No Charm Intended

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  Now that the other man was in view, Cora saw that he had mocha skin and dark, almond-shaped eyes. She wondered if he was part of the local Native American population, but it was hard to say just on the basis of appearance.

  “This is my roommate, Henry,” Paul said as he sat on the pink couch.

  Henry nodded. He too appeared exhausted and frightened.

  “What’s going on?” Cora said, folding her embroidery cloth. “Have you found out anything yet?”

  Paul’s large hands turned upward. “Nothing.” He pulled out his cell phone. “We know she went to get her hair cut early yesterday,” he said, glancing over his phone. “Then she stopped in at LuLu’s for a smoothie.”

  “Oh yes, she brought London and me each a raspberry smoothie yesterday morning,” Jane said. “She stayed for four hours or so while I prepared for my workshop this weekend. But I’ve already told the police all of this, right after Jillie’s mom called me. I called the police and told them everything I know.”

  Henry cleared his throat. “She was scheduled to be here tonight. We wondered if she might have said or done anything odd. Mentioned a place. Or something.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Cora said. “Jane?” Cora stuffed her craft tools and cloth into her bag.

  Jane squirmed in her seat a bit. “Look, I left her with my daughter. We didn’t talk much. I was so distracted, making certain I had all my supplies in for the class. I don’t think we spoke much at all.”

  The two young men looked at one another and sort of nodded.

  “How about when you came back?” Paul asked.

  Cora’s intuition stated to ping.

  “When I came back, she’d fallen asleep on the couch. She was holding a book in her hand,” Jane said.

  “Book?” Henry said. “It wasn’t The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, was it?”

  Jane’s face fell. “What—”

  Cora sat forward. “What’s going on here?”

  “How did you know what she was reading?” Jane asked as she regained her composure.

  Paul glared at Henry. Both young men remained silent.

  “If you know something about this, or if it has anything to do with her disappearance, I think you should go to the police,” Cora said with gravity in her voice.

  “No, no,” Paul said. “It’s not like that. It’s just that we’ve been playing this Wizard of Oz game and she was really into it. It’s an app. You can play it on any device. She’d been reading everything she could get her hands on about the book as well.”

  “We told the cops about this game we’ve been playing and they didn’t pay any attention to us,” Henry said. His voice cracked. Cora thought she saw a slight tremor in his cheeks.

  They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds. Cora wondered what the game had to do with anything. But if the police had dismissed it, they must have a good reason. But obviously the young men were distressed and needed someone to talk to. You can’t save the world, she heard a little voice in her head say. But it won’t hurt to listen for a few minutes, she told the voice.

  “Back up,” Jane said. “What the heck are you two talking about? Gracie is missing and you’re talking about a game?”

  Leave it to Jane.

  Paul cleared his throat. “The thing is—maybe it’s stupid, I don’t know,” he said, and shrugged. “But we’ve been playing this computer game. Then all sorts of weird stuff started happening.”

  “At first,” Henry interrupted, “we didn’t make the connection.”

  “What kind of stuff?” Cora said. Her intuition barked wildly at her now. Even if this had nothing to do with the missing girl, obviously these two were in some kind of trouble.

  “Weird untraceable text messages—not just notifications from the game,” Paul replied. “Quotes from the book, for example.”

  “We thought nothing of it until I tried to shut it off,” Henry said. “But it wouldn’t allow me to shut it off. It behaved like a virus.”

  “Okay, guys, sounds like you got into a weird computer game, which has some glitches or something in it,” Jane said. “We’re not computer experts, so we can’t help you. If you can tell us what this might have to do with Gracie disappearing, we can get the cops involved and go from there.”

  Cora beamed. Jane had a handle on the situation.

  “Gracie was brilliant at the game,” Paul said. “She’d moved further ahead than either of us. She started getting more insistent messages.”

  Cora felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

  “Yeah, directions to meet the Tin Man, for example,” Henry said.

  “And when she didn’t show up for the meetings, she started getting threats. I was, like, what kind of a messed-up game is this?” Paul said. “Right?”

  “Threats?” Cora said. “What kind of threats?”

  “Creepy stuff,” he replied. Suddenly the young man’s face crumpled and his chest heaved. “Oh my God, if anything happens to her . . .”

  Cora’s arm went around him. He smelled of peppermint and old socks.

  He pulled away after a few minutes of awkward almost silence.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just love her so much. I’m so worried.”

  “Of course you are,” Cora said. She felt okay wrapping her arm around strangers and offering comfort, but he seemed a bit uncomfortable. His back stiffened at her touch.

  “So what are you saying?” Jane said. “Are you saying that someone from this game might have tracked her down and kidnapped or hurt Gracie?”

  “That’s what we’re afraid of,” Henry said.

  Jane shot Cora with a dubious look.

  “It sounds far-fetched,” Jane said. “Sounds like you might have better luck searching for her on foot with the search team than following up with this computer stuff.”

  “There’s no search team yet. Their efforts are focused on finding the guy who sent the text,” Paul said.

