Macramé Murder

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  “Here we are,” he said, leading them down a small hill to an opening in the wooded area.

  Cora viewed the patch of rocky woods surrounding a pristine cove. The deeper blue of the water calmed her. Serenity washed over her.

  Jane looked back at her with wide eyes. “I wish London were here,” she said.

  “My favorite spot on the island,” Roy said.

  He must have been about fifty, Cora surmised, catching his flecks of gray in the golden sun as it shone on him. A few wrinkles gathered at his eyes and around his mouth.

  “I can see why,” Cora said.

  “If the new resort happens, this will all be gone,” he said.

  “So you are against the resort?”

  He nodded. “I’m aware it’s probably inevitable. But I would rather it didn’t happen in my lifetime.”

  A few moments of awkward pause as they all stood gazing at the tranquil blue sea.

  “So, where’s the mermaid?” Jane said, grinning.

  “See that rock out there?” He pointed to a jagged rock about two hundred feet out into the sea. It jutted out and almost resembled the head of a whale. “That’s where she was this morning. That’s where all the sightings of her are.”

  “That’s true!” Cora exclaimed. “I read the book.”

  Jane shot her a questioning glare.

  “So this is the cove in the book,” Cora said.

  “Are you talking about Marcy Grimm’s book?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I read it last night. Beautiful book.”

  “Yep,” he said. “Now, that young woman knew what she was talking about. Well educated. But now . . . you know, she was killed.”

  “Yes,” Jane said. “So we hear. On her wedding night. Odd, isn’t it?”

  He pursed his lips, as if he were holding something back.

  “So you’ve seen her here?” Cora said, wondering what the man could have seen at this spot that made him think it was a mermaid. Could it have been a woman taking a break from a swim?

  “Several times,” he said. “Always early on foggy mornings. I only catch glimpses of her. This morning. . . I saw her arm through the fog as she reached up to do something with her hair. I caught her face then. Not exactly what I’d call pretty.”

  A chill came over Cora.

  “More . . . sort . . . of . . . compelling and fierce looking,” he said.

  “Could it have been a swimmer out there? Or a sea creature?” Jane asked.

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “I understand how crazy it sounds. I do. But I know what I saw.”

  Cora sized him up. He didn’t give any of the telltale signs of lying. He believed what he told them.

  “We need to head back,” Jane said. “Unfortunately.”

  “I could stay here all day,” Cora said.

  “But I need to Skype with London. I promised,” Jane said.

  “Thank you for bringing us here,” Cora said, as they headed back.

  “Oh, you’re welcome. I never brought a tourist out here before,” he said. “You seem open.”

  “Thanks,” Cora said.

  “Some might call it naive,” Jane muttered, and he laughed.

  “I do hope the new resort does not destroy all this,” Cora said, as they pulled away from the beach.

  “We’re fighting it the best we can,” Roy said. “But there’s only so much we can do against all that power and money. Even the Grimm family is working hard against it and they have more money than God.”

  There’s that expression again, Cora thought. More money than God. It was the same one their tour guide had used when they traveled through the swamp area.

  “Can we drive through the swamp neighborhood?” Cora asked.

  “Sure, but why?” Roy asked. “Most people don’t like it over there.”

  “I want to take a glimpse at some gorgeous chimes I saw,” she said.

  “Oh, that’d be Rue’s chimes,” he said.

  “Rue? Josh’s mother?”

  “Yes,” he said, looking in the mirrors. “The psychic.”

  Jane and Cora quieted. Cora twisted a tiny piece of her skirt.

  “Yes, let’s drive by there,” Jane said.

  Cora watched as the landscape gradually turned from wild beach to marshy, swampy beach. Houses turned from a few scattered large homes to clusters of small, colorful places. The chimes she came to see were still there. No wonder they caught her attention before. The sheer amount of them was catchy. At least ten chimes or mobiles were strung or hanging on the porch and in Rue’s front window. The house was painted sea-blue; the porch sagged here and there, but the chimes . . . The chimes blew in the little breeze, and as they passed Rue’s place, Cora still found herself charmed with them.

