Free A Seamless Murder by Melissa Bourbon Page A

James pretty well. She’d been one of my first clients in town, and she had become a mentor and unofficial benefactor of Buttons & Bows, funneling clients and events my way, both of which had helped to keep my shop afloat for the past year. Between Coco and me, I had no doubt we’d get every last nugget of information Mrs. James might have about Delta, Jeremy, and the Historic Council kerfuffle.
    But that would have to wait because at that moment, the next agenda item was called. “The designation of 2112 Mockingbird Lane as a historic landmark,” Jeremy Lisle announced. “Are the concerned parties present?”
    I met Will’s gaze, and he gave a slight nod. My cue. I half stood, half waved, and then sat back down. A twenty-something black woman rose and walked to the podium. I recognized her, and the outfit she wore, right away. Janice Sweetwater. She’d come to Buttons & Bows to ask me a few questions about the history of the house, I just hadn’t known that information would be compiled and shared in this environment. We’d sat on the porch and I’d told her all about how my great-great-great-grandmother Texana, having adopted the Cassidy name—the only name she’d ever known her true love by—and using Butch’s money, had built the house for herself and Cressida, her daughter with Butch, and how it had stayed in the family for all these years.
    Now she stood in front of the room, acknowledged me with a little smile, then pointed a small remote device toward the projector. My house appeared on the screen behind Jeremy Lisle. Yellow clapboard siding, redbrick accents, the wraparound porch with the rocking chairs. It was the home where Loretta Mae had taught me to sew. Where stacks of quilts told the story of the Cassidy women, beginning with Cressida.
    When Janice was finished, the committee began asking questions. “In what year was the house built?” one member asked.
    “Nineteen oh six,” Janice replied. “Built by Louis Sacher, contracted by Texana Cassidy. It’s unclear if Butch Cassidy himself ever saw the house, although it’s purported that his money funded it. The house has remained in the Cassidy family ever since.”
    For a moment, I could almost envision my ancestor, Butch, hammer in hand, piecing together the boards of the house just as the love of his life, Texana, and then Cressida, had used fabric to piece together the ancestral quilts Itreasured. She’d used bits of old fabric and clothing to tell the stories of her life. These were the threads that bound us all together and were the foundation of our family.
    “The application is complete,” Will said, after a few more questions had been asked and answered. “The house is a perfect example of the historical architecture in Bliss. It’s right next door to the Mobley house, which we designated six months ago.”
    I shot a glance at Will, and he met it with a small smile. He was laying the groundwork for me.
    “We should designate it,” he finished.
    “Ms. Cassidy,” Jeremy Lisle said, looking at me. “The podium is yours.”
    Nerves had taken hold of me, and my legs felt rubbery. I usually had no trouble addressing a crowd. I’d MC’d fashion shows, taught classes, and had even spoken at a local community college class in fashion design. But this crowd felt different somehow. Even if it was a shoo-in that the historic designation would be approved, I was still worried. I needed to do Meemaw proud.
    I stood, running my hands down the jean skirt I wore, to straighten it. Most of my designs had a slight country flair to them, and my current attire was no exception. I’d changed it up by giving the skirt panels and building curve into the hips. Then I’d added a two-inch ruffle along the hemline in a dark blue cotton. It dressed the denim up, but didn’t feel overdone.
    I had on a cream blouse and had finished the outfit with cream-colored boot socks, the lace and delicate buttons peeking out from under a pair of dark brown