Macramé Murder

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jane said.

  “Not all men are evil,” Cora said.

  “No, but a lot of them are not ruled by their heads, if you know what I mean,” Ruby said. “And I think you do.”

  “Yes, but what could Adrian possibly have done? He’s a visitor here. He doesn’t know anybody,” Jane said. “Let alone the woman who died.”

  “I think he did say something about having been here before,” Cora said.

  “What? When?” Ruby asked.

  Cora waved her hands, as if trying to make the conversation go away. “I can’t remember. Only that he’d been here before and it was a beautiful island. That’s it.”

  “Will you let us know when you hear from Cashel? I need to take a bit of a rest. The heat is doing a number on me,” Jane said.

  “I hear ya,” Ruby said. “I’ll text you when I have news.” Ruby took off down the hall toward her room.

  Jane and Cora walked in the direction of their rooms.

  “You know he’s a good guy, right?” Jane said to her.

  “I think so,” Cora said. “But this has made me think, I must admit. What do we know about him?”

  Jane stopped walking. “We know he’s a librarian at the school. If he had any kind of record, the school would not have hired him.”

  “True,” Cora said. “But what about his personal life? He never talks about any women in his past or anything, except his—”

  “Except his mother,” Jane said. “He took care of his sick mother, Cora. He can’t be all that bad.”

  Relief seemed to wash over Cora. “That’s true. I know. But if he’s such a great guy, what do the police want with him?”

  “Must be a mistake,” Jane said. “That’s all I can think it is. Some kind of weird mistake.”

  “We should go to the police station,” Cora said.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Jane replied.

  “Why not? I’m his girlfriend. Shouldn’t I be there?”

  “Maybe,” Jane said. “But let’s take a rest, first. If he’s still gone in an hour, we’ll go and see him. How’s that sound?”

  But Cora didn’t think she could wait. “I’ll just go myself. You go and take a nap. I won’t be able to sleep at all. I know myself.”

  “But Cashel is with him and, come to think of it, Adrian might not want you there,” Jane said.

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Cora said. “Maybe you’re right. I should stay here and take some downtime.”

  “Yeah, it doesn’t matter if you nap. But at least take an hour to chill. I’ll meet you back here, okay?”

  Cora nodded. “One hour.”

  * * *

  Cora lay on the hotel bed. She needed to lie down and rest, even if she didn’t fall asleep. She tried to keep her mind off Adrian but kept going over what she knew about him.

  He worked as a librarian at the school, having taken the place of the previous one, who was murdered. Thank goodness the guilty party was caught.

  He was highly educated, well read, and very much a gentleman. He took care of his sick mother. The kids at the school loved him. Jane’s daughter, London, loved him, too.

  But he never talked about his past. She planned to rectify this during the weekend. How many relationships had he been in? Had he ever been married? She knew nothing. She always believed in the old adage that gentlemen didn’t kiss and tell, but he was more tight-lipped than any man she’d ever known.

  She closed her eyes and rolled over to her side. She was certain some odd circumstance had brought the police to Adrian. If not, if there was a problem, if he had something to do with the death of Marcy, best Cora know now before she became any more involved with him.

  She reached over to the nightstand and picked up one of the catalogs in the stack of materials in the retreat bag, leafing through Zooey’s glossy catalog. Cora hated to admit it, but Zooey was talented. What she did with macramé was nothing short of, well, art. Amazing. Wall hangings with intricate knot work. Curtains. Dream catchers. Hammocks. Lamp shades. And she crafted the most exquisite jewelry, which was her signature. She used gemstones and intricately woven macramé patterns around them. Cora was in awe. She didn’t covet many things. But the necklaces Zooey made were something Cora might splurge on. She liked the vintage air of macramé meeting with Zooey’s modern sensibility. The jewelry complemented Cora’s retro clothing.

  At least that’s what she told herself.

  She closed her eyes and woke up abruptly when the catalog fell on her chest.

