Death Among the Doilies (20 page)

“Maybe she's not staying here,” Jane said, after they had knocked on the door and had rung the doorbell of Sarah Waters' former home several times.

“She's not,” said a voice from behind them. Jane and Cora turned to see a man, probably in his seventies. Neither of them had ever seen him before.

“We brought her muffins,” Cora said. “Do you know where she is?”

He nodded. “I'm Harv Masters. I live next door. She's quite depressed. I'm not sure she could take a visit from anybody right now.”

“Is she staying with you?” Jane asked. “I'm Jane, by the way. This is Cora. We've moved into the Kildare House.”

“I know who you are,” he said, shaking their hands. “And yes, Becca is staying with us. We're doing the best we can for her.” He looked at Cora. “You the woman with the doilies?”

“The doilies from the yard sale? Yes.”

“Perhaps she would like to see you after all,” he said. “Follow me. By the way, this place is a crime scene, again. Nobody is supposed to be here. I've been keeping an eye out.” He pointed to the yellow crime-scene tape on the door, which Cora and Jane had ignored.

Harv led them to his backyard. A woman was sitting on a back porch, finishing what looked like a slice of apple pie. But Cora didn't want to ogle the pie.

“You were right,” said the woman. “There was someone over there.” She stood as they approached.

Cora introduced herself and Jane. “We were looking for Rebecca. We're delivering his basket of muffins from Kildare House.”

“How kind of you,” the woman said. Cora took a closer view. Was this Rebecca? Was this the same woman who had attacked Cora a few days ago? That rage-filled woman was not this placid person now standing in front of them, was she? Cora was shocked by the change.

“Becca?” Harv said. It was her!

Becca took the basket from Cora. “Thanks so much. Do I know you?”

“We met briefly in the front yard of your mother's house,” Cora explained. “You were quite distraught.”

“Oh,” she said. Her faced reddened. “I do apologize. It was such a shock—the whole thing, my mom's death, her things being sold . . . I just . . .” She shrugged. “I am not handling it well. I'm so glad Harv found you. I wanted to apologize to you.”

“Please have a seat,” Harv said, as he brought over two more lawn chairs that had been stacked against the outside wall. It seemed rude not to sit, though Cora and Jane had not planned to be gone from the retreat for long.

“Becca, how are you doing now, if you don't mind my asking?” Cora said after they all sat down.

Becca was checking out the muffins. She took one, then handed the basket to Harv, who grinned.

Becca didn't smile. But her bearing was much better than the last time Cora had seen her. “It's a bit much to take actually. Both of my parents are dead. I feel very alone. Even though I'm not. I have a husband, friends, and so on. But I still feel so alone.”

Cora wondered about the whereabouts of her husband.

“I think it's going to take a lot of time and patience with yourself,” Cora said. “Grief is a tough one. When we are dealing with the loss of parents, it's rough. And with one gone it's hard enough. And then it's of course all compounded by the tragic nature of their deaths. Please give yourself some time. ”
It was almost as if she were talking to herself. Both of Cora's own parents had died after a horrible accident. Here one day, gone the next.

“Cora used to be a counselor,” Jane explained.

“She also knows some pretty fancy self-defense moves,” Becca said.

“Ah, yes,” Cora said. “A requirement of my old job. I worked at a women's shelter in a tough neighborhood in Pittsburgh.”

“What are you doing here?” Harv asked.

Cora sighed and told them her story. How did it end up that she was talking more about herself than finding out more about Becca Saunders?

“Can I get you something to drink? Where are my manners?” Harv said.

“No, thanks. We really can't stay. We have a house full of guests. But we did want to deliver the muffins and offer you our sympathy,” Cora said.

Becca scrutinized her fingers. Her hands were crossed on her lap. Her fingers twitched every now and then.

“You know, I wish I had gotten to know your mother,” Cora said. “She had the most interesting collections.”

Becca brightened a bit. “She did. In fact, she could be a bit of a hoarder. She'd get obsessed about something. It could be an item mentioned in a book or an article and she would go crazy, buying everything she could. She needed to possess it,” Becca said.

