Momma's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

SilverMist had told Momma everything she could. It was not enough. The purple scrap still sat on the table, cut from Momma's own dress, planted in a dead guest's hand. To the family, it pointed one way. It pointed at her. Momma felt the change in the room before anyone spoke. Fewer eyes met hers. More eyes watched her hands. Kaylee said it first. She stood by the archway, brown braid over one shoulder, red gown still torn at the hem. She had been framed once herself, and it had left her sharp. "They found your cloth on the body, Momma," she said. "Not mine this time. Yours." Her voice stayed level. That was worse than shouting. She was stating a fact for everyone to hear. Momma did not defend herself. Defending yourself made you look guilty. Instead she turned to the one person who had said nothing. Toast sat on the floor near the wall, green hat low, big eyes fixed on the scrap. The little frog had watched the whole night without a word. Momma trusted what Toast saw because Toast never added anything false. "You watched the kitchen," Momma said. "Tell them what you saw." Toast hopped up. Toast walked to the table and looked at the purple scrap. Then Toast looked at the torn edge of Momma's dress. "Wrong cut," Toast said. The room went still. Kaylee frowned. "What does that mean?" Toast pointed one green finger at the dress. "Your dress tore up. Frayed. Pulled." Toast pointed at the scrap. "This one cut clean. Straight. Blade." Toast tilted the green hat back. "Cloth off your dress would fray like your dress. This did not. Someone cut this off flat cloth. Not off you." Drew leaned in, chain swinging as he bent over the table. He ran a thumb along the scrap's edge, then along the dress. "He's right," Drew said slowly. "The dress frays. The scrap is sliced. It doesn't match how her dress rips." Momma took the scrap and held it beside her hem. Everyone saw it now. The torn dress pulled loose in threads. The scrap ended in one flat line. It was the same color, the same sparkle, but it had never hung on her body. The killer had bought matching cloth and cut a fake. Kaylee's shoulders dropped. "So it was planted. Like mine." "Planted better," Momma said. "Made to fool my own family." The suspicion lifted off her like a held breath let go. Her family stepped closer again, back on her side. But Momma did not feel safe. She felt colder. The killer had matched her exact fabric. That took planning done before the ball. Someone had studied her dress, bought thread to copy it, and waited. This was not one wild night of blood. It was aimed at her, and it had started long before the first guest died. Momma looked at the fake scrap in her hand. "Whoever did this knew my dress before tonight," she said. "They've been watching me. I need to know for how long."