  Cora sat up on the edge of her bed and inhaled. As the air filled her lungs, she told herself it would be okay. Either Adrian had nothing to do with Marcy’s death and they could move along with the retreat and their lives, or he did, and they still would move on with their lives. Better to know.

  But why did she think he could have anything to do with murder or anything illegal at all? Why didn’t she trust him? That may be what bothered her the most. He hadn’t given her any cause for distrust. In fact, he’d been the perfect boyfriend.

  Her cell phone buzzed. It was Jane.

  “Hey, Cora. I know I said I’d meet you in a few minutes. You awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Something has come up with London.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know. I think so. But I’m heading down to the day care now.”

  “I’ll go with you. I’m not sleeping. I’ve barely been able to sleep.”

  “Okay then. Meet you at the elevator in a few minutes.”

  Cora stood, looked herself over in the mirror, ran her fingers through her red, unruly hair, and voilà, she was ready to go.

  When she and Jane entered the hotel day care center, the Mermaid’s Palace, they spotted London immediately. She held a beautiful tiara in her hands and was speaking with one of the day care workers.

  “But, Ms. Shaw, we were searching for treasure and I found this. You said I could have it,” London said.

  “I know, sweetie, but I thought it was a toy. But this is a real treasure,” Ms. Shaw said. “I need to alert the hotel and the police.”

  London, usually a sensible kid, started to wail.

  “Oh, sweetie!” Jane said, and scooped her up in her arms. “Shhhh.”

  “What’s going on?” Cora asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Ms. Shaw said to them both. “We were looking for seashells and sea glass and I told them they could keep whatever they collected.”

  “And?” Jane said, rubbing her daughter’s back as she rocked back and forth.

  “London found this tiara,” she said, holding it up.

  Cora’s breath caught in her throat. No! Could it be?

  “At first, I thought it was a toy. Like a part of a dress-up costume,” Ms. Shaw said.

  “I can see that,” Jane said.

  “But after I inspected it, I realized it looks like a real tiara and those stones might be diamonds,” she continued.

  “I think I might know who it belonged to,” Cora said.

  “What?” Jane said. London stopped sobbing and looked at Cora.

  “Yesterday, Adrian and I witnessed this beautiful wedding and I think this is the tiara the bride wore. How many of them could there be like this, right?” Cora said. “It’s exquisite.”

  “Well, we have to give it back if it belongs to someone else, London,” Jane said, and her daughter slipped down her hip to stand on her own.

  “I don’t think we can,” Cora said.

  “What? What do you mean?” Ms. Shaw said.

  “I think she’s the woman, you know, on the beach last night. . . .” Cora said, not wanting to alert London.

  Ms. Shaw pulled her aside. “Do you mean the woman who was killed?”

  Cora nodded.

  “Oh dear,” Ms. Shaw said. “I need to alert the management and the police.”

  “I want to go home!” London yowled.

  “What is wrong with you?” Jane said.
“This isn’t like you at all.”

  “I don’t like it here! I miss Indigo Gap.” Tears streamed down London’s face.

  Cora’s heart fluttered as she and Jane locked eyes. Maybe they were all missing Indigo Gap. More importantly, perhaps they had all found a home—a home worthy of being missed.

  Chapter 6

  Cora marveled at the scene around her. She stood in the center of a group of police officers and hotel management staff listening to the same story repeated over and over again. Why did she continually find herself in the middle of these situations?

  Taking advantage of the opportunity to closely examine the tiara, Cora realized crown was a better word for the headpiece. Sea-green glass chunks were housed in twisted delicate wires. In between pieces of glass were seashells and what Cora had assumed were rhinestones, but all the fuss suggested diamonds. In the center of the crown, two wires shot up shaped into spirals, with glitter and stones set inside. The effect was delicate, yet bold, and Cora was in awe of the design and the skill. Even in the plastic evidence bag, it sparkled and glittered.

  “Did you make this?” a police officer asked Mathilde as Cora entered the room.

