Death Among the Doilies (19 page)

The whole situation left Cora's head spinning. But mostly it was Jude. Jude was on probation for a serious crime. How could that have slipped by her?

“You're thinking about Jude, aren't you?” Jane said.

She nodded. Jane knew her too well. “I didn't think to run that check.”

“Next time, we will,” Jane said. “Live and learn. How are you?”

Cora sat up straighter. “I'm fine. It was just a shock and I started to—”

“Let's not give it any energy. I know what happened. It's okay, sweetie. It was bound to happen. You handled it—that's what matters.”

Cora exhaled. She was right.

“So, this doesn't leave us much in the way of our murder investigation,” Jane said. “We've been sidetracked.”

Cora drank deeply from her glass of water before setting it back down. “We still don't know much, do we? We do know that Jude was attempting to visit Josh Waters that night and we know that Ivy was with him.”

“But Jude wasn't here when Sarah was killed. He lives in Tennessee,” Jane said.

“That doesn't mean he wasn't here,” Cora pointed out. “He'd obviously been here before.”

“We could ask him when the last time was.”

“We could. We will. But now, I . . .”

“He makes you nervous, now?”

“Of course,” Cora said. “I mean, he's killed someone. And now we're thinking again that he may have killed Josh. He's sleeping under my roof.”

“I can't help but think . . . I don't know. He seems so normal,” Jane said.

Cora stood and walked to her kitchen to place the glass in the sink. “Sometimes you just can't tell. I know we always joke about our intuition, which is usually right. But sometimes it's more difficult.” She placed the glass in the sink with a thud. “Not that I've known any murderers—that I know of.”

“The detective did say involuntary. Let's keep that in mind,” Jane said, standing up, and the box of doilies, which had been sitting on the arm of the couch, fell over. She bent down to pick up some of the scattered doilies. “These are gorgeous. I'm not a big doilies person. As in, I'd never have one in my house.” She grinned. “It reminds me of little old ladies. I can't help it.”

“I think I can make something out of them. I just haven't decided what,” Cora said.

“I have an idea. Why don't you bring the box downstairs and work on it in the sitting room, where the retreaters are. They might have some good ideas. It will get your mind off everything.”

“That's exactly what I need. Dr. Jo always said that the best thing for a panic attack was to get my mind on something else. I'll focus on this for a couple of hours, then it's back to the murder investigation.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Maybe we should let it rest. Let Cashel deal with it.”

“Speaking of Cashel . . .”

“Yeah, we need to tell him about those reports. Let me handle it,” Jane said. “I need to return his call from earlier anyway. I also need to check in with London,” she said. “I miss her.”

Cora took the box of doilies from Jane. “I miss her, too.”

* * *

When the two of them entered the living room, they were surprised to see almost all of the crafters there—some working on brooms and some knitting. Others were eating and chatting. It was a lovely room to walk into; a warm energy filled the place. Cora sat on the floor next to the fireplace and spread out the doilies.

“Oh!” came a squeal of delight from Diane. “What do you have there?”

“I bought these doilies at a yard sale and am trying to figure out what do with them.”

“You could frame them. Check this out,” she scooped one up in her hand and held it up. “It resembles a spiderweb. Look how intricate it is. This would be gorgeous framed.”

“They would be pretty framed,” Linda chimed in.

“I agree,” said Cora. “But I'm not much of a framer. I'd like to make these useful. Find some sort of function for them other than just looking pretty.”

“I've seen them made into table runners,” Linda said, sitting down on the floor next to Cora. She helped Cora spread them out. “You've certainly got a treasure here,” she said. “They look like they're all handmade.”

“I think they are,” Cora said. “You never know what you can find at a yard sale,” she said, trying to sound cheery, but images of Josh Waters played in her mind. Poor Josh. Poor Sarah. What was the world coming to?

She placed one doily next to the other and saw they could fit together nicely. Perhaps a table runner was not a bad idea.

“You, know, I've seen doilies made into curtains,” Diane said. “It's a bit froufrou for me, but it's clever.”

