A Seamless Murder (10 page)

I grabbed them before heading down the aisle, stopping again when something else caught my eye. It was a Lladró figurine, and it looked exactly like the one I’d seen in Delta Lea Mobley’s house the week before. I’d looked it up when I’d gotten home that night. It was a retired design. A woman in a long dress with a coat, a sewing basket over her arm, and a pink umbrella. I’d been right about her being a dressmaker.

Delta hadn’t mentioned that it was coming to the tag sale, and neither had Jessie Pearl. And from what I’d seen online, it was worth several hundred dollars. I snatched it up in case it was a mistake. I wanted to check with Jessie Pearl to make sure she’d meant to donate it—if it did, indeed, belong to her. I checked the price tag. Ten dollars. That
had
to be a mistake.

I glanced around, quickly spotting three more of the figurines I’d seen in the curio cabinet at Delta’s house. I cradled them all, very carefully, finally making my way over to Mama and Nana.

“What in heaven’s name do you want with all those things?” Mama asked. She was all about nature and flowers. She collected clay pots and had some stained glass in her greenhouse, but ceramic collectibles were outside her comfort level.

“I love them,” I told her, “but they’re not really for me.” I filled them both in on where I’d seen the figurines and carefully handed them over. Then I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Jessie Pearl. When there was no answer, I debated calling Coco or Sherri. Their relationships with Delta seemed to have been complicated, love and scorn all wound up into one tangled ball of yarn. But I didn’t actually have Sherri’s number, and I’d only just left Coco at her sister’s grave and she might still be there. If she was, I didn’t want to disturb her.

I needn’t have worried. Once again I heard my name being called from the opposite end of the tent. I turned to see Coco waving at me. “I have a question for you!”

“I have one for you, too,” I said when she came up alongside me. But before I could ask it, she’d grabbed one of the figurines I’d rescued, clutching it in her white-knuckled hand.

“Where did you get this?” Her voice had gathered a hard edge to it. She swept her hand over the rest of them, then looked in turn at Mama, Nana, and then me. “All of these. Where did they come from?”

“They were on the table over there,” I said, pointing to the aisle behind us. “I thought they looked a lot like your mother’s. Do you think they’re hers?”

She pursed her lips, looking like she was trying hard not
to explode with anger. “Oh, there is not a doubt in my mind. I
know
they are. And I know just how they got here, too. Damn her.”

“Darlin’,” Mama said to Coco, “you’ve been through a horrible shock, losing your sister. Maybe you ought to sit down here.” She pulled up a stool that was marked for sale at thirteen dollars. It didn’t escape my attention that the stool had a higher asking price than the collectible figurines.

Coco waved it away. “I prefer to stand.” Her spine had stiffened, and she lifted her chin in defiance, her short blond curls bobbing around her head. “In fact, what I really need to do, right this very minute, is go have a word with Pastor Kyle.”

“What about the figurines?” I asked, catching her by the arm. “I’m sure we can say they were donated by mistake.”

“Of course we can’t say that, Harlow. They’re here and they’re for sale. I doubt my mother even knows they’re gone. But she’d be horrified . . .
horrified
. . . to know that her precious Lladró collectibles were at the church tag sale priced at—”

She stopped short and backtracked a few steps, picking the Dressmaker up and flipping it over. “Ten dollars?! That’s just . . . I can’t believe . . . Delta would rather
give
away mother’s things than let me or Sherri have them.”

“Do you really think that’s why she donated them? But why upset your mother by taking them?” This was a side to Delta I hadn’t seen. Our feud over the goats was based on the herd chowing down on the flowers in Delta’s yard, so even if I didn’t understand the degree to which Delta was
disgruntled, I understood why she was upset and how that frustration transferred to the other Cassidy women.

But if Coco was right, Delta had taken their mother’s precious collectibles and donated them just to spite her sisters.

“Absolutely,” she said. “Everything with Delta was always a competition. She needed Mother to love her more than she loved Sherri and me.”

“But why take your mother’s things?” I asked. “If Jessie Pearl discovered that she was giving away her treasures, that whole idea of being loved best would have backfired, wouldn’t it?”

“Mother’s forgetful. I’m sure Delta could have convinced her that she’d been the one to donate something, or that she’d misplaced something. Whenever Sherri or I noticed something was missing, Delta always had a story. Mother gave it to Megan to sell. She donated it to the women’s shelter. She gave it away to the church.”

