Death Among the Doilies

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  “Do you mind?” Jane said. “I need to go back to my place. I’ve got some things to take care of before I need to go get London.”

  “Let’s go back in the kitchen for a minute,” Ruby said, pushing both Jane and Cora back inside. She was agitated—or was she frightened?

  “What’s going on? For God’s sakes, Ruby. We don’t have time for this . . . ,” Jane said.

  “Where are the cops?” Ruby demanded.

  “Are you worried about them?” Jane said. “They’re in the paper-crafting room with Jude.” She headed for the paper-crafting room, with Cora and Ruby trailing behind her.

  “Look, I bought the brooms fair and square. I can’t help it if her family doesn’t like it. They took my money, didn’t they?” Jude said, with a booming voice.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Ruby said. “But we’ve got a situation.”

  “You’re damn right we do,” Jude said. “I’ve been accused of theft and I don’t like it.”

  “What?” Cora said. “That’s absurd.”

  Officer Shimer eyeballed the three women. “What do you want?” he said.

  “I’d like to report a crime,” Ruby said.

  “What kind of crime?” he asked her.

  “I was walking around back, walking from my place to the main house. And I walked by the carriage house—”

  “You live here?” Officer Glass interrupted.

  “Yes, on the property, in the gardener’s cottage,” Ruby explained impatiently. “And Jane lives in the carriage house.”

  “How many people live here in total?” Officer Glass asked, scratching his head.

  “Three adults and one child,” Cora answered. “Ruby, what’s going on?”

  “As I was walking by, well, I noticed something strange,” she said.

  “Strange? A strange person?” Glass said, standing up.

  “No, I wish. I didn’t see him,” she replied. Her hands were on her hips, now, and her voice was forceful.

  “Him?” Jane said. “Him who?” Jane’s voice rose a few decibels.

  “Calm down,” Shimer said, standing up. “Let her finish.”

  Jane stood close to Cora, wondering what Ruby was blathering on about. She tended to be a little dramatic at times.

  “Someone spray-painted a message on Jane’s door,” Ruby said.

  “Huh? My door?” Jane said.

  “What does it say?” Cora asked.

  Ruby shook her head back and forth.

  “Let’s go out there and check it out,” Shimer said.

  They all followed Ruby out, through the back kitchen door, past the rows of marigolds and mums, and down to the quaint carriage house Jane called home. The place was newly painted in sky blue and cranberry trim around the windows—with the approval of the historical commission. They had hung shutters and flower boxes to match last week.

  A gasp escaped from Jane’s mouth as she read the message. GO HOME, KILLER was spray-painted in orange across her door.

  Cora stood beside her and wrapped her arm around her.

  Ruby cleared her throat. “There was an intruder on this property, Officers, one who vandalized this house. What are you going to do about it—stand there, looking stupid?”

  The cops eyed each other. Shimer pulled out his cell phone and called the station. “We’ll need to search the area. It couldn’t have happened very long ago. What time did you leave your house this morning?” he asked Jane.

  Jane couldn’t speak. Her mouth wouldn’t move. Why was her tongue so dry?

  “She came to a breakfast meeting at eight-thirty,” Cora said. “I’m sorry, Officers, I think she’s had quite a shock. I should really get her inside.”

  “I agree,” Shimer said. He slipped his cell phone in his pocket. “We’re going to search the area. It’s eleven-thirty, so the person could be anywhere by now. But we’ll ask around. Maybe a neighbor saw something. You never know.”

  “Thanks, so much, Officer,” Cora said, leading Jane away and into the house, past Ruby and Jude, who stood by, befuddled.

  Jane forced a smile as they passed Jude and went back into the kitchen, where Cora sat her down and put a glass of water in front of her. Jane held the water in her hand—it was so nice and cool against her sweaty skin. She took a drink and then pressed the glass to her face.

