Death Among the Doilies (12 page)

When Cora returned to the house, a few of the retreaters, including Ivy, were gathered in the sitting room near the fire, chatting and knitting. Knitters were always up late at every retreat Cora had ever attended. What was it about knitting?

“Hello,” Cora said in possibly a too-friendly voice for such a late hour.

Members of the group glanced at her and some nodded. They appeared to be deep in conversation or a meditative state. The fire. The needles. The yarn. It was mesmerizing them.

“Well, I think that's it for me. I'm going to bed,” said Jennifer.

“Good night,” Cora said.

Cora sat down in her preferred overstuffed chair. Next to it she kept her basket of whatever project she was working on. These days it was an embroidery piece. She planned to make a fabric book of samples. She picked up the thread and needle and found her rhythm. The retreaters were all quietly working.

The moment was a much-needed pause in her day, sitting there with other crafters, just enjoying their own craft and one another's company. About thirty minutes later, Jane walked in the room with a bowl of popcorn and set it down on the table.

“I see you've gotten my message. Is Ruby with London?” Cora asked Jane, who nodded. She placed her project back in the basket and sat it next to the chair.

“Has anybody seen Jude?” Cora asked, as she rose from the comfy chair.

“I think he went to bed,” one woman offered.

Cora approached the steps, with Jane following.

“Which room is his?” Jane said, then in a lower voice. “What's this about?”

“I'll show you. Remember, the teachers get the bigger rooms,” Cora said as they walked up the stairs. “We'll talk later.” When they reached his room, she knocked on the door. “Jude?”

There was no answer.

Cora knocked again. “Jude? Are you in there?”

Still no answer.

“Where can he be at eleven-thirty at night?” Jane said.

“Maybe he's just a sound sleeper. Or maybe he went for a walk?”

“Right. There's nothing open this time of night, is there? Oh wait, the bar down the street—what's the name of the place?”

“Ludwig's,” Cora said. “Is he a drinker?”

“How would I know?”

Cora shrugged. “You know, last night I thought I saw him coming out of Ivy's room.”

“You
thought
you saw him?”

“Well, I was pretty certain. But, of course, it's none of my business,” Cora said, twisting a piece of hair.

“Ivy is in the living room with the knitters.”

“Yes, so he's not with her, in any case,” Cora replied.

“Well,” Jane said, with her hands on her hips. “We might have to wait until morning to speak with him. I need to go home.”

“I'll keep an eye out for him,” Cora said. “But I also need to get to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

As they left Jude's door and the hallway and walked down the stairs, Jane gave Cora the once-over. “Girl, you look horrible.”

“Pardon me if I look a mess. I just happened on a murder scene.”

“Are you okay? Come to my place and let's finish that bottle of wine. You need to wind down before you can sleep, don't you?”

Unwinding with Jane was tempting. But it was so late. She knew she'd regret any late nights.

Who was she kidding? Cora was not going to sleep anytime soon.

“Okay,” she said. “I'll come with you. One glass of wine might do me right.”

The two of them made their way to the carriage house, and Cora filled Jane in on what happened. Ruby sat reading an herbal magazine in the main room of Jane's place.

“What happened? You look like hell,” she said to Cora.

Jane explained what happened as Cora took up residence on the couch, tucking her feet up beneath her.

“I'll be back with the wine,” Jane said as she headed to the kitchen.

“How horrible for you,” Ruby said to Cora. “I'm so sorry you saw that. But I'm glad Cashel was with you.”

Cora couldn't help but roll her eyes.
Cashel.
She'd think about him tomorrow.

Jane walked in with three glasses and a bottle of wine. “She asked that Cashel not give Jude's card to the cops, but don't you know that's exactly what he did.”

“What card?” Ruby asked.

“Oh, sorry. I thought Cora told you,” Jane said. “She found Jude's business card on the doorstep of the Waterses' place.”

“And you told Cashel,” Ruby said. “And he gave it to the cops?”

“Well, he had to, of course,” Cora said.