“But why?”

Coco’s nostrils flared and her fists clenched. “To make us crazy. She wanted us to think that she was closer to our mother.” She looked around, making sure the coast was clear, then turned back to me and continued. “No one would believe it, of course. We saw her true colors, but most folks only ever saw what Delta wanted them to. She was good at pretending.”

If what Coco was saying was true, I was awfully glad I hadn’t been able to reach Jessie Pearl. She didn’t need to hear more grief about her murdered daughter. “You can buy them back, Coco.”

Coco’s chin quivered, her emotions getting the better of her. “I can. You’re right, I definitely can.” She opened up her
billfold and pulled out a wad of cash, handing it over to me. “Thank you, Harlow. Now I need to go talk to the pastor.”

With that she marched out of the tent and into the church.

And I followed.

Will caught up with me at the entrance to the church. I’d left the money, the figurines, and my overalls and blinged-out jeans with Mama before I’d hurried away after Coco.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Will asked.

I answered as I pulled him into the church. “To talk to the pastor about . . . about . . .”

“About what?” he prodded.

I stopped long enough to furrow my brow. “About Delta Mobley.”

“Ah, I see,” he said, nodding as if everything was suddenly crystal clear.

I straightened my glasses, shoving my hair behind my ears. At my temple, the streak of blond that was common to all the Cassidy women tingled. I’d come to use this as a touchstone, almost like a sixth sense. But at the moment, I was puzzled. “You do?” I asked Will, definitely surprised, because things were far from clear in my mind. I had no clear suspects in Delta’s death, and now I’d learned she had a vengeful streak against her sisters. Were they the only ones she targeted, or had she rubbed someone else the wrong way, sending them into a murderous rage against her?

I’d always thought she was a pillar of the community, but
the deeper I dug into her death, the more I realized that she was on weaker social footing in Bliss than she’d made it seem. So who was the real Delta Lea Mobley?

“Not really,” Will admitted, “but I bet I’ll understand in another fifteen minutes after you figure it out and explain it to me.”

I had to laugh at that. And bat him on the arm. “Fifteen minutes, huh? We’d better get moving, then.”

It had been more than ten minutes since I’d seen the pastor through the window, but I assumed he was still upstairs. I bypassed the main hall that led to the sanctuary, instead heading down the central hall that led to the back staircase. “Coco?” I called her name as loudly as I dared. I always felt a sense of reverence in a church, and that meant no yelling. It was also ingrained in me since, as a child, I’d had my ear pulled by Meemaw more than once for inappropriate church behavior. Sitting in the pew during service meant being quiet, staying still, and being contemplative. I could
think
about sewing, or flowers, or tipping cows, or climbing water towers. She hadn’t cared what wayward thoughts raced through my mind, just so long as I was silent.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Which stopped suddenly. I took another tentative step, Will right on my heels. “Why are you tiptoeing?” he asked. “Is the church closed?”

“Do churches close?” I whispered back.

“Don’t think so.”

I guess I didn’t really need to be sneaking around like a cat burglar. So why was I? The only explanation was that all the murder investigations I’d been involved in since I’d been back in Bliss had me questioning everyone.

“Coco?” I said again, louder this time.

“Upstairs,” she answered.

“After you, Sherlock,” Will said. He put his hand on my lower back, urging me forward.

I started tiptoeing up the stairs before I remembered that Coco knew I was coming and that it didn’t have to be a secret that I was in the church. I shifted to a normal walk as Will’s hand brushed my side. “I like the view from down here.” When I turned, blushing, he gave me a wink and a grin.

I smiled right back, challenging him. “Play your cards right, and I’ll let you take me home after church.”

“Promises, promises.”

I turned, flashing him another coy grin. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“Not for a second, Cassidy. I think whatever you learn here is going to set you off investigating somewhere and then I won’t see you, unless it’s to talk about murder, for the next two days or however long it takes you to crack the case.” He took hold of my wrist and pulled me down until our lips met. “So I’ll take my kiss now.”

“Ah, William Flores, you know me too well, I fear.”

“Like the back of my hand, darlin’, like the back of my hand.”

Coco was leaning against the wall at the landing at the top of the stairs when we made it up there. “Good grief, and I thought
I
took the steps slowly. You two are like turtles.” She lifted her hand in a slight wave. “Howdy, Mr. Flores.”

“Just Will is fine.”

