Death Among the Doilies (18 page)

“Hi, Detective Brodsky,” Cora said. “Please come in and have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

“Thanks, but no,” he said and promptly sat down on her couch. They were in Cora's apartment—she had left word for Ruby to send him upstairs when he arrived. “Nice place you have here.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Now what can I do for you?”

The detective scooted around on the couch for a minute, trying to get comfortable on the small couch. He was middle-aged, frumpy, and balding. Where were those hot young TV detectives when you needed them?

“You said you wanted to talk with me,” he said. “You wanted to run something by me.” He used air quotes around “run something by me.”

“You know my friend Jane Starr is currently a person of interest in the Sarah Waters murder case,” Cora said.

He nodded, with an air of impatience.

“So I've been trying to poke around a bit on my own. I appreciate how busy you guys are,” she said. One of his eyebrows lifted. Just one.
Oh dear.
“Are you sure I can't get you some iced tea or water?”

“No, thanks,” he said. “I'd like to hear what you've been up to.”

“The only thing I've gotten a chance to do is check out the Waterses' divorce records. You see, I used to work in a women's shelter and I understand how to access these things. They are public, of course.”

He nodded. “Go on.”

“I'm aware that in most cases a murder victim knows their killer. I also know that husbands are the first one the police investigate and there's a variety of good reasons for that.”

“Yes, but her husband was her ex-husband,” he said. “They've been divorced amicably for years.”

“True, but exes still kill and they must've still been quite close since she left the house and all of her belongings to him,” she said. The detective didn't react. “I didn't find anything unusual with their divorce settlement and so on—except that she didn't want anything but the house. She clearly wanted out of the marriage. I'm guessing she had moved on with another man.”

The detective nodded. “Yes, but this was, like, six years ago,” he said. “It has little bearing on this case. I assure you. You seem to be wasting your time. You have a business or something to run, don't you?”

She ignored his veiled insult and kept going.

“I mistakenly clicked on some other records. Turns out Sarah Waters was robbed a month before her murder.”

The detective crossed his arms.

“Pricey items were stolen,” she said.

“That's all true, yes. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“I figured since it's obvious that Josh Waters didn't kill his ex-wife, the next best thing is to try to follow the money trail on this.”

He laughed and shook his head.

“What's so funny?”

“You are so delightful,” he said. “You're trying to help your friend. I get that. But if she is innocent, it will all work out. I promise you.”

Cora was nonplussed. “Did you know about the robbery?”

“Of course I did,” he said. “We never found the thief. Contrary to popular belief, we don't have a magic wand and always get nice little happy endings to all of our cases. God knows I wish we did.”

“I know that. I've worked with the police for years. But I also appreciate how overworked you all are. And I also know what you're up against, in terms of time and budget constraints. So sometimes it's hard to follow up on every lead. I thought I could help.”

“You know what?” he said. His face softened. “I think I will take that iced tea. Is it sweet?”

“Yes,” she said, rising from her chair and heading toward the kitchen area of the open floor plan apartment.

As she poured the iced tea, the detective's cell phone rang. After answering and muttering a few words, he hung up and slipped it back in his pocket. She handed him a glass of sweet tea. He took a long drink of it and sat it down on a coaster on her table.

“Thank you,” he said. “That is the best sweet tea I've ever had,” he exclaimed.

Cora beamed. “I've been practicing. They say good sweet tea in the South is the key to a good social life.” Cora sat back down. “So you think the murder had nothing to do with the theft?”

“I didn't say that. We're investigating a number of leads,” he said. “Rest assured, we are being as thorough as possible.”

Cora felt foolish. Of course they were doing the best they could do and she should back off. She could hear her therapist clicking her tongue in disapproval. She had done it again—starting to behave as if she could fix everything. Although she had wanted to help, and it had all come from good intentions, it was that same impulse that had gotten her into such trouble countless times.

The detective eyed the apartment. “That is pretty cool,” he said, pointing to the chandelier that she had fashioned out of old silverware.

“Thanks,” she said. “It's one of my upcycling projects. I take old stuff and make new things with them.”

“I like it,” he said. “So you used to be a social worker?”

“I was a counselor in a women's shelter in Pittsburgh,” she said.

“What brought you here?” he said a little too nonchalantly. He was profiling her. She might as well give him a full picture.

“I developed an anxiety issue and needed to retire. I started writing this craft blog, which took off and now have decided to try out craft retreats.

“I noticed how much crafting helped some of the women at the shelter. Keeping our hands busy, making something useful, beautiful, it's meditative. So,” she said. “Here we are.”

He took another drink of iced tea and sat it back down on the coaster. “What about these? Did you make these?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Clever,” he said, and then something else caught his eye. “What's this?” he said, noticing the stack of papers Cashel had left earlier.

“Oh,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Something I should have done before I hired them. Background checks. We had Cashel run them for us.”

“Do you mind if I look them over?” He picked the report up and starting reading it.

“Not at all. You can get those reports yourself, right?”

He nodded. “But what's interesting to me is that this is obviously faked,” he said.

“What?”

“Jude Sawyer has a record a mile long and none of it is on here.”

“What?” Her heart lurched.

“I've never heard of this firm that this record came from. Did you say O'Malley ran this?”

She nodded.

“Odd. He should know better,” he said.

“Wait, wait,” Cora said. “Did you say Jude has a record? What kind of record? I mean, are my guests in danger?”

“He's on probation for involuntary manslaughter.”

She didn't hear him right, did she? “Come again?”

“Involuntary manslaughter,” he repeated.

Cora's stomach churned. Was she trembling? Where was her medicine? If this didn't bring on a panic attack, she didn't know what would. She stood quickly and knocked over a stack of craft magazines sitting on the table.

