A Custom Fit Crime Read Online Free PDF Page A

could be defined in a lot of different ways, and it could be created anywhere. Including Bliss, Texas.
    The air in the room grew tense. Nana bristled. Mama threw her shoulders back. A whirl of agitated air circled around me. Even Meemaw was fighting her anger. The V of Orphie’s eyebrows and her deep frown showed her disappointment in this well-known designer. I’d lost a lot of my starry-eyed perspective working in Manhattan, and after she’d shown me Maximilian’s prized book last night, I knew that she had, too. But despite her lapse in judgment in taking Maximilian’s book—and his designs—she was still a dreamer and I knew she wanted to believe the best of people. Herself and Beaulieu included.
    I could see in her eyes that she was realizing the truth. The tales about Beaulieu hadn’t been exaggerated. One more dream dashed.
    Quinton continued to peer through the viewfinder of his camera, snapping more test shots. Lindy Reece, and D Magazine , had insisted on getting both the Dallas Design District version of fashion, as well as my small-town perspective. “It will show dichotomy in fashion,” Lindy had said, “and make it accessible for everyone, not just the models, the runway crowd, and the rich and famous.”
    I hoped she was right, or I might come off looking like a homespun hick compared to the Midori and Beaulieu side of high fashion.
    “Good light. Good color,” Quinton said to no one in particular. “No clutter. This’ll work just fine.”
    Midori leaned her fabric against the wall and strode forward, her arm outstretched. “It is nice to see you once again, Harlow. What a quaint shop.” She offered up a smile before flashing a glance back at Beaulieu.
    “Nice to see you, too. And thank you,” I said, my accent thickening instantly, as if it were a barrier against any disdain that might be launched my way. I met her smile, but Beaulieu didn’t look convinced by either of us.
    “It’s so . . . bourgeois,” he said, not bothering to hide the sneer curling his lips. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, swallowing heavily as he adjusted the front of his shirt under the waistband of his pants. “Even more so than that chain coffee shop we stopped at outside Dallas.”
    Mama and Nana looked at him, at each other, then at me. I just shrugged. Bourgeois wasn’t a bad thing in my opinion. The high life wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But I was beginning to doubt Lindy Reece’s stipulation that Midori—and especially Beaulieu—do the photo shoot with the models here in Bliss. From Beaulieu’s reaction, it just seemed like a bad idea. But I pasted a smile on my face and buried my building frustration.
    His grimace deepened as he looked around, taking in every last detail. “Does this place have a decent loo?” he finally asked.
    I ignored his tone and his affected British vocabulary and directed him to the half bath off the kitchen. He hurried past Orphie as she zippered up her suitcase, frowning at her as she started to drag it. It was as if he couldn’t get away from my pedestrian sewing space quickly enough. Lord almighty, it was going to be a long day. The models were due to arrive after lunch for the fashion shoot, and who knew how long that would take? I got the feeling nothing went smoothly with Beaulieu.
    Midori disappeared outside, returning a minute later with a second bolt of fabric. She smiled sheepishly as we watched her haul it into the shop. “I bring this with me everywhere,” she said, her fingers lightly brushing the fabric. It was a reprint of what looked to be a girls’ kimono fabric from half a century ago. “It’s hand-printed,” she said. “There is a Yuzen factory in Kyoto that hand-prints all of these fabrics with stencils. I have them ship to me occasionally and usually I see the pattern and know just what I’m going to design. But not this one. It stumps me, so I bring it with me hoping inspiration will strike.”
    “I’ve never seen