A Seamless Murder

by Melissa Bourbon

“But none of it meant anything till I met you,” he said, squeezing her hand.

  “But your true calling is landscape architecture?” I glanced again at the sketch he’d done of the front yard. It looked like something out of Southern Living magazine. If he could pull it off in a matter of days and make cream puffs, I’d be impressed.

  Megan ran her hand up his arm, beaming. “He’s amazing. You can just show him a picture of something you want built, and he’ll build it. Just like that,” she added, snapping her fingers. “Show him a picture of some fancy meal, and he can make that, too.”

  “I’m sure the yard will look great and the desserts will be delicious,” I said, wanting to get back to the reason for my visit.

  Mama perked up, suddenly finding a way to jump into the conversation. “If y’all need any help with the flowers, I can get most anythin’ to grow.”

  My gaze instantly flew to the plant she’d been touching. The yellow leaves had turned a vibrant green, perking up as if they’d just had a much-needed drink of water. They looked plump and renewed. I quickly pushed the plant out of the way, blocking it from view before any of them noticed. People might not be able to keep secrets in Bliss, but we could still try.

  Todd considered her, a little twinkle in his brown eyes. “I’ve heard that about you, Mrs. McClaine.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when Mama scooted back on her chair, looking for all the world like she’d been struck across the cheek. “I don’t know who you think you’re talkin’ to, but there ain’t no Mrs. McClaine around here—”

  “Mama!” What had gotten into her?

  Todd’s eyes flew open wide, and he looked shell-shocked. “I—I’m sorry? I’d heard you were married to the sheriff.”

  “She is,” I said, just as Mama sat up straight in her chair and said, “Oh, I’m his wife. But I will always be Tessa Parker Cassidy. I did not take the sheriff’s name, but I sure welcome him to take mine.”

  I stared at my mother, flummoxed. She wasn’t usually so combative with folks she didn’t know well. She saved that particular personality trait for her loved ones. Her name was clearly a sensitive subject.

  “You’re one of those feminists, aren’t you?” Jessie Pearl asked, narrowing her eyes as she looked at Mama.

  “No,” Mama said. “I’m a Cassidy.”

  Jessie Pearl seemed to consider this for a moment before responding. “Taking your husband’s name doesn’t make you less of a Cassidy. I took my husband’s name proudly. He passed goin’ on twenty years now, but I kept his name just as surely as I kept my own. The name doesn’t define me, Tessa.”

  “Maybe not,” Mama said, “but we’ve got a strong and unique family history. Butch left us a legacy that is part of who we are. I carry his name because it is a daily reminder of the love he and Texana shared. The love that survived, against all odds, and resulted in our family line.”

  Jessie Pearl shrugged her hunched shoulders, waving away Mama’s defense. “A name is just a name. Cassidy wasn’t even that man’s real name. It don’t mean anything. Hell’s bells, I could call Megan by her middle name, but it don’t change who she is. Would it, Isabel?”

  Megan and Todd looked at each other, hiding smiles.

  Jessie Pearl continued. “I could up and decide to call Todd, I don’t know, Zachary, but he’s the same young man he was before, isn’t that right, Zachary? Er, I mean Todd?”

  “Call him George, like Rebecca always does,” Megan said with a laugh. “She thinks he looks like a blond-haired George Clooney.”

  Todd rolled his eyes, but nodded. “That’s right. Call me Zach or Michael or George. I can be someone different every day, if you like.”

  Mama grinned, and suddenly I saw through her. She might well believe everything she was saying, but more than anything, she was getting Jessie Pearl to talk and think about something besides her dead daughter. I caught her eye and winked.

  “There you have it,” Jessie Pearl said. “You can call a zebra a horse, and we might all believe it, but the truth of the matter is that a zebra can’t change his stripes. He’s still a zebra at the end of the day. I can call you McClaine, but you’ll still be a Cassidy. I just don’t know what difference it makes, but there you go.”

  She struggled to stand, nodding to the bag I held. “What do you have there?” Todd hurried forward, helping her into the nearest chair, an antique American armchair. It rested on three turned, button-footed legs, and one front cabriole leg with a pad-style foot. She collapsed again, the effort at the short walk taking its toll.