“Are you okay?” Brodsky said.

“I need to get something. I'll be right back,” she said and went to the bathroom. Just as she was popping one of the pills into her mouth, the detective came up behind her.

“Can I see those pills?” he asked.

She reluctantly handed him the bottle.

“That's what I suspected,” he said, wryly. “I take the same ones.”

“I adore salt glazes,” Jane said. “But you must be careful with them. You must dedicate one kiln to them because the salt ruins the kiln for any other type of glaze.”

“I didn't know that,” Miranda said. “I've been reluctant to try, but I admire the look of the glazes.”

Jane's phone beeped, alerting her to a text message.

 

I'm okay, but had to take a pill. Please come to my place. Brodsky is here
.

 

“Excuse me,” Jane said and left the small group of women she was chatting with.

By the time Jane entered the apartment, Cora was on the couch, drinking a glass of water, and Detective Brodsky was sitting next to her, with his arm wrapped around her. He pulled away when he saw Jane.

He nodded by way of greeting. “Ms. Starr.”

“Detective,” she said. “How are you, Cora?”

Cora wasn't supposed to be having panic attacks anymore. This new way of life was supposed to be helping her.

“I'm fine,” Cora said. “Really. I took a pill and I'll be fine in a minute.”

Jane sat next to her on the other side of the sofa. “What's going on? Why are you upset?” She glared at the detective. “What did you do?”

“Me?” he said. “Nothing. I told her the truth.”

“What are you talking about?” Jane said.

“Jane,” Cora said. “The background check on Jude that Cashel ran for us is a fake.”

“What?” How could that be? What was going on?

Cora nodded. “Turns out Detective Brodsky here knows that Jude is on probation for manslaughter.”

“Involuntary,” Brodsky pointed out.

“Oh my God. What happened?” Jane said, barely getting the words out of her mouth.

“Calm down,” Cora said. But it was easy for her—she had just taken a happy pill. Jane had just walked into the situation.

“Evidently, it's the best kept secret in the crafting community,” Cora said. “We should have thoroughly checked him out before hiring him. This is my fault.”

Jane remembered Jude going into the paper-crafting room with the two cops—but what did he say they had been talking about in there? Her mind sorted through the memories of that day. “He said he had purchased Sarah's broom collection and one of her daughters wanted it back. Was that a lie?”

“That's a good question. I've got no answers for you,” the detective said. “This is the first I've heard of it. But I wouldn't have necessarily been kept informed about it. It's not my case.”

It then hit Jane with a hard cold thud. “You know, if he's lying about one thing, he could be lying about everything.”

“Where are you going with this?” Cora said.

“I'm wondering about Josh Waters' murder. He said he never went in, that he knocked on the door and left his card. Now I wonder,” Jane said. Her brain was on fire—a million possibilities were sparking.

“Hold on,” Detective Brodsky said and reached for his phone. “Ivy Renquist corroborated his alibi. She was with him.”

“Ivy wouldn't lie to the police, would she?” Cora said.

“It's certainly been done before,” Brodsky said wryly.

“As far as I'm concerned, Ivy is capable of anything,” Jane said. “Plus, she's a married woman who hopped into bed with a man she barely knew at a craft retreat, for God's sake. She must be troubled.”

“What?” Brodsky said. “You didn't tell me about this, Cora.”

“Yeah,” Cora said. “Jude slept with Ivy and then became enamored with another one of our guests, Linda. Ivy left because she was so embarrassed.”

“I'd like to know more about this manslaughter case, involuntary or not. I have a daughter to protect,” Jane said.

“I don't know the details,” Brodsky said. “Not my case. But involuntary manslaughter indicates an unintentional killing.”

“An unintentional killing for which he's still on probation?” Cora asked.

Brodsky nodded. “He'll likely be on probation a good long while. Anything he does is up for intense scrutiny by the police. That's just the way it is,” he said. “So, how are you feeling now?” He handed her the glass of water. “You need to keep drinking this.”

The tough detective turned gentle before Jane's eyes, leading her to surmise that he was a kind man. She drew in air.

“What's wrong?” Cora said.

“I'm glad I sent London off for the weekend,” she told her.

“Me, too,” Cora said.

The detective's cell phone went off, and he stood to answer it. He walked toward the kitchenette and spoke in a low tone.

“He's a good guy,” Cora said.

“I can see that,” Jane responded.

“Gives me hope,” Cora said. “This weekend has been a mess, hasn't it?”

Detective Brodsky walked back over to the couch, his phone call ended.

“Sorry, ladies, that was my wife,” he said. “I need to get going. Saturday dinner. I promised.” He grinned sheepishly. “You know, she was sorry to cancel this weekend.”

“You mean she was one of the ones who canceled?” Cora said.

“I asked her not to come because of the case. I thought it wouldn't be appropriate since I'm working it,” he said.

So that's what happened,
Jane thought, and wondered if not all of the locals had canceled because they believed she was a killer. Something in her stomach settled. Something she didn't realize had been unsettled. Like a breath you were holding in and didn't realize until you let it out.

“Oh,” Cora said, glancing at Jane, then back to Brodsky. “I hope she will come to the next one.”

He nodded. He handed Cora and Jane each a card. “This has my number on it. Use it if you need to.”

With that, he turned and left the apartment, leaving Jane and Cora to sort through this new information.

“Nothing has really changed, right?” Cora said. “I mean, we just need to get on with it. Tomorrow, he's out of here. We never will have him back.”

“Plenty has changed,” Jane pointed out. “If Ivy was lying about Jude, he may have been the person who killed Josh Waters. In which case, we have a killer teacher on our hands.”