“They never did find out who stole the million-dollar opium kit,” Harv said.

“Those opium kits are gorgeous. I never knew,” Cora said.

“Who would have? But there are drug paraphernalia societies and collector's groups and so on. She was involved in some of them. But she stopped collecting them after my sister's overdose,” Becca said.

“Oh?” Cora prodded.

“My mother associated her collection with what happened to my sister,” Becca said. “It was horrible, what my sister went through and what she put the rest of us through.”

“Where is your sister now?” Jane said.

“I wish I knew. The last account we had was that she was somewhere in England. We've hired a private detective to try to find her. She stands to inherit some money,” Becca said.

“Money? Edgar Thorncraft mentioned to me that Sarah left her money to the historical society,” Cora said.

“She did,” Harv said. “But this is big money. Her insurance policy payout is supposed to be split between Becca and her sister. The opium kit that was stolen was insured for over a million dollars.”

Cora watched Becca's reaction. She seemed resolute. Would she have killed her mother for the money? It seemed absurd. She'd get the money eventually, anyway. Why kill her mother to rush the thing, unless she were desperate for money? Unless she hated her mother? But that didn't seem to be the case.

“Where do you live, Becca?” Cora said.

“I live in Asheville. My husband is a surgeon there. He's trying to clear his schedule. He should be here tomorrow.”

Cora doubted money was an issue for Becca and her husband.

“We heard that your mom was seeing Edgar?” Jane asked gently.

“They were two peas in a pod,” Becca replied.

“But they fought like cats and dogs, sometimes,” Harv said and laughed, as if he were remembering a private joke.

Becca seemed to be cheered a bit by their visit. Cora knew that it often helped the grieving to talk about their loved ones. But she also knew it could be rough for them, too, if they weren't ready. After making a bit of small talk, Becca returned to the subject of her parents' murders.

“I just don't understand why anybody would want to kill either one of them,” she said.

“We've discussed this, and we know you'd have no reason,” Harv said to Jane.

“Thank you,” Jane said quietly.

“None of it makes any sense,” Harv said.

Becca guffawed. “Does murder ever make sense?”

“Unfortunately, sometimes it does,” Harv replied.

“So much for that,” Jane said as she and Cora walked along the streets of Indigo Gap back to the house.

“Do you think we can cross her off our list?” Cora asked.

“It would be a shock to find out that she killed anybody, but I always say never say never,” Jane responded.

“Remember Jill?”

Jane nodded. Jill was a girl that grew up in their old neighborhood. She was always sweet. She went to college, became a nurse, married a dentist, had kids, and one day killed them all—her husband, her kids, and herself. She had a complete psychotic break. It happened. People sometimes just broke.

“I don't think Becca is like Jill,” Jane said, after a moment.

“Probably not, even though she is fragile,” Cora agreed. “Dang, it's getting cold.” She wrapped her sweater in tighter around her.

“It is October,” Jane said.

The two of them walked down the cobblestone street. The sun was starting to set, and the mountains took on their blue haze, tinged with deep purple. Streetlights were beginning to glow.

A few people were on the sidewalks. A woman dressed all in pink walked by them and nodded. A group of retreaters rapped on the window of the diner when Cora and Jane walked by. They smiled and waved back. They turned the corner and were almost at the florist shop. Cora had wanted to order some flowers for her Uncle Jon and Beatrice, but it seemed as if the shop were already closed, as the curtains were drawn. A man walked toward them down the sidewalk. It was Edgar.

“Hello, Edgar,” Cora said with as bright a note in her voice as she could muster. Weariness washed over her. What an exhausting day. Jude. The detective. Visiting with Becca. Now Edgar.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said and smiled. “Where are you off to this evening?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” Jane said.

“It is a pretty evening, isn't it?” he said. “I would've thought you'd be too busy entertaining to enjoy it.”

“We're heading back now,” Cora said. Why did she feel guilty about this? Her business was none of his concern. Besides, the crafters didn't need her there all day and all night. In fact, most of them had their own plans for this evening.

“What are you up to?” Jane asked.