“Of course,” Ruby said, and then after a moment she added, “I don't know where I went wrong with him. He's as straight as an arrow.” She drank from her wine glass.

Cora couldn't help but laugh.

“He's a good guy,” Cora said, her eyes meeting Jane's.

“So now you're searching for Jude so that he can go to the cops, head them off at the pass, sort of,” Ruby said.

Cora nodded. “That's about the size of it. But we're not sure if he's in his room or not.”

“Well, we know where he was earlier—at Sarah Waters' house,” Ruby said, and poured herself another glass of wine. “How do we know that Jude didn't kill Josh Waters?” Ruby asked.

That question made Cora's head spin. It had been there beneath the surface of her thoughts from the moment she found the card. The cops had been there to visit him the day he arrived, for mysterious reasons. And Becca had wanted Sarah's broom collection back, though Jude had paid for it fair and square. So he said.

Was a broom collection worth killing for? Was anything worth that?

“What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Ruby said.

“Trust me,” Cora said. “You don't want to know.”

Jane knew. It was as if she could read her mind. “Take another drink of wine, Cora. It's going to be okay. I promise. Tomorrow, Jude will teach his class. Nobody needs to know anything. At some point, one of us will take him aside and warn him, before the cops get here. It will be fine.”

Cora sank back into the couch cushion and drank deeply from her wineglass.

“Yes,” she said. “All of that will happen. But none of that may matter if a killer is in our midst.”

After drinking a few glasses of wine, Cora left Jane's place feeling a little more relaxed. The clouds concealed the moon and stars, and it was dark along the garden path to the main house, which still twinkled with a few lights, enough for Cora make her way along the path.

As she approached the house, she glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye. Something dark. Something—or someone—on the bench near the house. She blinked. A pale face came into view as it lifted. It was Jennifer.

“Oh, hello,” Cora said. “I thought you went to bed.”

“I couldn't sleep,” she replied. She sat wrapped up in a dark coat and several scarves, making her normally round person look even more round.

“You should try that claw-foot bathtub, take a nice bubble bath. It might help to relax you,” she said. The room was the best in the house, Cora mused. Jennifer's daughters wanted the best for their mom.

“Maybe,” she said, looking up at the sky. She crossed her arms for warmth in this brisk night air. Her cheeks were red.

“Such a cloudy night,” Cora said. “It's so dark.”

“It suits me. Suits my mood, I suppose,” she replied.

“Jennifer—”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said, waving her hand. “I'm feeling a little lost these days without my husband. We were married forty years.”

What could Cora say? That was a long time to be married—long time to be with one person, every day, every night. That loss must be devastating.

“Would you like to sit down?” Jennifer said and placed her hand on the bench.

Truthfully, Cora was a little too relaxed from the wine, and wanted to slip under her quilts and drift off, but this woman needed a friend, even a not-quite-sober one. She sat down—and was only too happy to do so.

“It must be strange to be without him,” Cora found herself saying.

Jennifer nodded. “Oh, I know, he's gone and doubtless in a better place and all that. But I still feel cheated. He took care of himself. He didn't smoke. He ate good food. We wanted to grow old together. It feels like a big ‘screw you' from the universe. Cancer sucks.”

Cora nodded. “It's just going to take you some time to get your bearings. Don't push yourself. Take care of yourself.”

“I have no great cause for self-pity. I've got wonderful daughters, grandchildren.” She took in some air. “Plenty to live for. I know that, intellectually, you know? But grief is a cold hard rock I can't seem to get over.”

Cora thought about her own losses. Her parents and grandparents. The dark cesspool of grief. “You never get over it, Jennifer.”

She raised her chin and leaned back and regarded Cora, as if it were the first time she saw her.

“You just find a way to live with it. The rock? It becomes a stone, but it's always there,” she said. “I lost my parents when I was quite young. My grandparents pretty much brought me up. Then, I lost them, too.”

“I had no idea,” Jennifer said in a hushed voice.

