Death Among the Doilies

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  Ruby nodded. “That was the start of it. I learned a lot from her. She was one of these old wise women, you know? Midwife. Herbalist. I wanted to be just like her.”

  Cora smiled. “We all need people like that in our lives, didn’t we? Especially when we’re kids.”

  “She had the sight, too,” Ruby said, brightening.

  “The sight?” Cora asked.

  “You know, she had dreams and visions. Things that would come true,” Ruby said.

  Cora didn’t know what to say to that.

  “There’s a lot more to life than what we can see with our eyes, you know? Some of us are gifted, some cursed, with a second sight.”

  Was Ruby trying to tell her something? Did she think she was psychic or something? Cora had seen a lot of people who claimed they were psychic. She wanted to believe it could exist, but it had never been proven to her.

  “I’ve been worried about Jane,” Ruby said. “I have a weird vibe about her, like she’s not quite as together as she appears. She’s hiding something.”

  “I just told you about her past.”

  “No,” Ruby said. “It’s not that. I’m not quite sure what it is. I’ve been keeping my eye on her.”

  “She’s a grown woman, Ruby. She doesn’t need you fussing over her,” Cora said.

  “I know that. That’s not at all what I mean. I think she’s fragile and full of fears and secrets.”

  That actually was a pretty good description of Jane. But then again, thought Cora, to believe fears, secrets, and fragility were Jane’s only qualities would be selling her short.

  Later, after Ruby left, and London was still asleep with Luna the cat curled up next to her, Cora texted Jane. There was no reply. Was Ruby correct in thinking she wouldn’t return?

  Jolts of panic and worry zoomed through her. Jane was not going to leave her hanging all weekend, was she? This, of all weekends, she wouldn’t abandon her—right? Right?

  Cora sat at her computer, trying to focus on her blog post. She ran a spell check and set it up so the post would publish in the morning.

  She needed to occupy her mind with something other than the missing Jane. So, she turned to Google—and Sarah Waters.

  She keyed in her name. A whole slew of links came up: newspaper articles and the obituary. And an auction. An auction?

  She clicked the link.

  Sarah’s family had held an auction of her things last week. She had been quite the collector. The auction ad listed first-edition books, Victorian sunglasses, antique opium kits, and a priceless broom collection. Priceless broom collection? Antique opium kits? Whoa! There was more to Little Miss Librarian than met the eye. There usually was when it came to people, Cora reminded herself.

  Why would anybody collect opium kits? Cora did some more Googling and immediately saw the reason. The silver-plated tools were encased in intricate etched and carved cases. Elegant designs on enamel cases flicked on her screen. One was a necklace, and tucked inside its huge locket were little sharp instruments. She had a vision of opulent opium dens, flappers dressed in sheer sparkling dresses, lounging on overstuffed velvet couches with jazz music playing softly in the background.

  Cora had been around the drug culture long enough to be aware that the romance of any drug was short-lived—no matter the era. She hated the fact that she herself had had to rely on drugs to help control her panic attacks at one point. Now she only took a pill when absolutely necessary.

  Cora mulled over the whole “collector” thing in her mind. She didn’t understand the desire to own a lot of objects. She did gather objects she could use in her upcycled crafts. Old tea cups and saucers and silverware, mostly. She fashioned them into all sorts of things—garden markers, chandeliers, candleholders, and so on. But to collect “things” for the sake of it? She just didn’t have that disposition.

  Evidently, Sarah Waters did. Cora looked over the list of Sarah’s collections once more. She clicked on a link about the priceless broom collection.

  A beep announced a text message from Jane, at last:

  I’m on my way home. More later. Is London asleep?

  Cora’s neck and shoulder muscles unraveled. Had she been holding all that in?

  Yes, she texted back. Everything is under control.

  I’ll take her to school in the morning. Get some rest. XO.

  Her phone beeped again, indicating a new message from Jane:

  Thank you, my friend.