  “I agree with Jane,” Cora said. “But one thing doesn’t make sense to me. Why would someone want to kidnap her? I mean, I assume her family doesn’t have money since she’s working her way through school as a nanny. If not money, what else could they want with her?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” Paul said in a hushed voice.

  Chapter 7

  Jane tossed and turned through the night.

  Money wasn’t always the reason for a kidnapping. As Cora pointed out later that evening, parents were often the first to be suspected for children, but Gracie was not a child.

  Cora also pointed out that a missing person was really just abducted, not necessarily kidnapped—the technical or legal difference being that in kidnapping, the perpetrator wanted money (or something) for the return of the victim. The only reason the police were calling it a kidnapping was because of the text message calling it so. Which was weird enough as it was. Of course, maybe Gracie’s family had gotten a message about a ransom by now? Maybe it was a true kidnapping after all.

  Jane thought about her own daughter and the fear that not only she, but every other mother had that someone would abduct her child. Knowing that Neil had gotten out of jail for possession of illegal substances and was back in the States—living in close-by Virginia—did not help matters. He was petitioning the court for chaperoned visits with London. They were married for four years, and at first they were they happiest years of her life, then came his heroin addiction and the violence. Her dreams had turned into living nightmares.

  Jane took a deep belly breath in and then out. Deep breathing was supposed to help you fall asleep. But it didn’t seem to be working.

  Would Neil ever be so foolish as to try to take their daughter from her? Just the thought sent jolts of panic through her.

  She turned over to her side, fussed around with her pillow, then dropped her head back onto it. She felt for Gracie’s parents. Where were they? She assumed they were local, but really had no idea. What did she really know about Gracie?

  She was tw
enty-four years old, saving money for law school, had impeccable babysitting references. She knew CPR, spoke Spanish fluently. Loved to read. Loved her London.

  London loved her, too, which said something. There had been sitters whom London hated, and Jane always honored her daughter in that regard. She respected her daughter’s intuition.

  But when Jane came right down to it, did she really know Gracie? She knew all these things about her. But did they ever really have a conversation about anything other than London? Now that she thought about it, it sort of embarrassed her. How could she leave London with a young woman whom she barely even knew?

  But Jillie’s mom knew her, right? Another mom’s word is a good thing—especially a mom like Chelsea. She was no slouch. She was a divorce lawyer and her husband was a DA, which is why they’d hired a nanny. They’d really needed one, given their busy work schedules.

  Jane loved that Jillie and London were such good pals. They seemed to like each other a lot, and they played well together. So the fact that Chelsea liked Gracie and highly recommended her meant a great deal.

  Jane sighed and tried to remember if she’d ever really had a conversation about their shared sitter with Chelsea. She closed her eyes and started to drift off.

  Bam! She remembered something. It happened a few weeks ago.

  Gracie shoving her phone into her bag in a huff.

  “You okay?” Jane had asked her.

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’s just my boyfriend. He’s being a bit too clingy these days.”

  At the time, Jane was rinsing off dishes and trying to get them done so she could go downstairs and start working, so she was only half listening. “How long have you been dating?”

  “A couple of years,” she said.

  “So why is he so clingy?” Jane asked, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

  “I don’t know. It’s kind of a sudden thing. I don’t know what to think about it,” she said with an air of winsomeness. Then she seemed to snap out of it. “Oh well, I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  “If not, there are other guys out there,” Jane had said, moving toward the stairs. She stopped and turned around to look at the young woman. Gracie stood with a sunbeam coming right in on her, lighting her youthful, almost angelic freckled face. Unlined, smooth skin, and clear hazel eyes. But she seemed forlorn as she stood and watched her go.

  Jane eyes popped open. She stared at her dark ceiling. She had liked Paul and Henry. But maybe they knew more than what they let on. And Paul was a bit too crazy about Gracie.

  It seemed too sudden when the alarm clock went off the next morning. Jane had no idea how much sleep she had gotten, but knew she wanted more. Seven AM and London was not up and around. That was odd.

  Jane sat up quickly. Something was wrong. Her daughter always woke her up before the alarm went off. She hightailed it into London’s room. London, still asleep, was curled into a ball. Sweat glistened on her forehead and her breathing was labored. Jane put her hand to London’s face, which was warm to the touch.

  Jane went into the next room and texted Cora: London has a slight fever. I’m going to have to take her to the doctor. I should be back by brunch.

  She rushed around the carriage house apartment and readied herself for the visit to the doctor. She made certain she had the insurance card, a book to read, and that her phone was charged.

  Her phone dinged, alerting her that she’d gotten a text back from Cora: Take your time. We will figure something out. XO, Cora.

  It was at times like these she wished she could turn back time.

  How many times over the past few years had she wished that things turned out differently with London’s father? Too many to count. And sure she’d missed having a partner in her life—but she couldn’t ask for a better friend than Cora Chevalier.

  Chapter 8

  Cora expected twenty-two guests for the weekend craft retreat. Only fourteen of those guests would be staying at Kildare House. A couple of those were sharing a room; though the house was large enough to accommodate them all with private rooms, she’d offered a discount to those sharing a room. It was less work for Cora.