“I could see curtains or table runners,” Cora said, fitting together the doilies on the floor like pieces of a puzzle. Linda placed a pink one next to a white one edged in purple. Cora realized that it was going to be a challenge not only to piece and fit them just right but also to make certain the colors touching one another were complementary. She stood and placed the whitest of the doilies against her red skirt, just to see the effect.

“A skirt!” Martha said from across the room. “You could make a skirt.”

“What? Really?” Cora said.
A doily skirt? It could be very tacky,
she thought.

“If it was done well, it could be gorgeous,” Linda said, as if reading Cora's mind.

“And it would be fantastic on you. You're thin enough to carry it off,” Martha said.

“I'm not much of a seamstress,” Cora said, more to herself than the crafters.

“I am,” said Linda. “But I think you need someone who can crochet and sew.”

“Exactly,” Diane said. “You don't want people to see how it's put together. You need someone who can do both. I think I can do it.”

“Or I can do it,” Martha said.

Cora grinned. “Why don't you both do it? Work on it together?”

It was perfect. Two of her guests working together on an impromptu project. She loved the idea of the women working together to create an upcycled skirt. Visions of old-fashioned quilting bees danced in her head. She was curious as to what they'd come up with—it could be the tackiest skirt ever. But it could also be gorgeous. She was willing to give it a go.

As Cora placed one doily after the other, changing them around, making sure the colors and patterns looked good together where each doily touched, she couldn't help but mull over what she knew about Jude. Could he have killed Josh Waters? How about his wife? What motive would he have? Did the broom collection have anything to do with it? Or had he been lying about everything?

He had been to Indigo Gap before. He seemed comfortable in the town and went on and on about how he had always thought Indigo Gap was one of the prettiest towns he'd ever visited. Other than mentioning that he worked at the mill, which was miles outside of town, when was he last in town? And where was he now, anyway?

She placed the purple-fringed lace next to the yellow fringed.

“That looks good,” Linda said.

“I like it, too,” Martha said, coming up behind them. She was eating leftover pimento cheese spread on slices of rye bread.

Cora contemplated her guests. The knitters were still knitting in the corner. Some were eating, others were drinking. Someone laughed. This is exactly what Cora had imagined when she had wanted to start a craft retreat. And an unexpected group project added to her satisfaction.

Other than the oversexed broom maker on probation for manslaughter, the nasty caterer, and that fact that her best friend and partner was still under suspicion for murder, of course.

Several hours later, the crafters' collective quiet was interrupted by Ruby entering the room and asking if anybody wanted to go to dinner with her. Several of the women in the room said yes.

“Cashel wants you to call him,” Ruby said to Cora.

Cora sighed and set aside the skirt. “I'll be right back,” she said to Linda and Diane.

Ruby followed her into the kitchen. “Have you seen him?”

“Who?” Cora said.

“Jude,” Ruby replied.

“Not recently. I have no idea where he is. He's most likely out for dinner. Who could blame him for wanting some downtime to himself?” Cora said. “He's been ‘on' with these women since he's gotten here.”

“In more than one way,” Ruby said, eyebrows twitching.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Cora said. “What does Cashel want?”

Ruby shrugged. “He didn't say. I'm just his mother, the woman who bore and birthed him. He doesn't tell me anything.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “That's a little dramatic.”

“You think?” Ruby said and grinned. “Well, listen, I'll let you get to it. I'm hungry.” With that, Ruby took her leave.

Cora dialed Cashel on her cell phone, and he answered on the first ring.

“Cashel O'Malley.” He sounded very official.

“It's me, Cora,” she said. “Ruby said that you wanted me to call.”

“Yeah,” he said. “How's it going?”

“Okay,” she said.

“First of all, I'm sorry about those fake reports. I had no idea. My office assistant only just started dealing with that company. They were cheap, but I suppose there's a reason for it.”

“I'll say,” she said.

“It happens,” he said, with a note of defensiveness in his voice. “The other thing I wanted to ask you is about this Ivy Renquist.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I wanted to give her a call and ask her about that night . . . the night that we found Josh. But I can't seem to get any answer. Not even a machine. I thought that was curious. So I'm calling to check with you to see if I have the right number.”

