Death Among the Doilies (17 page)

“So we've already made a traditional broom,” Jude said. “Although some of us are still working on it.” He looked over at a group of women, who giggled in response. Cora, Ruby, and Jane had all joined Jude's latest class and were seated with their guests.

“But I wanted to give you a smaller, simpler version of a broom that you might be able to make in less than a day,” he continued. “This is commonly known as a cobweb broom. This should be simple, after having done the larger brooms. I do things a bit backward—I started with the harder project.” He smiled.

“Thanks for that, Jude,” Diane said, flatly. She was not impressed with the man. She had his number. In fact, Jane was certain most of them did by this point.

“We've gone ahead and soaked, drained, and prepared your broomcorn,” he said. “Now, as with your other brooms, where the knurl—remember that word? Knurl is where the brush meets the stalk, right? Okay, where the knurl is, after you've secured it, you can get more creative. The twine we've selected for yours is orange, green, or black. Colors of the season.”

The crafters started working on their brooms. Ruby was moving right along with hers rather quickly.

“I'd like to add that after you're finished, you can decorate these brooms with dried herbs or flowers,” Ruby said. “You can hang them up. They make lovely wall or door hangings.”

“Yes,” Jude said. “My mother has a broom that she decorates for each season with fresh flowers, greenery, or herbs.”

“What a great idea,” Linda chimed in.

Jane scrutinized Linda and wondered why Jude was attracted to her. She was plain. Not unattractive, but just plain. What would someone like Jude see in her? It didn't make any sense. Ivy was cute and perky; Linda was neither of those things. Even when animated or excited, loving what she was doing—as she clearly was now, making a broom—she was simply plain. Jane hated herself for thinking like this, but nonetheless, it didn't make sense. Jane supposed Linda could have done a little something more with her appearance, if she tried.

She was one to talk. She knew she could try harder, as well. But she was not interested. She supposed that Linda wasn't either.

Jane's only interest, other than her daughter, was her art, which she had not gotten to since the retreat plans took over her life. As soon as it was over, she'd be back at her wheel, with her hands on the clay.

David understood. He was a potter, as well. For them to meet like they had was kismet, plain and simple.

“Hey,” Cora said, sidling up next to her. “What do you think of my broom?”

Jane inspected it. “It needs work,” she said and laughed.

“I think I need to trim it here and that will offset the crooked part over here,” Cora said. “What do you think?”

“You may be right,” Jane said. “I like the black twine.”

Darla poked her head in the door and interrupted their conversation. “Can I see you, please?” she said to Cora.

Cora set her broom down and turned to face Jane, nodding for her to follow. Cora was tired and worried—Jane saw the circles beneath her eyes, the tiny lines of worry at the corners. She knew that Cora was tough, but stumbling upon a dead body was not something many people could handle. She was holding up well—especially after conking her head.

Jane followed Cora and Darla as they walked into the kitchen. Smoke was billowing out from the oven.

“What the—” Cora said.

“It's under control, but we burned the pies,” Darla said quickly. “We'll get it cleaned up and make new ones. But this means that we will be here longer than I expected and I'll have to pay my crew overtime. I'm so sorry.” She looked pale and tense.

But not as tense as Cora.

“Take a deep breath,” Jane said quietly to her friend.

“I apologize,” Darla said. “This weekend has gone nothing like I had planned. Several team members are down with the flu. My kitchen's oven has broken down, so I'm having to use yours. We're working with a skeleton crew. I'm a bit frazzled.”

“We can help,” Jane said. “Just put us to work.”

Cora still hadn't uttered a word. She inhaled deep, audible breaths.

“Okay, well, we need to remake the pies. I've got dough chilling now, but how about making the filling?” Darla said.

“I can do that,” Jane said. “What about Cora?”

“Can we get Cora to whip up some brownies? Double chocolate, for the chocolate reception tomorrow,” Darla replied.

“Cora?” Jane said, bumping her with her elbow. Her little fairy-warrior friend was fading fast. “Hey!”

“Uh, yeah,” Cora finally said. “I can make the brownies.”

Jane realized that Cora would feel better if she were working and busy. But she also figured that Cora was wondering what else could go wrong this weekend. Jane wondered the same thing.

“Things could be worse,” Jane muttered to Cora.

“Really? How?” Cora said. “No. Don't answer. I don't want to know.”

After matters were back under control in the kitchen, and Cora had calmed herself down, she wandered through the house to touch base with the guests—none of whom had anything bad to say about the food or the service. No matter how much Cora didn't like Darla, it seemed she kept her shenanigans away from the guests.