“I am heading over to the diner,” Edgar replied. “I take my Saturday night dinner there now. I used to—oh, never mind,” he said, a hollow expression coming over his face. “Saturdays used to be different. That's all.”

“You miss her,” Cora blurted out.

His eyes locked with hers.

“Yes, of course, I do,” he said. “She was my life.”

He glanced away from them, embarrassed. There was more to Edgar Thorncraft than met the eye. More than bow-ties and ever-wagging fingers.

“I'm sorry,” Cora said and touched his shoulder briefly. “Do you want to talk about it?” As she turned to face him, she glimpsed movement in the florist shop. A curtain moved. Or was that just the streetlight reflecting?

“Not really,” he said. “Talking doesn't change anything.”

Cora's heart sank. Poor guy. He was an uptight, reserved man. Not the kind of guy she usually hit it off with. But he was okay. And he was no killer. She felt it then and there in her bones. “She was my life,” he had said. Cora believed him.

“You will come to the reception tomorrow night?” Jane said. It broke the uncomfortable air that seemed to settle over the three of them. Jane grinned. “You know, it might be my last night of freedom.”

“Don't say that,” Edgar said. “I surely hope you are wrong.”

Cora's cell phone blared.

“Cora Chevalier,” she said after she accepted the call, moving down the sidewalk a bit. She hated taking calls during a conversation.

“Cora?” a voice said on the other end of the phone.

“Yes?”

“This is Ivy Renquist. I'm returning your very confusing phone call.”

“I'm sorry about that,” Cora said. “I was just checking to make sure you made it home okay. We were a bit concerned about you.”

“Home from where?”

“From the retreat. You left early and not under good circumstances. I'm so sorry about that.”

“I'm sorry, Cora, but I think there's been a misunderstanding. You called me to cancel days ago. You said there was a mistake and the retreat was full. I never came.”

“But there was an Ivy Renquist here,” Cora said, her voice tripping around herself as she tried to figure out this new development.

“Well, it wasn't me. Could there be another Ivy?”

“Anything is possible,” Cora said as she tried to gather her wits. “There must be some awful mistake.”

“I bet it's a computer glitch,” Ivy said. “Damned things.”

“When I figure out what happened, I'll let you know,” Cora said.

“Was my credit card charged?” the real Ivy said.

“I assume it was,” Cora said, sensing her face heat. “I'm so sorry. I will take care of this immediately.”

“Thanks so much. Please let me know,” Ivy said and then hung up.

Cora stood there on the sidewalk, deep in thought. What had gone on at the retreat this weekend? How could a woman take on another woman's identity and nobody catch it?

“Cora?” Edgar said. She hadn't noticed the way Jane and Edgar had moved in closer to her. “Is everything okay?”

“The reason we can't get a hold of Ivy Renquist,” Cora said to Jane, “is that she never showed up.”

“What? You're not making any sense.”

“The woman who was here was not Ivy.”

“Well, who was she?”

“I think we better find that out. Immediately,” Cora said. “Sorry, Edgar, but we need to get back to the house.”

“Yes, yes, well, I'm off to dinner. Good luck,” he said.

Cora and Jane practically ran all the way back to Kildare House.

Once they arrived back at Kildare House, Jane found Jude, who had been out for a run. She also stumbled across Ruby and thought it best for her join them in Cora's apartment, as well. Most of the crafters were gathered in the sitting room and a few were still out on the town. Cora longed to sit in her chair and work on her embroidery, basking in the fellowship of the other crafters, but this was an emergency that could not wait. Someone had breached security and maybe ripped off the real Ivy Renquist. Cora was furious.

“We found out that Ivy is not who she said she was,” Cora said bluntly once the four of them gathered in her apartment.

“What do you mean?” Ruby asked.

Cora recounted her earlier conversation with the real Ivy.

“I checked already and our intruder, whoever she was, paid for the retreat in full in cash. So she was not after Ivy's credit card,” Cora said.

“So what was she after?” Ruby asked.

“Maybe she was after Jude?” Cora said. All eyes turned to him.