  Coco might have wanted to handle it differently, but she also wanted me to find out the truth, so I went with my gut. “Ma’am,” I said, lifting the sack I carried. “I found these at the tag sale. They looked like the ones you collect,” I said, pointing to the curio cabinet. “I thought maybe they were added to your donation by mistake?”

  I snuck a look at the figurines on the glass shelves as I unwrapped the first one from the church sale. The Dressmaker that had been in Jessie Pearl’s collection a week ago was gone. A layer of dust covered the shelves, several clean spots evident where figurines had recently been. I hesitated handing it over, not wanting to upset her.

  “Give it here,” she said, her gnarled hand reaching for the Dressmaker. She was elderly and looked frail, but she was a spitfire. “You got this at the tag sale, you said?”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding as I handed her the bag.

  She took it, her shoulders hunched, and then patted the chair seat next to her. “Harlow, sit.”

  This chair was black framed with black-and-white floral fabric on the back and seat cushions. I sat, watching her hands tremble slightly as she unwrapped the next figurine. One by one, she examined the five Lladró figurines I’d brought back with me from the church, and then she raised her head and turned to look at me. “I knew they were missing,” she said to Todd, “But I don’t understand. Todd?”

  Todd raked his fingers through his dark blond hair, the ends standing up. “She gave me the boxes to donate. I asked her if there was anything Megan could sell. She said there wasn’t, that this was all a bunch of junk, so I took them.”

  “A bunch of junk,” Jessie Pearl repeated, her head low. “Doesn’t that beat all?”

  She handed me the Dressmaker. “Would you put them back on the shelves for me?”

  “Of course.” I took it, admiring it once more before standing. I ran my finger over the delicate lines of the woman’s dress, over the base. The ceramic was cool to the touch and smooth . . . until my thumb brushed over something barely poking out of the bottom of the figurine. I turned the Dressmaker over to see what looked like a bit of white paper tucked into the small hole there. My mind raced. Surely Delta hadn’t left a message in the figurine. Or had she?

  I turned to Megan. “There’s something in here. Do you have a pair of tweezers?”

  The color drained from Megan’s face, and she looked as if she’d seen a ghost, but she nodded, popped up, and ran down the hallway, returning a few seconds later with the tool. Everyone seemed to hold their breath as I poked the end of the tweezers into the opening, emerging a moment later with a scrap of paper rolled tightly like a cigarette.

  Jessie Pearl peered at me, then at the note in my hand. “Oh my stars, don’t tell me . . .”

  “Mother,” Megan said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.

  Mama and I looked at each other, then at Megan. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  Megan ran the back of her hand under her nose, her face close to collapsing. “Ever since I was a little girl, my mother would leave little notes for me.”

  “I did the same for her and her sisters,” Jessie Pearl said, her own voice quiet as she recalled the memory. “I’d put notes in their lunches every once in a while, but they squealed in delight when I got creative. I’d put them in their pillow cases, tape them to their mirrors, I’d roll them around the handle of their toothbrushes.”

  “Mother did the same thing,
” Megan said. “The best was the time she came on campus after school was out for the day. When I came to school the next day and went to my locker, there was a note taped to the inside of the slats. Hail or storm, rain or shine, I’ll protect you always, because you’re mine. I still have that note,” she said.

  I went back to the chair next to Jessie Pearl and unrolled the paper, holding it so we could both see the message scribbled there.

  Collins College. No record. Alias?

  Jessie Pearl’s snapped her gaze at me. “That’s Delta’s handwriting, but what kind of note is that?”

  Not a sweet endearment, I thought.

  “Delta packed up the last box for the tag sale after you left that night,” Jessie Pearl said to me. “She must have added the Lladrós, but why?”

  A chill crept up my spine. Was the note a clue? Had she suspected harm might come to her? If so, why not simply tell someone?

  Megan voiced the same question. “Why would she leave notes in figurines she gave away? If she wanted me—or someone—to find them, why not put them somewhere obvious?”

  If the note was discovered and she was fine, she could laugh it off. Or she could have bought back the Lladrós herself. But if something did happen to her, there was a chance the note would be discovered by whoever purchased them at the tag sale. Was it a bread-crumb trail?