Cora walked out onto the front porch. One of the many things she loved about this big old house was its wraparound porch. The sky was now bright blue with swaths of white cottony clouds. In the distance the mountains were covered with colorful trees in shades of crimson, orange, and gold, getting ready to shed their leaves.

“It certainly is a beautiful day,” a voice rang out. Edgar Thorncraft was walking down the sidewalk and heading for her front gate. It squeaked loud and ferociously when he swung it open. Cora really needed to get that fixed.

“Hello, Edgar,” she said. “How are you doing today?”

He walked up the sidewalk and approached the porch steps. “I'm doing well, yourself ?”

“I've been better,” she said and sat down on one of the wicker chairs.

“Not going so well, then?” He asked with an air of concern.

“It's going okay,” she said. “The guests are none the wiser, at least. How can I help you?”

“Right now, I'm just enjoying this view,” he said. “You know my grandmother and I used to walk up here when I was a boy.”

The Kildares had been situated like a royal family surveying their subjects.

“I admit I didn't think the old place was going to sell. The historical society wanted it, but it didn't work out,” Edgar said. He stood with his hands folded in front of him.

“Please sit down. I didn't know the historical society was interested in Kildare House,” Cora said. “I fell quite in love with it.” And she had. Even with all its problems, she still loved it. She loved the window seats, the nooks and crannies, and her attic apartment spanning the length of the house. She loved the creak of the third step up from the landing, where the stained-glass window stood. She loved the sighs and moans of the old pipes and always settling floor and ceilings. Kildare House was a grand old lady with a ton of character and great bones.

“Oh yes,” he said, taking a seat in a wicker chair next to hers. “There were several serious buyers interested in this place. One of them was Sarah Waters.”

A weird pulse jabbed through Cora. “Where would the school librarian get the money for a place like this?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe she sold something—you know, one of her collectibles.”

“Quite a collector, that one.”

“Aren't we all?” he said, with a smirk.

“What do you collect, Edgar?” she said, but he never had the chance to answer. Just then one of the retreaters came outside and joined them on the porch.

It was Diane, one of the women from Florida. “It's so beautiful here it hurts my eyes,” she said. She had her craft basket with her and started working on her cobweb broom. “I had to get out of the house and get some fresh air.”

“I hear you,” Cora said. “I feel the same way.”

The three of them sat in silence for a few moments. Cora viewed the town of Indigo Gap, so lovely with its artisan shops, quaint little restaurants, pretty churches, and old cemeteries. Her mind led her straight to death. First Sarah and then Josh. Both were gone—but why?

Sarah had wanted Kildare House. And yet, her own house was the only object she kept from her divorce. Cora had thought that meant she was attached to the place. Maybe not. But it certainly wasn't the only item that was worth money. Sarah owned many collectibles—especially the rare jeweled opium cases, which had been stolen.

Cora hoped Cashel would turn up something in his research about Sarah's insurance. That might lead them directly to the murderer.
Follow the money,
she reminded herself.

It occurred to her that Edgar might know something about the robbery. But she wasn't certain she should bring it up with a guest within earshot.

“What do you know about opium cases?” Cora asked him, settling in her mind to keep the conversation general and light, while still trying to ferret out some information.

“Not much,” he said. “It's not my cup of tea. But they are lovely. Sarah's collection was beautiful. Especially the ones that were stolen. They were worth a lot of money, but of course only to the right people. I wouldn't have paid a dime for them. That's the funny thing about collecting.”

“I found it shocking how beautiful drug paraphernalia could be,” Cora said.

“I know, but they still contained drugs. Not something I'd personally go for. But Sarah was an odd bird, to say the least.” He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth and shook his head.

Cora was a little uncomfortable with him mentioning Sarah's name with Diane sitting so close by. But Diane seemed occupied and not too concerned with their conversation. In fact, she looked downright meditative as her fingers worked over the weave of her cobweb broom.

“What do you mean by ‘odd bird'?” Cora said. Edgar flinched. How odd. She noted how birdlike he himself was—he resembled an ostrich. Long and skinny, with a large nose and beady eyes.

“She collected odd things. She loved history, yet she was always wanting to make changes to her house, one of the most historic in the village,” he said.

That's right!
Cora had forgotten that Sarah and Edgar had gone head-to-head on a number of issues. She had been so distracted by the theft and possible insurance money aspect of the case that she had forgotten about Edgar's history with Sarah.

“It's so annoying,” he said. “If you buy a historical house in a historical town, knowing full well what those implications are, why fight the rules? Why not embrace the way things are? It's good for the whole town.”

Something about the way he said those words made Cora think they were really meant for her.

“Given her attitude,” he said, “you can imagine my surprise at her donation.”

“Donation?” Cora said.

“She left the historical society quite a large sum of money.”

