Seven Deadly Sequins: Bonnie & Clyde Mysteries, #2

By Julie Anne Lindsey

Bonnie & Clyde are at it again!
 

When the death of a local baker threatens to shred the fabric of their lovely town, this dynamic sleuthing duo bolts into action. The results will leave you in stitches.

 

It's summertime in beautiful Bliss, Georgia, and while second chance dress shop owner, Bonnie Balfour, would prefer to spend her time redesigning gowns for the upcoming Founder's Day parade, her grandma, Gigi, is too hot under the collar to concentrate. It seems Gigi's former friend is using her recipe to sell cobbler at the local festivities, and she's claiming Gigi's treat as her own!

 

Things go from uncomfortable to downright ugly when Gigi confronts her friend publicly about the unseamly pattern of behavior, only to later find the woman dead! With Gigi's prints on the murder weapon, and dozens of material witnesses to their earlier scrap, Gigi cuts straight to the top of Sheriff Wright's suspect list.

 

Now, Bonnie and her kitty companion, Clyde, must don their sleuthing hats once more.

 

To mend Gigi's reputation and deliver justice for the victim, Bonnie must lace together a string of clues about what really happened that night. Will she wind up on the killer's cutting board in the process?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cozy Queen Publishing LLC
• Release date: Oct 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954878051

Book preview

Chapter One

W hat do you think? I asked Lexi, my part-time teenage shop keep as I stepped away from the seamstress form, where I’d worked all morning. I kept one eye on my black cat, Clyde, as I waited for her answer.

Clyde was a shameless thief and currently lurking beneath the hem of a nearby ball gown, waiting for me to forget and set something aside for him to steal. Maybe my tomato-shaped pin cushion or a nice bit of elastic. Clyde wasn’t particular, but he was consistent.

The blue sequined ball gown sparkled under harsh fluorescent lighting inside my second-chance shop, Bless Her Heart. And I beamed proudly at the sight. Any member of the Founder’s Day court would look amazing in my dress, waving to crowds from her perch upon a parade float. The court was carefully selected each year from the abundance of community women making significant contributions to society. It was the grown-up equivalent to prom queen, except the leading woman would be crowned Lady Luck.

I took a moment to let the fantasy of an entire court wearing my redesigned gowns settle in. As the child of two rural-Georgia flower farmers, I’d been rich in love, but poor in finances, so I’d learned to sew. I’d had to get innovative with my limited resources, which aside from flowers, included an eye for fashion and natural creative flair. I’d applied both liberally, and learned to turn other people’s castoffs into my new treasures. Upcycling everything from old clothes to furniture and housewares was a passion of mine. Today, it meant running my own business.

I’d returned to my hometown of Bliss, Georgia, last fall after my husband of nineteen years filed for divorce. An incredibly long and frustrating process I was still waist-deep in. I leased an old office space on the town square shortly after Christmas and opened my doors in the spring. The space had needed extensive TLC, but the price was right, and making ugly things pretty was what I did best, so things worked out just fine. Bless Her Heart was now home to a full complement of renovated and repurposed items, from gowns to furniture, vases and décor. All things I’d given new life.

The shop was arranged in sections, with a hodge podge of mismatched but coordinating chairs and tables on plush and ornate rugs. Whitewashed bookshelves showcased pastel-covered tomes and blown-glass décor. Racks of dresses lined the walls. And displays of shoes, hats and jewelry waited patiently to make their new owners feel like queens.

Lexi gave my work a long appreciative look. Her wide brown eyes narrowed behind chic vintage glasses. She stroked the length of her sleek brown hair, gathering it into a fist as she moved around the counter for a closer look. Bonnie. This is incredible, she said. It barely looks like the same dress.

You like it?

I love it! She circled the dress form with an approving smile. So chic. Very glam.

At thirty-eight, I was old enough to be Lexi’s mother, and her opinion mattered for a number of reasons. First and foremost, I trusted her judgment and needed her to keep me on point with my design choices. Accidentally turning slightly out-of-fashion gowns into mediocre middle-aged-lady garb would put us both out of work. I needed the renovated dresses to pop! And despite a twenty-year age difference, Lexi and I had become friends, so her approval and input mattered.

Lexi had wandered into Bless Her Heart last spring in search of an affordable prom dress, and we’d quickly made a deal. One gown of her choice in exchange for a little help at the shop on weekends. I’d offered her a part-time position on her first day. She was friendly, hardworking and responsible. Not to mention, everyone knew and loved her. Myself included. It was a no-brainer decision to keep her on staff.

