A Custom Fit Crime (15 page)

She met my gaze head-on. “Yes, he did. He told me he thought my timing was coincidental. Me arriving just before Beaulieu was murdered didn’t look too good for me. But,” she said, “I told him about the book—”

“You did!” I gaped, absolutely stunned that she’d fess up to Gavin about that.

“I did, and you know what?” There was that blissful expression again. “He didn’t care.”

Okay, that didn’t make sense. “He’s a deputy. How can he not care about a stolen book?”

Mrs. James had been listening quietly, but now she interjected. “A stolen book? Harlow, dear, am I missing something? People lie every day. Every ten minutes, for heaven’s sake. Love is blind, as they say. If there’s an attraction between two people, a previous indiscretion surrounding a stolen book isn’t going to be a deal breaker.”

I breathed in and out, unclenching my fists. It was Orphie’s life, not mine, and maybe Orphie was right. Maybe Gavin really had changed and I was still seeing him as the cantankerous teenager he’d been fifteen years ago. “All I’m saying is that he was asking about you and why you were here.”

“Well, he knows why, and we’re going out again tonight.” She hesitated, just barely, but enough that I noticed, before squeezing my hand. “Don’t worry about me, Harlow. I’ll be just fine.”

I knew she would, and I also knew in my heart that Orphie had nothing to do with Beaulieu dying. But she was keeping something from me. I just had to figure out what it was.

Midori, Jeanette, Orphie, and I spent the next two days buckled down in my workroom, sewing. We each had our projects. Midori was working on my maid of honor dress. I still hadn’t seen the entire thing, but I liked the fabric she’d chosen. It was a sunny orange, my mother’s favorite color, and looked fresh and happy—the opposite of the mood in my shop at the moment.

Orphie was trying to recapture her sewing confidence after her confession of copying Maximilian’s designs, Jeanette was trying to elevate her game by working on a Peter Pan–collared blouse, and I focused on the sweetheart dress for Gracie. I’d chosen a bright teal-embroidered cotton voile, cutting the neckline and straps out of a contrasting white cotton pique.

“Has she seen it yet?” Orphie asked as I cut another rectangle two and a half times Gracie’s front waist measurement, doing the same for the back, out of a plain weave habutai for the lining.

“No, it’s a surprise.” I wasn’t sure if Gracie’s charm extended to fabrics, or if she saw visions only from clothing that had been worn by someone else. This would be a test.

She looked up from the center cutting table, studying my progress. “Scalloped edge. Very tricky.”

“So no hem?” Jeanette asked. “Is that why you picked the voile?”

I grinned. “Maybe.”

I’d gathered the waistline of the skirt and lining on the sides only in an effort to make the dress a little less full, had attached it to the bodice, matching the side seams, and had inserted the zipper. The last step was slip-stitching the bodice lining around the zipper. Gracie would have to try it on before I could adjust the straps’ lengths, making sure to get them in the right place.

“Are you adding crinoline?” Orphie asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said. I’d thought about it, looking back to Gertie’s picture in the book. Tulle was another option, but while I knew Gracie loved vintage, I didn’t think she’d want the poufy look.

The front door opened and shut so quickly, the bells, which I’d rehung after the last time they’d ended up on the floor, hardly had time to chime. At the same time, the Dutch door in the kitchen slammed shut and a second later Mama’s boots clacked against the hardwood floor. “That’s it,” she announced, peeling off her jacket as she came into the workroom. Nana padded in behind her. “The weddin’ is off.”

I stared at her, stunned into silence.

Mama slid her jacket half off, her cropped hair standing on end, and her glare wicked enough to turn me and everyone else who happened across her path to stone. “Did y’all hear me? The weddin’ is off.”

The air in the room stilled; all the sewing stopped. The wedding was in just two days, and up until this moment, I’d never seen Mama happier. I stood and jabbed my fists on my hips. “Mama, for Pete’s sake, what are you talking about?”

She stood stock-still. “It wasn’t meant to be, is all.”

I thought it had been eerily silent a minute ago, but now it was like the quiet before the storm, clouds funneling in the sky above, a tornado formation imminent. Mama wasn’t a crier. She was a stomper. After my father walked out on her, she hadn’t hollered or wept. There’d been nary a tear in sight that hadn’t belonged to me or Red.

