Death Among the Doilies (21 page)

“I hate to admit it,” Detective Brodsky said in a tired voice. “But this is clever detective work on your part.”

Cashel nodded in agreement.

“I've got an APB out on this woman,” Brodsky said. “You've given me a detailed description of her and with the small population of Edisto—if that is where she lives—we should be able to nab her.”

“I assume that not many residents are collectors of opium kits,” Cashel said dryly.

“We'd need to search her place and confiscate her kits to see if they match what was stolen, but I'm betting they do,” Brodsky said.

They were all gathered in Cora's apartment, as she didn't want to alert any of the crafters having coffee downstairs. They were on their own for breakfast this morning, as the only food served would be at the party later that night.

“Thank you,” Cora said. “But I was trying to find the Waterses' killer, not the thief of their opium kits.”

“Well, justice will be served in the burglary, in any case,” Cashel said.

“Let's hope that Monday morning it will be served, as well,” Jane said quietly.

“Actually, I may have good news on the graffiti front,” the detective said. “I stopped by the office earlier today. The police followed through with questioning the service folks in the area. There was a florist van.” He pulled out a small notebook from his jacket. “Let's see . . . yes. A florist. He checked out, he was delivering flowers to one of your neighbors. The UPS van checked out, too. Those guys are fully tracked at all times. But there's news on the catering van. It said ‘Day' on the van.”

“Oh, that's our caterer,” Cora replied. “Of course she was here. I had a hunch about this!”

“Around what time was she here?” Detective Brodsky asked.

“Let me check,” Cora said. “That was the day before the retreat actually started.” She clicked on a file on her computer. “Hmm. It doesn't look like she was actually here until the next day.”

“Perhaps she was here for another job in the area?” Cashel chimed in.

“Could be. We'll check it out.” Brodsky slid his notebook back in his pocket.

“Speaking of Darla Day,” Cashel said. “Her background check came back utterly blank. I know the first one we ran was false. But I ran another one and there's still absolutely nothing on her. “

“I find that hard to believe,” Brodsky said. “I'll check that out myself. At the least she has to have bank records. A business license and so on. Right?”

“One would think,” Cashel said.

“I've got to go,” the detective told them. “I'll be back in touch. I'm not sure how quickly I can move on any of this. But the APB is out.”

Cora walked him to her apartment door. “Thanks for everything,” she said.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I'm much better, thank you,” Cora said.

“I'm off, too,” Ruby said. “I'll walk down with you. I'm teaching a soap- and candle-making class this morning. I better get ready.”

They all said good-bye to Brodsky and Ruby as they headed off, which left Cashel, Jude, Jane, and Cora.

Cora sat down next to Cashel. Jane was watching her every move.

“So we may have solved at least one crime,” Cora said.

“Two crimes, actually. Identity theft and possibly the case of the missing opium kit,” Cashel said. “Perhaps we should celebrate.”

“No, thanks,” Jude said. “I've also got a class to teach. I'm such an idiot. I should have followed Ivy that night.”

“What night?” Cashel asked, as he got up to leave. It was clear there would be no celebration after all.

“The night of Josh's murder.”

“Wait. She was with you, right?” Cashel said. “I mean, that's what you both said.”

“Yeah, she was,” Jude said. “And like I told the cops, she was there when I knocked at the door.”

“But?” Jane said impatiently.

“But we went our separate ways after that. We walked over to the main street and she said she had some shopping to do and would catch up with me later,” Jude said.

“Did you tell the police that?” Cashel asked.

“I don't remember. Probably. I don't know. I can't remember if they asked about the rest of the night, or just when we were at the Waterses' place. If they had asked, I certainly would have told them exactly what I told you.”

“Can you stay until Monday morning?” Cashel asked, glancing at Jude.

“For what?”

“We might need a statement from you on Jane's behalf.”

Jude looked at Jane. “I'll do anything to help,” he said, and then the two men left the apartment.

“Jane?” Cora said when they were gone.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think that Ivy or whoever she was could've killed . . .”

“I think we are skimming the surface of the woman who pretended to be Ivy Renquist. Anything is possible.”

Exhausted, but wired from the countless possibilities, Cora sighed a deep sigh. “I can't think straight,” she said. Jude killed a person by negligence. An intruder was in Kildare House for two days. That same intruder might be guilty of the theft of priceless opium kits. Lessons learned the hard way—she would need to put more security measures in place. Stolen identities were not a part of her business plan.

Later that morning Cora walked into the craft wing and was greeted with a myriad of scents—lavender, rose, cinnamon, vanilla. Some of the crafters were making soap, some candles, and Ruby was in her glory, fussing over the herbs.

