Read Online A Fitting End: A Magical Dressmaking Mystery by Melissa Bourbon - Free Book Online Page B

pleaded, my arms outstretched. As if
I
could catch the armoire the three men were maneuvering down the stairs if they happened to lose their balance—again—and drop the monstrous antique.
    Not without a little otherworldly help.
    Buckley, better known as the town’s dermatologist and Will’s neighbor, cursed under his breath.
    “You got it?” Will said through his clenched teeth.
    “Fine,” Buckley managed, but the pulsing vein in his forehead sent another jolt of worry through me. I didn’t know how the armoire had gotten into the attic in the first place, but I’d been bound and determined to have it back downstairs where it belonged. For as long as I could remember, it had stood sentry in the front room of 2112 Mockingbird Lane. The room didn’t feel complete without it. If they dropped it…
    Buckley’s foot slipped on the next step. He stumbled and the armoire wobbled.
    “Damn it!” George barked. “Do you have it?”
    They all found their balance again and steadied their grip. “Damn thing’s a whale,” one of them muttered.
    At the landing, Will set the bottom down. The other men pushed the armoire upright and they turned it. A minute later, Will’s muscles strained under his white T-shirt as he lifted the base again, tilted the whole thing until it leaned on its side, and George and the doctor found their hold.
    I backed down the rest of the stairs, palms out, trying to stay out of their way, not wanting to look lest they drop it, but afraid to turn my gaze away. “Careful,” I said as one of them stumbled again and they lurched, the armoire rocking unsteadily.
    “Is there a clear path?” Will said, his jaw tensing from the extra effort of speaking.
    I scurried from the stairs to the front room, checking to make sure there were no obstacles. “All clear,” I called. “Meemaw,” I whispered beseechingly into the room. If my great-grandmother was around, now wasthe time for her to make her presence known to me. I’d seen her move pages in a book, slam doors, rattle pipes, work the sewing machine, and a slew of other mysterious ghostly activities. She hadn’t moved heavy antique furniture as far as I knew, but the armoire was hers. Surely she could help.
    “Shit,” one of the men said. They lurched again, struggling under the weight. Will lost his footing and listed to the right. A warm breeze, not comforting on a hot July morning, swirled around me. “Help them,” I muttered under my breath so only my great-grandmother could hear.
    “What the hell is in here?” George’s voice strained under the exertion. Scuttlebutt was that he was one of the most desired bachelors in town, rising in status since Nate Kincaid married Josie a few months back. Blond hair. Sun-bronzed skin. And a wicked smile that I didn’t trust for a second. I could see why women were attracted to him, but I much preferred the solid, rugged good looks of Will Flores. Swarthy, goatee, the barest hint of gray in his sideburns, and a devoted father, to boot. He was the whole package. Meemaw had nailed that one.
    “Watch it, Buckley,” he said through his teeth.
    “I’m going to drop it—,” Buckley blurted, but a split second later, he stopped short. The warm breeze blew past me and I could almost see it encircling them. They all breathed easier and Buckley said, “Whew! That’s better.”
    They made it to the bottom of the stairs, setting the massive piece down to regroup. “Man, this thing is a monster,” George said.
    Buckley ran his hand down the side of the aged wood. “But beautiful.”
    “Gotta be, what, a hundred and fifty years old, right?” Will asked. He pulled the left door open, stopping abruptly. “What the devil—? The dresses are still in it? Jesus, no wonder it’s so heavy.” He turned, looking at me like I’d duped them. “You didn’t take them out?”
    “You didn’t check first?” I retorted. “If I’d known you were coming over to move it, I would have,” I said. “I’ve