Death Among the Doilies (10 page)

When Cora still wasn't home after Jane returned from taking London to school, she started to worry. It was ridiculous, Jane knew. If anybody could take care of herself, it was Cora. When most people looked at Cora, they might think she was pretty and sweet and, well, almost pixie-like. But looks deceived. Cora was a warrior.

A creative-warrior vintage-fairy-princess. But still. A warrior.

She noticed a car pulling up to the house and wondered if it was a guest arriving early. When Jane opened the front door, she realized that it was that guy from the historical commission.

“Good morning,” she said. “Can I help you?”

“I'm Edgar Thorncraft.”

“Yes,” she said. “I remember. Is there a problem?”

“I'm checking on the parking situation. I know you're having guests this weekend,” he said and used one of his long bony fingers to push his glasses back on his nose.

“There will be cars parked here and in the driveway. Cora isn't here now, but she informed you about this, right?”

He nodded. “I wanted to make sure the number of guests hadn't grown. We don't want visitors to our quaint historical town to see an eyesore in the form of a big pile of cars in front of one of our most famous houses,” he said with a biting tone.

Jane frowned. “As far as I know, our registration has remained the same as when Cora spoke with you. If it's changed, I'll have her call you. Do you have a card?”

“She has my number.”

So do I,
Jane thought. “Okay,” she said. “I'll pass along your concerns.” She walked forward out of the house, trying to usher him along. But he stood and observed the house, then turned back to Jane.

“You are Jane Starr, correct?”

She nodded.

“Humph. My sister loves your pottery,” he said and then walked away.

“That's so good to hear,” she called out after him.

What an odd bird. The words “lacking in social skills” rang in her head. Oh well. She wasn't going to worry about him today. Today was an important day. The retreat guests were arriving, and they were going to have a fabulous reception. Launch day. She could hardly believe it.

If someone had said to her ten years ago that this life was going to be hers, she wouldn't have believed it. Of course, it could all be taken away if by some strange fluke she was found guilty of the murder of Sarah Waters.

As she turned the corner into the backyard and garden that was between the main house and the carriage house, Jane saw some weeds and bent down to pluck them out. When she stood back up, there was Ruby, with her hands on her hips.

“Where were you last night?” Ruby demanded.

“Here. I mean, I was home.” Why was Ruby questioning her as if she were guilty of something? She'd noticed Ruby regarding her oddly a few times today. It was unsettling—was Ruby suspicious of her? Or was Jane being paranoid?

“Didn't you hear all the commotion out front?” Ruby persisted.

“No,” she said, with her heartbeat escalating. What was going on?

“Well, it turned out to be nothing,” Ruby said. “But that Josh Waters was sneaking around the property. Brought over a box of doilies and put it on the front porch.”

“What? Why would he do that?”

“Good question. He said that Cora should have them. After all, she paid for them.”

“Well,” Jane said, making a mental note that a nearby flower bed needed some attention, “I suppose he was trying to be nice.”

“At midnight? Nobody is up to any good at that hour of the day.” Ruby scowled.

“So what happened?”

“Cora called the cops. They were here. Sirens. Lights, Everything. You didn't hear a thing?”

“No,” Jane said. Last night, she must have checked all the doors and windows five times before she went to sleep. She was such a sound sleeper that it had become a joke with her family, how she could sleep through anything. The only time she didn't slept through noise was when London was a baby. “I didn't hear anything, but that's not unusual.”

“Where's Cora?” Ruby said.

“I don't know. Maybe she's at the police station because of what happened last night.”

“I doubt it. It was resolved pretty quickly. She's not pressing charges. I think she felt sorry for the guy. He is kind of pitiful.”

“Is he?” Jane asked, thinking about Cora's suspicion about him killing Sarah.

Ruby nodded. “I've always felt sorry for him. I didn't know him or Sarah well, but he seemed like the clichéd browbeaten husband. Always looked tired, slumped over, followed her around like a puppy dog.”

Jane bent down and plucked a few more weeds. “What about their daughter—the one who Cora ran into yesterday?”

“Bad seed,” Ruby said. “Very bad seed.”

Jane felt a chill travel up her spine and she shivered. Was it a premonition? Or was she just nervous because of the secret she was keeping?