Mama had just clomped around the yard, the flowers and plants around her withering. Even seeing Meemaw again, albeit in the form of a very wispy ghost, hadn’t brought tears to her eyes.

She was strong, yes, but her quiet stony mood right now was like nothing I’d ever seen. “Not meant to be? What in the world are you talking about?” I demanded. “You and Hoss are meant for each other.”

She whipped around, her newly cut and styled dark hair falling in loose curls around her face, the Cassidy blond streak in her hair more distinct because of whatever she was feeling. It was like a touchstone for her, as it was for each of us. My own scalp tingled from seeing my mother in emotional turmoil. She opened her mouth, sounds coming from her throat but not quite forming words. One by one, she looked at each woman in the workroom, and then her mouth closed.

She crooked her finger at me and shot a glance at Nana. “Come over here,” she said to us.

We obliged, Nana scurrying back to the kitchen to slip on her Crocs and me stepping into my cowboy boots. Twenty seconds later, we stood by the arbor in the front yard, the purple wisteria flowers, which had been in full bloom, turning brown along the edges before my eyes. “Mama, what’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that Gavin . . . the
deputy
. . . is hell-bent on you taking the fall for that man’s murder.”

One of the wisteria flowers had turned completely brown. The wind picked up and the dried petals were pulled from the stalk, moving through the air until they disappeared. “What?” That couldn’t be right. He’d just asked for my thoughts on the suspects. “Why would he want me to take the fall?” I demanded. My mind whirled. “I just talked to him two days ago. He didn’t launch a single accusation at me. He’s dating Orphie—oh no.”

“Oh no, what?” Nana asked, her arms folded over her chest.

“Maybe he really is a conniver and he’s just using honey to try to trap a fly.”

Nana shook her head. “I always knew that boy was no good. Wearing a badge and a uniform don’t change that.” She glared at Mama as if she’d birthed Gavin and his troublemaking ways were her fault. “What makes him think Harlow had anything to do with what happened?”

“And what does that have to do with you and Hoss and the wedding?” I asked, trying to stay calm. Gavin was a pill, but he wasn’t stupid. I knew he was just trying to solve a murder, and I definitely didn’t like him pointing his finger my way. But I also knew that he wouldn’t be able to pin Beaulieu’s murder on me because I didn’t kill the man. No, he was up to something. And then I realized exactly what. He’d said he wasn’t going to interfere with love, but that’s just what he was doing. Investigating me had gotten under my mother’s skin so much that she was contemplating how to go ahead and get married. Maybe that had been Gavin’s plan all along.

Fire smoldered behind Mama’s eyes. I could almost see her blood boiling. She’d blow any second if we couldn’t calm her down. “I cannot marry a man who’s trying to put my child behind bars,” she said slowly.

And there it was. Gavin’s success. I dropped my hands from my hips to my sides. “Is he . . .” The words tried to slip back down my throat, but I forced them out. “Does Hoss think I killed Beaulieu?”

Mama’s head waggled like a bobble-head. “He said Gavin knows how to do his job, and that you”—she pointed her finger at me—“have a darn good motive.”

“I don’t have a motive!” I backed up a step, stumbling on an uneven piece of flagstone. “I didn’t even know him!”

The anger on Mama’s face was worse than a torrent of tears would have been. A sad Tessa Cassidy could be consoled and made to feel better, but a scorned Tessa Cassidy? I now understood why Mama was fired up and she was right. There likely wouldn’t be a wedding in two days, because she wouldn’t marry a man who thought ill of her kin.

“Oh,” she bit off, “but you do. According to the
deputy
, you were being upstaged by Beaulieu in the magazine article, and everyone around town is talking about how he steals other designers’ concepts and makes them his own, and how surely he’s doing that to you, too.”

I gaped. Who in the world would have started
that
rumor? “It’s not true. He hasn’t stolen anything of mine.” My disheveled ready-to-wear rack came back to the front of my mind. Could Beaulieu have riffled through it before he died and I just hadn’t noticed? I felt as if my mind was playing tricks on me.

“Tell
that
to Gavin.” She slid her jacket back on and faced Nana and me. “I can’t do it. No,” she corrected, “I won’t do it.” She hitched up her blue jeans as she shook her head.

