Death Among the Doilies (22 page)

With the pies filled, baked, and chilling, and chocolate bread in the oven, Beatrice and Jon were now discussing what kind of cake and cupcakes to make. Cora suggested pumpkin faces or some other fall or Halloween decoration for embellishment.

“That sounds a bit cutesy to me and you want this to be elegant, right?” Beatrice said. “Maybe we should just color the icing fall colors.”

“I have an idea. You all make the cupcakes and I'll decorate them. One of my readers sent me a photo of some cupcakes that exude elegance, but are actually simple,” Cora said. “It involves making a few flowers and embossing the top of the cupcakes with gold-dusted sugar. I'll use some of my templates that I've used for paper crafting.”

“What will you emboss it with?” Jon said, confused.

“Gold-dusted sugar. I have some gold chocolate around here that would be perfect,” Cora said, wiping her hands on her apron and then slipping it off. “I need to go and mingle a bit with the guests. I'll be back shortly.” She said. “Thank you again, Uncle Jon and Aunt Beatrice. I'm not sure what we would've done without you.”

Now, if she could slip out of the house without anybody noticing, she could head to the police station. Would they allow her to speak with Darla? She felt a pang of guilt as she waved to the group of crafters who were gathered in the living room. She would make this as quick as possible—she wanted to get back to her crafters.

“How is everything?” she called out.

They all nodded, smiled, and murmured pleasantries. They were having a positive experience—which was good. It was a good thing someone was. Cora's aunt and uncle were working in the kitchen. It was humiliating! They were guests!

But Jon was also an investor in the business, she reminded herself. He was eager to see the place succeed.

She thought about taking her car, but she knew everybody would hear her pull out of the driveway so she hoofed it down to the police station instead. It would take a little longer, but she was a woman with a mission. And the mission was to find out exactly what was going on with Darla. Why did she paint “killer” on Jane's door? Was Jane correct in thinking that it was because she knew who the killer was and wanted to help cover up? Or was she the killer herself?

It was all hard to imagine. But then again, so much of what had happened recently was hard to imagine.

As she entered the police station, it seemed empty and quieter than usual, probably because it was a Sunday.

This might work to her advantage.

“I'd like to see Darla Day,” she said to the woman behind the counter.

“I'm sorry,” the woman said. “Who?”

“Darla Day,” Cora repeated.

“There is nobody here by that name,” the woman told her. “Are you certain you have the name correct?”

“Yes. Detective Brodsky called me this morning and said she was here,” Cora said.

“Brodsky?” the woman said. “Hold on.”

She pressed a button and spoke into her phone. “There is someone here who wants to see a Darla Day. Says you told her she was here.”

She appeared to be listening to Brodsky on the other end of the phone.

“Okay,” the receptionist said. She hung up and then said to Cora, “Detective Brodsky will be right out.”

Cora shivered. She didn't like the thought of Darla being at large, skulking around Indigo Gap.

When the detective came into the room, Cora surmised that something was wrong.

“What happened?” she said.

“She lawyered up,” Brodsky said. “I'm still not sure who she even is. But whoever she is, she had some contacts in high places. It happens sometimes.”

“You mean . . .”

“She's out,” he said. “But she has instructions to stay away from your place and is not to conduct any business until further notice from the court.”

That doesn't mean that she won't,
Cora thought to herself.

“Is she dangerous?” Cora asked.

He smiled wryly. “Only if you get in her way, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that she is quite formidable.”

She thought over the comments Darla had made about Jane. Jane! Was she in danger?

“What are you thinking?” the detective asked.

“Can we have a police presence at the house for the next couple of days?” Cora asked.

“We don't have the staff for that. I'm sorry,” he said. “Do you think she poses a danger to you personally?”

“Not to me,” Cora said. “Jane. She despises Jane.”

He nodded.

“She said some horrible things about her that I had to nip in the bud,” Cora said.

“I can try to drop in and out today,” Brodsky said, keeping his voice low. “That's all I can promise.”

“I'd appreciate that,” she said. “I know it seems a bit off, but the more I think about it, the more frightened I become.”