When Cora walked into the police station, she was pleased to spot Officer Glass from the incident the night before standing behind a desk where the receptionist was seated. He spotted her and smiled. Cora smiled back. The sweetest, most charming smile she could muster.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist said.

“Are you here about last night?” Officer Glass asked. He was familiar with both Cora and Kildare House by now. He'd been to the place twice during the past few days.

“In a way, yes. I would like to talk with you, if that's okay,” Cora said.

“I have a few minutes. Come inside,” he said and opened the door.

Cora walked down the hallway to a wide office filled with cubicles. Officer Glass led her into his cubicle. Plants and photos of his family donned his L-shaped desk.

“What can I help you with?” he said.

“Well, first I wanted to thank you for coming by the house last night,” she said. She handed him the basket of muffins.

“Thank you. I'll share it with the guys. Very kind of you,” he said and unfolded the towel on top of the muffins and took a whiff. An expression of pure pleasure came over his face.

“I was wondering if you could recommend an alarm company,” Cora said. “I didn't think we'd need it. I researched before we came here and the crime rate is so low. The police here do such a good job. But now I wonder if I might need one. Between the graffiti incident and last night, well, I'm kind of shaken,” she said, wondering if he'd believe her. She didn't believe herself, even as she spoke the words.

“Our crime rate is very low,” he said. “But I can recommend a few alarm companies.” He placed a muffin on a napkin on his desk, reached for a tablet, and started to scratch down a few names.

“I was surprised yesterday when someone mentioned the Waters family had problems with drugs. I mean, here, in Indigo Gap? Drugs?” Cora said.

He set his pencil down and squinted at her.

“I guess drugs are everywhere,” she continued. “But it's one of the reasons I left Pittsburgh. I was so tired of the junkies in my neighborhood.” Lies, lies, lies. There hadn't been a single junkie in her neighborhood—at least none that she knew of.

Officer Glass merely grunted in agreement.

“Are there any places in town I should stay away from?” Cora asked.

“No,” he replied. “It's very safe in town.”

“But yesterday I was nearly assaulted at the Waters house,” she said.

“Why didn't you call us?”

“I handled it and left quickly.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I went for the yard sale—remember, that's why Josh brought me the box of doilies.”

“Oh yes, right.”

“But I smelled something odd. I thought it was coming from the opium kits and collectibles Sarah had. But now I don't know.”

His eyebrows hitched. Cora took that as an invitation to keep talking.

“I'm sure if that family is involved in drugs, you all would know it, and that would be a part of your investigation into Sarah's murder,” Cora said.

“I'm not on that case so I couldn't tell you. It's an ongoing investigation so things are pretty hush-hush.”

“I wish I knew. It would allow me to sleep better. I mean, I moved here, thinking I'd be safer, and . . .” She allowed her voice to rise a little and batted her eyes. Oh, she was making herself sick! Would he buy into this god-awful acting job of hers?

“I'll tell you what. I'll check into it a little bit and let you know, okay?” Officer Glass said in kind of a condescending voice.

But he meant well. He was trying to help a community member feel safe. She knew that. So she smiled, yet again.

“I'd so appreciate that,” she said. Her grandmother's voice rang in her head:
You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

“Here's the list of alarm companies we recommend,” he said and slid the paper across the desk.

“Thanks so much, Officer Glass,” Cora said, extending her hand. “Thank you, I feel so much better knowing you'll help me out a bit.”

When he smiled back at her, Cora could've sworn he was checking her out—as in his eyes sparked with a leering quality. No. Could it be? Certainly not. She must be misreading the situation. She tried to shrug it off as she left.

* * *

As Cora walked through town back toward her house, she pulled out her phone from her crocheted handbag to check her messages. Dang. Five messages. Three were from the caterer. One was from Jane, and the other was from Ruby.

She listened to Jane's message first. “Where are you? I'm starting to worry about you. It's opening day and where are you?”

Opening day! Yes! Cora knew it was opening day, of course, but had to check a few things off her list before she could get to the rest of the day's activities.

The message from Ruby was typically to the point. “Good morning, sunshine. The caterers are trying to reach you.”