“We all suffer loss,” Cora said. Just now her thoughts slipped from her parents and grandparents and moved on to Josh Waters and his family. Had they been informed yet of his murder?

“Yes, but you are so young,” she said. “How did you manage?”

Cora had thought about this for a long time. She supposed her grandparents helped her to get over her parents' accident. After they died, dear Uncle Jon tried to step-up but he lived in France until recently. She'd found that by helping others through their difficult time, and not dwelling on her own pain, it soothed her grief. And so that's what she told Jennifer, who sat and listened to her story.

“It sounds kind of like a platitude or cliché or something,” Cora said and smiled. “But it's what worked for me.”

“You are wise beyond your years, my dear,” Jennifer said, after a few moments of quiet consideration.

A smile spread across Cora's cold face. She was certain her face was red and splotchy from the fall night air.

“Is it okay if I go into the paper-crafting room tonight? I mean, are there allotted hours?”

“You can craft any time of the day or night,” Cora said. “C'mon, I'll walk in with you.”

“I'm going to make my daughters some very special thank-you cards,” Jennifer said.

“That sounds awesome,” Cora said as she led Jennifer back into the house through the screened porch.

They walked into the house and headed for the paper-crafting room, where another crafter was situated and working. Miranda, with the pretty blue eyes, looked up from her scrapbook.

“Well, it looks like I won't be alone,” Jennifer said.

“I've got a lot more to do,” Miranda said. “I'm on a roll.”

“So am I,” Jennifer said, after a few minutes.

When Cora went to bed that night, she lay and thought about the two paper crafters she left in the room, surrounded by pretty paper, embellishments, and all the tools they needed. They both seemed intent on finishing their projects tonight. She wondered if she'd see them in the morning. If not, it would be fine, of course. In fact, it would be better than fine—bonding over crafts, even late into the night, was exactly what she wanted to happen.

Cora rose early the next morning. She wanted to clean up the kitchen before the caterers came. Plus, she had a blog post to write and wanted to make certain the supplies were in order for Jude's class. She crept into the craft room early in the morning, just as the sun was coming up, filling the room with glowing pink hues. She checked the supply baskets and, once she was satisfied, headed back to her room for a shower.

By the time Cora made it to Jude's class, it was already in full swing. Nobody saw her enter the classroom—not even Jane, who appeared to be as enraptured by Jude as everybody else.

He held up a small hearth broom, which was beautifully plaited at the top. The broom straw was made up of vibrant shades of purple and red, with actual blooms woven into it. “Brooms are not only beautiful, but they are useful. This is one of the reasons I love the craft. I come from a long line of broom makers. I've always known the beauty and utility one broom can offer.”

Cora caught Jane's eye and nodded at her. Jane started to make her way to the back of the room toward her as Jude continued.

“But for generations, brooms stood for many other things besides beauty and utility. A woman's broom said a lot about her. In the days of practicing wise women, brooms became a symbol of power and, yes, flight, but not the way we imagine it,” he said.

Nervous laughter rippled in the room.

“Magically speaking, depending on where you lived in the world, and what witchcraft tradition you ascribed to, brooms were used to sweep good luck into the home and to sweep unpleasant energies out. If you were going to curse someone, you'd take your broom and sweep the unpleasant thoughts and energies into another person's doorway. No need for fighting or guns, then, if you had a good broom.”

Much laughter ensued, as Ruby entered the room with two steaming cups of coffee and handed Cora one.

“Thought you might need this,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” Cora said, thinking that yes, this was exactly what she needed. The warmth of the coffee cup seeped into her hands and traveled up her arms.

She continued to watch Jude. Could he be a killer? Why hadn't the police been to see him yet?

“For centuries,” Jude said, “brooms have also been symbolic of passage between the worlds or movement from one phase into another. And so it's now time for me to demonstrate the broom we'll be making this weekend.”

Damn, he was good,
Cora thought. He captivated the women who were in the room. She thought about him coming out of Ivy's room. That was entirely his business, but it was something she was keeping in mind, as it surely said something about the man. Something she felt she needed to be watchful about. After all, he was working for her.

