“Just lovely,” Hank said, as he glanced over Jane’s shoulder.
That voice. Where had Cora heard it before? She was certain she’d never conversed with Hank. Why did his voice sound so familiar?
She continued working on her arrangement, even though his voice made her uneasy.
Shells, sea glass, beads. She was settled on the design. She drilled tiny holes into the objects.
But she couldn’t shake Hank’s voice. Why was it affecting her like this?
Jane was already on to knotting her string.
The two of them finished, with Jane helping Cora finish quickly, as she was lagging. Even though the coffee helped perk her up, she was still cloudy and not moving quickly enough to keep up with the class—though she did notice there were a few still working on the arrangement of their shells.
The two of them took their chimes and left the room.
“I need a nap,” Cora said. “Her voice drove me bonkers.”
“Okay,” Jane said. “I’m going to head back over to my classroom.”
Cora reached in her bag and pulled out her cell phone. There was a message from Adrian. She showed it to Jane.
I’m sorry. Must be some kind of mix up. Didn’t
Cashel tell you? I’ve been out since this morning.
I’ve been waiting to hear from you.
“Cashel!” Jane said, and balled her hand into a fist.
“He was supposed to come to lunch with us and he didn’t. Maybe that’s why he never told me,” Cora said.
“You’re too kind,” Jane said. “Cashel is up to no good.”
“What?”
“I swear he doesn’t like Adrian. I’ve no idea why,” Jane said.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to find Adrian,” Cora said.
“Text me and let me know what’s up,” Jane said as she walked away.
“Will do,” Cora said, as she texted him. Where are you?
His response came right away: In my room. Join me?
Chapter 11
Adrian was standing with the door open when Cora arrived. His normally pale self was even paler and large dark circles framed his eyes beneath his glasses, which he scooted back up on his nose.
“Cora,” he said, and pecked her on the cheek.
She stiffened.
“Come inside,” he said. “Listen, I, ah, need to explain all this to you.”
“Yes, I think you do,” she said.
“Shall we talk outside on the balcony? I have some wine out there and—”
“No,” she said. “Let’s talk here.” She sat down at the desk chair. He plopped on the bed.
“I should have told you about Marcy,” he said. “I was just, so, um, floored over seeing her wedding.”
But Cora persisted. “I was right next to you. We walked back together. There was plenty of time for you to tell me.”
“I know,” he said with a note of defeat. “It’s just, well . . . I like you a lot and I didn’t know how to say it to you. We saw the harpy who broke my heart get married.”
Cora felt her heart hitch. “What?”
“Yeah, well, she did a number on me and I’m not going to lie to you. If I had any real tendencies to kill someone, I’d have killed her a few years ago,” he said.
They sat for a moment in awkward silence, Adrian drumming his fingers on his thigh.
“So you felt uncomfortable about telling me she had been your girlfriend?” Cora finally said.
“Yeah. Of course I’ve been involved with other women, um, until I met you, but I’d rather not talk about any of them. You’re the one who matters now.”
Cora felt the knot in her stomach loosen as she breathed deeper.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. If it’s worth anything, I would have told you at the right time, if a right time came up. It felt awkward.”
“Okay,” Cora said. It wasn’t as if they were married, or had even gotten serious. She wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. She was here to teach and have fun. He was here to be with her and have a little vacation, neither of which had happened so far.
“So, why did they haul you in to question you for her murder?”
He stood and walked toward the glass sliding door as a knock came at his room door.
“It’s me,” Cashel said, and opened the door.
Cora eyeballed him and crossed her arms.
“What are you doing here?” Cashel asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you have some class to attend?”
“I do,” she said. “But my boyfriend texted me and wanted to talk, so I’m here, as if it’s any of your business, Cashel.”
Adrian stood behind Cora’s chair and placed his hand on her shoulder. “What’s up?” he said to Cashel.
“Have you told her everything?” Cashel said, red faced.
Everything? Cora wondered what that could mean.
