Death Among the Doilies (7 page)

Jane downed the last bit of coffee in her paper cup and slid it into the cup holder of her car. She turned up the radio and cracked the window—the crisp air helped keep her alert. She needed to get home. The drive worked its magic; it gave her time to sort through it all, emotionally. Now, she was able to think.

If this business failed, it was on her. There was no getting around that.

She had almost killed her ex-husband. True, it had been in self-defense. But people were going to twist this around, as they often did. Even if she was proclaimed innocent, the damage had been done. They could not deny this.

The idea of cops, courts, and judges freaked her out. It brought up memories she'd rather not think about. It was hard to start fresh with all these painful memories tugging at you—and then just when you think you've done it, bam. Your life circles back around on you.

How many times did this have to happen to one person? How many times did one life need to be forced into reinvention? How much of a price did she have to pay to be happy?

Was Cora right when she said it would be okay? The woman had a lot of faith in the justice system—even after she'd seen it fail time and time again. Even though they both had lost several friends to it.

It's not perfect,
Cora's voice rang in her head.
But it does more good than harm.

“Do more good than harm” seemed to be her friend's mantra. Most of the time, Jane agreed. She tried to live by it as well. But sometimes, she wasn't as strong as Cora.

She drove toward Indigo Gap in her Volkswagen bug, then entered the small town. The speed limit slowed and the quaint storefronts and businesses welcomed her. The florist. The pub. The café. The Christmas Store. The Nature Store. The bookstore. Despite what she was going through, she felt herself loving this place and allowed herself a glimmer of hope that it would work out.

Jane had hated leaving that afternoon. She knew it would upset Cora and London, and she hated that. But her taking off was self-preservation. She needed to do it. She'd learned over the years that sometimes you needed to walk away, gain some distance.

That space and time served her well. She dug down deep, as she drove, and decided it was all worth fighting for—every piece of this new life of hers. This is exactly what she would do with the help of Cora, Cashel, and Ruby. They were counting on her. As was London. She couldn't let them down. Not this time. Not these people.

The moon shone brightly on Kildare House. She pulled into the driveway, exited her car, and stood in the light of the moon, whispering a little prayer that her new secret wouldn't destroy everything.

The secret that had been hers to keep could also be the secret that destroyed a friendship. She had to be careful about this, because it was also her alibi. Every secret found its way out, eventually. She grimaced. She had just been hoping to keep it a little while longer.

* * *

Jane, Cora, and Ruby met in the kitchen the next morning to go over some last-minute details about the retreat. What time was Jude getting in? When would their first crafter arrive? Did they have enough coffee, tea, and munchies? While the meeting was going on, Cora whipped up yet another batch of blueberry muffins.

“You can never have enough muffins on hand,” Cora said. She pulled out the last batch.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Ruby said, barely looking up from the scarf she was knitting.

“Let's go over the list one more time, just to make sure we are covered,” Cora said as she set the muffins on her cooling rack, their smell taunting her. With her emotions running on high, she could eat about a dozen or so.

As Jane read items off the list, Cora made another pot of coffee.

“You can't have enough coffee, either,” Ruby said.

“Or chocolate,” Cora said.

“Or sex,” Jane added, then burst out laughing.

The doorbell rang. Could it be? Could their famous broom maker be arriving? All three women headed for the front door.

When Jude Sawyer, the broom maker, walked into Kildare House, it was as if he filled it. Not that he was such a huge man, though he was tall and well built, with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs. It was more his sheer presence. Charisma radiated from him. Cora, Jane, and Ruby greeted him and flitted around him like a group of chickadees.

“I'm so glad you could make it. It's good you're here a bit early, too,” Cora said.

“Can I get you anything?” Ruby, normally a bit dour, suddenly perked up. Her face was a little pink and her eyes brightened as she smiled. Her happy face complemented the rainbow sweater she wore—handmade with hand-dyed wool, of course. “Cora just made blueberry muffins and a fresh pot of coffee.”