“I talked with him earlier,” Jane whispered to Cora as Jude led his demonstration.

“Oh?” Cora said.

The room was shuffling around a bit as the crafters were gathering their supplies, getting ready to follow along with Jude as he taught.

“He said he dropped by to see Josh and talk with him about the broom collection,” Jane said.

“And?”

“Well, he said no one answered the door, so he left his card. Simple as that,” Jane said.

Cora drank from her coffee cup.

“But when Cashel and I arrived, the door was cracked open slightly. Didn't he see that?” Cora asked.

Jane shrugged. “I don't know. I didn't ask. But what he said makes sense, right?”

“I don't know. Maybe too much sense,” Cora said.

“Why are you so suspicious?” Jane asked.

“I don't know,” Cora said, after a moment. “Could be I'm a little on edge, after last night.”

“Do you really think he could kill someone?” Jane said.

It was a terrible thought. Cora didn't take the idea of accusing someone of taking another person's life lightly. But someone had done it. Just last night. Just down the street. Cora couldn't get the bloodstained doilies out of her mind—nor the blade handle sticking up from Josh's chest. As she studied Jude, she tried to vanquish the suspicions from her mind. Of course, Jane was right. They had no real reason to accuse him of such a heinous act. And with each sip of coffee, Cora brightened.

Ruby tapped Cora on the shoulder. “Darla needs to see you in the kitchen.”

The three of them exited the craft wing and headed for the kitchen, where Darla Day and her crew were already gathering for the brunch buffet.

The kitchen was full of staff chopping, prepping, and plating. It smelled like cinnamon, apples, and melting butter.

“We could use some help,” Darla said. “Mostly carrying food out to the table.”

A wave of hunger overcame Cora as the food smells filled her nose. She reached for a miniquiche and popped one into her mouth. It was cheesy and spicy. She needed another one.

“You said you'd help,” Darla reprimanded her. “Not eat all the food.”

Ruby and Jane dug into the pimento cheese and were spreading it onto crackers.

“Lawd, that is the best pimento cheese I've ever had,” Ruby said.

Ruby appeared lively today, and her excitement about the cheese made her gray eyes sparkle. She was dressed in a peasant denim skirt and purple blouse with a crochet-fringed vest.

“Thanks,” Darla said. “That's Steve's granny's recipe.”

She pointed to Steve, who was chopping fresh peppers for the vegetable tray. He smiled, shyly, at Ruth.

“Where's your granny from?” Ruby asked.

“Low country, ma'am,” he said.

“Makes sense. Great spice in that cheese. Nobody does spice like the women from the low country,” Ruby said.

“Take this tray, please,” Darla handed a tray of the miniquiche to Cora. “And can you take the biscuits and jellies?” she directed Jane.

Darla herself lifted a sliver tray of apple hand pies and led them into the room where the decorated tables sat.

The sunlight streamed into the room through the lace curtains and shone on the centerpiece of fall wildflowers, flanked by large candles situated in wide jars. The candles were much smaller than the jars but were seated in a bed of acorns. The effect was stunning.

“Needs no glitter,” Ruby said.

Cora swatted at her, teasingly.

“I forgot the napkins,” Darla said to Jane. “Do you mind?”

“Sure,” Jane said and left the room.

“I'm surprised she's here today,” Darla muttered, as she fussed over the trays.

“Why?” Cora said.

“Well, I wouldn't want her working for me if I were a start-up—with her being suspected of murder,” Darla said.

“Darla Day, I never pegged you for a stupid woman,” Ruby said.

“Well, I never!” Darla said.

“Yes, you have and we all know it,” Ruby said.

Darla's face turned red, and she left the room in a tizzy.

Cora's mind swirled in anger and embarrassment.

“Sorry,” Ruby said to Cora, who was standing there with her mouth open.

“Sorry for what?” Jane said, walking into the room with an armload of napkins. “Where did Darla go? What am I supposed to do with these?”