  There was no guarantee of discovery, but on the other hand, if she’d been hypothesizing, hiding the cryptic message was the safest way not to draw undesirable attention.

  “Notes,” I repeated, realizing that Megan had spoken in the plural. “Oh mercy, I bet there are others.” I grabbed the bag and withdrew the other four figurines I’d found at the tag sale. One by one, I pried scraps of paper from the hollow insides of the Lladrós, handing them to Jessie Pearl. Each had a different message.

  No history. No past.

  Regret. It’s useless, but I’m sorry, Megs.

  Friendships are not what they seem. Ask Rebecca.

  The cemetery, five a.m. I will know the whole truth.

  Tears flowed down Megan’s cheeks as she read the brief notes. She looked to the ceiling. “I don’t understand, Mother. What about Collins College? What are you sorry for?”

  “Delta didn’t beat around the bush with things,” Jessie Pearl said. “Why in the devil would she be so cryptic?”

  “Someone killed her, Jessie Pearl,” Todd said. “She must have been scared and trying to tell us something.”

  “Why not just call us into the kitchen and say whatever was on her mind? For pity’s sake, how are we supposed to know what all this means?”

  “She met her killer at the cemetery,” I mused aloud. “Why not go to the sheriff? Why would she risk her life?”

  “She wasn’t sure about whatever she knew,” Mama said matter-of-factly. “But she was taking precautions. Just in case it went badly. If she wasn’t sure, she couldn’t just come out and accuse someone of whatever it was they’d done wrong—Delta had more integrity than that.”

  I had to agree. She’d driven me crazy with the goat feud, but Delta wasn’t generally unreasonable.

  “We need to show these to Hoss,” Mama said.

  Everyone nodded in agreement, and Mama pulled out her cell phone, making the call. “He’ll be here lickety-split,” she said a minute later.

  “Put the figurines back,” Jessie Pearl said, handing me the Dressmaker.

  I stood, carefully turning the tasseled key and opening the door to the hutch, and put the Dressmaker back where it had been. Todd handed me another Lladró and took the last three himself. “That one goes there,” he said to me, pointing to an empty space on the glass shelf. After he placed the three he held in their spots, I started to close the door, but stopped. There were at least nine other figurines in the curio cabinet, as well as three mini teapots and a few other knickknacks. Could there be messages in any of the others?

  Quickly, I picked up each figurine, turned it over, and felt along the base for evidence of anything hidden inside. Nothing. I moved to the teapots, half listening to the chatter behind me about how Delta and Coco had created a system for communicating and passing notes to each other, excluding poor Sherri. “She was five years younger than Coco, seven years younger than Delta,” Jessie Pearl said. “The poor thing idolized her older sisters, and they tortured her.”

  “That’s the benefit of being an only child,” Megan said, “but I still wish I had a brother or sister.”

  I lifted the lid off one of the small teapots, tilted the base, and peered inside. Once again, I came up empty. I wasn’t holding my breath that I’d find anything more. Wishful thinking, I thought, but when I lifted the lid of the last one and looked inside, I saw a folded-up sheet of paper. My pulse kicked up a notch at the discovery. “There’s something here,” I said, poking two fingers inside of the opening to withdraw the potential clue.

  “Let me see that,” Jessie Pearl said before I had a chance to unfold it myself. I’d wanted the first look, but instead, I handed it over to her. Her arthritic fingers slowly maneuvered the paper, undoing the folds. Finally, she had it spread out on her lap, and as she peered at it, she drew in a sharp breath. “Good Lord,” she muttered under her breath.

  From where I stood, the half sheet looked worn and faded. “What is it, Granny?” Megan asked.

  “Sherri wrote this one,” Jessie Pearl said, looking up at Megan, her eyes glassy. “To your mother. Let’s see, you’ve been married, what, going on six months now, is that right?”

  “Right.” Todd nodded. “Love at first sight,” he added, winking at Megan.

  She smiled faintly, turning to Mama and me with an explanation. “We fell in love practically overnight. Todd asked me to marry him on our one-month anniversary.”

  “Wow, that’s incredible,” I said.

