Death Among the Doilies (5 page)

Later that same day, Jude called to check on his broom-straw shipment. The caterer then called with a few changes to the menu—again. And all of the registered locals called to cancel. Cora had no choice but to refund them. What was going on? One cancelation wasn't suspicious, but three of them? Was there another event going on that weekend in town? Cora didn't think so, but she went to her computer and searched until she found the local paper online. She had thoughtfully planned what weekend to start the retreat so local crafters would have the opportunity to take classes. The annual fall arts and crafts festival was scheduled in a few weeks. Last week the annual fall heritage tour took place. She hadn't participated, but hoped to next year.

As she searched, the name “Sarah Waters” jumped out at her. N
EW
L
EAD IN
S
ARAH
W
ATERS
M
URDER
. Good news. People were certainly on edge since the woman had died under suspicious circumstances, the details of which the police were keeping to themselves.

Cora clicked the article.

She skimmed the text. She blinked. No. That could not be! Jane's name appeared in the article as a person of interest! How did the reporter find out? Who had given them permission to use Jane's name?

Cora's heart thundered and her stomach tightened. Cora and Jane had chosen to move to Indigo Gap because it was so far off the radar from most of the people they had known. It was deep in the mountains and as secluded as a town could get, without being too backward. A town of artisans. A town of historians and antique collectors. They both felt comforted there, surrounded by the quaint cobblestone streets, the hills, the springs and rivers. All of it felt welcoming. Until now. Cora now felt trapped, as if everybody in town was suspecting her friend of murder.

She took a deep belly breath, trying to will off a panic attack. She could do this. She hadn't had a panic attack in over a year. No pills, not now. Air. She needed air.

Cora rose from her desk and cracked open a window. She inhaled the autumn air. The scent of earth and crisp autumn leaves filled her nose, and her lungs expanded. She closed her eyes and breathed.

One mystery was solved: the reason for the cancela-tions. People learned Jane was suspected of murder.

Calm down,
she told herself. It was perfectly normal for her heart to race.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Normal people had racing hearts when something like this happened, right? It didn't mean it was going to escalate into the chest-crushing sensation of a panic attack.

What to do? Had Jane seen the article?

That thought filled Cora with more dread. But, she reminded herself, Jane was no fragile flower. Not anymore.

But this could set her back. If Jane knew her name was in the paper as a person of interest, it would alarm her. Worse, it may make her want to leave town. Leave Cora and the business. Jane was integral to the plan. Cora didn't want to do it without her—in fact, she considered Jane her partner, even though she had no finances to invest. Her energy, creativity, and heart had gone into every detail of the retreat.

“Get a grip, Cora,” she said out loud to herself. Most likely, Jane had not seen the article. She was not a reader. Hell, Cora loved to read, but even she barely read the local paper.

Although, obviously, the local crafters did read it.

Cora sighed, wilting into herself as she sat back down in front of her computer. What to do?

Should she call the paper? Call Cashel? Call her Uncle Jon? No, he mustn't know what a mess things were becoming. Her careful plans were becoming undone. All because Jane was ridiculously being accused of murder.

She decided to dial Cashel.

“O'Malley and DiPalma, can I help you?” a female voice said. A clipped, efficient voice.

“Um, yes, is Mr. O'Malley in?” This was a mistake. What would she even say to him? She fought the urge to hang up.

“Who may I ask is calling?”

Would he even know her by her name? They had only met briefly yesterday.

“Who may I ask is calling?” the woman on the other line asked again.

“Oh, I'm sorry. This is Cora Chevalier.”

“Just a moment please,” the voice said.

“Yes, Cora?” Cashel's voice came over the line. His voice was like sweet Southern honey. She imagined him sitting behind a big shiny desk.
Don't go there, Cora
. “Can I help you?”

“Have you seen today's paper?” she blurted out.

“Which paper?”

Why was he being so calm? Cora heard the shuffling of papers in the background.