  “Are you okay?” Cora asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jane said, after a minute. Light was streaming through the kitchen window and shining right on Cora, her best friend in the world, standing there with an air of concern pasted on her face, but sheer fear was just beneath the facade. Jane knew this because she knew Cora so well. “Stop biting your lip.”

  “Okay. It’s going to be okay,” Cora said. “Cashel is going to get you completely off, of course, because you are innocent and then . . .”

  “But someone believes I’m guilty,” she said.

  Cora sighed. “It looks that way, doesn’t it? Okay, let them believe what they want.”

  “But in the meantime—”

  “In the meantime, we do as Cashel suggests.”

  “You mean we just . . . act like nothing has happened?”

  “Yes,” Cora said after a minute, but she looked away.

  “Really?” Jane said. There was something about the way Cora turned from her and started wiping off the kitchen counter. She was hiding something. “For some reason, I don’t quite believe you.”

  Cora turned to face her. “Well, as far as Cashel and the rest of the town know, we are going to do what we do best. Crafting. Retreating. Being nice and friendly.”

  “But?”

  “But we also need to find a murderer.”

  Jane took a long drink of water and set the glass down. “You aren’t suggesting, again, what I think you are? That we somehow investigate Sarah’s murder on our own?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Girl, you have lost your ever-loving mind.”

  “No, I haven’t. It doesn’t look like the police are getting anywhere. Why shouldn’t we poke around a bit?”

  “Because, um, murder? If we piss the killer off, they might come after us. Besides, we could make the police mad. I don’t need that.”

  “No, you don’t,” Cora said after a minute. “Which is why we need to be careful.”

  Jane knew then that Cora had her mind set. There was no turning back. Not now. And it scared Jane to death. Only Cora would attempt something like this, so blinded by her absolute need to help.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Jane said.

  “Relax,” Cora said, crossing her arms and leaning on the counter. “It will be fine. Trust me.”

  She did trust Cora. But she was talking about investigating a murder case. It wasn’t the same thing as starting a new business together—or even working with abused women, tough as it was. This was life and death, and they had no idea what they were doing. She’d have to keep a close eye on Cora, who often went into situations purely on instinct, without much thought. This could get downright messy.

  Chapter 15

  “I’m sorry, ladies,” Officer Shimer said, walking toward them as they came out the back door. “We haven’t been able to find anybody. None of your neighbors witnessed anything, other than the usual UPS delivery, catering van, a florist, and so on. In fact, most of the neighbors are not even home. It’s the middle of the day. Everybody must be away at work.”

  “The grass over that way was bent in such a way that we could follow the trail for a few minutes. We even got a dog involved. We checked down by the river as well,” the officer explained.

  The river was a couple of miles from Kildare House, down a rocky landscape. If someone had run in that direction, he or she would have had an unpleasant time of it, unless they were familiar with the area.

  “What are the chances we can get the door painted over before Jane’s daughter comes home from school?” Cora asked.

  “Depends on if you have paint. We’ve taken p
hotos and gathered all the evidence,” Officer Glass replied.

  “Evidence?” Cora said.

  “We took a sample of the paint, which will tell us what kind it is and then we might be able to figure out where it was purchased,” he said.

  The officers of Indigo Gap wore indigo blue. Officer Glass’s uniform seemed to almost blend in to the sky as he stood in the garden between the big house and the two smaller houses on the property.

  “Can you get back to me and let me know?” Cora said.

  “That’s police business.”

  “It’s just that this is my property,” she replied. “It would make me feel more secure to be kept informed. Besides which, I was thinking maybe the vandal is also the person who killed Sarah Waters.”

  “Whoa,” he said.

  “Whoa indeed,” Jane said.

  “That’s quite a leap of logic,” Glass said.

  “Not really. Who else would want to make it look like Jane is guilty, but the guilty person?” Cora said, as if he should know.

  Officer Glass shook his head. “It’s never that simple with cases like this. I get what you’re saying. But it’s probably a local kid looking for mischief.”