  “Yes!” Mathilde Mayhue said. “It’s one of my pieces.” She grabbed it from the officer who was holding it.

  He snatched it back. “Excuse me, but this is evidence.”

  “Evidence of what?” she said, almost shrill.

  Cora was glad Jane had taken London back to the room to relax.

  “A child found this on the beach. It’s Marcy Grimm’s. This might be a clue to a homicide.”

  “Are you talking about murder, on this of all weekends?” she said in a hushed tone. “I have a retreat to run!”

  Cora walked over to her. Mathilde’s face was gruesome white, yet the officer remained unconcerned.

  “Oh, Cora!” Mathilde said. “How could this be? How could this have happened to me? To my retreat?”

  “It will be okay,” Cora found herself saying, even though she was shocked by Mathilde’s reaction. After all, a young bride had just been killed. “We’ll continue with the event in spite of all this.”

  “How?”

  “One class at a time. We march forward and do what we are supposed to do. People came a long way to be here and we’re going to give them what they want,” Cora said.

  “You’re right, of course.” Mathilde turned her attention back to the police officer. “I want that returned when you’re finished with it.”

  The officer’s mouth dropped open.

  “Returned to me,” she said. “I’ll refund the money to the family, or whatever they want.”

  “That will be up to the family,” the officer said. “In the meantime, this is evidence. When we’re finished with it, it will go back to her family, as is regulation.”

  Mathilde opened her mouth, as if to say something, and then changed her expression, as if she thought better of it.

  “So, let me be clear about this,” the officer said. “This is the piece you designed for Marcy Grimm?”

  She nodded.

  “She wore it at her wedding yesterday?”

  “As far as I know. I didn’t attend the wedding,” she said, tight-lipped.

  “Thank you. That will be all,” he said.

  “It’s getting kind of late,” Cora said to Mathilde. “Why don’t we have a drink or something?”

  She glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, Cora. I need to help Zooey set up for tomorrow.”

  “Can I help?” Cora said.

  “Certainly,” Mathilde responded.

  They walked out of the day care center, now teeming with parents, police, and hotel employees, through the vast lobby, down the Mermaid Hall to the retreat area of the resort.

  Zooey was in the classroom already, her blond hair pulled into a sloppy bun, and her lithe body covered in a gauzy, nearly see-through dress.

  A much younger man flitted around her. He seemed as if he stepped right off the beach—surfer blond hair and a dark tan, ripped biceps, and shoulders displayed by a white tank top. He certainly did not look like a crafty guy.

  “Thanks, Tom,” Zooey said to him as he finished hanging several macramé plant holders of blues and greens and a variety of knots and patterns.

  She smiled at Cora. “We’re going to make these in class tomorrow. I’ve precut the cording. We need to place it and the tools on each chair and then I think we’re done. Not much work left. Tom helped earlier.”

  “What a cool chair!” Cora said, noticing the hanging macramé chair in the corner.

  “Thanks,” she said. “It’s one of my favorite things to make.”

  “Seems complicated,” Cora remarked.

  “Time consuming maybe, but not complicated,” Zooey said, setting up a board with several different sample knots on it. “I listen to music, get in my zone, and go for it.”

  Cora studied the labeled knots. Chinese crown knot. Half-knot sinnet. Genovese waved bar. Alternating lark’s head braid.

  “Where do you want your books?” Mathilde asked Zooey.

  “I think in the other corner there.”

  Mathilde scooted a table and Cora moved to help her. Tom carried over a box of books.

  “I think we should leave the books in the boxes until the morning,” Mathilde said. “I mean, this area is secure, but I think I’d feel better.”

  Zooey tucked an empty box under a table. “It will be okay,” she said. “I don’t think there will be time in the morning to place the books out and so on.”

  Cora placed the packs of cord and instructions on the classroom chairs. She wasn’t going to involve herself in the decisions; this wasn’t her retreat. But she wondered why Mathilde was worried about leaving Zooey’s books out overnight. The area was secure and secluded.

