The Wedding Dress Quilt: A Waxahachie, Texas, Quilt Mystery

Prologue

Lisbeth James was dressed in a delicate lace wedding dress that skimmed the floor. The tall, willowy redhead paced back and forth in the anteroom next to the church’s sanctuary, stopping every few minutes to crack open the door to the sanctuary and scan the crowd. She closed the door and repeatedly walked back and forth, rubbing her hands together. She absentmindedly tapped her front teeth with her forefinger. Finally, she sat down in a chair and dropped her head into her hands.

Sweetie, don’t worry, he’ll be here, her best friend, Maggie, reassured her, bending down on one knee and placing a hand on her shoulder.

Lisbeth looked up, worry etched in her eyes. I don’t know, Mags. The ceremony was supposed to start an hour ago. This isn’t like Scott. He wouldn’t be late for our wedding. He just wouldn’t.

I agree, Maggie responded calmly, hiding her own concern. There’s probably a lot of traffic.

Maggie, there’s no traffic out here, you know that. We’re miles from any large city.

That’s true, and I’m sure there’s a good reason why he’s late.

Lisbeth rolled her lips inward, biting down on them, her bright emerald eyes searching Maggie’s face. You don’t think that he’s a runaway groom, do you?

You stop that right now, Lisbeth James! You know as well as I do that you are the center of Scott’s world. There’s some other reason he’s late. Have a little faith in him. Was Dennis driving him?

Lisbeth shook her head, nearly dislodging her veil. No, Scott was going to drive.

Well, I guess I can’t blame Dennis for Scott being late. Seems to me that it’s the best man’s job to make sure the groom gets to his wedding on time.

Yeah, you’d …

A loud knock sounded on the door. Maggie got up, walked over, and opened it. A sheriff’s deputy and Dennis Dragna, the best man, stood there and stepped inside. Dennis’s tuxedo was a disheveled mess, spots of blood stains on his shirt. They looked at Lisbeth, who went nearly as milky white as her dress. Her naturally blushed cheeks paled as she stood up quickly. Dennis ran to Lisbeth.

Miss James? the deputy asked.

Lisbeth nodded, her eyes widening.

I regret to inform you that there’s been an accident on the highway, the deputy began.

Maggie stepped to Lisbeth’s side and placed a hand on one of her shoulders.

Is your fiancé Scott Miller? the deputy asked.

Lisbeth studied the deputy, never taking her gaze off the man. She slowly nodded.

The deputy cleared his throat, looked down, and looked back up at Lisbeth. I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Miller did not survive the crash.

Lisbeth fainted, falling into Dennis’s arms. When she came to, she was lying on a couch in the anteroom. She looked up at Dennis.

How … how … how, she stuttered, her voice cracking. What happened?

Dennis laid a hand over one of hers. I don’t really know. One moment we were cruising along, and the next, Scott lost control of his car. He said everything was locked up and he couldn’t control the speed or the brakes. It was speeding really fast. It was as if the car had a mind of its own, and I thought we both were going to die. Then the car veered toward a big oak tree, and we hit it head on.

Tears poured down Lisbeth’s face. How did you survive and he didn’t?

When we hit the tree, Scott’s seat belt broke away and he went through the windshield. For some reason mine stayed intact, so when we crashed, the seat belt held. Otherwise, I would’ve been killed, too. The authorities at the crash site said that Scott died instantly.

Lisbeth broke out in a fresh deluge of tears, choking her into a coughing fit. Dennis looked at Maggie and shrugged as though asking what to do. Maggie got behind Lisbeth and began rubbing her back until the coughing ceased. Lisbeth fell back on the couch, closed her eyes, and descended into a tortured sleep.

An hour later, Lisbeth woke up, exhausted, her face swollen from the tears. Sweetie, Maggie began. Come on, I’ll take you home.

May I go with you? Dennis asked. Scott was my ride here, and after the accident, the deputy drove me. I don’t have a way home.

Maggie nodded. Help me get her to my car, will you? Dennis barely waited to be asked. He tenderly placed his arm around her, and guided her to the exit door.