Jude looked at her a bit bashfully. The younger man knew he was appreciated by women, including this woman, old enough to be his mother. Was he embarrassed? Cora wondered. Or was it false humility?

“How about some coffee?” he asked Ruby.

“We've got the coffeepot on most of the time,” Ruby replied. “How do you like it?”

“Black,” he said.

“I'll show you to your room while Ruby gets your coffee,” Jane said. “You can put your things away and get a feel for the place.”

Cora watched Jude take Jane in. He apparently liked what he saw. Her long black hair was pulled up into a messy bun. She had just smeared red lipstick onto her upturned lips before he entered the house. It brought out those deep blue eyes of hers. Soulful, just like Jane.

Cora and Jane hadn't had a chance to catch up yet, between getting London off to school, breakfast, and attending to last-minute details.

“Gorgeous woodwork,” Jude said, his hands grazing the banister as he and Jane made their way up the stairs.

“The house was built in 1892,” Jane said. “There are so many wonderful details. The woodwork. The floors. Wait until you see the main fireplace. I live in the carriage house out back. Even there, the workmanship is exquisite.”

“This is a Tiffany window,” Jane said as they stopped on the landing. “You wouldn't think to see it in a small town like this, but the family were admirers of fine art and craftsmanship.”

“It's a Celtic goddess, Brigid,” Jane said. “Goddess of poetry and crafts.”

“Very appropriate,” Jude said.

As Jane and Jude walked farther up the stairs and out of listening distance, Ruby appeared with Jude's coffee.

“He'll be back down,” Cora said. “He's a bit entranced with the place.”

“He's entranced with something,” Ruby snorted.

“Most men are.”

“You ain't so bad yourself,” Ruby said. “Why don't you have a guy?”

Cora shrugged.
Go out and get a guy, like you were picking apples.
As if it were that easy. She thought of Cashel, momentarily, but then immediately erased him from her mind, while his mother stood in front of her.

“I just . . . haven't met the right guy, I suppose.” She thought she had once—but Dante was history.

“You're young and pretty,” Ruby said. “You should be out experimenting. You know, getting laid.”

Cora felt her cheeks flush—and hated herself for it. It was one of the many scourges of being a fair-skinned redhead.

Ruby cackled, noticing her flush. “I'm sorry—didn't mean to embarrass you. I've got some sorting to do in the cottage,” she said after a moment of uncomfortable silence had passed. “I do hate to leave and miss that eye candy. But I'll catch you later.”

With that, she was gone. Ruby knew how to disappear out of a room.

Jane came back down the stairs. “Jude asked for his coffee in his room. Says he needs some time to get organized. He'll be down for lunch.”

Cora handed Jane the mug of coffee, and Jane headed back up the stairs.

“I had no idea he was so, um, hot,” Jane said over her shoulder with a grin.

“Behave yourself,” Cora called back. That was all she needed—a love-struck Jane. They had talked about how it was not a good idea for Jane to get involved with anyone quite yet. How she needed to give herself some time alone. But a voluptuous woman like Jane had to beat back the men sometimes.

When the doorbell rang, Cora thought it might be Mary-Laura Johnson, who was bringing gourds over for the gift baskets. But when she opened the door, she was distressed to see two police officers, different ones than had visited the carriage house earlier.

“Can I help you?” Cora asked.

“I'm Officer Glass and this is Officer Shimer. We're looking for Jude Sawyer. Is he staying here?”

“Mr. Sawyer is a guest here, yes,” Cora responded, wondering what this could be about. How did they even know Jude? He was from Tennessee. “He'll be teaching a class here this weekend.”

“That's what we thought,” Officer Glass said. “We need to talk with him. Where is he?”

“In his room.”

“And where is that?”

“I don't think it's appropriate for you to bother him in his room, Officers. I will be happy to bring him to you,” Cora said.

“No problem, Cora,” Jude said as he came down the stairs. “I'm here.”

“Is there someplace private we could talk?” Officer Shimer asked.