“Okay, what do you have?”

He read the number to her, and she jotted it down. “Hold on,” she said. She grabbed the folder near the phone that held the registration forms the guests had filled out and flipped through them. After a minute, she got back on the phone.

“Cashel,” she said, “Where did you get that number?”

“The police report,” he said. “Why?”

“It's wrong. This is Ivy's number.” Cora read off the number.

“So she gave the cops a fake number.”

“Maybe she was distraught,” Cora said. “The two numbers are similar. Maybe the cop just wrote it down wrong.”

“I'm not certain either one of those possibilities is something I believe,” Cashel said.

“What do you think?”

“Sounds like Ivy Renquist is hiding something.”

“Well, she did cheat on her husband. That's something she'd want to hide for sure.”

“Have you seen Jane?” Cashel asked.

“Not recently. She had some phone calls to make,” Cora said.

“You may want to check in on her,” he said with a stiffness in his voice. “The fingerprint experts want to see her first thing Monday morning. It doesn't look good.”

“What?” Cora's heart raced.

“Calm down,” he said. “I may be entirely misreading this. But they do want to see us. So the results must be ready.”

“Do they expect us to wait until Monday morning?” Cora said, trying not to panic.

“Well, the court isn't open on Sunday,” he said.

“What will happen if they think her prints match?” Cora said.

“They will need to prove she killed Sarah,” he said. “And if Jane wasn't there at the murder site, they won't be able to do that. I'll call in a few of my own experts. Try not to worry too much, okay?”

After they finished their conversation and hung up, Cora sat at the kitchen table with a pen and paper. She always kept a pen and paper handy. Doodling was a great way to think.

She found herself writing names, instead of doodling—Jude and Ivy. She picked up her cell and dialed Ivy's number. A machine answered.

“Ivy? This is Cora Chevalier calling to see that everything is okay with you and you made it home all right. Give me a call back when you can.”

Did Ivy intentionally give the police the wrong number?
Cora wondered. If so, did she really think she could get away with something like that? She'd known a lot of women who cheated on their husbands. People tended to think it was only men who were unfaithful, but that wasn't the case. Cheaters of either gender were either wholly egotistical and thought they'd never get caught—or they were desperately unhappy and felt like they had no other choice. Which one was Ivy? She didn't appear to be egotistical. In fact, she had been quite embarrassed by her own behavior, hadn't she? So she was desperate and unhappy, then. Which didn't make Cora feel any better at all.

When Jane opened the door to her carriage house, Cora eyeballed her. She was pale and too light on her feet. Dark circles edged her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Cora said.

“You know they called me in for Monday, right?” Jane said. “I'm a bit of a nervous wreck about it. Cashel said it didn't look good. I've no idea what that means.”

“I don't get it, either,” Cora said, following Jane into the house. There was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table, and Jane went to fetch a second glass. “You have alibis.”

“Yes, I do,” Jane said as she filled Cora's glass. “But Cashel said they are weak alibis. Neil is . . . well, you know. Let's just say he doesn't have the best character. And for some reason Cashel's not impressed with David either.”

“David? Is that his name?” Cora had imagined another name. A sexy name. A name suitable for a one-night stand. Armando. Erik. Rhett. Not David. Geez, how disappointing!

“They'll use his statement, but evidently, he must have a record, or something, which is troubling for a whole bunch of reasons,” Jane said. “But typical for me. Next time I spend the weekend with a sexy stranger, I'll be sure to ask about his record.”

“That will be a real mood killer,” Cora said and sipped her wine. It was moscato; sweet and light. It tickled her tongue.

Jane couldn't help but laugh at Cora's comment.

“I love it when you laugh,” Cora said. Jane didn't laugh a lot—she didn't smile a lot, either.

“I know I'm innocent,” Jane said. Her smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Yet, sometimes I feel like I'm guilty.”

“Let's figure this out. I need something to write with.”

“What are we figuring out?” Jane said.