When they arrived at Lisbeth’s home, Dennis carefully removed her from her seat, as though she were a fragile porcelain doll. Once inside, Maggie turned to Dennis. I’ll take it from here.

I can stay, Dennis said.

Not necessary, I need to get her undressed and sit with her. I may stay the night. Is there anyone you can call to pick you up?

Yeah, my cousin lives near here. I’ll call him, he said, taking out his cell phone and leaving the house as he dialed his cousin’s number.

After Dennis left, Lisbeth turned to Maggie. He didn’t have to do any of that. He’s really being nice.

Maggie nodded. Yeah, I agree. I’ve never seen him be so, um, pleasant.

The next day, still feeling the devastation of the day before, Lisbeth showered and dressed. She called her boss, explained what happened, and told her she would need a couple of days off to recuperate.

Lisbeth, you already put in for a week off to go on your honeymoon. I’m sorry that now you’ll need that time to deal with this tragedy. Take all the time you need.

The response from her normally demanding, difficult boss was surprisingly supportive. She thanked her, turned to all the wedding gifts piled up on top of her dining table, sucked in a big breath of air, and headed to the table to catalog the gifts and arrange to ship them back to the senders.

Early in the afternoon, her cell phone rang. It was Dennis.

Have you had anything to eat today? he asked.

No, I’m not hungry.

Lisbeth, you have to eat something. After all the trauma, if you don’t eat something, you’re going to get sick.

I don’t think I could eat anything even if I tried.

I’ll bet you could get down some soup. My mother makes the world’s best minestrone soup. Her great-grandmother brought the recipe from Italy. In our family, it’s known as ‘Italian penicillin.’ Mom makes a big batch every Sunday, so I know she has some on hand. I’ll bring you some, along with her homemade Italian bread.

Lisbeth realized that he was dead set on getting her to eat and the soup did sound good. On second thought she decided that maybe it would make her feel better. Okay, she finally said.

I’ll be over in an hour or so, after I swing by Mom’s.

Chapter One

Over the course of the following weeks, months, and ultimately, years, Dennis slowly moved into every aspect of Lisbeth’s life. He nurtured her and took care of her. Prior to the accident, she hadn’t known Dennis that well and never thought of him as the type of man capable of such thoughtfulness. She learned that, with his drop-dead good looks, smooth demeanor, and devilish charm, he knew how to get what he wanted. She also came to realize that no one had ever said no to him.

Maggie was getting weary of Lisbeth never having time for her anymore, due to her spending every free moment with Dennis. She picked up the phone and called her.

Hi, Maggie! What’s up?

You know that singer you like, Sheila Felway? Get this, she’s playing at the Cicada tonight. Go with me?

Really? Sheila Felway? Oh, I wish I could, but I’m going to a party with Dennis.

Another one? Maggie whined. You’re always going somewhere fancy with him. We never get together anymore.

I know, Mags, and I do miss you.

Then skip it, and go with me to hear Sheila Felway. Maggie pleaded as best she could.

I don’t know, Maggie. That would be kinda rude to cancel on him at the last second.

Come on, Lis, you’re with him all the time!

Yeah, I know. He’s kinda running my life.

Ya think? Maggie quipped. Why are you doing this? Are you getting serious about him?

Actually, Dennis wants a romantic relationship. It’s getting a bit dicey.

How?

Maggie, I can’t give him that. I won’t give him that. You know as well anyone that Scott was the love of my life.

So, why do you keep caving into his every whim?

Lisbeth let out a long sigh. "Guilt, I guess. I appreciate everything that Dennis did and has kept doing since Scott’s death, but I also know that I can’t give him the kind of relationship he wants. He takes me out to the best restaurants, to every major show that comes to town, and constantly showers me with expensive jewelry.

I’ve never seen you wear anything like that.

That’s because even though I decline all the bling, he insists I keep everything. So, I put all of it in the back of a drawer.

Seriously?

Very seriously! And what’s worse, he often asks why I never wear any of it. So, I blow him off by saying that nothing matches what I’m wearing. And you know what he does then?

Uh, goes out and buys you more jewelry to match your clothes?

Exactly!

Girlfriend, I didn’t know it had gotten this bad. He’s trying to buy you off to guilt you into something you don’t want.