I don’t know how you do it, she said, running careful fingers over the gown’s newly redesigned neckline.

I’d replaced the original scoop neck with a more eye-catching, but still modest V, then added a panel of nude material for a fresh, sexy feel.

It’s not too much? I asked, suddenly second-guessing my work.

The members of our town’s Founder’s Day court were all significantly older than me and might’ve preferred the higher neckline.

Lexi shook her head. It’s perfect. You have a gift. It’s like your personal brand of magic.

I beamed in response, immediately envisioning myself as a fairy godmother, complete with pointy hat, wand and robe.

You were smart to remove the puffy sleeves too, Lexi added. They were outdated and would’ve been itchy and miserable. Especially during the parade. The sun is relentless, and it’s hot as blazes before breakfast most days.

She wasn’t wrong. Our sweet, if admittedly quirky, village of Bliss, Georgia, was like every other Deep South location in early September. Hot. And humid. Occasionally, unbearably so.

I fanned my face just thinking about it.

The bell over the shop’s front door jingled, and my grandmama, Gigi, strode inside. Gigi had been my best friend and mentor while I was growing up. We’d both left town for a while, but the distance hadn’t diminished our bond, and now that we’d both returned, it was as if we’d never been apart.

Gigi gave a long wolf whistle at the sight of the dress. Ooh la la, she said. Tell me that baby’s for sale.

I tried to imagine my spunky, septuagenarian grandmother in the clingy, semi-revealing number and immediately wished I hadn’t. I’d been living with her for the past few months and I’d seen things I’d never unsee, like her puttering from bedroom to bathroom wearing only a towel—over one shoulder. Having been a dancer half her life and a hippie all of it, she had no problems with the human form. I, on the other hand, was a board-certified prude. No one looked at my naked body but me, and even I avoided it as much as possible.

Age and personality aside, I looked a lot like Gigi. My mother, her daughter, looked like us too. We were descendants of the town’s founder, an Irish clergyman looking for land to settle many generations ago. And there wasn’t any mistaking our heritage. From our wild red hair and hazel eyes, to skin so fair it was practically translucent, we were the picture of our homeland’s people, though none of us had ever visited. Another slight difference in the three of us was the current color of Gigi’s hair, which was a bit redder than mine and Mama’s, the result of a box dye job she’d performed to cover her gray. Now, she looked a little like a matchstick that had recently been struck.

Lexi flashed me a knowing smile as Gigi approached the dress. It’s for the Founder’s Day Court, she said. Which one of the ladies do you think will be crowned Lady Luck this year?

Gigi frowned. I don’t care, as long as it’s not Rowena, she said. I’ve got it on good authority she’s using my peach cobbler recipe to make a name for herself as a baker. That was my grandmama’s recipe, and she’s not giving me any credit. What kind of person does that?

Lexi’s thin brows rose. How’d she get your recipe?

We’re friends, Gigi said. Well, we were friends, she amended. She’s been to my home a hundred times over the years, and she always complimented my cobbler. I never dreamed she’d flat out steal it! I’ll bet it happened when she helped me move after Oscar’s death. I was so upset I couldn’t think straight. I barely remember anything about that weekend. It’s a blur of tears and toddies.

Lexi giggled, then pressed a hand to her mouth, straightening her features.

I exhaled, having heard this lament before. Gigi moved to a naturalist community at the seashore after my grandpa’s death. She’d hoped to outrun her grief and feel fifty years younger. As it turned out, the former was impossible and she didn’t really want the latter. What she wanted was to capture every moment she had left with her family. So, after three long years, she realized it was hard to make memories with family when she lived ninety miles away, and she came home.

Gigi turned the dress form to face a full-length mirror, then stood behind it, posing her arms as if she was wearing the dress. I love it.

Thank you.

Who did you say is wearing this? she asked.

I’m not sure, I admitted. It’s all part of my plan to gain exposure for the shop. I pulled the stack of ivory envelopes off my bookshelf and fanned them out near my face. I’m personally inviting everyone on the court to come in and select a gown for the Founder’s Day Parade next weekend at no charge. That’s why I’m heading over to Enchanted Gardens this morning. I want to catch as many of the ladies as possible and get these invites into their hands.

I’d cooked up the scheme a few nights ago while baking with Gigi. She’d been complaining about Rowena, and I’d been wondering how I could take advantage of all the Founder’s Day hoopla and use the natural momentum to direct shoppers to my store. Outfitting the court, then making sure folks knew where they’d gotten their dresses, seemed like a smart move, so I’d put that plan into motion. Now, I just had to convince the court that my custom-renovated creations were superior to any other dresses they were considering. Then I needed to push the importance of sending the right message about material items. Namely, that things don’t have to be expensive, or even new, to have great value. In a town where the average family income fell below the poverty line, it was a message the community should cheerfully get behind.