  Glass was called away by another officer.

  “A local kid looking for mischief that the cops can’t find,” Cora said to Jane. “Makes me feel all warm and cozy.”

  Jude, who had been hanging around on the periphery, walked up to Cora and Jane.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying,” he said. “I didn’t want to bring up Jane’s predicament . . .”

  “You know, of course, that she’s innocent,” Cora said, perhaps a bit too fast.

  Jane stood by silently, brooding. Her were arms crossed, and the nearby mums and marigolds framed her long cur vy figure.

  “Of course,” Jude said, smiling at Jane. “But I wanted to say I think you’re on to something. I think someone wants people to believe she killed Sarah. That’s how it appears.”

  Cora warmed. She already liked this guy a lot, and now, she liked him even more.

  He hitched his fingers in his jeans. “Sarah Waters, man, what a pain in the ass.”

  “Excuse me,” Jane said. “Did you know her?”

  “Yes, that’s one of the things the cops were talking with me about.”

  “I’m all ears, Jude,” Cora said.

  “I bought her broom collection at this auction the family had,” he said. “Evidently one of the daughters is protesting and wants the brooms back.”

  “Broom collection?” Jane said, raising her eyebrows.

  “I read about it online,” Cora said.

  “Who collects brooms?” Jane said, incredulous.

  “I do,” Jude replied and chuckled.

  “You’re a broom maker,” Jane replied. “That makes sense. But why would Sarah?”

  “Who knows why anybody collects anything?” Cora said, realizing the police were still scattered about the backyard. “Maybe we should take our conversation inside.”

  “Nah, you go ahead,” Jane said. “I need to find some paint and get that door fixed before London gets home.”

  * * *

  Cora poured Jude a glass of sweet tea. He sat at her kitchen table eating an egg-salad sandwich. While Cora loved her new home, she despised the small, somewhat dingy kitchen. One of these days, the kitchen would also be remodeled. Eventually, she wanted to offer baking classes. But, first things first.

  “So, you knew Sarah?” she asked Jude.

  “I did. Not well,” he said, then took a drink of his tea. “I knew her ex-husband better. We worked at the mill together for a few years before my business took off. He actually worked more with my dad.”

  Cora knew the “mill” everybody talked about was the local textile mill, now closed, just another blow in the local economy. It was famous for its fine indigo-blue cotton.

  “Her ex lives in Pennsylvania now,” he added.

  “What was she like? Why did they get a divorce?” Divorce wasn’t such an odd occurrence these days, but Cora made a mental note to check into the court records to see exactly what kind of divorce occurred. Cora knew enough about murder to know that usually the victim knew her killer. Husbands and ex-husbands were usually at the top of the suspect list—for good reason.

  “You know, I never knew why. Nobody did. But she changed. I think she became a health freak or something and lost a lot of weight at one point and the next thing you knew, they were getting a divorce,” he said and bit into his sandwich.

  “Someone said she was a typical librarian,” Cora prompted.

  “I suppose,” he said. “Whatever that means. But I guess she was bookish. She had quite the book collection. Still does, from what I hear. The family didn’t sell her books.”

  “How odd that they want the brooms back,” Cora said.

  “There’s one daughter who wasn’t around when all of this went down,” he said. “She wanted the brooms for herself. But I paid for them fair and square.” He hesitated. He seemed to be considering his situation. “I love those brooms.”

  “But?”

  “I kind of feel bad that the daughter wants them.”

  Cora felt her heart flutter. What a nice man.

  “What are you going to do?” she said.

  “I’m not sure. What are you going to do?”

  “About what?”

  “About Jane.”

  “I know she’s innocent. I have faith in our judicial system. It will be fine,” Cora said with finality. She placed the lid back on the plastic bowl containing the egg salad.

  “I hope you’re right,” he said. “This is a fine place. I love what you’ve done with it. I love the whole idea of it.”