  Not my retreat. She repeated those words in her head. She liked being in charge of her own retreat. But this was a pleasant feeling as well. All she was responsible for was showing up and giving her blogging class. Plus, she wanted to take some crafting classes if she could. She might even do some crafting herself.

  Cora checked her phone. No messages yet, which led her to believe Adrian was still detained at the police station. Once this business with the police was resolved, Cora was sure this craft retreat was going to be fabulous. But for now, she needed to know what was going on with Adrian.

  Chapter 7

  Cora had planned a room service dinner on her balcony for her crew—a relaxing breather before the madness of the retreat. But there was unmistakable tension in the air. On Cashel’s return for dinner, he informed them that Adrian was still being detained at the island police station. As much as Cora poked and prodded, he kept his mouth shut.

  “I’m sorry, Cora,” Cashel said. “I can’t tell you anything. But I’m doing my best.”

  “Why are they keeping him?” Jane asked. “It makes no sense.”

  Cashel’s expression was secretive. Jane realized there must be more to the story than Cashel relayed.

  “I’m his lawyer and there’s this client privacy thing,” he said, and bit into his burger.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Cashel!” Ruby said. “I’m your mother. Cora is his girlfriend.”

  He finished chewing his burger and reached for a chip. “Cora and Adrian need to have a chat. This doesn’t concern you at all, Mother.”

  “Humph,” she said, and waved him off. “That’s the thanks I get for busting my ass to put you through law school.”

  He grinned. “Precisely.”

  “Do you need to be so cocky about it?” Jane said. “I mean, seriously, we are concerned about him.”

  “He’s going to be fine. After all, I’m his attorney,” he said.

  Everybody quieted. London had fallen asleep in the lounge chair.

  “The idea he had anything to do with a murder is preposterous,” Cora said, and took a sip of her wine.

  Behind Cora, the sun was setting over the beach. Crimson, dusky blue, and orange spl
ayed out in the skies.

  “I agree,” Jane said.

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” Cashel said as he placed what was left of his burger back on his plate. “Your belief and trust in him is likely to be tested over the next few days. But I’m with you. I don’t think he could hurt a fly, let alone kill someone.”

  Ruby dropped her fork on her plate. “Cashel! You can’t say stuff like that and expect us not to want to know more.”

  “It will all be revealed in due time,” he said, twitching his eyebrows.

  Jane wanted to throttle him. She saw his mother did, too.

  “Can we please change the subject?” Cora said, slurring her words a bit. Just how much wine had Cora drunk?

  “Are we all set for the morning?” Cora asked.

  They all nodded.

  “Shall I remind you all we are guests of this retreat and we need to behave ourselves?” Cora said.

  The group quieted.

  “Of course,” Ruby finally said.

  “Mathilde is nervous,” Cora went on. “This retreat has already been marred because of the murder on the beach. She asks for us to keep it light and engaging and try not to speak about it.”

  “We know what that’s like,” Jane said.

  “Yep,” Ruby said.

  They’d not been in Indigo Gap long when the school librarian had been murdered, then her ex-husband. It was during their first retreat—and Jane had ridiculously been suspected of the murders. Several retreaters had canceled as a result.

  The sound of the ocean called to Jane and she allowed it to lull her, as she preferred not to think about being a murder suspect and how it made her feel. She wondered how Adrian was managing.

  “Is he okay?” she asked Cashel.

  “Who?”

  “Adrian!”

  “Oh.” He glanced nervously from woman to woman, all three of them waiting for answers. “He’ll be fine.”

  “He’s in jail,” Jane continued. “I didn’t spend the night in jail, but I know what it feels like to be wrongly accused.”

  “This is a posh island resort. It’s not like he’s in jail with a bunch of lowlife criminals,” Cashel said. “In fact, his accommodations are nice, as far as jails go. I wouldn’t worry. But he is upset, of course.”