They had poured the soap and candles into the molds and were preparing for a break. But first, they each selected herbs to sprinkle into the cooling soap. Cora snapped some photos. Natural light filled the room this morning. The variety of colors and textures, along with the herbs and molds, played well on her camera's lens—bits of lavender in the cream-colored soap. The green spiky rosemary leaves mixed with calendula flower and chamomile. The swirled cinnamon. Plus the crafters were all dressed in earthy colors. Cora imagined a lively photo essay. She'd publish it on the blog, along with Ruby's soap recipe and instructions.

She hadn't heard from Cashel or from Brodsky yet, and she considered that a good sign. And she didn't see Jude hanging around. Had he gone out for another run? The man did enjoy his runs, she mused. Maybe that's why he was in such good shape.

A stab of guilt zipped through her when she considered she leapt to the wrong conclusions about him. He simply had no judgment when it came to women. Most young men did not. He was thirty-five years old, and her grand-père always said not to bother with a man until he was past thirty. Their judgment was clouded by hormones. Jude's “development” seemed to be behind the curve. Or, perhaps he would always be stuck in that Peter Pan syndrome.

Ruby walked up to her.

“It smells great in here,” Cora said.

Ruby nodded. “I love making soap. It's so satisfying.”

“I need your recipe and directions. I'll feature it on the blog. And I'll mention that your soap is for sale and link it to your Web site.”

“That sounds good,” Ruby said. “I had a full class this morning. Even the knitters came. Any word?”

Cora shook her head and took a drink of her coffee. She'd had two cups, but the caffeine hadn't kicked in yet. She was weary and anticipating the end of this weekend. Except that then it would be Monday, which was the day Jane had to report to the court. But Jude would be there, wouldn't he? He would help deflect suspicions from Jane to the Ivy impersonator.

Cora sighed.

“I know,” Ruby said, wrapping her arm around her. “It's going to be okay.”

“Lawd, it smells like a cheap perfume factory in here,” a woman's voice said. Cora turned around to find an older redhead, with strands of gray through her hair. She wore glasses, but her blue eyes were bright and lively. She sneezed and then said, “Excuse me.”

“Bless you,” Cora said.

“Thank you,” the woman said with a soft, lilting Virginia accent.

“Can I help you?” Cora said.

“I'm looking for Coralie,” the woman said.

“Coralie?” Ruby said, bewildered.

“That's me,” Cora said. “I'm Coralie Chevalier.” The woman's face lit up.

“Well, my word, look at you! Jon didn't say how gorgeous you are!”

“What?” Cora said.

“Of course not, we are a humble people.” Cora's Uncle Jon walked into the room.

“Uncle Jon!” Cora fell into his arms and nearly came undone. “You made it! And this must be Beatrice.
Aunt
Beatrice.” Cora hugged her new aunt.

They say you can tell a lot by the way people hug. If that was the case, Beatrice was open, warm, strong, and healthy. It was hard to believe she was in her eighties.

“This place is gorgeous!” Beatrice said. She sneezed again. “But I'm sorry. I can't stay in this room right now,” she said. “My nose is a bit sensitive.”

Ruby crossed her arms defensively.

“That's fine, let me show you around,” Cora said before Ruby could say anything. “But first let me introduce you to Ruby, our herbalist.”

Beatrice held out her hand. “Herbalist, heh?” She gave her an appraising look.

“That's right,” Ruby said, stiff-lipped. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I have a cousin who's an herbalist. Lives up in the mountains of Virginia. Her name's Rose Hill.”

“
The
Rose Hill?”

“I suppose so,” Beatrice said, shrugging.

“I've taken a few classes with her,” Ruby said, brightening somewhat toward Beatrice.

“It's a small world, isn't it?” Beatrice said.

Cora's phone buzzed. She looked at the screen and saw that it was Detective Brodsky.

“I'm so sorry. I have to take this,” she said and moved to another part of the room.

“How are you?” Brodsky said when she picked up.

“Good. Do you have any news for me?”

“Yes, but not the news you were expecting, probably. We discovered who the graffiti artist was. The person who spray-painted ‘killer' across Jane's door.”

“Who? Do I know him?” This was good news.

“It was your caterer, Darla Day. We found the paint in her van. ”

“What? Why would she do such a thing?” Cora felt her chest tighten.

“I don't know. She's in holding and she's not talking. We picked her up not long after I left your place. She was headed over to your house to set up for the party tonight. I have no idea why she did it,” he said. “When I find out, I'll let you know. In the meantime, your caterer is indisposed.”

“I see,” Cora said. What was she going to do about the chocolate reception? They were expecting a full house. This was going to be a disaster.

“Thanks for filling me in,” she said and hung up. When she turned around, she saw her Uncle Jon looking at her.

“What's wrong?” he said. Beatrice was by his side.

“The caterer for tonight's event can't make it,” Cora said.

“What? Why?” Jon said.

“I'll explain it to you later,” she said. “In the meantime, I need to figure out what I'm going to serve. It's supposed to be a chocolate reception. Everything in chocolate. Pies, cake, bread . . .”