  For the first retreat, the rooms were done just in the nick of time, and Cora and Jane had barely had time to stamp their own style onto the décor. Each room was now coming together, though they told themselves that they were a work in progress. The only guest room that Cora considered complete was Mémé’s Boudoir, which sounded sexy, perhaps, if one didn’t know the French translation—literally “Grandmother’s Bedroom.”

  Cora had inherited a trunk full of French linen from her grandmother, who in turn had inherited them from her in-laws. Since the sheets were old, they were incredibly soft. Fine linen grew softer with age and even more elegant. But Mémé never had used the linens because she was afraid of ruining such fine linen. She saved them for Cora, and Cora wasn’t one for hiding away beautiful things. She washed the sheets, pillowcases, and duvet cover and placed them on the four-post queen bed with ornate iron work on the headboard, much the same as her grandmother’s bed.

  The embroidered initials added a further touch of homespun elegance. The pillowcases had pink scalloped edges, soft and pleasing to the eye. Her Mémé’s collection of handkerchiefs donned the walls in elegant French country-style frames. Her linen tablecloth covered a table sitting beneath a window. The table held old family photos and a Monet print. Monet was her Mémé’s favorite artist. She felt a kinship with him since her husband and she were from the same region in France.

  A young woman named Liv had booked the room for this retreat. She was already settled in. When Cora first met her, she was surprised by the woman’s appearance. She was young with a Goth style—pierced nose and black-purple dyed hair. She sported a tattoo running the length of her arm. She didn’t look like their usual crafter, but then again, crafters came in all types. But it was odd and intriguing that she’d asked for Mémé’s Boudoir, perhaps the most old-fashioned room they offered.

  The only class scheduled for today was the mother-daughter paper doll class with Sheila and Donna. This class was really meant as a way to get things started, to give the crafters a little something to work on as they were getting to know one another. Sheila would also be teaching another class later in the weekend, but it focused on using some of the plants and materials the crafters would be gathering on their hike early tomorrow morning.

  This retreat was all about wildcrafting and how you could blend elements from nature into many forms of crafting. Cora was so excited—but not more so than Ruby, who was definitely in her element.

  Ruby had lived in Indigo Gap her whole life. She knew the plants—particularly the herbs—and had always crafted with them. Her home was full of handmade crafts from the area—many of which she made herself from the nature around her. Herbal wreaths and swags. Framed pressed flowers. A gorgeous dream catcher made from local fallen branches and twigs and found bird feathers.

  Glancing across her attic apartment, Cora saw that Luna had finished breakfast and was already curled into a ball on the couch. Cora walked out of the apartment and made her way downstairs, where the group of teachers and some early-arrival retreaters were sitting in the living room along with several new faces.

  “Hello there,” Cora said. “Good morning.”

  “Hi, Cora,” one woman said, and stood. “I’m a big fan of your blog!” She moved forward and shook Cora’s hand. “I’m Maddy.”

  “Nice to meet you, Maddy,” she said. Short and thin, Maddy resembled a wren with her chestnut brown hair and matching eyes. She had small features—except for those large eyes. “Thanks for your kind words about my blog.”

  “I bet it’s a lot of work,” Maddy said.

  “It is, but I love it,” Cora said, shifting her attention to an older woman sitting on the chair next to the red velvet sofa.

  “Hello, I’m Lucy Rester,” she said with a Boston accent. “I’m so thrilled to be here. I’ve never done anything like this in my
life.”

  “Happy to have you,” Cora said.

  “I’ve been a fan of Sheila’s for a long time,” Lucy said.

  Sheila beamed.

  “The scrapbooking, the paper dolls,” the woman went on. “I just love your designs.”

  “Thank you,” Sheila said. “Aren’t you sweet?”

  “I was hoping to meet Jane Starr,” another woman said. She was sitting behind Cora and she turned to look at her.

  “I’m Liv,” she said. Cora noted that she was once again wearing heavy Goth makeup. “We met last night, but it was late. I’m mostly here for the clay-charm class and to pick Jane’s brain. I’m a student at BMU.”

  “Aha,” Cora said. “I remember. Jane will be here anytime now. If you want to learn about pottery, this is the place. Jane is so talented.”

  “Yes, I’ve bought a couple of her pieces,” Liv said, the sparkling gem in her nose catching the light.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on a few things,” Cora said, leaving the group to chat amongst themselves.

  Cora walked into the craft hall, where she, Ruby, and Jane had already set up for the weekend with baskets full of crafting supplies. The baskets held paper, several kinds of scissors, tiny hammers, glue, tiny bags for collecting items in the wild, buckets, and delicate glass frames with no borders. The students would press some of their wildflowers in between the glass and create lovely mobiles or wall art from it. Cora had crafted paper flowers out of coffee filters for each basket to add a festive note—and they turned out better than she had expected. Several people remarked about the paper flowers.

  The room was large—a wing built on to the main house—and it was well lit by natural light. One side of the room faced the front yard and down onto the street. The other side of the room faced the back of the property. The views were of the estate’s lovely gardens and several outbuildings in addition to Ruby’s garden cottage and Jane’s carriage house. Cora could see the carriage house through the trees.