Cora thought about why the Darla Day theory didn't make much sense to her. Maybe Darla could have killed Sarah. But Josh as well? And what was her motive?

“I don't think Darla killed Josh Waters. She was busy that day catering for my retreat,” Cora said.

“We'll be asking her about every minute of her day and of course, we will be talking with you to verify her schedule. But it takes very little time to kill someone and evidently Josh's murder happened right after Jude Sawyer stopped by before you did, so that leaves a narrow window of time. We believe the person who planned Josh's murder was meticulous and knew his habits,” the detective said.

When the detective mentioned Jude, Cora realized she hadn't seen him since that morning. Where was he? Off with another woman somewhere? She tried to remember if she had seen Linda today.

“What's wrong? You look confused,” Brodsky said.

“You just reminded me I haven't seen Jude in a while,” she said.

“Perhaps he slept in.”

“If he did, let's hope he's alone.”

The detective grinned. “I hearya,” he said. “Now, can I help you with anything else?”

He looked tired. She should go. She had already taken so much of his time.

“I don't think so,” she said. “I have a house full of guests I should get back to. I'm sorry I missed Darla.”

“I don't think you'd have gotten anywhere with her. She clammed up. She was here on a simple vandalism charge, remember. She paid the fine and was released to the custody of her lawyer.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said, but I have no evidence,” he told her. “You'd be surprised at how many guilty people are walking around because there's not enough evidence to convict.”

“Oh no, I wouldn't,” she said. “I worked in a women's shelter, remember.”

“So will you be able to hire another caterer for tonight?”

“No,” she said. “But luckily I've a kitchen full of help. Speaking of which, I'd better get back.”

On her brisk walk home, Cora marveled at how quiet the town was—a typical Sunday in the sleepy village of Indigo Gap. Her new home. Soon, it would feel like home, she just knew it. Soon, it would feel safe and warm, instead of confusing and like a killer might be lurking behind every bush.

But for now, as she made her way up the narrow streets, she couldn't help sensing someone watching her. She didn't like this feeling. This fear. It was something she had grown used to in Pittsburgh—until it got to be overwhelming. She didn't want to be afraid anymore. She wanted to walk down the streets without a care on her mind. Free.

Darla had been in Kildare House, had fed Cora and her guests. Cora shivered at the thought. If Darla was a killer, what had prevented her from killing the retreat guests, plus Cora, these past few days?

Calm down,
she told herself. Obviously if Darla killed Sarah and Josh, she had a reason. The only strange thing was that Sarah's fingers had been cut off, which led investigators to surmise it was a crime of passion. Otherwise, it seemed like the murders were both well planned out. And for the killer to have murdered the ex-couple, both of them, made it seem they knew both people. It was definitely personal.

Now, she was going overboard, wasn't she? Statistically speaking, most murders had to do with drugs or some other kind of criminal activity. Crimes of passion were rarer. But if it was a crime of passion, what about Edgar Thorncraft? Why would he kill his girlfriend? Their disagreements about historical matters were quite public. Cora wondered about their private lives. Could Edgar be an abuser?

What about Josh Waters' second wife? Cora wouldn't know her if she tripped over her. She knew she lived in Pennsylvania with their new family. Her husband left Pennsylvania to attend to his ex-wife's estate, and he got himself killed. And now she had two children and no husband. Cora mulled over where Josh's body was—back in Pennsylvania or in North Carolina? Where would his final resting place be?

Cora walked by Sapphire Street and looked up at Kildare House, now only a few blocks away. Something ticked in her brain. Who did she know who lived on Sapphire? Darla. Darla Day lived on Sapphire Street. In that moment, Cora decided to turn right.

Something was off about Darla's house. No cars were parked in the driveway. Maybe they were in the garage. But no curtains or blinds hung in the windows of the house. It was odd, as living this close to neighbors, privacy was of utmost concern.

Cora walked up to the front door and held up her hand to knock. But as she lifted her fist to the door, she heard a disturbing sound—a low growl, or possibly a moan. Shards of fear tore through her.
Calm down,
she told herself, it could just be an animal of some kind. But the noise came again—and it was definitely coming from inside the house. What was going on here?