“The local paper! Jane's name is in it as a person of interest in the murder case.” Her voice started to quiver.
Where did that come from? Her voice never quivered!

“Damn,” he said. “I didn't see it. I've been in court all morning.”

“Is there something we can do about this?”

“Do? What do you want me to do?” he asked. Again, the calmness. It was annoying.

“Get the paper to print a retraction? An apology? I don't know. You're the lawyer!” Cora tried to tamp down her hysteria. She wasn't doing a very good job of it.

She was met with silence on the other end of the phone.

“Hello?” she finally said.

“I'm here. I'm sorry. I'm trying to figure out how this reporter got a hold of the information so quickly. It is a high-profile case. Sarah Waters was a beloved citizen in this town. We've not had a murder here in at least twenty years. People are jumping the gun. The situation might be escalating,” he said.

“Escalating? Our first retreat is this weekend and every one of the locals who signed up has now canceled. I'd say it's escalated. Past tense.”

“It's worse than I thought,” he said. “I'll be there within the hour. Please ask Jane to be there.”

“Jane? I don't want her to find out.” Cora said, her heartbeat starting to quicken again. If she didn't have a panic attack, it would be a minor miracle.

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Seriously,” she said. “She doesn't need to know, does she?”

“Not precisely,” Cashel said reluctantly. “But she is my client. And this is about her. Why would you want to keep it a secret?”

He might have been the hottest guy she'd laid her eyes on since moving to Indigo Gap, but he was also the most irritating.

“Can I hire you on my own? I mean, like, for my business? Like, to sue the paper for printing this ridiculous story?” Cora asked.

“No,” he said flatly.

She was really beginning to dislike him.

“First of all, that's a conflict of interest for me,” he said. “Secondly, Jane doesn't need that kind of protection from you or anybody. She's a capable grown woman. I know about her background, remember, I know you might want to protect her. But take it from me, she has the best protection available. She hired me.”

Well, at least
he
was confident. She had to hand it to him.

“Don't forget, besides all that,” Cora said, “she is innocent.”

“There's that, too. Please let her know I'm coming. We'll talk then.”

The phone line went dead. Now all Cora had to do was walk over to the carriage house and tell her best friend the bad news.

Jane saw Cora coming and instantly recognized that something was wrong. You didn't know someone for most of your life and not know when they were upset—even when they tried to hide it. Normally Cora moved like a butterfly; she was lithe and graceful and flitted about. But when she was upset, she stiffened and her shoulders hunched, just a bit.

Jane watched Cora walk across the yard from the big house toward the carriage house. She must also now be aware that everybody in town knew Jane was a person of interest in a murder case.

The justice system, even with all its flaws, had done well by her in the past. She needed to muster faith that it would again. She inhaled the air as she opened the door.

“Jane, I have bad news,” Cora said.

“I know.”

“You know what?”

“People in town know about last night,” she said.

Cora pushed by her friend as she entered the house. “It's not that simple,” she said. “It's not as simple as a few rumors.”

Jane felt her pulse start to quicken. “What do you mean?”

“It's in the newspaper,” Cora said, her shoulders hunching even more.

Jane felt the hot tears prick at her eyes. She gasped. “I didn't kill anybody.”

“I know that,” Cora said and wrapped her arm across her shoulders, leading her to the couch and gently sitting her down. “Cashel is coming over and we're going to meet about it.”

“But what could I possibly do about this now?” Jane said, with some effort. Her thoughts were jumbled. “What can we do about it?”

“I don't know. Hopefully Cashel will have some advice for us. I wanted to sue the paper for printing it, but I guess since it's the truth, well, I wouldn't have much of a case. What did you mean about the rumors?”

Jane told her about the school and what happened with the aide who helped London that morning.

“Maybe she was just having a bad day?” Cora said, with hope.

“No, I don't think so,” Jane said. Sweat prickled at her forehead, which always happened when she was upset. “Word does get around in a small town.”