Yeah, I know. Still, I feel bad. Deep down, a voice keeps telling me that I should appreciate him for all that he’s done for me and go along with whatever he wants. Because, honestly, if it weren’t for his kindness, I might never have recovered from the trauma of losing Scott.

I don’t believe that, Lis. We’ve known each other since we were little. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.

To be perfectly honest, that voice is really starting to annoy me.

How?

Are you sitting down? This may take a while to explain.

Yep, I’m sitting and I’ve got all day to listen.

So, you know that, early on, Dennis started taking me to opulent parties hosted by his circle of wealthy friends. What I never bothered to tell you is that they’re all highly educated sons and daughters of some of the wealthiest families in Los Angeles. They all run together in a close-knit group. It’s like they’re all glued at the hip.

That doesn’t sound like fun.

It’s not. He insists on taking me to all their fancy parties, going on cruises around the bay in their million-dollar yachts and hanging out with them at the Del Mar racetrack. You know me. I come from a middle-class upbringing and education, and I’m proud of it. I get asked a lot of annoying questions about my background. It’s become a chore to deflect the inquiries and it makes me really uncomfortable.

Have you talked to Dennis about it?

I’ve tried a few times, but he’s clueless. He doesn’t see it, or he doesn’t care. He seems more interested in showing me off like arm candy. It’s become obvious, at least to me, that he has no sincere interest in my wants or needs, especially my uneasiness around his friends.

Let me ask you, is he falling in love with you, or pretending to?

Lisbeth let out another sigh. Does it matter? Either way, I’m not falling in love with him.

Lis, I’m worried about you. This seems really possessive. Don’t you see that?

Yeah, I do. He wants to know how I spend my time when I’m not with him. He’s always telling me how I should conduct every aspect of my life. I’m at a point where, even though I’m grateful that he pulled me out of my slump after Scott’s death, he’s making me increasingly uneasy.

Well, we’re going to correct that right now! Text Dennis that you can’t see him tonight. Tell him it’s an emergency or something. You and I are going to see Sheila Felway. And I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer!

Lisbeth felt her spirits lift and broke out in a grin. Okay.

Get ready, ’cause I’m picking you up in half an hour.

Not long after, Lisbeth woke one morning to sunlight streaming through the lemon-colored curtains of her bedroom. She raised her arms above her head, twisting and stretching. She started to get up when a soft paw extended across her shoulder, anchoring her to the bed. She reached over and scratched behind the long-haired cat’s ears. The white, blue-eyed feline purred and blinked slowly, showing her pleasure, still not releasing her grip. Lisbeth lay there, massaging her cat and thinking about how her life had changed. She realized that it had been three years since the accident. She imagined how different her life would be now, had Scott not died. They would probably have bought a house and perhaps had a child, maybe with another one on the way. It made her smile until Sophie pushed down harder, rhythmically kneading her shoulder like she was a batch of soft dough.

Sophie, come on baby, let go. I gotta get up.

The cat pushed down harder, forcing Lisbeth to stay in bed, a common occurrence. Some days, like today, she felt as though she were stuck in a murky fog, paralyzed by the past and unable to move forward. Finally, Lisbeth removed Sophie from her shoulder, which was smarting from the needle-like pinpricks of the cat’s nails.

I can’t stay in bed with you all day. If I don’t get up, I’ll lose my job and won’t be able to buy you any cat food. She pointed toward the window. You’ll have to find your own food, out there. Now, you wouldn’t like that would you? Sophie pressed her nose against Lisbeth’s, gave it a tiny lick, turned, and jumped off the bed.

Lisbeth slowly got out of bed, stood up, and stretched her tall, slender frame. She slipped into her favorite robe, old and frayed around the edges, soft from years of wear. Lisbeth meandered to the kitchen, yawning as she went. First, she fed an impatient Sophie, then pushed the button for a single cup of joe on her fancy coffee maker and waited for her first cup of the day to finish dripping into her favorite red mug. Just as the last drop splashed into the cup, the doorbell chimed. Lisbeth looked at the kitchen clock; it was just past seven o’clock. Wrapping her robe tightly around her, she walked across the living room and opened the front door to a delivery man holding out an envelope.