Maybe your mom will be crowned Lady Luck, Lexi said, returning to her spot at my register.

I smiled at the thought.

Mama would make a spectacular Lady Luck, and I hoped she’d win by a landslide. There wasn’t a woman in town more deserving, assuming the crown went to someone wholly dedicated to our community and its history. But I had a feeling Lady Luck was a bit of a popularity contest. In which case, the crown would go to whoever most successfully schmoozed locals in exchange for their votes.

Mama didn’t schmooze.

A flash of black fur raced past my calves, and I spun in search of Clyde, no longer hidden among the dresses. Also gone? My stuffed tomato cushion.

This was why I had to keep my pins in a tin when I wasn’t actively working.

I can be here all day, Lexi said. If you want to head over to the gardens, I’ll hold down the fort and keep an eye on Clyde for as long as you need.

Thank you, I said, offering an appreciative smile.

I shook my head at Clyde, an amused frown tugging my lips. Wish me luck, I told him.

Wait for me, Gigi said. I wouldn’t mind a stroll around the gardens, and maybe a lemonade and funnel cake.

Sounds like a plan, I agreed. Can we bring anything back for you, Lexi?

No, thanks. Y’all bring enough sweets in here every morning as it is. She reached over the counter and swiped a mini cupcake from the little table where I kept water, coffee and extra baked goods for browsing shoppers. I leave here on a sugar high every time I come in.

Gigi and I loved to bake. The process soothed and comforted us. If we didn’t bring the extras to the shop, we’d both be in big trouble. And wearing much larger pants.

Suit yourself, I said. If you change your mind, text me.

She smiled. I will. Take pictures, she said. I haven’t been to Enchanted Gardens since I was little, but I’d love to see it now that it’s reopened.

Will do, I promised. I’d never missed a year at the gardens growing up. The place had closed down while I was away for college, then living in Atlanta with my soon-to-be ex-husband. So, I was thrilled to see the place reopening now that I was home.

I was lucky you offered me the position here, Lexi said. Otherwise I would’ve had to apply to be a princess at the gardens. She rolled her eyes, as if the thought of being an Enchanted Gardens princess was beyond absurd.

Gigi gave me a wry grin. How many years were you a princess? she asked.

Lexi slapped a hand over her mouth and laughed.

I headed to the window display, where Clyde had run off with my stuffed tomato, then eased it from his mouth. I tried and failed to ignore my staring grandmama and shop keep as they waited for my answer.

Four, I said, feeling slightly prickled by their taunting as I set the tomato on the counter. I’d liked being a princess, and I’d been a great one.

Lexi fought a fit of laughter while I collected my purse and towed Gigi through the door.

Chapter Two

We climbed into the cab of my borrowed farm truck, emblazoned with the Bud’s and Blossom’s Flower Farm logo on both sides. My parents had been kind enough to let me use the ride indefinitely. The geriatric red pickup truck had bulbous fenders and a massive front grill, circa the mid-twentieth century. The vehicle had belonged to my great-grandpa about seventy years ago and undergone an extensive renovation while I was still in college, making it the safest and least gas-efficient tank on the road today.

I appreciated the truck, but I missed my car. My late-model Mercedes convertible had been a source of freedom and joy for me when life had been otherwise confining and miserable. My soon-to-be ex-husband had surprised me with the purchase after I’d expressed deep unhappiness in our relationship. A year later, when I’d asked him to join me at the couples counseling sessions he perpetually avoided, he’d responded by filing for divorce. The car had been repossessed last spring, because he’d long ago stopped making the payments, even after telling me it was paid for. And if the car situation didn’t sum up our marriage, I wasn’t sure what did.

I cranked my window and gasped for relief from the stifling heat gathered inside the cab. The vinyl seat and steering wheel were roughly the temperature of the sun, and I immediately regretted choosing a sundress over pants this morning. The backs of my thighs were surely seared.

Gigi whipped an accordion fan from her big quilted handbag and pumped it in front of her face. Now I really need a lemonade, she said. And I’m going to try some of Rowena’s cobbler. The ice cream will help cool me down in case she really did steal my recipe.

I wasn’t sure anything would cool Gigi in that

Reviews for Seven Deadly Sequins

[Louise Porter · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Absolutely loved it. And will be reading the series a second time as soon as I finish the latest.