Cora sent them all into the paper-crafting room. Before she shut the door, she stood back and took in the contrasting sight of the big uniformed police officers surrounded by beautiful paper, ribbons, and sparkly embellishments.

She couldn't resist standing outside the closed door and eavesdropping. Why were the local police here to see her guest teacher? She sort of had a right to know, didn't she? Two visits from the police in two days? She hoped this wasn't going to be a habit.

She pressed her ear up to the solid chestnut door but couldn't hear a word.

“What are you doing?” Jane said from behind her.

“Shhh!” Cora pointed toward the door.

A bewildered Jane pulled Cora off to the kitchen.

“What's going on?” she asked once they were alone.

“Jude's in there with two police officers,” Cora answered.

“What the—”

“Exactly,” Cora said, crossing her arms. “I had a bad feeling about having a man at our first retreat.”

“I know, I know, but this could be something fairly mundane.”

“Like what? A parking ticket? They've been in there awhile. It doesn't make sense,” Cora said.

“Did you do a background check on him?” Jane asked after a moment.

“He's Jude freakin' Sawyer,” Cora said.

“Does that mean no? You didn't do a background check? Honestly, Cora!”

Cora always assumed folks were innocent until proven guilty and didn't see the need for background checks. She preferred to judge after getting to know someone. But the longer Jude's meeting with the local police went on, the more she started to see the wisdom of background checks.

Jane needed to go back to the carriage house. But Ruby had entered in the back kitchen door and stood in her way. Like a stone. Or more like a mountain. She was immovable.

“I don't think you should go back there,” Ruby said, with a quick glance at the back door that opened to the screened porch.

“Why?” Jane said. Cora came up behind her.

“Just trust me on this,” Ruby said. Her eyes were rimmed in red. Had she been crying?

“What's wrong?” Cora said.

“I saw the cops are here. Are they still here? What are they doing here?” Ruby said, her bottom lip twitching.

Jane knew how paranoid Ruby was about the police. She was definitely part of the generation of aging hippie-flower children who thought cops were all out to get them. Jane had some issues with the cops, as well, but not like this.

“Do you mind?” Jane said. “I need to go back to my place. I've got some things to take care of before I need to go get London.”

“Let's go back in the kitchen for a minute,” Ruby said, pushing both Jane and Cora back inside. She was agitated—or was she frightened?

“What's going on? For God's sakes, Ruby. We don't have time for this . . . ,” Jane said.

“Where are the cops?” Ruby demanded.

“Are you worried about them?” Jane said. “They're in the paper-crafting room with Jude.” She headed for the paper-crafting room, with Cora and Ruby trailing behind her.

“Look, I bought the brooms fair and square. I can't help it if her family doesn't like it. They took my money, didn't they?” Jude said, with a booming voice.

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” Ruby said. “But we've got a situation.”

“You're damn right we do,” Jude said. “I've been accused of theft and I don't like it.”

“What?” Cora said. “That's absurd.”

Officer Shimer eyeballed the three women. “What do you want?” he said.

“I'd like to report a crime,” Ruby said.

“What kind of crime?” he asked her.

“I was walking around back, walking from my place to the main house. And I walked by the carriage house—”

“You live here?” Officer Glass interrupted.

“Yes, on the property, in the gardener's cottage,” Ruby explained impatiently. “And Jane lives in the carriage house.”

“How many people live here in total?” Officer Glass asked, scratching his head.

“Three adults and one child,” Cora answered. “Ruby, what's going on?”

“As I was walking by, well, I noticed something strange,” she said.

“Strange? A strange person?” Glass said, standing up.

“No, I wish. I didn't see him,” she replied. Her hands were on her hips, now, and her voice was forceful.

“Him?” Jane said. “Him who?” Jane's voice rose a few decibels.

“Calm down,” Shimer said, standing up. “Let her finish.”

Jane stood close to Cora, wondering what Ruby was blathering on about. She tended to be a little dramatic at times.

“Someone spray-painted a message on Jane's door,” Ruby said.