She nodded and waited.

After a moment, I realized that she was waiting for me. “I wanted to talk to the pastor, too, so I thought I’d come along.”

She looked from me to Will and back to me. “You want to talk to Pastor Kyle?”

“We do,” Will said, joining in. He’d been by my side since I’d moved back to Bliss, and I took comfort from his support.

“Do you think he’s involved?” she asked, surprised.

I waved my hands in front of me. “No. Not at all.” I told her about the sideboard and the lamp Cynthia had mentioned to me, and how she thought they’d come from the church. “I thought the pastor could shed some light on it.”

Coco stared at me, speechless.

“I don’t know that Cynthia’s suspicions are right,” I said, “but it’s worth asking about.”

“So the plot thickens.” She turned to head down the hall. “Right this way, kids.”

We found Pastor Kyle Maguire in his office, the same room where I’d spotted him at the window. He was tall and reedy, his hair thinning on top. He sported a goatee much like Will’s. The difference, though, was notable right away. Will’s very slightly salt-and-pepper goatee made him look just a little bit dangerous, in an outlaw country singer kind of way, while Pastor Kyle’s completely gray growth made him look more haggard than anything else. His button-down cowboy shirt with the mother-of-pearl-covered snaps and pale blue plaid pattern hung loosely on his bony shoulders. With his sunken cheeks and lanky body, I thought he might blow away if a strong wind came through town.

“Sorry to bother you,” I said, after we’d already barged in.

“No, no, not at all. No bother. Thank you ladies for all you’re doing for the tag sale.” He gestured toward the window. “It looks like a great success.”

We all nodded in agreement, and I said, “There are a lot of people coming through.”

After a bit more chatter about the tag sale, he pointed to the sofa and chair against the side wall of the room. “Please, have a seat.” Will and I sat on the sofa, side by side, while Coco took the chair.

“What can I do for you?” the pastor asked us.

I looked to Coco, who so far hadn’t uttered a word. She was perched on the edge of her seat, staring out the window. The cat had her tongue, which was something I hadn’t seen before. Usually she was bright with spirit and conversation. She was stymied, so I took the lead. “Pastor, we’re trying to figure out what might have happened to Delta. Her family is really upset. I’m sure you can imagine.”

He nodded. “Horrible business,” he said. “Just horrible.”

“You didn’t see or hear anything that morning?” I asked. I knew the sheriff would have already asked him this, but I hadn’t yet finagled my way into Hoss McClaine’s office on a fact-gathering mission, so I had to start from the beginning with the pastor.

He shook his head. “Delta came in early sometimes. She liked to help out, and get an early start before her day really began.”

“Did she usually go through the cemetery?”

He ran his thumb over his goatee, thinking. “Everyone parks in the parking lot over there. With the tag sale, we wanted the shoppers to be able to use the front spaces. I don’t know if she always cut through the cemetery, but we all did sometimes.”

“Did you see her that morning?”

He shook his head. “No. And I still can’t believe she was
killed right outside. I parked in the upper lot and walked through the perimeter of the cemetery because the John Deere digger was sitting there, blocking the path.” He lowered his chin to his chest. “I must have walked right past her and never saw. If I had, I might have been able to save her. . . .”

He trailed off, his guilt settling in the room like a wave of humidity. How many other people had walked near the cemetery that morning, never dreaming that Delta lay in an open grave?

Coco had been listening, but now she leaned forward in her chair. “Who would she have met out there, Pastor?”

“I’ve wondered that myself, but I don’t know.”

“What time did you get here?” I asked. “Were there other cars in the parking lot?”

He gazed at the ceiling, looking as if he were replaying that morning in his mind. “There were a few cars. I think seven? Or maybe eight? Cynthia was here. She’s the project manager for the tag sale, so of course she’s always present. Sherri was here. Georgia Emmons, too, and a few other volunteers.” He fell silent for a moment. “I passed a few cars as I drove up to the back lot. Delta’s daughter’s, I think.” He hesitated, his eyes clouding. “And Anson’s,” he said. “I recognized his Jeep.”

She looked up at the pastor. “Did you tell the sheriff all this?”

He nodded his head but looked sheepish. “I did, but I might have downplayed it. I can’t believe any of my parishioners would be involved in Delta’s death.”

I wanted to keep the pastor talking, in case he had other important information tucked away in his memory. “You’ve been at the church here for some time. Five or six years, is that right?”