Cora's heart began to race. Three messages from the caterer and one from Ruby about them as well. What was going on?

Cora didn't bother listening to the rest of the messages; she just called the caterer directly.

“Hi, Ms. Day, this is Cora Chevalier,” she said when Darla picked up the phone. “I didn't listen to your messages, but I saw that you left them. What's going on?”

“We're going to substitute some of the cheese that you selected. I didn't want it to be a surprise. One of our suppliers had some diseased cows or something and has just gotten busted,” Darla said.

Busted
was an odd word coming out of Darla Day's mouth for some reason.

Is this really why she had left
three
messages and it wasn't even ten
AM
?
Because of cheese?
Cora thought.

Cora loved her food, but she wondered if Darla was a bit off. Why make such a big deal about cheese?

“Thanks so much,” Cora said. “Is there anything else?”

“Would you like to select one of the other local cheeses before tonight?”

“No,” Cora said, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I trust you implicitly.”
And don't call me back unless there is an emergency,
she wanted to say, but didn't.

“Well,” Darla said. “Thank you for that. Very good to know. We'll see you around four?”

“Yes, see you then,” Cora said.

Okay, so she wasn't experienced dealing with caterers, but that was making a mountain out of a mole hill. It was one more reason to get the kitchen into good shape so that she could do the cooking and baking herself.

As she rounded the corner to the street where her house sat, Cora observed Jane talking with Edgar Thorncraft in the front yard. She backed up and hid behind a hedge. He was the last person she wanted to see.

Suddenly, she was a bundle of nerves. Tonight was the night—the beginning of their craft-retreat business. And despite her hard work, she sensed her carefully laid plans might unravel.

Cora, Jane, and Ruby spent the rest of the day checking in their guests and getting them situated. Two women, Martha and Diane, had driven up all the way from Florida. Miranda, with the pretty soft blue eyes, had come from Tennessee. Several of the other women had come from Ohio; they had a crafting group and traveled together to be a part of the retreat.

Cora was basking in the warmth of these women. They were eager to try a new craft or two over the next few days, and so was Cora. She could hardly wait.

She snapped a few photos of some of the preparations—the centerpieces, and baskets, plus the bouquet her uncle had sent. She intended to write up a blog post this afternoon. Keeping up with social media was a never-ending task. But she wanted her blog followers who couldn't make it to the retreat to feel like they were in the loop.

She dashed off to her apartment, and with Luna in her lap, she wrote a post.

Then she lay down on her bed—just a quick wink would help to refresh her for the rest of the afternoon. She was a firm believer in power naps—necessary to the creative process.

* * *

Cora applied pink lipstick and took one last view at herself in the mirror. Not bad. Cora's guests were all now here. The caterers were here. Everything was moving along like clockwork.

She had changed into her beloved 1960s red-and-white minidress and vintage white boots. She slipped the Bakelite earrings on and grinned. “This is it,” she told herself, her green eyes blinking back at her.

She glanced over her room and saw Luna curled up in the box of doilies. When she saw Cora giving her a look-see, she mewed. It was her hungry mew.

“Okay, Luna,” Cora said. “Follow me into the kitchen.”

Kitchen
was not quite the right word for it. It was more of a kitchenette, with a fridge and a tiny stove, which she only used to boil water for her daily tea breaks. But it was efficient and Cora liked it—in fact, she liked her whole apartment. Her favorite part of it was the way the ceiling sloped and the interesting nooks and crannies throughout that were turrets and window seats. It was large, the biggest attic apartment Cora had ever seen. But the space was open—the living room, kitchen, and dining room were one huge space sectioned off by nothing more than furniture. Her bedroom and another room were separate rooms. She also had a huge oddly shaped storage room, which made her feel a little bit like Alice in Wonderland.

Luna followed and watched as Cora prepared her food and sat the dish in front of her.

“Your Majesty,” Cora said and smiled. Then she gave Luna a scratch on her calico head.

She went back into her bedroom to grab a handmade shawl to wrap around her shoulders. October in North Carolina was not like October in Pennsylvania. Thank goddess for that. But there was still a chill. They had not turned the furnace on yet for the season, but a fire roared in the fireplace downstairs. The old house was drafty.

