A Killing Notion: A Magical Dressmaking Mystery by Melissa Bourbon
Authors: Melissa Bourbon
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might well be an employee at one of the two Bubba’s Auto Repair shops.
My heartbeat ratcheted up in my chest and I took an uneven step backward.
It could even be the Bubba standing in front of me.
* * *
“It’ll take about twenty minutes, give or take.”
I blinked, chasing away the flurry of nerves in my stomach. Sociopaths excepted, murderers always had a motive that made perfect sense to them. Even if Bubba here had tampered with Mr. Montgomery’s car, he had nothing against me. And he had fond memories of Meemaw, so I was 99.9 percent sure I was safe.
I handed over my keys, placing them in his upward-facing palm. “Perfect, thanks.”
As he clomped toward Buttercup, he turned and called over his shoulder, “There’s coffee inside.”
The sidewalk up to the building was emblazoned with a large stamped outline of the state of Texas. I smiled to myself at Texan pride. I couldn’t think of another state that had so much love for itself.
I stepped into the lobby, the bought air instantly sending a chill all the way to my bones. I’d dressed for the ninety-degree late-summer weather, not thinking Bubba’s would be more like an igloo than a sauna. I stifled a shiver and rubbed the goose bumps from my arms as I took in the details of the shop.
The lobby was merely a grimy sitting room with aluminum-framed chairs, an oak-and-glass coffee table that had seen better days, and a stack of mostly men’s magazines. Anyone interested in cars, sports, and fishing had their pick of reading material.
I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I seized the opportunity to snoop. Keeping one eye on Bubbathrough the glass window, I peeked behind the counter. The computer was in sleep mode. I tapped the mouse, bringing the screen to life. Bubba’s logo of a cartoon mechanic holding a stethoscope to the hood of a car appeared, along with a password box. I left it to fall asleep again, and turned to look at the wall. A few thank-you notes addressed to Bubba’s hung on an inexpensive bulletin board. Next to it was the framed business license for Bubba’s with Eddy Blake as the proprietor. Odd, since they’d owned it together, but maybe Chris’s partnership was more the silent kind.
Next to the license was a metal Texas star, the quintessential symbol of love for the Lone Star State. I spun around looking at the shop, but nothing struck me. No handy slip of paper lay on the counter or floor with a name and motive scribbled on it, squarely pointing the finger at the killer. Not that I expected there to be, but it would have been nice.
I sat in one of the cloth-seated chairs, opened my bag, and withdrew my sketchbook. In fashion school, I’d learned to find inspiration all around me. From the steel beams and cranes at a building construction site. From people bustling on the street. From the trees at the city park.
But Bubba’s wasn’t doing it for me. The Cassidy women had taught me to surround myself with things I love—and I’d taken that to heart. My yellow farmhouse and Buttons & Bows were filled with fabrics, color, trims, Meemaw’s old dishes, an old milk bottle chandelier, and retro appliances. All things that made my heart swell with comfort, history, and memories.
But no matter how I tried, no visions circled in my head from Bubba’s Auto Repair Shop. I flipped throughthe first half of the book, bypassing the faces and bodies and pastel designs I’d painstakingly drawn, until I got to a blank page. I dove right in without thinking, sketching the lobby, more as a distraction than anything else.
My pencil flew over the page and before long, I had the entire lobby finished and shaded. I stood, peering through the glass window in the door separating the waiting area from the garage. Bubba crouched beside Buttercup, holding the hose from the air compressor to one tire. After a moment, he moved to the next. I leaned against the counter, cradled the sketchbook on my forearm, and drew the garage
My heartbeat ratcheted up in my chest and I took an uneven step backward.
It could even be the Bubba standing in front of me.
* * *
“It’ll take about twenty minutes, give or take.”
I blinked, chasing away the flurry of nerves in my stomach. Sociopaths excepted, murderers always had a motive that made perfect sense to them. Even if Bubba here had tampered with Mr. Montgomery’s car, he had nothing against me. And he had fond memories of Meemaw, so I was 99.9 percent sure I was safe.
I handed over my keys, placing them in his upward-facing palm. “Perfect, thanks.”
As he clomped toward Buttercup, he turned and called over his shoulder, “There’s coffee inside.”
The sidewalk up to the building was emblazoned with a large stamped outline of the state of Texas. I smiled to myself at Texan pride. I couldn’t think of another state that had so much love for itself.
I stepped into the lobby, the bought air instantly sending a chill all the way to my bones. I’d dressed for the ninety-degree late-summer weather, not thinking Bubba’s would be more like an igloo than a sauna. I stifled a shiver and rubbed the goose bumps from my arms as I took in the details of the shop.
The lobby was merely a grimy sitting room with aluminum-framed chairs, an oak-and-glass coffee table that had seen better days, and a stack of mostly men’s magazines. Anyone interested in cars, sports, and fishing had their pick of reading material.
I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I seized the opportunity to snoop. Keeping one eye on Bubbathrough the glass window, I peeked behind the counter. The computer was in sleep mode. I tapped the mouse, bringing the screen to life. Bubba’s logo of a cartoon mechanic holding a stethoscope to the hood of a car appeared, along with a password box. I left it to fall asleep again, and turned to look at the wall. A few thank-you notes addressed to Bubba’s hung on an inexpensive bulletin board. Next to it was the framed business license for Bubba’s with Eddy Blake as the proprietor. Odd, since they’d owned it together, but maybe Chris’s partnership was more the silent kind.
Next to the license was a metal Texas star, the quintessential symbol of love for the Lone Star State. I spun around looking at the shop, but nothing struck me. No handy slip of paper lay on the counter or floor with a name and motive scribbled on it, squarely pointing the finger at the killer. Not that I expected there to be, but it would have been nice.
I sat in one of the cloth-seated chairs, opened my bag, and withdrew my sketchbook. In fashion school, I’d learned to find inspiration all around me. From the steel beams and cranes at a building construction site. From people bustling on the street. From the trees at the city park.
But Bubba’s wasn’t doing it for me. The Cassidy women had taught me to surround myself with things I love—and I’d taken that to heart. My yellow farmhouse and Buttons & Bows were filled with fabrics, color, trims, Meemaw’s old dishes, an old milk bottle chandelier, and retro appliances. All things that made my heart swell with comfort, history, and memories.
But no matter how I tried, no visions circled in my head from Bubba’s Auto Repair Shop. I flipped throughthe first half of the book, bypassing the faces and bodies and pastel designs I’d painstakingly drawn, until I got to a blank page. I dove right in without thinking, sketching the lobby, more as a distraction than anything else.
My pencil flew over the page and before long, I had the entire lobby finished and shaded. I stood, peering through the glass window in the door separating the waiting area from the garage. Bubba crouched beside Buttercup, holding the hose from the air compressor to one tire. After a moment, he moved to the next. I leaned against the counter, cradled the sketchbook on my forearm, and drew the garage
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