She stood at the door, and a number of thoughts raced through her mind.

Was Darla Day the person Cora thought she was—a small-minded person who was exploiting poor Jane's bad luck?

Or was Darla herself in some sort of trouble? Did she need help?

You can't help the world,
Cora heard her therapist whisper in her memory.

She started to back away from the door. The hair on the back of her neck pricked. Something was very wrong here.

As Cora turned away, the sound grew louder and something inside of her took over. She wasn't afraid anymore—someone needed her help. The door was unlocked, thankfully. She walked in, and her feet sank into plush carpet. She'd never imagined that Darla's home would be carpeted. She had pictured her a hardwood-floor kind of person. But it turned out that she was wrong about Darla—all the way wrong.

If Darla had indeed lived here, she no longer did. That much was clear.

There was no furniture—and not even any indentations in the carpet where furniture may have been. In fact, the carpet looked brand new. Cora walked farther into the living room, toward a picture window. The view outside the window was of a splay of crimson leaves on a gorgeous Japanese maple tree. She stood and took it in.

It was disturbingly quiet. Where had the noise been coming from?

She turned and moved back across the living-room floor, and something caught her eye. Just a flash. What was that? She walked across the empty room and saw a piece of jewelry lying on the carpet. A gold heart. Where had she seen that before? On Darla?

No, Darla never wore any jewelry. She was clean and crisp-looking all the time.

Cora lifted the heart and held the chain in her hand, as the heart dangled. She tried to remember where she had seen it before. Wait—maybe it did belong to Darla. Hadn't Cora seen her wearing it the first time she'd come to Kildare House?

The sound erupted from another room—what was it?

Cora's heart leapt right into her mouth.

The noise came again, a little louder. It sounded like it was coming from the next room over—was it the kitchen? Without thinking, she opened the door. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer light inside—the kitchen only had one small window. But she saw glimpses of things—a foot. A leg. A person. Her eyes traveled up the leg to the person's face, half covered in duct tape. His blue eyes were alert and his head was twitching around. He was trying to say something.

“Jude?” Cora said as she moved toward him.

Then she saw that another person was next to him. Someone smaller was crumpled in a ball, curled up next to him. Sleeping? Unconscious? Dead?

Darla Day, with her eyes closed, looked no more than eighteen years old. Cora bent over and tried to wrangle the tape off Jude's face. But she stopped when she sensed someone standing behind her.

Cora's whole body shook as she slowly turned around. She had to dig deep and stop shaking. She couldn't pass out. She couldn't throw up. A ball of fear turned into anger that moment, as she realized the person she was looking at was Ivy—or the woman she had thought was Ivy. The imposter.

“You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?” the imposter spat.

Cora glared at her. She could handle this woman. She must.

“Calm down, Ivy,” she said, her voice controlled and calm. “What is going on here?”

“You know I'm not Ivy,” the woman snarled.

“Okay,” Cora said as calmly as she could. There was a stirring behind her. Maybe it was Darla coming to. “Why don't you explain to me what's going on? Let's start by you telling me what your real name is and why you came to the retreat.”

“I'm not going to tell you anything,” the woman said, her voice deep and shaking. She held up something. “You've put me in a bad position. You leave me no choice.”

What was she holding? Was that a gun?

“Please, don't use that gun,” Cora said. “Let's talk about this.”

The woman clicked the safety off. “I'm sorry, Miss Cora Crafts a Life,” she said and pointed it at her.

She moved like her self-defense trainer taught her—strong, fast, and yelling loudly. She kicked the gun from the imposter's hands, and it flew through air, landing in the kitchen sink with a thud. A thud that Cora would always remember.

She then took the heel of her hand and thrust it in the woman's rib cage, prompting her to hunch over as Cora landed the final blow, her knee to the imposter's head. Hard. This final move knocked the woman out long enough to get the others untied.

Pain tore through Cora's knee, but she made her way over to Jude and Darla.

Police sirens rang out. Cora ripped the tape off Jude's and Darla's mouths and then untied their hands. They worked at untying their legs.

When she was certain that Darla and Jude were okay, Cora found the wall and sank back against it.