“I was working on it, Cashel, before you came bounding in,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“The court is refusing to take away your tracking bracelet,” he said. “Looks like you might be stuck here, on this island, long after we leave.”
“Unless they find the real killer,” Adrian said, holding out his hand to show Cora the apparatus around his wrist.
Great, my boyfriend is on a lead.
“I’m trying to make other arrangements so you can leave the island. I mean, your livelihood is in Indigo Gap,” Cashel said.
“I’m sure you can handle it,” Cora said to Cashel.
“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but that text message is the problem,” Cashel said.
“Text message?” Cora’s eyes traveled from Cashel to Adrian and back again.
“I hadn’t quite gotten to that yet,” Adrian said.
“Oh, sorry,” Cashel said, but his tone showed that he clearly was not sorry—not in the least. Cora surmised he was enjoying this, enjoying the fact Adrian was squirming, that he had half dropped a bombshell into the situation.
“Marcy saw us,” he said to Cora. “And sent me a message.”
“And?” Cora said.
“She wanted to meet me. She said she’d never gotten over me and blah, blah, blah.”
“So why would they suspect you for killing her because of that?”
“I replied that I never wanted to see her again.”
“Oh.” Cora’s heart thudded in her chest.
“She wrote back pleading with him to meet her on the beach,” Cashel said. “And then he sent a brusque response.”
Now Cora hyperfocused on Cashel.
“Cashel, I—” Adrian started to say.
“Yeah, he wrote her back. He said, ‘No way. Drop dead.’”
Cora gasped.
Adrian smacked himself in the head. “I know, right? How stupid. But how was I to know someone was going to kill her? I’m innocent. I didn’t kill her. I told her to drop dead, but my God, I didn’t kill her.”
“How do we prove he didn’t kill her?” Cora asked Cashel.
Cashel waved her off. “I’m working on it. Try not to worry about it. Don’t you need to be knitting or something?”
Cora’s emotions zoomed from worry and anger and back to worry, and now she was pissed. What exactly was going on with Cashel? Why was he acting like such a jerk? She stood.
“I’m not quite sure what to say, Cashel,” she said. “But you know me better than that. When someone I care about is in trouble, I never stay out of it.”
Chapter 12
Where are you? Jane texted Cora.
She stood in the Mermaid Hall, leaning against a wall, and waited to hear back. Jane was worried about Cora. Here she was, one of the main teachers at this retreat, and her boyfriend had been carted off to jail. How was she supposed to be her best? Well, so far, she was managing. But barely.
“Hi, Jane.” A young woman came up beside her. “I was in your sea creature pottery class this morning. It was so much fun.�
�
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Jane said.
“I’m making a turtle,” the woman said, smiling. Her blue horn-rimmed glasses overwhelmed her small face. “I’m Rose, by the way.”
“Hi, Rose,” Jane said, and shifted her weight.
“I’ve never done pottery before,” Rose said with exuberance. “It’s so much fun.”
“So do you think you might want to do more?” Jane asked.
Rose nodded. “Well, this weekend, yes. I’m not sure about once I’m home. I have good intentions, you know,” she said, and smiled. “But once I’m home there doesn’t seem to be enough time for anything but taking care of everybody else.”
“I hear ya,” Jane said. And she’d heard this a lot over the years. “But the kids will grow up and leave someday.”
“Oh, I’m not talking about my kids. I’m talking about my mother and my aunt,” she said. “I take care of them.”
“Oh, I see,” Jane said. “It’s good that you’re able to do that.”
“I suppose so,” she said, and pulled her bag closer to her.
Jane’s phone buzzed, alerting her to Cora’s text message.
“Excuse me,” Jane said, and pulled out her phone. “I have to take this.”
“Oh, no worries. I’ll see you in tomorrow’s class,” Rose said, and walked away.
I’ll be there in five minutes. On my way, Cora said in her message.