“Seven, actually,” he said, leaning his bony backside against the edge of his desk. “Aside from what happened to Delta, Bliss is a nice little town.”

Something in his tone made me look up sharply. He’d said the words, but I got the impression he didn’t fully believe it was a nice little town. “I don’t think I’d want to live anywhere else,” I said. “It’s home.”

“What about Manhattan? Isn’t that where you were before you came back?”

So he knew my background, too. There were very few secrets in a small town. Cynthia, Georgia, Sherri, Megan, and Anson had all been around the church the morning Delta had died. Each of them had opportunity, but did any of them have a motive warranting murder?

“Yes, but there’s no comparison. My mama always says you can take the girl out of the small town, but you can’t take the small town out of the girl. That’s one hundred percent true, at least in my case.”

He nodded, but remained silent. He’d probably learned, as I had, that if you left a silence alone, someone would rush to fill it. Usually it was me keeping quiet, but this time I filled the space with a question. The pastor, I realized, was also
here that morning. Opportunity. But did he have a motive? “What brought you to Bliss?” I asked.

He tilted his head to one side, studying me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but my gut said he was wondering why I was asking him personal questions.

“I’d been a youth pastor for a lot of years, but I was ready for a church of my own,” he said, his arms folded over his chest. He stared out the window as he spoke, as if he were slipping into the memory. “There was an opening here, and I applied. Came down from Colbert, Oklahoma,” he added, as if we’d know that particular small town. “Heard of it? No? Not surprising,” he said when we shook our heads. “About eleven hundred people from edge to edge is all. Not much to see or do. Which is why I jumped at the chance to come to Bliss. But this murder business . . .” He trailed off and shook his head. “I don’t understand it.”

“Neither do we, Pastor,” I said. “We’re trying to figure out who would have done this to her.”

Coco flung her hand up and got our attention. “I want to know about the things she donated to the tag sale,” she said, leaving out the part that the figurines we’d found actually belonged to Jessie Pearl.

Pastor Kyle stroked his goatee as he shook his head. “That’s Cynthia’s domain. To tell you the truth, I didn’t know Delta brought anything to donate. After she quit volunteering in the office, she didn’t come around much. I never was sure what happened and why she turned her back on us.”

Coco waved his words away, going back to the donations. “We found some of my mother’s very precious collectibles right down there on one of the tables. I know Mother didn’t
bring them. She’d never part with them, or even if she’d decided to, she doesn’t drive, so she’d have needed me or Sherri or Delta to bring them. She didn’t ask me. I called Sherri on my way up to see you, and she didn’t know a thing about it. Which means it had to be Delta, which would be just like her.”

“Didn’t Todd say he brought some boxes over for her?” I said. “Maybe Delta asked him to.”

The pastor nodded. “I do recollect seeing Megan come through with a box the other day. Didn’t see her husband, but that’s not to say he didn’t drop things off. People have been coming and going for weeks.”

Coco fell silent for a beat. Maybe she wanted to give Delta the benefit of the doubt. I thought we needed to go to Jessie Pearl and simply ask her. For all we knew, she’d given the items herself and we were throwing Delta under the bus without cause.

Pastor Kyle had lowered his hand back to his side. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said to Coco. “If there’s anything I can do—”

“I have one more question, Pastor,” I said, interrupting him. Coco, Will, and Pastor Kyle all turned expectantly to me, and I went on. “Someone mentioned to me that a piece of furniture at Delta’s house had been in the church basement at one time.”

“An old sideboard?” the pastor asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Exactly.”

“It was falling apart. I’d left it in the basement during last year’s tag sale. That, and a few other bigger items. Delta’s daughter bought it,” he said. “She said her husband could fix
it up. They moved it out of here last summer. I thought they were going to sell it. They didn’t?”

“Not yet,” I said. “But I don’t know their plans for it.” I thought back to what Cynthia had told me. She’d made it sound as if Delta had kept her and the other Red Hatters out of her house to hide stolen goods, but according to the pastor, the sideboard wasn’t stolen at all. Had Cynthia known Megan had bought it, and had she been leading me astray for some reason?

I drew in a sharp breath as I realized something else. She’d steered me toward Jeremy Lisle. To throw me off the trail by painting him as a possible suspect? After all, she’d been at the church the morning Delta died. She could have intercepted her at the cemetery, cornering her at the open grave.

But why? That was the unanswered question.