  “Psychic, hey?” Jane said. “I don’t know about that, but she certainly has lovely chimes.”

  “Spirit chimes,” he said.

  “What?” Jane said.

  “Keeps out the bad spirits,” he said. “It’s old wisdom from some of the local women.”

  “Who makes them?” Cora said.

  “She makes them. Rue makes them,” he said. “Though my mom used to make them. A lot of the women around here grew up making them. But Rue makes and sells hers. They are amazing, aren’t they?”

  “Just gorgeous,” Jane said.

  “I wonder if she’d talk with me about them for my blog,” Cora said.

  “I’m sure she would,” he said.

  Cora’s mood lightened even more. She intended to hang on to it as long as possible. She glimpsed the resort and sighed. Back to Mathilde Mayhue and the craft retreat. Back to Adrian and his troubles. Back to the place where Zooey, or Susan, or whoever she was, was killed, several hours ago.

  Chapter 35

  It was amazing what a few moments back into the hubbub could do for you.

  Each little tendon and muscle in the back of Cora’s neck seized and twitched as she approached the “craft-in” room. She had dropped by her room to pick up her crochet project. She’d not gotten the hat finished, like most of the other crafters had. Within a few hours, many of the crafters in the crochet class had finished beautiful, colorful hats—and Cora was inching along at a snail’s pace.

  She loved crochet. Loved the idea of crochet. Loved the feel of yarn on her fingers. She understood its benefits—the same with knitting. From everything she’d read (and seen) about the health benefits of crochet and knitting, well, she wanted them. The Zen-like qualities of finding the rhythm, clearing your mind of everything but your stitching, and the actual textural benefits of the yarn against skin. Yes. She wanted that. But her fingers were not as dexterous as she needed them to be. She hadn’t enjoyed it because she was too busy trying to figure it all out.

  “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Jane said as Cora ripped out another row.

  “No, but it does have to be somewhat recognizable as crochet,” Cora said with a laugh.

  They were sitting on a couch, listening to relaxing music, along with the others at the craft retreat.

  Now, this is a retreat, Cora thought, not running from class to class and stressing yourself out over learning new techniques, new crafts. And it took a murder for Mathilde to give them this space and time.

  Murder. The word held firm in Cora’s mind, even as she moved on to the next olive-green row of crochet stitches. She’d left Pittsburgh because of the stress of working in a women’s shelter. She could not handle it. Her anxiety had become debilitating. And since she left and made Indigo Gap her home, she’d had the bad luck to be involved in murder cases. Well, she hoped this was the last of it.

  She must help Adrian out. But what next?

  The music calmed her. Women sat in groups and focused on their crafts. Low conversations were going on.

  She and Adrian had been at the Drunken Mermaid when they ran into Josh and his mother, Rue, the day after his wife’s body was found on the beach. Odd, but not completely out of line. People had to eat. Grieving sapped the
energy from you and cooking was often set aside.

  But Cashel swore he’d been drugged there. Swore he only had one drink. Yet, he appeared snockered. Drugs will do that, as well, Cora reminded herself. But why would someone drug him, unless Cashel found incriminating information at the courthouse? The fact that it happened at the Drunken Mermaid could not be a coincidence. The fact that they spotted Hank there and that Mathilde owned the place could not be a coincidence, either, could it?

  But what did Mathilde have to do with any of it? What would her reason be to kill Marcy and Zooey, and try to drug Cashel? She was an extremely successful crafter. Highly respected. And she had created and ran one of the most popular craft retreats in the world. Why would she be bothered with murder?

  Cora sunk her crochet hook into the stitch.

  “What are you thinking about?” Jane asked, as she lifted up her hat, almost finished.

  “Mathilde,” Cora said. “I’m thinking all the evidence sort of suggests Mathilde had something to do with . . . everything.” Cora lowered her voice, not wanting others to hear her.

  “But why would she take such a risk? More than that . . . is she capable of such hideous acts?” Jane asked.

