciate them, but they’ve got so much personality and spunk, if they could speak English, we’d all be rolling with laughter. She says they respond to her because she listens to them, that’s all.”
Gracie’s brow pulled into a V. I could tell she didn’t understand how you listened to a goat. Honestly, I didn’t either.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, patting her on the shoulder. “It’s like the creaky pipes. You’ll get used to it.”
Will leaned against the doorjamb, watching as I set his daughter up with a needle and thread in front of a dress form. His scrutiny unnerved me and brought up the same anxiety I used to feel before a test. If I handled Gracie the wrong way, I’d fail and he would abruptly yank her from my presence. My hands shook. The story of her mother leaving her had gotten to me. Loretta Mae might get what she wanted, but that didn’t mean Will couldn’t change his mind and call off the sewing lessons. Gracie had started to work her way into my heart and I didn’t want to let go.
After a mini lesson on invisible stitching, she set to work hemming the skirt of Karen’s flirty little dress and I turned to her father. “I’m going to Nell Gellen’s funeral. If you want to come back for Gracie in a few hours—”
He shook his head. “I have some time. Thought I’d tackle a few more things on your repair list.”
Now was not the best time, but I couldn’t turn him away. The number one reason was Gracie, but the repair list was getting longer and longer. I’d added “fix loose floorboard in bedroom” and “leaky faucet in upstairs bathroom” to it, and I knew there would be more. A turn-of-the-century house was kind of like the Golden Gate Bridge. By the time the bridge was painted, it was time to go back to the beginning and start over. There’d always be something to fix in Meemaw’s house.