As she reached for her shawl, she noticed that a few doilies had escaped the box. She picked one up and held it up to the light. It was beautiful, with elegant stitch work. Did Sarah herself make these?

Cora was expected downstairs, of course, but she couldn't help digging around a bit in the box. She marveled at the luscious, lacy doilies with tinges of pinks and purples.

As she reached farther into the box, something solid, cool, and hard touched her fingers.

She flipped the box upside down on her bed.

There, nestled among the delicate doilies, was a small gun.

A gun? What the heck?

It was the smallest and most elegant gun Cora had ever seen. Jewel encrusted. Perhaps a lady's pistol? What did Cora know? She was ignorant about guns, but this one was tiny and pretty. Still, she hated guns. Nothing good ever came of them. She made a mental note to remember to tell Ruby to get rid of her own gun as soon as possible.

But what was a gun doing in this box?

As she mulled it over, she started to wonder if Josh knew the gun was in the box. Or did he, in his haste, drop it in the box so the police didn't see it? Which would mean that he was up to no good, as Ruby suggested. Cora felt a shiver. She pulled the wrap over her shoulders closer.

Just what she needed. A gun in her bedroom at the start of her opening reception. She'd endeavor to sweep it out of her mind and be a good hostess. But later, she'd pay Josh Waters a visit to return the gun. But she promised herself that this time she wouldn't go alone.

She wrapped the gun in one of the doilies and placed it back in the flimsy box. Sarah Waters certainly collected some interesting things—this gun included, if indeed it had been hers.

As Cora descended the stairs, she heard music and laughter from the party already starting on the main floor. She'd hired a local modern bluegrass trio to help celebrate. Strains of the banjo and guitar welcomed her. Her guests gathered in groups across the foyer and into the sitting room. The couch brimmed with women. The chairs were full, and people held plates of food and glasses of wine. Cora gave herself a moment to soak it in.

“You know my date,” Ruby said as she came up beside Cora.

“Your date?” Cora turned. It was Cashel, in blue jeans and a gorgeous sweater that Cora was certain someone (probably Ruby) had made for him. It was an unusual shade of green, which brought out the green flecks in his eyes. He looked good. He should wear jeans more often.

“Oh, hi, Cashel,” Cora said. “How's it going?”

“I was wondering how your meeting with the police went today. Did you find out anything?” he asked.

“Not yet, but I have feelers out.” Cora watched as one of the caterers carried a tray around to her guests. “Good to know you're here, Cashel,” she said in a slightly quieter tone. “I have something in my bedroom I need to show you before the night is over.”

He nearly choked on his drink as his face reddened.

“Land sakes,” Ruby said. “Aren't you brash? And right in front of his mother.”

“No, no,” Cora said hurriedly, as she realized her poor choice of words. “That's not what I mean. Not at all. I'm sorry.” She felt her face heat with a blush.

“Cora.” Jane walked over to her. “There's a group of women in the paper-crafting room with questions about tomorrow's schedule. I couldn't answer them.”

“Excuse me,” Cora said. “We'll talk later, Cashel.” He gave her a crooked, impish grin.

“What did I miss?” Jane said.

“I'll tell you later,” Cora said quickly. Leaving the others behind, Cora entered the paper-crafting room, where two women stood admiring the shelves of supplies.

It was the two women from Florida—Martha and Diane.

“Hi there,” Cora said.

“I'm a big fan of your blog,” Martha said.

“Thanks so much. What can I help you with?”

“Well, we had a question about the schedule,” Diane said, pulling it out from her bag. “There seems to be a lot of time between the classes?”

Cora nodded. “I'll be speaking about this in a moment. Won't you join me in the sitting room?”

They followed her in, and Cora clinked a spoon to her glass to get everybody's attention.

“I'd like to thank you all for being here for the first retreat,” Cora said, as the crowd hushed and gathered around her. “This place is a dream come true for me. I wanted a place where people could gather and learn new crafts in a supportive, safe, and free environment. With no pressure. As many of you know, when I worked as a counselor at a women's shelter, I realized how healing and how much fun crafting could be. To take classes or hang out working on what you want to do. So, as someone mentioned just now, there's a lot of downtime in the schedule. It is, after all, a retreat. A time you've given yourself to think and reflect while crafting. I'm so happy you're all here.”