“Who killed the Waterses, of course,” Cora said, after Jane handed her the tablet.

Jane wrote down the name of everybody in the family, again.

“Do we know their names?” Jane said, pointing to the last two people on Cora's list.

“No,” Cora said. “But I wondered if Josh's wife's name would be in his obituary.”

Jane was already searching on her phone. “Here it is. Charlotte. Charlotte Bow Waters and their two children, Andrew and Christy.”

“That's right, he had kids with the new wife,” Cora said. How sad that those kids would grow up without their dad.

“The funeral will be in Pennsylvania,” Jane read aloud. “But what about the daughters?”

“Which daughters?”

“Sarah and Josh's daughters.”

“Oh right. Well, one of them, Rebecca, assaulted me in their front yard. She's kind of scary. The other one was or is in England, the last anyone knew, but nobody seems sure.”

“Could Rebecca have killed both of her parents?” Jane said. “Is it possible?”

Cora mulled that over. It had occurred to her once before. But someone had said she was grief stricken over her parents' deaths. Was it Cashel?

“I suppose it's possible,” Cora said. “Though I hate to even think about that. It seems too much to ponder, a daughter killing both parents.”

“I'm certain it happens,” Jane said. “Families . . .”

“Yeah,” Cora agreed. She sat her wineglass down. Her mind sorted through the other possibilities. “What about Sarah's boyfriend?”

“Any idea who that was?” Jane said.

“I have an idea,” Cora said. “But how would we find out for sure? I mean, it's not something that would be in the obituary.”

“No, but it is something that would be on the grapevine, if you know what I mean,” Jane said with a grin.

“Let me call Ruby,” Cora said.

“Good idea.”

“Everything okay?” Ruby asked after answering.

“Fine for now,” Cora said.

“Did you ever get a hold of Ivy?” Ruby asked

“Not yet,” Cora replied. “But listen. Do you know who Sarah Waters was dating before she was killed?”

“Yes, I do,” Ruby said. “Why?”

“We're making a list of other possible suspects in her murder.”

“Why would you be doing that?” Ruby said. “I'm sure Cashel has everything under control.”

“I'm sure he does,” Cora said. She didn't mean to suggest otherwise and was sorry that Ruby thought she had. “Just humor me.”

“She was dating Edgar,” Ruby said. “If you think he'd kill anything, you've got another thought coming to you. The man is a priss. I never knew what she saw in him. But he's the one that broke up their marriage. It went on for years. I don't know why they never married,” Ruby said.

“Interesting,” Cora said. “Thanks so much, Ruby.”

“No trouble at all,” she said and clicked off the phone.

“Edgar Thorncraft? Really?” marveled Jane, who'd been listening in to Cora's conversation with Ruby.

“We never knew Sarah,” Cora responded. “I knew her in passing. You knew her—barely—from the school. So, it's hard to imagine her with Edgar.”

“Yet, she left everything to her first husband,” Jane said. “Something odd is going on there.”

“But Edgar? He's . . .”

“He's a cold person,” Jane said.

“True. But a killer?”

“Knowing what we do about families and romances, it appears as if Edgar and the Waterses' daughters should be at the top of the suspect list,” Jane said. “Trouble is, it's almost Saturday evening. And it's not like we can go visiting. And even if we could, what would we say? Did you kill your girlfriend, Edgar?”

“We'll be seeing Edgar tomorrow,” Cora reminded her friend. “He's coming to the reception. I don't know how I'll manage it, but I'll question him.”

“What about Rebecca?”

Cora thought a moment. “Well, do we have any muffins left?”

“We might.”

“Let's take a basket of them to her.”

“What? When?”

“Let's get it together and do it now.”

“Isn't it a bit too late?” Jane asked.

“We can go over and check it out. If it looks like she's settled in for the night, we'll let it wait until tomorrow. What do you say?”

Jane shrugged. “No time like the present. But what will we say to her?”

“Just leave that to me,” Cora said. “I imagine that whether she killed her parents or not, she's grieving. I can handle Rebecca Saunders.”