Nothing else? Jane rolled her eyes, aware Cora was dolling out information in bits and pieces. Why was she making her wait?
Jane stood among the mermaids. Several retreaters with their bags flung across their shoulders passed by her.
“I absolutely hate them,” a woman said to another woman. “Mermaids creep me out.”
Jane recognized her. She had been in her class this morning and was making a starfish.
“Why?” the woman who was with her asked.
“God! Think about it. She’s half fish, half woman. How creepy,” the woman said.
“I never thought about it like that,” she replied, and they kept walking.
Strange, Jane thought, but mermaids were kind of creepy in that context, weren’t they?
“There you are,” Cora said.
“We’re late for Ruby’s candle class,” Jane said. “But how’s Adrian?”
Cora’s mouth turned into a frown. “It’s not good.”
Jane’s heart raced as she leaned closer. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he was involved with her,” Cora said.
“Yes, that’s what the paper said,” Jane replied.
“Evidently, she saw us on the beach that night and texted him,” she said.
Jane leaned forward. “He didn’t text back, did he?”
Cora nodded. “Of course he did, and that’s why the police suspect him.”
“Is that the only reason? I mean, that’s flimsy,” Jane said.
“It was the last text message on her phone and he told her”—she lowered her voice—“he told her to drop dead.”
“What? That doesn’t sound like the Adrian I know. He’s always been such a gentleman. I can’t imagine him even saying such a thing,” Jane said.
“I know,” Cora said. “But evidently they have quite a history.” Cora’s eyes were lit.
“How does Cashel feel about all this? I mean, does he think this is going to be a problem?”
“He’s trying his best. Or so he says,” Cora said. “We need to find the classroom. Is it to the left or right? I’ve forgotten.”
* * *
They walked together down the hall. The crowd thinned as the retreaters selected their classes and settled in their rooms.
“Adrian is wearing a tracking bracelet and can’t go off the island.” Cora stopped in her tracks. “Can you believe it?”
“That sounds serious,” Jane said.
“It is,” Cora said. “I needed to do some digging on Marcy Grimm.”
“Wait, what?”
“Adrian despised her. So she probably had some other enemies, too.”
“Cora—”
“It won’t take much of my time to check into her background. And poor Adrian. He’s a mess,” Cora said.
“But why should you bother? I’m certain the police will be investigating this,” Jane said.
“Probably, but what’s wrong with helping move the investigation along? If we wait for them and all their procedures and so on, Adrian might not ever return home,” Cora said.
“I don’t like the sound of this,” Jane said. “You need to stay out of it and let Cashel do his job.”
Cora spun around to face Jane. “Do you know what? I’ve an odd feeling Cashel is okay letting Adrian stay here forever. I don’t know why he doesn’t like him. But it’s so obvious Cashel hates him.”
Jane’s left eyebrow hitched. “I think Cashel likes you and is jealous,” she said as they arrived at Ruby’s classroom.
“That might be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Cora said, and opened the door.
“Come on in, ladies,” Ruby said when she saw them enter. She glanced at her watch and back up at them. “Glad you could make it.”
Cora might have been more concerned about Ruby’s obvious displeasure at their late arrival if she wasn’t so blown away by what Jane had just said. She doubted it was true. But if by some strange chance it was true, then Cashel was the worst person to be representing Adrian.
Chapter 13
Only a few “social” events were scheduled at the retreat. Mathilde’s retreat was different than Cora’s. In truth, most of the retreats offered their own flavor. Cora preferred her own—where she and the other teachers hung out as much as possible with their students. But Mathilde’s retreats were much larger and it would be nearly impossible for the teachers to give all the retreaters a slice of personal time—one of the reasons for the policy of teachers not mingling with the students outside class.
But today, a late afternoon tea was on the schedule, held in a sunny atrium.
Cora, Ruby, and Jane made their way over. A pianist played on an elevated platform. The room was gorgeous, with tropical plants and overstuffed furniture, wicker furniture, and tables of scones, cucumber sandwiches, and tiny tarts. On each of the tables were huge bowls of fruit as well.