“That quickly? It's almost as if someone couldn't wait for something like this to happen, you know? Like someone was watching us, waiting for one bad move,” Cora said. Her eyebrows gathered into a
V
.

“That sounds kind of paranoid,” Jane said, but found herself grinning. Even in the most heated situation, Cora tickled her. “But it's typical of you.”

“I'm sure this will blow over,” Cora said. “It's just bad timing. All the local registrants have canceled.”

“What?”

Cora nodded. This first weekend retreat meant so much for them both. “How about the others?” she managed to ask.

“I've not heard anything from them yet,” Cora said. “I doubt it will affect them at all. And it's going to be fine. We'll be fine with the other crafters. Having locals at the classes was just a bonus.”

She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than Jane.

“But our reputation is everything. I'm afraid this is going to spiral out of control,” Jane said. What had made her think her new life would be easier than her old one? What made her think anything in her life would be smooth and go right? Nothing up to this point should have led her to believe it.

A life of art. That is all she had ever wanted. To make pottery. It made her happy; more than happy. This life was what Cora wanted, too. She wanted Jane to continue making her pottery. Teaching it to others.

The business was the cornerstone of it all. A way forward, where she'd not be pulled back with regret and sink into the mistakes of the past. Away forward for her, London, and Cora.

How had this happened?

“Jane? You've got that one-hundred-yard stare going on.”

“Hmm,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

“And?”

“I was thinking this situation has got to blow over and we're going to be okay,” Jane said, meeting Cora's worried eyes. “It's going to be fine. We've come so far already, right?”

“Well, that's true enough,” Cora said. Her shoulders were still slightly hunched, but less so than when she first walked across the yard. “Are you ready for the meeting?”

Jane wiped the tears that had formed under her eye with her finger. “Yeah, sure.”

Cora stood. “At least we can gaze upon the beauty of Cashel O'Malley.”

“What?” Jane exclaimed. “You are not serious. If you want a man, I told you about that librarian guy. That's your man. Don't be messing with Ruby's son. What's wrong with you?”

Cora laughed. “You know, I hadn't thought about it like that. But you're right. Talk about possible complications! That's too bad because, wow, Cashel is hot.”

Cora opened the door and there he stood. Cashel O'Malley in all his glory.

“Um,” Cora said, her face reddening. Had he heard what she said? He didn't appear flummoxed. He was cool, calm, and collected. Unlike herself and Jane. If he had heard her, he was not affected by it—as if it were something he'd taken as a matter of course.

“I thought the meeting might be better here,” he responded, peeking around Cora to Jane, who was standing behind her. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Jane said, a polite smile on her face.

Jane's own face flushed as she fought the impulse to run into the bathroom, or upstairs, or anywhere far from Cashel. Cora's frankness had sometimes placed her in embarrassing situations. Like this one.

“Come in. Don't mind Cora. She's a little upset. Well, we both are,” she said, leading him toward the couch.

Cora sat in a nearby chair and would not look at Jane, now. And Jane knew if she looked in Cora's direction, it would be over. No eye contact. Sometimes they acted just like they had in high school. Which is what happened when you grew up too fast. In some ways, you never got over it.

“Damage control is different than providing a good defense for you,” Cashel said, after they settled in. “I'm no expert in public relations. I'm a lawyer. Believe me, you have no case against the paper. I have asked the judge for a gag order though. We'll see how that flies. The paper, of course, has first-amendment rights to protect it. Even with the gag order, it can print information about the case, just not interviews and follow-up and so on.”

“I haven't heard from the media—have you, Jane?” Cora asked.

“No.”

“My advice is if they call, don't speak to them,” Cashel said.

“Unless . . .” Jane said. Her eyes narrowed.

“Do not speak with them,” Cashel said again with sternness in his voice.

“What if we give our side of the story?” Cora asked.

“We have no side of the story. I didn't do it. Period,” Jane said.