“Huh? My door?” Jane said.

“What does it say?” Cora asked.

Ruby shook her head back and forth.

“Let's go out there and check it out,” Shimer said.

They all followed Ruby out, through the back kitchen door, past the rows of marigolds and mums, and down to the quaint carriage house Jane called home. The place was newly painted in sky blue and cranberry trim around the windows—with the approval of the historical commission. They had hung shutters and flower boxes to match last week.

A gasp escaped from Jane's mouth as she read the message. G
O
H
OME
, K
ILLER
was spray-painted in orange across her door.

Cora stood beside her and wrapped her arm around her.

Ruby cleared her throat. “There was an intruder on this property, Officers, one who vandalized this house. What are you going to do about it—stand there, looking stupid?”

The cops eyed each other. Shimer pulled out his cell phone and called the station. “We'll need to search the area. It couldn't have happened very long ago. What time did you leave your house this morning?” he asked Jane.

Jane couldn't speak. Her mouth wouldn't move. Why was her tongue so dry?

“She came to a breakfast meeting at eight-thirty,” Cora said. “I'm sorry, Officers, I think she's had quite a shock. I should really get her inside.”

“I agree,” Shimer said. He slipped his cell phone in his pocket. “We're going to search the area. It's eleven-thirty, so the person could be anywhere by now. But we'll ask around. Maybe a neighbor saw something. You never know.”

“Thanks, so much, Officer,” Cora said, leading Jane away and into the house, past Ruby and Jude, who stood by, befuddled.

Jane forced a smile as they passed Jude and went back into the kitchen, where Cora sat her down and put a glass of water in front of her. Jane held the water in her hand—it was so nice and cool against her sweaty skin. She took a drink and then pressed the glass to her face.

“Are you okay?” Cora asked.

“I don't know,” Jane said, after a minute. Light was streaming through the kitchen window and shining right on Cora, her best friend in the world, standing there with an air of concern pasted on her face, but sheer fear was just beneath the facade. Jane knew this because she knew Cora so well. “Stop biting your lip.”

“Okay. It's going to be okay,” Cora said. “Cashel is going to get you completely off, of course, because you are innocent and then . . .”

“But someone believes I'm guilty,” she said.

Cora sighed. “It looks that way, doesn't it? Okay, let them believe what they want.”

“But in the meantime—”

“In the meantime, we do as Cashel suggests.”

“You mean we just . . . act like nothing has happened?”

“Yes,” Cora said after a minute, but she looked away.

“Really?” Jane said. There was something about the way Cora turned from her and started wiping off the kitchen counter. She was hiding something. “For some reason, I don't quite believe you.”

Cora turned to face her. “Well, as far as Cashel and the rest of the town know, we are going to do what we do best. Crafting. Retreating. Being nice and friendly.”

“But?”

“But we also need to find a murderer.”

Jane took a long drink of water and set the glass down. “You aren't suggesting, again, what I think you are? That we somehow investigate Sarah's murder on our own?”

“That's exactly what I mean.”

“Girl, you have lost your ever-loving mind.”

“No, I haven't. It doesn't look like the police are getting anywhere. Why shouldn't we poke around a bit?”

“Because, um, murder? If we piss the killer off, they might come after us. Besides, we could make the police mad. I don't need that.”

“No, you don't,” Cora said after a minute. “Which is why we need to be careful.”

Jane knew then that Cora had her mind set. There was no turning back. Not now. And it scared Jane to death. Only Cora would attempt something like this, so blinded by her absolute need to help.

“I don't think this is a good idea,” Jane said.

“Relax,” Cora said, crossing her arms and leaning on the counter. “It will be fine. Trust me.”

She did trust Cora. But she was talking about investigating a murder case. It wasn't the same thing as starting a new business together—or even working with abused women, tough as it was. This was life and death, and they had no idea what they were doing. She'd have to keep a close eye on Cora, who often went into situations purely on instinct, without much thought. This could get downright messy.