A letter for Lisbeth James, the man stated.

That’s me, she craned her neck to read the name of the sender.

Sign here, please, he thrust his tablet into her hands, pointing to where she should sign.

As soon as he left, she walked to the kitchen, pulled out the coffee cup from the coffee maker, and examined the return address on the envelope, which didn’t sound the slightest bit familiar. She opened the envelope to find a letter from an attorney at a law firm in Dallas, Texas, with locations in Austin, Houston, and San Antonio. No ordinary letterhead, it was gold-embossed with a litany of attorneys’ names running down the entire left side of the stationery. She stared at the letterhead, shaking her head slightly. She couldn’t imagine why she was being contacted by a law firm in Texas. She reached for her coffee cup and took a big gulp, then sat on a kitchen stool to read the letter.

Dear Ms. James,

My name is Howard Sheridan, and I am the estate attorney for Fannie Lee Clayburne, your late grandmother. We’ve represented the Clayburne family and your grandmother for decades. Through our firm’s research and investigation, we were able to locate you. This letter is to inform you that your grandmother has left the family home in Waxahachie, Texas, and all of its contents, to you. In addition, you have inherited a substantial sum of money.

Please contact me at your earliest convenience so I may expedite your receipt of the home and funds.

Sincerely,

Howard M. Sheridan

Managing Partner

Lisbeth dropped the letter and ran her hands through her tousled red hair, a nervous habit. The letter didn’t make any sense. She didn’t have a grandmother. Her parents had not been able to have children and, in their forties, they adopted her as an infant. When she got older, they told her that they were both only children who had both lost their own parents when they were teens. Cancer had wiped out every relative, including her adoptive parents by the time she’d reached her early twenties. Besides that, she was born and raised in Southern California. She didn’t have any relatives in Texas that she knew about, much less know anyone in the state. She shook her head, grabbed the cup of coffee and swallowed two large gulps. She set the cup down, picked up her cell phone, dialed the phone number, and asked for the attorney. As she waited, she ran her tongue over her lips, first the top, then the bottom. A man came onto the line identifying himself as Mr. Sheridan.

Mr. Sheridan? My name is Lisbeth James. I’m calling about a letter you sent me.

Yes, yes, thank you for calling, he said in a deep, soothing voice laced with a slow Texas drawl.

I think there’s been some mistake, Lisbeth suggested.

No, no mistake, the attorney assured her. It took quite an effort to find you, and we are confident that we have the right Lisbeth James.

You don’t understand. I don’t have a grandmother, or at least I didn’t, Lisbeth responded.

You were born September 15, 1995, and adopted as a baby, correct?

Uh, yes, Lisbeth answered hesitantly.

Ms. James, you have quite an extended birth family in Texas.

What? she squealed into the phone, a little louder than she intended. Sorry, she added in a quieter tone. No disrespect, but I don’t think you have the right person.

Did your parents tell you about your birth family? he asked in a gentle voice, sensing this news had come as a shock.

Not much. They said it was a closed adoption and that the birth mother didn’t want to be contacted after the paperwork was finalized. Several moments passed in silence.

A-A-Are you still there? Lisbeth asked.

Yes, yes, I’m still here, the attorney proceeded slowly, choosing his words carefully. I’m afraid that isn’t quite the whole story, Ms. James. When can you come out here? I need to turn over your inheritance, and you should learn the entire story of your birth and adoption. You see, I’m not just the attorney who handled your grandmother’s will and estate; I also handled your adoption.

Lisbeth paused, trying to sort out what he said, what was happening. Suddenly, she felt short of breath, as though all the air had been sucked out of her lungs. She opened her robe and unbuttoned the top of her nightgown, pulling on the collar until she could breathe more easily. You’re in Texas, right?

Yes, I’m in our home office in Dallas, about an hour from Waxahachie, the town where you were born and your grandmother lived.

Uh, I don’t know, Mr. Sheridan. Honestly, funds are a little tight right now, and I don’t think I can afford to come out there.

Actually, you have quite a bit of money now, Ms. James. In fact, I’d say you are a wealthy woman, he smiled into the phone, hoping that she would