Cora's eyes met Jane's misty eyes.

“This, ladies and gentlemen, is my best friend, and one of the best potters in the world, Jane Starr.”

Jane waved.

“She won't be teaching classes this weekend, as we're not quite ready for it, but if you have any questions about pottery, she's your girl.”

A smattering of polite applause erupted from the small crowd.

“And of course, our guest teacher Jude Sawyer will be teaching a broom-making class first thing tomorrow morning.”

More applause, a bit louder this time.

Jude lifted his head and gave a little wave. He was flanked by two women, neither of them Ivy, Cora noted. He must have ducked her.

“And where is Ruby?” Cora scanned the gathered crowd to see Ruby, who was raising her hand.

“Our resident herbalist is Ruby O'Malley,” Cora said. “She'll be teaching the candle-making and soap-making classes this weekend. But she's always happy to talk about herbs if you have any questions.”

“A toast!” Ruby suddenly said. “A toast to Cora.” She cast her eyes toward Cashel, and he raised his glass. “Congratulations!”

As all the guests raised their glasses to her, Cora's heart filled with emotion. She blinked away tears and lifted her glass.

It was then that a gunshot rang out.

Everybody stood still—it was like something out of an old movie. All eyes were on Cora, her mouth hanging open.

“That darn neighbor of ours,” Ruby said, thinking quick and breaking the stunned silence. “That car of his backfires and it always sounds like a gun. Sorry about that folks—we didn't mean to startle you.”

“Yes,” Cora said, finally finding her voice. “Please relax and enjoy the food and music.”

Her heart pounded. She excused herself as gracefully as she could and headed upstairs to check. Did that shot come from the gun in her bedroom? If so, who shot it?

Cora headed quickly for the stairs, with Cashel and Jane following close behind. Ruby kept the guests busy downstairs, discussing different kinds of wax with a group of crafters, as the three of them made a beeline for the attic apartment.

“What was that, honestly?” Jane whispered.

“I have my suspicions,” Cora replied, as they made their way upstairs.

Cora looked at Cashel when they arrived at her door. “Just before I came down to the party, I rummaged through my box of doilies and inside was a pretty little gun.”

“A pretty gun?” Jane said.

“And you think it might have gone off?” Cashel said.

“My cat is inside. I'm hoping she's okay,” Cora said as she opened the door.

But the apartment appeared to be empty.

“The gun isn't where I left it,” Cora said, shifting through the doilies covering her bedspread. “Luna?” Cora called.

“Luna?” Cora repeated, then searched under her bed to find her terrified cat, who mewed an awful, mournful sob of a mew. Cora pulled her out and brought her to her chest. “There, there, kitty.” She stroked and scratched the cat to soothe her.

“But where is the gun?” Cashel asked, looking around.

“There it is,” Jane pointed to the gun, which was on the kitchen floor. A bullet hole blackened a nearby cupboard.

“Whoa,” Cashel said. “You're lucky you weren't here when it went off.”

“But how . . .” Jane said.

“Obviously Luna knocked it off the bed and it fired. It's a good thing she didn't shoot herself,” Cora said.

“Why would you leave a loaded gun lying around?” Cashel asked angrily.

“I don't know anything about guns,” Cora protested. “I had no idea it was loaded.”

Cashel carefully picked the gun up off the floor. He opened the gun and emptied out a few bullets.

“It is pretty,” Jane said, admiring the jewel-encrusted weapon.

“We need to return that as soon as possible,” Cora said. “Like tonight. I'll never be able to sleep with it in the house, let alone my apartment.”

“Okay,” Jane said. “I don't think I can go with you because I need to get London to bed and the sitter needs to get home.”

“I'll go with you,” Cashel said to Cora. “It's no problem.”

Jane glowered at Cora. She'd made her feelings about Cora's attraction to him quite clear.

“I think that would be a good idea,” Cora said and grinned at Jane, who rolled her eyes and walked off. After all, what could it hurt to bring the handsome Cashel O'Malley with her on this gorgeous October evening? A girl could always use a good friend like him. The fact that he was so scrumptious had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.