  Cora was more than relieved. She chided herself: Did she really think Jane was going to run away? She had come so far. Their bonds of friendship were deep. Why this glimmer of mistrust when it came to Jane? She was ashamed of herself. Back to the brooms.

  One of Sarah’s brooms was from Italy and was gorgeous, with a colorful, intricate basket weaving on the top of it rather than metal or wire. Evidently, it was an altar broom from a church in Rome during the eighteenth century.

  Another was an old Shaker broom, which delighted Cora. She loved the Shaker brooms with their stark simplicity. It was utilitarian art. She knew the Shakers invented the flat bottom broom—until then, brooms were round, with mostly ragged bottoms. Sarah’s broom dated back to the 1800s.

  Another broom, called “Morganna’s Broom,” was Welsh. Ragged and undated, the broom belonged to a woman who was burned at the stake for witchcraft. Cora felt a chill along her spine. Who’d want a broom like that? She read on. The broom was said to have special magical qualities. It was made by a powerful broom maker in Wales who used particular twigs and grass gathered during auspicious times—a full moon during May.

  There was one last broom in Sarah’s collection to read about, a Native American broom that dated from twenty thousand years ago.

  Cora blinked. That must be a typo. No broom on this planet could be twenty thousand years old. She read on.

  The broom had been found in a cave between Indigo Gap and Asheville, North Carolina, and truly did date back twenty thousand years. It was basically a stick with grass at the end of it, but apparently made to last.

  Why and how would Sarah be in possession of what was basically a museum piece? Just how much money do school librarians earn, anyway?

  Chapter 13

  Jane downed the last bit of coffee in her paper cup and slid it into the cup holder of her car. She turned up the radio and cracked the window—the crisp air helped keep her alert. She needed to get home. The drive worked its magic; it gave her time to sort through it all, emotionally. Now, she was able to think.

  If this business failed, it was on her. There was no getting around that.

  She had almost killed her ex-husband. True, it had been in self-defense. But people were going to twist this around, as they often did. Even if she was proclaimed innocent, the damage had been done. They could not deny this.

  The idea of cops, courts, and judges freaked her out. It brought up memories she’d rather not think about. It was hard to start fresh with all these painful memories tugging at you—and then just when you think you’ve done it, bam. Your life circles back around on you.

  How many times did this have to happen to one person? How many times did one life need to be forced into reinvention? How much of a price did she have to pay to be happy?

  Was Cora right when she said it would be okay? The woman had a lot of faith in the justice system—even after she’d seen it fail time and time again. Even though they both had lost several friends to it.

  It’s not perfect, Cora’s voice rang in her head. But it does more good than harm.

  “Do more good than harm” seemed to be her friend’s mantra. Most of the time, Jane agreed. She tried to live by it as well. But sometimes, she wasn’t as strong as Cora.

  She drove toward Indigo Gap in her Volkswagen bug, then entered the small town. The speed limit slowed and the quaint storefronts and businesses welcomed her. The florist. The pub. The café. The Christmas Store. The Nature Store. The bookstore. Despite what she was going through, she felt herself loving this place an
d allowed herself a glimmer of hope that it would work out.

  Jane had hated leaving that afternoon. She knew it would upset Cora and London, and she hated that. But her taking off was self-preservation. She needed to do it. She’d learned over the years that sometimes you needed to walk away, gain some distance.

  That space and time served her well. She dug down deep, as she drove, and decided it was all worth fighting for—every piece of this new life of hers. This is exactly what she would do with the help of Cora, Cashel, and Ruby. They were counting on her. As was London. She couldn’t let them down. Not this time. Not these people.

  The moon shone brightly on Kildare House. She pulled into the driveway, exited her car, and stood in the light of the moon, whispering a little prayer that her new secret wouldn’t destroy everything.

  The secret that had been hers to keep could also be the secret that destroyed a friendship. She had to be careful about this, because it was also her alibi. Every secret found its way out, eventually. She grimaced. She had just been hoping to keep it a little while longer.

