By Melissa Bourbon
Bliss, Texas, is gearing up for its annual iciness Wonderland competition, but if a mysterious Scrooge ends the merriment with homicide, it'll take greater than a ghost from Christmas earlier to set issues right.
Designing a vacation style exhibit set within the town's such a lot well-known historical mansion feels like a role tailor made for fashion designer Harlow Jane Cassidy. yet with the mansion's recovery nonetheless in growth and perilous climate at the horizon, she's feeling on pins and needles greater than reveling in vacation cheer.
Having volunteered to play Santa during this year's pageant, Dan Lee Chrisson was once able to circulate on after his divorce—until Bliss grew to become his ultimate resting position. researching his physique places Harlow on the scene of the crime. She'll want lots of support from acquaintances or even her past due great-grandmother's lively sleuthing if she's to have a ghost of an opportunity of catching a killer who's simply jumped to the pinnacle of the naughty list....
INCLUDES stitching guidance
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Extra info for Deadly Patterns (A Magical Dressmaking Mystery, Book 3)
Mom, five seconds ago, I was supposed to brag about my big artsy collaboration. ” She threw me a withering look, like she was just disgusted I was being so thick. “Your college application is intended for a different audience altogether. As for this other issue, all you have to say is that you’re not . . not one of those people. That is . ” Her eyes bounced from me to the wall and then the floor. “Unless . . well, unless there’s something you need to . . ah . . ” My cheeks heated. ” She was using her reasonable-mom voice, the one she pulled out whenever she’d thought of one more new project guaranteed to get me into the dream school of her 46 choice.
You think Yale . . ” Mom got this defiant look. “The Metropolitan is a very prestigious museum. If you’re careful and word it right, you can put this on your résumé. You’ll have collaborated on a work of art. Tell me that won’t distinguish you from the pack. ” This was just so typical. I wanted to shout, Mom, catch a clue already. She was like this 24/7: always scheming, trying to figure an angle to give me a leg up. But all I said was, “Mom, right now I have to go to school here. People are going to talk.
Which wasn’t right. Mr. Lange had gone into town alone. I glanced over at Jimmy. From the look on his face, I could tell: he knew what this was about. ” I asked. Jimmy didn’t respond. The truck roared up the drive past the house. Mrs. Lange rushed out of the kitchen, her apron still on, a towel in her hand. ” she called. “Harlan, what is it? What’s wrong? ” But that truck kept coming, the grill grinning so big and shiny, it was a maw with bared teeth. Maybe fifty feet from the barn, Mr. Lange braked hard enough that the truck rocked on its suspension.