  Will and I were taking our time getting to know each other, and I preferred it that way. I wanted to know just what I was getting before I made a lifelong commitment, and he did, too. But part of me admired people like Todd and Megan, who knew just what they wanted and didn’t wait before they went for it.

  “What’s the note say?” Mama asked, circling back to Jessie Pearl.

  “This must have been when they had that falling out, do you remember that?” Jessie Pearl asked. To us, she said, “Sherri and Delta were a bit like oil and water. Sherri was always trying to impress her big sister, but Delta wasn’t easily impressed. Sherri had told Delta about some antique show she’d been at over in Plano and some of the people she’d met there. Someone she thought Delta knew or something. Do you remember that?” she asked Megan.

  But Megan shook her head. “Not at all. They didn’t talk for a while, right? Sherri almost didn’t come to the wedding, remember that?” she asked Todd. He nodded, and she continued. “She told me that my mother was too mule-headed to listen, but I talked her into it. I told her it was my day, and that I wanted her there. I don’t think she wanted to come and see Mother, but she did anyway.”

  “She stayed at a back table the whole reception,” Todd said, shaking his head at the memory. “What was the point? She just sat there, wouldn’t talk to anyone, hardly ate.”

  We all turned back to the half sheet of paper Jessie Pearl had in front of her. “What does it say?” I asked.

  Jessie Pearl cleared her throat and read aloud.

  Will you ever listen to me, Delta? I’m right, and I hope that whenever you realize it, there isn’t a trail of broken hearts along the way because it was too late. You’ll always be my sister and I love you, but good God, you’re stubborn. I’ve hidden this note, as you and Coco used to do. Someday, when you find it, you’ll remember how I tried to warn you.

  ~Sherri

  We stood in silence, processing the message from Sherri to Delta, hidden away. I didn’t understand the family’s penchant for note writing and note hiding. Why not simply say these things to one another? Why leave a note so well hidden that it might never be found? “It’s like a purging of
the soul,” I said under my breath. Maybe, as Sherri indicated, she’d tried to say what she’d wanted to in person, but it had fallen on deaf ears. Writing the note was a way to rid herself of the worry she couldn’t get her sister to listen to.

  Were Delta’s notes the same? Maybe she didn’t care if they were ever found. Maybe they were more of a touchstone for herself. A way of getting her thoughts out without committing them to a diary or some other form of writing that could be found and misinterpreted.

  I sighed. Too many questions and no way to answer them.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jessie Pearl said. “Sherri and Delta were fine. They picked at each other their whole lives, but sisters do that.”

  “Sherri doesn’t much like conflict,” Todd said. “Maybe she was just unloading in a safe way.”

  “Just what I was thinking,” I said.

  Todd helped Jessie Pearl to her feet again, holding her by the wrist and elbow of one arm as he carefully guided her upright and handed her the crutches. “At least it wasn’t out of spite,” Jessie Pearl said, so softly I almost didn’t hear. The cryptic messages aside, it was a comfort to her that one of Delta’s last acts hadn’t been one of bitterness and sibling rivalry.

  Megan dried her eyes as I looked at each of the notes again. After a moment, she sat us straighter. “What did it say about Rebecca?”

  “Friendship is not what it seems. Ask Rebecca,” I said, repeating what was on the slip of paper.

  “Ask Rebecca what?” She clasped her hands to the sides of her head, pressing, her fingers curling until her fingernails clawed into her scalp.

  “Call her,” Todd said, handing her his cell phone. “Ask her to come over.”

  Megan shook her head. “I’ve been calling her since yesterday, but she’s not answering, and she hasn’t called me back.”

  “Try again,” he prompted, handing her his cell phone.

  Megan took it and stepped out of the way, letting Todd and Jessie Pearl lead the way back into the kitchen. Mama and I followed. “Still no answer. I left a message,” she said when she came in a minute later. She went back to the counter, sliding cookies off a tray and putting them on a plate. The kitchen held an array of aluminum casserole dishes, Styrofoam containers, a CorningWare dish filled with what looked like banana pudding, a few bottles of wine, and a variety of other things people had brought over. Feed a cold, starve a fever, and stuff grief.