  * * *

  Jane, Cora, and Ruby met in the kitchen the next morning to go over some last-minute details about the retreat. What time was Jude getting in? When would their first crafter arrive? Did they have enough coffee, tea, and munchies? While the meeting was going on, Cora whipped up yet another batch of blueberry muffins.

  “You can never have enough muffins on hand,” Cora said. She pulled out the last batch.

  “I agree wholeheartedly,” Ruby said, barely looking up from the scarf she was knitting.

  “Let’s go over the list one more time, just to make sure we are covered,” Cora said as she set the muffins on her cooling rack, their smell taunting her. With her emotions running on high, she could eat about a dozen or so.

  As Jane read items off the list, Cora made another pot of coffee.

  “You can’t have enough coffee, either,” Ruby said.

  “Or chocolate,” Cora said.

  “Or sex,” Jane added, then burst out laughing.

  The doorbell rang. Could it be? Could their famous broom maker be arriving? All three women headed for the front door.

  When Jude Sawyer, the broom maker, walked into Kildare House, it was as if he filled it. Not that he was such a huge man, though he was tall and well built, with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs. It was more his sheer presence. Charisma radiated from him. Cora, Jane, and Ruby greeted him and flitted around him like a group of chickadees.

  “I’m so glad you could make it. It’s good you’re here a bit early, too,” Cora said.

  “Can I get you anything?” Ruby, normally a bit dour, suddenly perked up. Her face was a little pink and her eyes brightened as she smiled. Her happy face complemented the rainbow sweater she wore—handmade with hand-dyed wool, of course. “Cora just made blueberry muffins and a fresh pot of coffee.”

  Jude looked at her a bit bashfully. The younger man knew he was appreciated by women, including this woman, old enough to be his mother. Was he embarrassed? Cora wondered. Or was it false humility?

  “How about some coffee?” he asked Ruby.

  “We’ve got the coffeepot on most of the time,” Ruby replied. “How do you like it?”

  “Black,” he said.

  “I’ll show you to your room while Ruby gets your coffee,” Jane said. “You can put your things away and get a feel for the place.”

  Cora watched Jude take Jane in. He apparently liked what he saw. Her long black hair was pulled up into a messy bun. She had just smeared red lipstick onto her upturned lips before he entered the house. It brought out those deep blue eyes of hers. Soulful, just like Jane.

  Cora and Jane hadn’t had a chance to catch up yet, between getting London off to school, breakfast, and attending to last-minute details.

  “Gorgeous woodwork,” Jude said, his hands grazing the banister as he and Jane made their way up the stairs.

  “The house was built in 1892,” Jane said. “There are so many wonderful details. The woodwork. The floors. Wait until you see the main fireplace. I live in the carriage house out back. Even there, the workmanship is exquisite.”

  “This is a Tiffany window,” Jane said as they stopped on the landing. “You wouldn’t think to see it in a small town like this, but the family were admirers of fine art and craftsmanship.”

  “It’s a Celtic goddess, Brigid,” Jane said. “Goddess of poetry and crafts.”

  “Very appropriate,” Jude said.

  As Jane and Jude walked farther up the stairs and out of listening distance, Ruby appeared with Jude’s coffee.

  “He’ll be back down,” Cora said. “He’s a bit entranced with the place.”

  “He’s entranced with something,” Ruby snorted.

  “Most men are.”

  “You ain’t so bad yourself,” Ruby said. “Why don’t you have a guy?”

  Cora shrugged. Go out and get a guy, like you were picking apples. As if it were that easy. She thought of Cashel, momentarily, but then immediately erased him from her mind, while his mother stood in front of her.

  “I just . . . haven’t met the right guy, I suppose.” She thought she had once—but Dante was history.

  “You’re young and pretty,” Ruby said. “You should be out experimenting. You know, getting laid.”

  Cora felt her cheeks flush—and hated herself for it. It was one of the many scourges of being a fair-skinned redhead.