  “Yet, she owns the Drunken Mermaid. There’s something about that place. Too much going on there,” Cora said.

  “Well, even our Roy suggested there’s a lot going on there,” Jane said.

  “I don’t care to go back there ever again,” Cora said.

  “But . . . ?”

  “I wonder if we could help Adrian by going back and checking things out at night,” Cora said.

  “I don’t think so,” Jane said. “Imagine what somebody did to Cashel. What would they do to you or me?”

  “Somebody is hiding something,” Cora said. “Whatever it is, it’s big enough for murder.”

  Jane’s face paled. “I think you’ve hit the nail on the head. That’s enough reason to stay away from the place.”

  “But—”

  “I know you want to help,” she said. “I know that.”

  “Adrian is in trouble,” Cora said. ‘I’d think you’d want to help, as well.”

  “I do, but getting ourselves killed is not going to help anybody,” Jane said.

  Cora grimaced. A chill ran through her. The impulse to help had gotten her into trouble before. She was certain she didn’t want any more danger in her life. Was there a smarter way to manage?

  “What do you suggest?” Cora said. “I mean, I feel utterly helpless.”

  Jane appeared to be mulling things over as she ran her fingers over her hat.

  “I think we should talk with Adrian and see what he’s found out. But while we’re here, we need to work the crowd,” Jane said.

  “Most of these people are crafters. They came from other places. What would they know?” Cora said.

  “It’s not so much what they know,” Jane said. “Let’s listen in on how they are feeling. And what they’ve observed. Some of these women walked in on Zooey’s body. Some of them might have observed reactions of some of the key players. C’mon, Cora. We can do this.”

  Cora scanned the room. She spotted Katy and her crew. She zoomed in on Linda. Wasn’t she the nurse? The one who had gotten close to Zooey’s body?

  She sat her crochet down and girded her loins.

  Chapter 36

  How’s it going at the craft-in? Adrian asked in a text message, as the conversation with Linda was turning to her finding Zooey’s body.

  Okay, more later, Cora texted back.

  She turned back to Linda. “Was there anything odd about the body?”

  “What do you mean? Other than being found in a huge macramé bag?” Linda said.

  “Yes,” Cora said. “Other than that.”

  “Rigor mortis hadn’t set in,” Linda said. “I touched her. As I said, I thought it was some kind of macramé arm. She was . . . still warm, actually.”

  “So it hadn’t been long,” Jane said.

  “No,” Linda said. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?” Katy said. Katy was sitting behind a small craft table, working on a miniscrap-book. Some people knit when they are stressed, others scrapbook, mused Cora.

  “I mean, the killer must have been right under our noses,” Linda said.

  “Stop with the drama,” Jana said. “You’re scaring me. We’re supposed to be relaxing here.”

  Cora caught herself. That was true. She needed to back off.

  “I have one more question,” she said. “Was there anybody in the room, or outside the door? Anybody suspicious looking?”

  “Why are you so interested?” snapped Katy.

  “Her boyfriend is a suspect,” Jane said, placing her hand on Katy’s shoulder. “She’s trying to clear his name.”

  “I can’t think of anybody suspicious lurking around. In fact, the room was empty. I wondered where they were. It was nearing time for the class and the room was empty. Even her assistant was nowhere to be found,” Linda said.

  The women soaked that in.

  “Would you like a Swedish fish?” Jana said, holding out the bag to Cora.

  “No thanks,” Cora said, and then almost to herself, “I wonder where her assistant was. I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Oh, he’s quite torn up,” Katy said. “Back in his room medicated, I should think.”

  Mathilde made her way to the group.

  “Hello, ladies,” she said. “How’s it going?”

  “Okay,” Jane replied.

  “As well as can be expected,” Katy said.

  “Are we relaxing? I mean, I don’t know. I thought this would help, ” Mathilde said.

  “Oh yes,” Linda said. “Bourbon might do me better, though.”

  “I’d be happy to bring you a drink,” Jane said, standing up.