Jon grinned and grabbed Beatrice's hand. “I think we've got you covered. Beatrice is quite the baker.”

“Let's take a look-see at your kitchen, shall we?” Beatrice said.

“Wait—you are my guests. I can't put you to work,” Cora said, embarrassed.

“We are family. Of course you can put us to work,” Beatrice said in a tone that allowed no argument.

“What's going on?” Jane asked as she entered the kitchen, where Beatrice and Jon were happily making chocolate pie filling.

Cora introduced Jane to Bea and Jon, who apologized for not shaking her hand since he was up to his elbows in pie filling.

“We need to get these pies done and chilling before the reception,” Beatrice said.

“But where is Darla?” Jane asked.

“She's being detained by the police,” Cora responded. “It turns out that she was your vandal.”

“What?” Jane's voice rose a decibel or two.

“Calm down,” Cora said. “She's been caught.”

“But why would she do that?” Jane said. “Unless she wanted people to think I killed Sarah.”

“Killed who?” Beatrice asked as she stirred a huge bowl full of dark, creamy fluff.

“We've had a couple of murders in town,” Cora said weakly.

“Murders?” Jon said with his voice raised. “I thought you said this was a safe place.”

“It is,” Cora said. “Or at least I thought it was.”

“I don't know if I like the sound of this,” Jon said. “Your grand-père would not want you in such a situation.”

“It's okay,” Cora said, trying to reassure Jon. “There hasn't been a murder here in, like, twenty years. And these two murders are aberrations.”

“I've heard that before and it never turns out to be the case,” Beatrice said, opening the fridge. “Thank goodness they left you dough for the crust,” she muttered. “It's good and chilled.”

Cora dug around in her cupboard and found two pie plates. Two. “Do you have any pie plates?” she asked Jane.

“No,” Jane said. “But I bet Ruby does. I'll go ask.”

“Well?” Beatrice said. “What is going on with the murders?” She rolled out the pie crust and Cora marveled at her expert handling of the crust. Before she knew it, two pie crusts were in the plates, edges crimped, and filling poured in—and all the while Cora was explaining what was going on with the murder cases.

Jon stood at the sink, washing out one of the mixing bowls. He wanted to get started on his “famous” chocolate bread. “So, you say they found Jane's prints at the scene of the first murder?”

Cora nodded. “They are only half prints and Jane's prints are so smooth that it's hard for them to match them exactly. But they are similar enough for them to have questioned her several times about it.”

“Well, we know that she had nothing to do with it and I'm sure it will work out,” Jon said.

Jane entered through the back door of the house with four more pie plates.

“Perfect!” Jon exclaimed.

She set the plates on the counter with a clank, and Beatrice went to work.

“I've been thinking,” Jane said to Cora. “There's only one reason Darla would paint ‘killer' on my door.”

“She wanted people to think you did it,” Cora said.

“But why?” Jane said.

“Because she must be the real killer,” Beatrice said.

“Exactly!” Jane said.

“Now,” Jon said, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Hold on. You shouldn't accuse someone of murder without real proof. That's what's been done to Jane, after all.”

“Why else would Darla have done it, Jon?” Beatrice asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe she was covering up for someone else?”

The air in the kitchen was getting warm since the oven and stove were both lit and several people were crowded into the small room. But a chill swept over Cora. Either Darla had killed Sarah and Josh Waters, or she knew who did.

Which made sense as Cora thought back about Darla's hostile attitude toward Jane. It wasn't that she didn't like Jane, or that she had been listening to rumors; she was probably seizing on an opportunity to distract the locals from the trail of the real killer. Clever. Or, it would have been clever had she not gotten caught.

“I keep thinking about that blank background check,” Jane said.

The scent of the chocolate pies baking in the oven started to fill the room, and Cora's stomach growled. She hadn't gotten a chance to eat breakfast yet. She reached for a banana.

“She could just be a bad seed,” Bea said. “Someone who likes to stir things up. She may know nothing at all.”

“True,” Jon said.

“We've had our fair share of murder in Cumberland Creek, our little town,” Beatrice said. “I've followed the investigations pretty closely.”

Cora peeled the banana and listened intently. Beatrice certainly didn't seem like she was eighty-five years old. She moved around the kitchen like a much younger woman. Plus, her mind was sharp as a tack—and then some.

“The last murder in our town had to do with money. It was a lot of money. But it seems if you follow the money trail, often that leads you to the murderer,” Beatrice said. “How is the police investigation going?”

“I think Detective Brodsky is doing a good job,” Cora said. “Murder investigations take time. Josh was killed only a few days ago.”

“Take my advice,” Beatrice said. “Don't rely on the cops to get your friend off the hook.”

Ruby heard that as she walked into the room.

“I think we are going to be good friends,” she said to Beatrice.

Beatrice looked up from pouring filling into a pie crust. “Then don't just stand there. Get busy. We have a reception to pull together.”