“That's right,” Cashel responded, with an approving glance. “And frankly, that should be your attitude in all things. Go about your business, as if this never happened.”

“How can we do that when almost everybody who signed up for classes just asked for refunds?” Cora said. Go about their business? What kind of advice was that?

“Look,” Cashel said. “You're going to take a hit. You've already taken a hit. But if you keep face, it will all turn out in the end because Jane is innocent.”

He was talking about doing nothing. And doing nothing didn't sit well with Cora. Doing nothing was not something she could manage. She never had been able to.

“Unless we somehow can prove Jane is innocent,” Cora said.

Jane and Cashel eyed her, both incredulous.

“That's what we're doing here,” the lawyer said.

“Yes, but it's going to take the police way too long. What if we found proof that Jane had nothing to do with the murder on our own?” Cora said.

“What do you mean?” Jane said, her voice rising. “How could we prove that?”

“Maybe there's something the police are overlooking,” Cora said.

“I suggest you drop that idea,” Cashel said. “Leave the police work to the professionals.”

Silence filled the room as Cora considered her options. Perhaps Cashel didn't need to be informed about everything.

“What can you tell us about Sarah Waters?” Jane asked.

“I can only tell you what is on the public record. Which is that she was killed in her home on the night of August 23.”

“How was she killed?” Cora asked.

“Look, I know where you're going with this and I have to warn you the local police won't take too kindly to you poking your nose in this case,” he said. Suddenly, his good looks seemed to fade. He looked pinched and inflexible, two attributes Cora found unattractive.

“Very well, I'll go to the court and ask for the record myself, if you won't answer me,” Cora said.

Jane was picking some imaginary lint off her jeans.

“She was strangled and then her fingers were cut off and strewn about the house,” Cashel said. “It was a bloody mess. With bloody fingerprints everywhere.”

Cora felt a wave of nausea and gaped at Jane, whose eyes were wide with fear.

“And people think
I
did that?” Jane said.

“Who knows what people think?” Cashel said. “They want answers. They want justice. Sarah was well loved. You are new in town. Part of your prints might have turned up there. That's all people know. They are jumping to conclusions. But if you take my advice and lay low, go about your business as if nothing happened, it will be fine.”

Cashel gathered his papers, then his briefcase, cueing them that their time together was almost finished.

“I need to know where you were that day. You haven't gotten back to me about it,” he said to Cora.

“Oh yes, that's easy. I was babysitting London,” she said. “We went to the movies and then came home and made brownies.”

His face fell. “You were with London that night?”

She nodded.

He glanced at Jane. His jaw muscles clenched. “Jane, please stop by my office later today.”

“Okay,” she said, attempting a smile.

A bolt of fear pinged through Cora as she watched him leave. Why did he glower at Jane like that? Had she lied to him? Why would she do that?

“Jane, what's going on?” Cora turned toward her friend once Cashel had closed the front door behind him.

But Jane's face was in her hands and her shoulders were shaking.

Cora rushed to her side. “Shhh,” she said, placing her arm around her. “It's going be all right. One way or the other. We're going to be fine.”

After Jane calmed down and gained her composure, she began to talk. “I didn't mean to lie. I mixed up the dates. I told him I was here with London. I forgot about that Friday night when I was out of town. I'm sure he thinks I'm lying.”

“Calm down,” Cora said. “Just tell him what you told me and it will be fine.” But Cora wasn't so sure. This was weighing on Jane, as it would anybody. But Jane's hefty baggage made it worse.

“Tell him where you were and he will corroborate it and voilà,” Cora said.

But when Jane looked back up at her, there was something in her eyes—something that made Cora shiver. What was going on with Jane?

“You're right. I'm just being silly and I'm starting to panic.”

“I get that,” Cora said. “But we've got to keep our cool about this.”

Jane glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It's almost time to pick up London from school. Can I ask you to get her for me?”

“Why?”

“I don't want to face all of those people.”

“You'll need to face them eventually.”

“I know. Just not today.”