“Since when do you put milk in your tea?” Cora asked Jane as they settled into a wicker couch together.
“I don’t know,” Jane said. “I am feeling very British.” She lifted her pinky as she brought the tea to her lips.
Ruby had been pulled aside by a group of women. Cora had noticed them before—they seemed to love each other’s company and not socialize much with the other retreaters. One of them had this amazingly loud but beautiful laugh.
“Ruby does so well at these things,” Cora said.
“I loved the class. Who would have thought to make a candle in a seashell?” Jane said, and bit into a scone. “Mmmm. My God, it’s delicious.”
Huge, indoor tropical trees donning big, shiny, green leaves clumped together to form a stand. Another cluster of chairs sat behind the trees, where people were seated, drinking tea and getting acquainted. Cora’s ear picked up a nasally voice from behind the trees. It belonged to Hank, Mathilde’s assistant.
Cora strained to hear, but she couldn’t make out any words. She suddenly remembered the conversation about the tiara the night before when Mathilde and someone were arguing about it. Odd that the tiara kept coming up. First, that night, next London finding it on the beach, and now. It was an extraordinary tiara. Cora saw why Mathilde might want it back.
“What are you thinking about?” Jane said.
“The tiara,” Cora said, and lowered her voice. “Just eavesdropping. Or trying to. ”
Jane laughed. “You know that’s rude, right?”
Just then, two women walked up to them, and one sat on the chair beside Cora and the other on the chair next to Jane. They looked familiar, but Jane had met so many new peo
ple.
“Are you enjoying the retreat?” Cora asked.
“I’d be liking it even more without all the darned mermaids everywhere,” the woman said.
Cora’s face fell.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I’m Katy Carlson. I took your class this morning. It was awesome, by the way.”
“You don’t like mermaids, though?” Cora said.
“Hate them. Half fish, half woman? Freaks me out,” she said, and bit into her cucumber sandwich.
“They pretty much are everywhere, aren’t they?” Cora said.
“Yes, we’re in Mermaid Hall,” she replied. “But I guess if your family owns most of the island and you’re a mermaid scholar, there’d be some mermaids around.”
Cora leaned in.
“Yeah, you heard me right. Mermaid scholar,” she said, and chortled.
“Are you talking about Marcy Grimm?” Cora asked.
“Yes, I am,” she said. “The island darling who died a few days ago.” The note of sarcasm in her voice was undeniable.
“Are you a local, then?”
“Yes,” she said. “Well, my family is. I live in Leesburg, Virginia, now. This is my friend Jana. We’re here with a group from Leesburg.” She gestured to a woman who was tucking in to a bag of Swedish fish candy.
“Want one?” she asked them.
“No, thanks,” Cora said, and Jane shook her head.
“Shame about what happened to her,” Jane piped up.
Katy sighed. “Yes, I’d not wish that on anybody.”
They sat for a few moments, with the strains of piano music filling the air.
“But, Lord, if anybody asked to be killed, it was her,” Katy said, and rolled her eyes.
Cora choked on her tea, coughing.
Jane’s hand went to her back and patted her. “Are you all right?”
Cora took a deep breath and nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Katy said. “I shouldn’t blurt things out. But it’s always been a problem for me. I’m opinionated.”
After Cora had settled down and took another sip of tea, she said, “Don’t apologize. I’d love to know more about her.”
“Cora—” Jane said.
“Oh, there’s not much to say,” Katy said. “Only that she grew up here, her family owning much of the island, and was always a brat. Got away with everything. Think of the proverbial snotty rich kid. That was Marcy. She moved away and made quite a name for herself as a mermaid folklorist. Published several books. They’re in the hotel gift shop. My mother worked as a maid for her family for years. Let’s say, what goes on behind closed doors . . .” The woman wiggled her eyebrows.
Macramé Murder Page 5