  Cora beamed. “It’s a dream come true for me.”

  “Sometimes I teach at a prison. And I tell you what, it makes a difference. Giving people something to do with their hands . . . it’s healthy and healing,” he said, then took his last bite of sandwich.

  Cora could hardly believe what she was hearing. This handsome man sat across the table from her, spouting her own beliefs. Her eyes met his and her faced heated. She glanced away. She thought Jane might be interested in Jude—and no matter how good-looking or nice, that meant hands-off for Cora.

  Chapter 16

  Cora’s pencil pointed at each item on her list again. Everything seemed to be in order. The food would come tomorrow. Fresh clean linens were on the beds. New bars of rosemary-mint handcrafted soap and clean towels filled each of the bathrooms. The craft rooms were spotless and well organized. The place had been dusted and preened over until it shined. And it was a shining, gleaming jewel, this house of hers. Well, not hers, technically speaking. It still belonged to the bank and her investors. One guest was scheduled to arrive that evening, but the others were all getting in the next day. Tomorrow was the day. Grand opening.

  She wondered how far Jane had come with removing the graffiti from the front door of the carriage house. She didn’t want London to see the monstrosity, nor did she want any of her guests to see it.

  Now, on to her next project: proving Jane’s innocence. Jude gave her a little more information to mull over. Sarah was divorced. She had two daughters—one of whom had been living who knows where, and was not happy the family had sold her mother’s collections. Cora wanted to talk with her. It might lead her to learn more about who would have wanted to kill Sarah.

  Of course, the other daughter would help, as well. Where did these women live? And how about the ex-husband? Did Jude say he was in Pennsylvania? What about Sarah’s house? Was it sold? Was there someone living there?

  Given what Cora knew about murdered women—way too much for any person to know—she thought she’d start with the divorce and the husband. What was that statistic she’d read about recently? That 30 percent of murdered women were killed by their spouse—or boyfriend. Did Sarah have a boyfriend? How would she find out?

  After researching everybody online, she
came up with a list of people to question:

  Husband: Josh Waters (living in Pennsylvania)

  Daughter: Dee Waters (the one who was at large)

  Daughter: Rebecca Saunders (must be married and where was she living?)

  Boyfriend? (Perhaps Jude would know?)

  She wrote down Sarah’s address. She decided to take a walk through the town by Sarah’s house to check it out, just out of curiosity. She stood and stretched out her arms, and the tightness in her shoulders gave way.

  Her cell phone buzzed.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “It’s Jane. I’ve lost track of time and I’m covered in paint. Do you mind picking up London?”

  “Sure, I can do that,” Cora said. So much for the walk. “Did you get the door painted?”

  “Yes, but I’m a mess and need to get in the shower. A guest is expected in a couple of hours, right?”

  “Yes,” Cora said. “I was getting ready to Google more names. Mostly family of Sarah’s.”

  “For what?”

  “I think we need to talk with them about their mother. We need to find out more about her if we’re going to find out who killed her.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Jane?”

  “Yes,” Jane said.

  “What’s wrong?” Cora asked.

  “Other than the fact that I’m a murder suspect?”

  “Well, not officially a suspect. But yes, other than that.” Cora paused, wanting to change the subject. “I thought we should look into her ex-husband. Where was he on the night of the murder?”

  “He’d be the number one suspect, wouldn’t he?” Jane said. “I’m sure the police have already talked with him. What we need is a cop to tell us what they know and go from there. Some cop likes to talk or that newspaper article wouldn’t have gotten published. Well, I have to get in the shower. Can you bring London to your place and I’ll meet you there?”

  “Sure,” Cora said. It was a great idea to chat with the police, just like it was a good idea to go for a walk. But first, London.

  Cora grabbed her purse and headed for the back door just as the doorbell rang for the front door. When she opened the door, a huge basket full of fall flowers greeted her.