A Killing Notion: A Magical Dressmaking Mystery Read Free

worked part-time, her body was hidden under baggy tops and jackets.
    “The black’s not going to work,” I said, tapping my finger against my lips. I was also making a dress for another Helping Hands girl, Leslie Downs. Hers, I already had clear in my mind. It had been easy: I’d looked at her and seen the exact dress, just like that.
    It was a sapphire blue floor-sweeping semisheer tiered overlay with an explosion of confetti-colored sequin fabric as the main skirt and bodice. The strapless bandeau neckline, an A-line silhouette, a high-low hem, coming to the fingertips in front and sweeping the floor in back, would all set off her ebony skin beautifully. An updo for her hair, high-heeled black sandals, and she’d be a standout at the dance.
    But Danica . . . She was a different story, and with her design, I was less confident. I’d had a vision of the short, flirty black dress I’d been planning, but it wasn’t quite right. Everything around me faded away as I looked at her. Her blue eyes and pale skin reminded me of Emma Stone, but her black hair, heavy black boots, and patterned black stockings paired with a lacy black skirt gave her a hard look. Mostly, though, there was an underlying sadness to her. Completely understandable, given the fact that she’d been in foster care and now, at nearly eighteen, was finishing high school and would be living on her own soon. Not the way most teenagers envisioned their lives turning out.
    I pulled the tulle away from her and wound it up in a haphazard ball. “Danica, I want to play a little game with you.”
    She took out her earbuds, turned off her music, and tucked it all away in her pocket, lifting her gaze and looking at me through her long, spidery eyelashes. “Okay?” she said, more like a question than acquiescence. “What kind of game?”
    “Word association.”
    She pulled her lips in thoughtfully until they disappeared. “Okay,” she said again. “Why?”
    “I can’t quite get a picture in my head of the right dress.” Apparently my charm was failing me, but I couldn’t tell her that. “This will help me get to know you better. I’ll sketch tonight, and show you some ideas tomorrow. I want your input on this.”
    She batted her eyelashes, whisking away the thin layer of moisture glazing her eyes. I wished I knew her background. Had her relationship with her parents been okay, or strained? What about her foster family? Had they wanted her? Shown her love?
    More than ever, I wanted to give Danica a Cinderella night at the dance.
    “Let’s give it a try,” I said.
    She nodded as I fired off my first word. “Homecoming.”
    “Parade,” she said. No hesitation. So she liked the festivities.
    “Monday.”
    “Day off.”
    “Saturday.”
    “Car shows.”
    “Sunday.”
    “Church.”
    So far, so good. Her answers didn’t give me any insight to her psyche, but she was talking, so I was hopeful.
    “Car.”
    “My dad,” she said quietly. She wasn’t with her dad anymore, but that’s all I really knew. Now didn’t feel like the right time to push for more information, so I moved on.
    “High school.”
    “Torture.”
    I left that one alone. “Mums.”
    “Status.”
    Danica’s perspective on school reflected her situation, namely that she was alone in the world. The next set of words that came to my mind were family, home, and vacation. Having her respond to them could give me more insight to her, but on the other hand, thinking about what she didn’t have could drive her deeper into herself. I waffled back and forth, but finally made up my mind. If I had cancer or my husband—if I had a husband—had cheated, I wouldn’t want my friends or the people I ran into to cower and pretend like my reality didn’t exist. My grandmother, Loretta Mae—and all the Cassidy women, for that matter—had taught me to face adversity head-on. No pussyfooting around.
    I decided Danica deserved the same honesty.
    “Family,” I said, but I held my