“Mama, they’re just doing their job. They’ve got to consider everything,” I said, but still, I was unnerved.

She frowned.

“And I didn’t have anything to do with Beaulieu dying, so there’s nothing to worry about.

“And,” I finished, “you love Hoss McClaine.”

Her stony expression faltered for a split second, but she bucked up, hardening the lines of her face again, blocking out the emotions that I knew were tucked away inside her. “I love you more, darlin’. Loretta Lynn mighta wanted to stand by her man, but I want a man who’ll stand by me and mine. Period.”

I started to argue but stopped. I wanted a man who’d stand by me, too. I thought that Will might be that man. I wanted nothing less for Mama, and while I was pretty sure Hoss McClaine was the cowboy for her, she had to know it in her heart.

Which left me no choice. I’d go have a sit-down with Hoss and his deputy son, proclaim my innocence, see what Gavin was really up to, and figure out what else I could do to help them find the truth. I’d already been thinking about the murder, wondering how it could have happened in my shop, and why. But now? Now I needed to save Mama’s wedding—and her heart—and if that meant inserting myself into another murder investigation with both feet, then that’s what I’d do.

Nana and I both tried to get Mama to come back inside, but she threw her hand up, said, “Bah!” and stormed down the street.

“She’ll come to her senses,” Nana said when I turned to her. “We should just give her some time to cool off.”

“Will she?” And if she did, would it be soon enough? I only had two days to set things right between Mama and Hoss, which meant I had two days to figure out who had killed Michel Beaulieu.

A minute later, I had slipped back inside Buttons & Bows, taking a moment to watch the women before they realized I was back. Jeanette, Orphie, and Midori looked as though they hadn’t moved from their tasks. Orphie had moved on to stitching together the pieces of the sweetheart dress. Midori had her back to me, orange fabric pooling over her lap. And Jeanette cursed at the rounded collar on the Peter Pan blouse.

The pressure of just forty-eight hours to save a wedding sent my thoughts circling. Who was the likeliest suspect? Midori. Gavin McClaine’s reason for suspecting me of murder held for the Japanese-American designer, too. Beaulieu had had a big presence. While I hadn’t been threatened by him, Midori might have been.

My gaze drifted to Jeanette. Public—and repeated—humiliation could be a strong motive for murder. Rage whipped through people over being cut off on the road, so Jeanette’s losing control after Beaulieu’s outburst wasn’t all that implausible. And then there was the iron.

Finally I looked at Orphie. We were old friends, and I couldn’t fathom the idea that she might have had anything to do with murder. That was beyond anything she was capable of. No, it couldn’t be Orphie. I went back to Midori and Jeanette, but couldn’t quite see either of them in the role of murderess, either.

Which still left six other suspects. Quinton and Lindy Reece, and the four models. I couldn’t formulate even a simplistic motive for the photographer or the journalist, but the models? I could actually see one of them killing Beaulieu. Lack of food could make a girl cranky.

The three women chatted together as I continued to think about the models. Barbi and Esmeralda from New York wouldn’t have had reason to kill the designer who’d favored them to model his clothing. Of course for all I knew their relationships with Beaulieu could have been more complicated than I was aware of. Still, I dismissed them for now and let my thoughts trail to Zoe and Madison. They still had clothes to wear on the runway since they were Midori’s go-to girls. And, as far as I knew, they didn’t know Beaulieu.

“Earth to Harlow.” The voice sounded softly in my ear.

“There she goes again, woolgathering.”

I blinked and yelped, immediately lurching backward when a blurred face loomed in front of mine. “Lord almighty, Orphie, don’t do that!”

Her face lit up with a big smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, but jeez, you were somewhere far, far away. Are you okay? Is the wedding really off?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

Jeanette and Midori left their projects and came to stand at the French doors of the workroom. “Oh no,” Midori said with a sad shake of her head. “But I thought you said they were lovey-dovey.”

“They are. Or they were. There’s more,” I said. The idea that any of these three women could have killed Beaulieu was absurd, but mixing silk with denim was absurd, too, and that happened. But it didn’t happen often, and I figured it couldn’t hurt to simply be straightforward. “Apparently the deputy suspects
me
, and the sheriff hasn’t ruled that possibility out.”

Orphie’s face drained of color and she stumbled back. “That can’t be right.”