“Well, she did get me, if that was the case,” he said. “Quite a few times, actually.” He grinned.

Ruby smacked him in the stomach. “Really, Jude. What would your daddy say about you and your hopping from bed to bed? Your mama and daddy raised you right. I know they did.”

His face reddened. “Sorry, Ruby,” he muttered.

“In any case, besides all that, I wondered, Jude, if she might have mentioned anything about where she lives or whatever. We need you to think. This is a serious crime,” Cora said.

“It's also a serious security breach,” Jane pointed out. “She somehow got our list of attendees, called one of them, and told them we were sold out and she shouldn't bother attending.”

“People can figure anything out these days with the computer and Facebook and all that,” Ruby said. “That's one reason I don't mess with all that. “

“So Jude, did she say anything about a place? Another city? Town?” Cora persisted.

“We didn't talk much,” he said sheepishly. “But she did mention the coast a few times.”

“Which coast?”

“Somewhere near Charleston,” he replied. “Some island . . . Edisto?”

“Edisto is a small island off the South Carolina coast,” Ruby said. “Have you contacted Cashel about any of this?” she asked Cora.

“I called Detective Brodsky and Cashel already. They are coming over in the morning,” Cora said.

“This could be a wild-goose chase,” Jane said. “I'm frankly not sure I believe anything you say,” she leveled at Jude.

“I've never lied about anything!” he protested.

“We know about your record,” Jane said.

“Whoa!” he said. “Sometimes the record is not quite accurate. That's all I'm saying. I served my time. Six months in jail. It's over. Behind me. I'd like to keep it that way. I don't go around broadcasting it, but I can't hide it even if I wanted to.”

“Jude,” Cora said. “You're not on trial here. But you understand our concern.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking on the floor, then back to Cora. “I'd like a chance to explain myself,” he said. “I've just made a few very bad decisions.”

“That's what they all say,” Jane said.

His mouth twisted into a frown. “I purchased some broomcorn from another country. It was laced with arsenic. I wasn't aware, of course. One of the people at my workshops, well, she cut herself and somehow the arsenic got into her bloodstream. I had no idea, believe me. All I knew was it was cheap. I'd never want to hurt anybody, let alone kill them. But she died and I was responsible. It was a freaky thing that happened and I feel terrible. I was negligent, but I meant no harm.”

A silence permeated the room while they all took in this confession.

“All right, Jude,” Cora said, feeling a bit guilty for making a snap judgment. But then again, he was so careless that someone died from his mistake. Even if it was an accident—and she was certain it was—he was guilty. But she could not get sidetracked and needed to stay present, in this moment. “Let's come back to here and now and Ivy. Is there anything else you can remember?”

He shook his head. “She talked about the island, her house there, and her collections.”

Cora's heart fell to her feet, and she felt the air escape her lungs. “Collections?” She managed to say.

“Could that be a coincidence?” Jane asked, voice raised.

“What do you mean? What kind of coincidence? A lot of people collect things. Brooms. Doilies. Whatever,” Ruby said. “It's no big deal.”

“But Sarah Waters' priceless opium kit collection was stolen,” Jane said.

“And then she was killed,” Jude said.

“Wait a minute. Let's not get carried away here,” Ruby said. “You're making many connections that probably don't exist. It doesn't do anybody good to jump to conclusions.”

“You sound like Cashel,” Jane said.

“I do? I do! Damn,” Ruby said and grinned. “I guess he's rubbing off on me. But the point is this woman was probably after Jude. She got him. He lost interest and she left. End of story,?”

“An illegal, creepy story,” Cora said. “Assuming someone else's identity? Seducing a man you barely know at a craft retreat?”

Sometimes Cora thought she had become jaded doing the work she did in Pittsburgh. Sometimes she thought she had seen everything. But clearly she hadn't.

“Yes, but none of that points to her stealing a jeweled opium kit,” Ruby said.

Jude had been sitting on the edge of the sofa, taking everything in. “But there is something else,” he said. There was weight to his words, as if he had something important to say. All three women leaned in closer toward him.

“One of the things the fake Ivy collects is opium kits.”