  Ruby cackled, noticing her flush. “I’m sorry—didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’ve got some sorting to do in the cottage,” she said after a moment of uncomfortable silence had passed. “I do hate to leave and miss that eye candy. But I’ll catch you later.”

  With that, she was gone. Ruby knew how to disappear out of a room.

  Jane came back down the stairs. “Jude asked for his coffee in his room. Says he needs some time to get organized. He’ll be down for lunch.”

  Cora handed Jane the mug of coffee, and Jane headed back up the stairs.

  “I had no idea he was so, um, hot,” Jane said over her shoulder with a grin.

  “Behave yourself,” Cora called back. That was all she needed—a love-struck Jane. They had talked about how it was not a good idea for Jane to get involved with anyone quite yet. How she needed to give herself some time alone. But a voluptuous woman like Jane had to beat back the men sometimes.

  When the doorbell rang, Cora thought it might be Mary-Laura Johnson, who was bringing gourds over for the gift baskets. But when she opened the door, she was distressed to see two police officers, different ones than had visited the carriage house earlier.

  “Can I help you?” Cora asked.

  “I’m Officer Glass and this is Officer Shimer. We’re looking for Jude Sawyer. Is he staying here?”

  “Mr. Sawyer is a guest here, yes,” Cora responded, wondering what this could be about. How did they even know Jude? He was from Tennessee. “He’ll be teaching a class here this weekend.”

  “That’s what we thought,” Officer Glass said. “We need to talk with him. Where is he?”

  “In his room.”

  “And where is that?”

  “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to bother him in his room, Officers. I will be happy to bring him to you,” Cora said.

  “No problem, Cora,” Jude said as he came down the stairs. “I’m here.”

  “Is there someplace private we could talk?” Officer Shimer asked.

  Cora sent them all into the paper-crafting room. Before she shut the door, she stood back and took in the contrasting sight of the big uniformed police officers surrounded by beautiful paper, ribbons, and sparkly embellishments.

  She couldn’t resist standing outside the closed door and eavesdropping. Why were the local police here to see her guest teacher? She sort of had a right to know, didn’t she? Two visits from the police in two days? She hoped this wasn’t going to be a habit.

  She pressed her ear up to the solid chestnut door but c
ouldn’t hear a word.

  “What are you doing?” Jane said from behind her.

  “Shhh!” Cora pointed toward the door.

  A bewildered Jane pulled Cora off to the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” she asked once they were alone.

  “Jude’s in there with two police officers,” Cora answered.

  “What the—”

  “Exactly,” Cora said, crossing her arms. “I had a bad feeling about having a man at our first retreat.”

  “I know, I know, but this could be something fairly mundane.”

  “Like what? A parking ticket? They’ve been in there awhile. It doesn’t make sense,” Cora said.

  “Did you do a background check on him?” Jane asked after a moment.

  “He’s Jude freakin’ Sawyer,” Cora said.

  “Does that mean no? You didn’t do a background check? Honestly, Cora!”

  Cora always assumed folks were innocent until proven guilty and didn’t see the need for background checks. She preferred to judge after getting to know someone. But the longer Jude’s meeting with the local police went on, the more she started to see the wisdom of background checks.

  Chapter 14

  Jane needed to go back to the carriage house. But Ruby had entered in the back kitchen door and stood in her way. Like a stone. Or more like a mountain. She was immovable.

  “I don’t think you should go back there,” Ruby said, with a quick glance at the back door that opened to the screened porch.

  “Why?” Jane said. Cora came up behind her.

  “Just trust me on this,” Ruby said. Her eyes were rimmed in red. Had she been crying?

  “What’s wrong?” Cora said.

  “I saw the cops are here. Are they still here? What are they doing here?” Ruby said, her bottom lip twitching.

  Why isn’t Ruby answering the question?

  Jane knew how paranoid Ruby was about the police. She was definitely part of the generation of aging hippie-flower children who thought cops were all out to get them. Jane had some issues with the cops, as well, but not like this.