“But, how? Josh said she left everything to him,” Cora said.

“Yes, the house and her belongings, but evidently she had some money tucked away and she endowed much of it to us About three weeks before she died.” When the man smiled, his demeanor seemed fake and almost sinister. He should be happy—but for some reason, this bit of news did not make him happy.

“Could it have been her insurance money from the theft?” Cora said. This would make sense as to the reason it wasn't mentioned as part of her estate.

“I have no clue,” he replied. “I know nothing about that woman's finances. In fact, it turns out I knew nothing about her at all.” A sorrowful expression came over his face. Cora knew that Sarah's marriage to Josh had ended due to infidelity. Had Sarah and Edgar been having an affair?

After Edgar said good-bye and went on his way, Cora walked back inside and into the kitchen to find a well-ordered mess. Darla and her small group of helpers were finishing up, but they were moving at a pace that could only be described as lacking. Cora didn't fancy them hanging out in the kitchen any longer than necessary. She wanted her guests to feel free to wander in and out of the kitchen anytime at will. Sure, they could continue to do so with the caterer there—but it wasn't quite the same thing.

Darla still wasn't herself. The woman who had been so cool, calm, and collected was a mess as she moved through the kitchen packing up a few boxes, preparing for tomorrow's chocolate reception, and chastising her help—one of whom stood at the sink, finishing washing pans, the other sliding something inside the fridge.

Darla attempted to lift a box full of napkins and plates, and Cora stopped her. “Let me help you,” she said, taking one edge of the box. The two of them walked carefully out the back door to the van, which was already open. Cora and Darla managed to cram the box inside.

“Thank you,” Darla said, shutting the door.

D
AY
C
ATERING
was written on the side of the van in bright red letters, prompting Cora to remember the police said that a catering van had been spotted in the neighborhood the morning Jane's door was vandalized.

“You're welcome, Darla,” Cora said, noting to herself that she needed to check her calendar to see if Darla and her crew were around that day.

“Are you okay?” Darla asked. “You seem out of sorts.”

I could say the about you,
thought Cora. But instead she said, “I'm a bit stressed and tired. It's nothing.” She didn't want to alarm Darla, but Cora's guts were warning her. This woman was up to no good.

They wandered back to the kitchen, where the crew appeared ready to go.

“We'll see you tomorrow afternoon,” Darla said, gathering up her purse and a few other items.

“See you then,” Cora said and watched them walk off. One more day, she told herself, and then this first retreat would be over. Then they could take steps to make certain these little blips wouldn't occur again. Step number one: no men allowed on the next retreat. Step number two: background checks on all incoming parties. Number three (most important): no more murders.

This weekend had not gone as Cora had planned, but some good things were happening, too. She walked out into the living room, where a group of knitters were sitting and chatting. Jennifer and Miranda were off in a corner, laughing and knitting—maybe this was the start of a lifelong friendship. Another group were finishing up their brooms and talking about dinner plans.

Cora liked to hear that. The more her crafters went out and about in the town, the better for her and for local businesses. The locals would eventually come to appreciate her sending customers to them. She was hoping to forge alliances with several of the restaurants in town so she could offer retreaters discounts on meals and so on.

Seeing that everything was under control, Cora thought it safe to sneak back to her apartment and check some e-mails. She liked to respond to questions that came in about projects on her blog fairly quickly. As she walked up the steps, the sun was coming through the stained-glass window. Their patron goddess of the arts gazed over them all.

When Cora opened the door to her place, Luna began circling her legs.

“Did you miss me, Luna?” Cora picked her up with one hand and headed for her computer. The cat took her customary position on her lap. Cora logged in to her e-mail account. She had several new e-mails about her acorn project. But there was one from Cashel. She opened that one first:

Fondly? What did that mean? Her head swam with possibilities that she didn't have the time to think about now.

She had forgotten about Detective Brodsky's return visit. She checked the time. He would be arriving soon.

She clicked on an e-mail from something called Big Island Craft Retreat:

Interested? Oh yes, how lovely this would be! What perfect timing! By the time she, Jane, and Ruby came back from the beach retreat, this nonsense with Jane and the murder would have completely blown over with the locals.

But in the meantime, plans for the next Kildare House retreat were coming together. Cora hoped that any negative publicity wouldn't reach the women who were already registered. She and Jane had always wanted to do a “wildcrafting” retreat, where the crafts came from nature. Things were falling into place—they'd heard back from a local Cherokee basket maker, and were waiting on special permission from the park system to allow them to pick flowers, grasses, and so on, from state lands. Cora and Jane were so excited about the possibilities.

The learning curve for this retreat was going to make the next one go much more smoothly. But then again, how could they have ever planned for murder?