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How many women had come through that shop today out of simple curiosity?
They hadn't even bought anything, which would have been the courteous thing to do, after nosing into her business. They stared, whispered, and pretended to browse. A few even attempted to question her, but they all left empty-handed. Mikayla had escaped to the sewing room simply to get away from it all. After more than a month of the whispers, suspicions, and questions, she was ready to run home and hide for a while. Who could have believed that trying to be honest, trying to find justice, could result in this?
"I can understand why you're angry," Glenda said softly. "If you truly believe you saw what you think you saw, then this would be hard."
"Go away, Glenda." Mikayla had had enough. Either she was a liar or her eyesight was lousy. No one seemed willing to believe that she could have possibly seen Maddix Nelson commit murder.
"Fine, but before I leave, I want to look at the dress design we were working on before this bullshit started." Glenda placed one graceful hand on a slender hip as her expression became as superior and arrogant as always.
Mikayla's brows arched. "The dress design?" It was one of her best. It was still 85
lying on her desk, a dress she couldn't possibly begin without a buyer, a dress designed for one person specifically. The person standing in front of Mikayla.
"Why?" she asked suspiciously.
Glenda wasn't one of the easiest people to understand. There had been a time when Mikayla had almost called Glenda a friend. But that had been before the former model married Maddix Nelson and moved up in the social sphere.
"Because it's my dress," she stated as though the reason were a foregone conclusion. "And I want it. The annual Autumn Ball happens in less than three months. That doesn't give us much time."
"You told me to shove this dress in places I don't want to mention," Mikayla reminded Glenda, her eyes narrowing in anger. "What makes you think I'm willing to do it now?"
Glenda's arms crossed over her breasts as she stared back at Mikayla with cool disdain. "That dress was designed for me, Mikayla. My body." One graceful hand slid down her side with the ultimate love for her own body. Mikayla almost rolled her eyes. She needed the money, there was no doubt. Unfortunately, Mikayla truly did like Glenda. The woman, despite that air of superiority, had a kind heart and a wry sense of humor. Before she married Maddix, that was.
"I want my dress." Glenda's eyes narrowed in determination. When she got that look, it was rarely a good thing. "For the Autumn Ball." A pout formed on her lips.
"Come on, Kayla; be nice to me. I'm trying here."
"Why are you trying?" Confusion washed over Mikayla. "Why do you even care?"
"The hell if I know. You accuse my husband of a heinous act, stick to your story, and nearly get killed for it. I figure, you're not lying, right? Someone's playing you, my friend. And if that's the case, I can still have my dress and remain loyal to my husband. I'll raise your asking cost by a thousand, and that's it. Final deal. Now do I get my damned dress or what?"
"Don't call me Kayla," Mikayla snapped back at her.
"Agree to my dress or the whole town will be calling you Kayla before the week is out. I'll make certain of it."
As a threat, it was a damned good one. Mikayla despised that nickname. It was the one her brothers had always used when they were playing tricks on her as a child. Mikayla sighed wearily before glancing at the desk where she knew the design lay. It would be a major coup for the shop. That dress was a masterpiece, and there was no doubt Glenda would make certain everyone knew she had an exclusive no-one-elsecould-ever-wear dress. It was business. Business was business, Mikayla's father had once told her. But then, her father had pulled out of Maddix Nelson's contract as well when he learned how easily the other man was getting away with murder. And Mikayla needed the money desperately, as well as Glenda's support of the store. Mikayla was surviving, but the past month had been slow. Too damned slow.
"I can't." And she regretted it like hell. That dress was one of the most beautiful designs she had ever come up with. "I'm sorry, Glenda, but I can't."
"But you will." Glenda's brown eyes narrowed on her. "Look, until this is cleared up neither Maddix nor I want to see you suffer, Mikayla. Or this shop. I'm trying here; 86
help me out. . . ." Glenda seemed to get to the very heart of the problem. "We were friends once. And your father is established, Mikayla. He has plenty of work to replace a few lost contracts. Do you?"
No, she didn't.
"This is just a dress," Glenda said softly. "For a friend. You gave your word before this happened. Your father hadn't even signed a contract on the new projects. Let's face reality here. It's not the same situation."
Mikayla's lips thinned as she stared back at the other woman. "I don't understand why you're doing this." She shook her head. "What are you gaining from it, Glenda?"
"Peace of mind, dammit," Glenda snapped back. "Now, I'll expect a call from you or Deirdre to let me know when fittings begin. Don't forget the date, Mikayla. And I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."
She breezed out of the room and seconds later the bell over the front door tinkled merrily to announce her departure. The scent of her perfume still filled the sewing room when Deirdre came to stand in the doorway.
"What was that?" she asked.
Mikayla explained briefly, trying to make sense of what was going on even as she debated whether or not to actually do the job.
"We need the money," Deirdre said softly. "Rent's coming up. A down payment on that dress would more than pay for it."
