“I think she’s trying,” Madelyn said, peering at Mama.
A tense minute later, the flower shivered, its petals spasming. Slowly it began shrinking, giving a final shudder as it returned to its normal size.
Mama’s face went slack. She slumped back in her chair, exhausted from the effort. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t control it.”
I snuck a look at Madelyn, the self-proclaimed magic junkie. The only way to describe her expression was electrified. She touched her fingertips to a flower petal. “I’ve never seen something so beautiful.”
My phone buzzed and a text from Will came through. On my way.
Finally.
I read it to them, relieved to see the feverish thrill pulsing through Madelyn begin to simmer down.
“Is Hoss—er, the sheriff—fixin’ to come back, too?” Mama asked when she’d regained the power of speech.
“I don’t know.” I wanted to tell her not to keep the sheriff a secret like Derek had kept Ruthann a secret, but I realized I was hiding Meemaw, keeping her to myself, so I kept my mouth shut.
A rogue thought struck me. Ever since I’d been back in Bliss, Mama had been struggling with her charm. There was nothing to warrant this change . . . except that she was in love. Was Butch’s charm also a curse? Fall in love and the charm goes haywire? Was that why Nana’s goats were always escaping? Was that why Loretta Mae had remained single after my great-great-granddaddy passed?
My temples throbbed as the next thought bounded into my mind. What would happen to my newfound charm if I fell in love?
I had no more time to think about it. Bill returned, carrying a tray of novelty glasses he’d dug out of my cupboard. He set the tray on the coffee table just as the bells hanging from the front door jingled. The door opened and, as if triggering an electrical surge, the lights flickered. A puff of air seemed to come from underneath the coffee table, fluttering the lily’s petals and forcing the fabric swatches in the little box up into the air, like tossed confetti.
They danced in midair for a split second too long, landing just as they’d been—in the box.
Meemaw.
The flickering stopped as Gracie walked in, followed by Will. Hoss McClaine came in last, closing the door behind him. Everyone talked at once, but I felt the weight of someone’s stare. Looking up, I realized it was really the weight of two people staring. Hoss McClaine and Will Flores both looked at me with undivided attention.
“Can you believe it?” I asked, trying to make light of what had been an intense afternoon. “We caught a murderer today.”
“We couldn’t have done it without you, Harlow,” the sheriff said at the same moment Will said, “You almost got yourself killed, Cassidy, and that is not what Loretta Mae would have wanted.”
Both of them had valid points. I’d done my civic duty, but now I’d do what Meemaw wanted, which was living, safe and sound, discovering family history, and forging new friendships.
I focused on Hoss McClaine. “I was lucky.”
“Some people have a knack for crime solving,” he said.
Will perched on the arm of the sofa. “You have a knack for dressmaking,” he said. “You should stick to that.”
I had a charm when it came to dressmaking, in fact. “I certainly will,” I said.
“Luckily Bliss doesn’t have a lot of murders,” Mama said, “so you’ll be able to stay out of danger, let the sheriff do his job, and do what you do best.”
“Perfect,” I said. “So we all agree. No more murder and lots of sewing. Mrs. James will be keeping me plenty busy. I won’t have time for much else anytime soon.”
I felt a tickle on my foot. Reaching down, I grabbed hold of one of the little fabric swatches I’d discovered in the pile Nell had gone through. It was the one I hadn’t recognized. The one that was plaid. The one I’d thought didn’t belong.
I’d been wrong. A crystal clear picture of a plaid shirt suddenly danced in my mind, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that it was meant for Will. I smiled. I’d stick to dressmaking, just like he wanted, but I knew I’d have to make the time for a special project.
I looked at my mother and Hoss McClaine. Meemaw had brought me home to them. I looked at Madelyn Brighton and her husband, and at Gracie and Will. We sat together in my perfect little dressmaking shop on Mockingbird Lane. She’d brought them all into my life. Loretta Mae had gotten what she’d wanted, true, but I smiled, suddenly enveloped in warmth. I’d gotten what I wanted, too. I was home.
DRESSMAKING TIPS TO MAKE YOUR SEWING MAGICAL
1. Always press the fabric at each step of your sewing project. A hot iron ensures a professionally finished garment.
2. Using elastic in a waistband: before inserting your measured elastic, mark it with stitching at the center front, center back, and right and left sides. This way, you can balance the gathers of the waist between the four quarters of the elastic.
3. Fittings aren’t only for professionals! Fit your garment three to four times during construction. Try the garment on both right side out and wrong side out. Mark corrections on the wrong side, but remember to transfer the markings to the opposite side (because you’ll be turning the garment right side out). Not everyone measures the same on both sides, so this is an important step.
4. Fill three bobbins with the correct thread before you start any project. This way you won’t have to stop to rethread when your bobbin runs out.
5. Before you begin any hand stitching, thread several needles with the correct thread. This will allow you to keep sewing, rather than breaking your momentum by having to stop and rethread.
6. One of the most important tips is to enjoy the process. You slip into your creative zone, especially when doing handwork. Sewing can be meditative, and you should enjoy each step of any dressmaking project!
Read on for a sneak peek at the next book in the Magical Dresskmaking series,
A FITTING END
Available from Obsidian in February 2012.
June in North Texas is no picnic. It was only seven forty-five in the morning, but the heat index was already at the extreme-caution level. The humidity didn’t help the index . . . or the way I felt. The second I walked outside, the moisture clung to my skin. My curly hair, pulled up into an artfully messy ponytail, instantly frizzed. And I was one hundred percent positive that I was melting from the inside out.
There was nothing to do but grin and bear it. I knew it took a season for a body to acclimate to a region’s weather patterns and I’d only been back in Bliss for a few months. I grabbed a bottle of water before climbing into my ancient pickup truck, formerly owned by my great-grandmother and recently brought back to working order by Bubba of Bubba Murphy’s Repair Shop. The one thing Bubba didn’t fix was the air conditioner, which meant I’d look like a drowned rat by the time I got where I was going. Far from swanky country club material, but I’d been summoned by Mrs. James. Enough said.
I opened the window as I drove, but only hot air blew over me. By the time I made the thirteen-mile drive to the Bliss Country Club, the blond streak in my hair, a trait all the Cassidy women shared, had broken free from its restraints and hung limply down the side of my face. I did my best to tuck it back into place.
The parking lot was bursting, but only a handful of golfers was on the course. Maybe they’d all woken up with the roosters and were already on the back nine. But the second I stepped inside the air-conditioned lobby of the club and heard the hushed and agitated undertones of the people milling around, I knew the back nine wasn’t seeing all the action; every golfer in town seemed to be right here. Seeking refuge from the heat and humidity? Possibly, but the knot in my gut was telling me that something else was going on.