  “Oh, honey, thanks. That would be so sweet of you. Frankly, I’m having a hard time getting this out of my head. You’d think I’d be used to seeing dead bodies. Well, I am, but this was way different,” Linda said, and her lip twitched.

  “Oh dear,” Cora said, and placed her hand on Linda’s. She’d been so focused on helping Adrian. Had she been insensitive to Linda and her friends? “I never should have brought any of this up. I apologize.”

  “You brought it up?” Mathilde said.

  “Yes,” Cora replied. “Just trying to make sense of it all, I suppose.”

  “Besides that,” Jana said, “her boyfriend is a suspect.”

  “Is he?” Mathilde said. “I haven’t had much time to pay attention to anything other than this.” There was a note of bitterness in her voice.

  “Is there something else we can do to help you, Mathilde?” Cora asked.

  “Try not to talk about the incident,” she said.

  “That’s not going to help a thing,” Katy said, turning a page of her scrapbook. “Trying to sweep stuff under the carpet never got anybody anywhere. People need to communicate their feelings. We can’t go around repressing them.”

  Mathilde’s carefully painted faced fell. Cora thought she saw her cheek twitch.

  Good Lord, the woman was stressed. Of course she was. How would Cora feel if this happened at one of her retreats? As it was, murder had happened right down the street from her retreat, and again, not too far away—all too close for comfort. But thank goodness there had never been one at Kildare House, where the retreats were held.

  Mathilde sat down next to Katy. “You know, you’re right.” She looked as if she were deflating. “I’m not sure how much further I can go with this. I want to go home, hug my kids, and curl up in a ball on my couch.”

  Cora must have looked surprised.

  “You didn’t realize I have kids?”

  “No. I mean. I’ve never read anything about your kids,” Cora said.

  Jane came back into the circle and handed Linda a drink.

  “I keep my kids out of my public story,” Mathilde said.

  Suddenly Cora’s
respect for Mathilde went up more than a few notches.

  “I have three. They are at home with my mother,” Mathilde said, smiling. “I hate leaving them, but it doesn’t happen often anymore and it’s not like I’m far. I used to travel quite a bit, but now it’s only once a year and during this retreat.”

  “You’ve built something here,” Jane said.

  “Thanks, and I’m hoping this weekend doesn’t destroy it,” she said.

  “I doubt that. You’ve got great years behind you,” Cora said with reassurance.

  “Yes, but this weekend . . . murder . . . fighting with Hank.” Mathilde paused. “I had to fire him.”

  “Yes, we heard,” Cora said.

  “We saw him later at the Drunken Mermaid,” Jane said.

  Cora gauged Mathilde’s reaction.

  “I don’t care where he goes, as long as it’s away from me and this place,” Mathilde said. “I’ll deal with his being at the Drunken Mermaid later.”

  There was something about her tone. Menacing? Bitter? The hair on the back of Cora’s neck prickled.

  “Someone said that you own the place,” Jane said.

  “Partially,” Mathilde replied. “But Hank is my partner. My lawyer will deal with him. I simply want nothing to do with him anymore. I want out.”

  “It’s too bad,” Cora said. “You’ve been partners for years.”

  “Yes, but he’s changed. I don’t understand what happened to him. The last straw was the retreat. He wanted me to close down. And that was my first inclination. But all these women have paid big bucks. Some of them have saved for quite some time. I need to respect that and give them what they came for, don’t you agree?” Mathilde said.

  “I suppose I do,” Cora said. “There’s been some trouble around my retreat, but nothing like this. I’m not sure what I’d do.”

  “You’ve got to do what you think best, of course,” Jane said.

  This conversation was leading in directions that Cora hadn’t anticipated, but Adrian’s texts kept coming in. “Excuse me, ladies. I’m going to check on my boyfriend and Cashel.”

  “Cashel?” Mathilde said.

  “Yes, remember Ruby’s son had some trouble with his stomach or something and had to go to the hospital? No big deal. But I’d like to touch base and see how he’s doing,” Cora said.