Books by Mollie Cox Bryan
The Cora Crafts Mystery series
DEATH AMONG THE DOILIES
NO CHARM INTENDED
MACRAMÉ MURDER
ASSAULT AND BEADERY
The Cumberland Creek Mystery series
SCRAPBOOK OF SECRETS
SCRAPPED
SCRAPPY SUMMER eNovella
DEATH OF AN IRISH DIVA
A CRAFTY CHRISTMAS
SCRAPPILY EVER AFTER eNovella
SCRAPBOOK OF THE DEAD
Assault and Beadery
Mollie Cox Bryan
KENSINGTON BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Crafts
Recipes
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
NO CHARM INTENDED
DEATH AMONG THE DOILIES
SCRAPBOOK OF SECRETS
SCRAPPED
DEATH OF AN IRISH DIVA
SCRAPPY SUMMER
SCRAPPILY EVER AFTER
SCRAPBOOK OF THE DEAD
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 by Mollie Cox Bryan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-1644-6
eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1645-3
eISBN-10: 1-4967-1645-0
Dedicated to the readers of my books, with gratitude
Acknowledgments
I’m so lucky (and grateful) to be able to do work that I love so much. I write alone in my tiny sun porch office early every morning, but the rest of publishing a book takes a dedicated team. I’m sure I don’t know every person who helps with my books at Kensington. But to all of you, I appreciate your work and hope for many years of partnership. Martin Biro, my trusted editor, is a fount of support, ideas, and smarts. Thank you for everything, Martin.
Thank you to James Abbate for keeping me informed about sales and promotions on my books. My sincere thanks also go to Lulu Martinez, who not only is an amazing publicist, but also an inspiration. (If you don’t believe me, follow her Instagram feed!) Thanks to all the amazing booksellers out there, with a shout-out to two of my favorite booksellers and people, Mary Katharine Froelich of Stone Soup Books, now an online concern, and Kelly Justice of Fountain Bookstore in Richmond, Virginia. Special thanks to my beta readers Jennifer Feller, Amber Benson, and to Rosemary Stevens for all the writerly support.
I’d also like to extend a huge thanks to my agent, Jill Marsal, who has already made a huge difference in my writing life. I’m so excited about all the new possibilities.
Last but not least, thanks to my daughters, Emma and Tess, who amaze me every day. I’m so honored to be your mom.
With gratitude,
Mollie
Chapter 1
“How did we let ourselves get involved with this?” Cora Chevalier whispered to best friend and business partner, Jane Starr.
“It’s not too bad, is it?” Jane whispered back.
The voice of one of the cast members performed the vocal gymnastics otherwise known as warm-ups. Cora grimaced.
“What do you think?” Cora said, hands over her ears.
Jane was in her element. She loved designing and painting the sets for the local theater group, IndigoArts. Cora would rather be at home with her cat, Luna. Besides, their next craft retreat, with a back-to-school theme for moms, beckoned with countless tasks requiring their attention.
Fiddler on the Roof opened tonight and along with excitement in the air, frayed nerves ran rampant. Cora and Jane’s work essentially was done a week ago, but the sets needed a few touch-ups. They planned to be on their merry way as soon as possible.
Jane stood back and examined her work. “It will do. Good thing the audience won’t be close enough to see the details,” she said as she looked over the log house façade. It consisted of painted brown logs in between soft blue lines representing mud or clay Jane drew. She had also painted two windows and a door, along with the roof. No curtains hung in the windows, which was a subject of about a week’s debate between Jane and the director, Stan. Should there be curtains? Or not?
Earlier, Jane and Cora finished painting a purple night sky with mountains fading in the distance, which took most of the day. Since they were already at the theater, they checked out a few of the other set pieces and façades to see if any touch-ups were needed.
“It looks beautiful,” Cora said, picking up and then dropping her paintbrush into a bucket. She grew dizzy from the scent of paint and turpentine. “Let’s get this cleaned up and go home before we’re commandeered into doing something else.”
She spoke too soon.
“There you are!” Zee said as she walked onto the stage as if she owned it. Others milled about, cleaning and making quick repairs and changes. “I wondered if you two are going to make the show tonight?”
It was their burgeoning friendship with Zee, otherwise known as Zora, that brought them here. Soon after Jane and Cora met her, she told them to please call her Zee, as she hated the name Zora, which had belonged to an evil old aunt. She was the musical director for the theater group.
When she learned of Jane’s artistic ability, she approached her.
“No,” Jane replied. “We figured we’d attend next Sunday’s matinee. We’ve got a retreat starting.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Zee said, and wrote something on a paper attached to her clipboard. “Thank you both for all the work you’ve done.” She lowered her voice. “I know it wasn’t easy at times. So I owe you.”
“We’ll remind you of that,” Cora said with a joking tone.
But Cora meant what she said. The politics of the local theater group was like an intricate game of chess. Cora found herself with her foot in her mouth on more than one occasion. She loved theater and had been in plays in college and briefly thought she might get involved with IndigoArts. Until this experience. She adored Zee, but they’d need a long chat about all this someday.
Besides, Cora needed to focus on the upcoming retreat. Her guest teacher was scheduled to arrive bright and early in the morning. Lena Ross was a beading artist. Just thinking about learning how to work with beads lifted Cora’s spirits. It was a craft that was easy to make for non-crafters. No special talent was necessary, but beading could become an art in the right hands.
Lena Ross crafted across the spectrum of what made up the beading scene. She made everything from French bead floral arrangements to gorgeous lampwork necklaces. Cora was fascinated.
“You’ve done such a great job,” Zee said. “Do you have a full house for this retreat?”
“Not yet,” Cora said. “We’ve got some room. Do you want to come and craft with us?”
“Heavens no,” she said, waving her plump hand. “I just thought if you needed room you could send them my way.”
Zee owned and operated the Blue Note, one of the bed-and-breakfasts in quaint Indigo Gap. “I’m all thumbs with anything but music and flowers,” she said. “Believe me. I’ve tried.”
“Well, if you ever change your mind and want to give something a try, we’re here for you,” Cora said, grinning. “And if we’re ever in need of rooms, we’ll send our retreaters to you.”
“What are you going to be doing? Crochet? Quilting? I’ve no interest whatsoever in making that stuff. I do love to buy it, though,” Zee said with a Cheshire cat grin.
Jane and Cora had tried to guess Zee’s age to no avail. And she wasn’t one to tell. She’d had a whole other life before “retiring” to Indigo Gap. She was a musician, and her B&B featured a shiny baby grand in the sitting room. She had silver-blond hair and wore black kohl eyeliner over blue eye shadow, every day.
“Zora! There you are! Can I have a word?” It was the musical’s director, Stan Herald, who took himself a bit too seriously for Cora’s taste. He also refused to call Zora by Zee, even though she’d asked him to several times.
“Catch you two later,” Zee said, and followed Stan into the wings. “I’ll bring the flowers by then.”
After they had finished cleaning up, Cora whispered, “Let’s get out of here . . . while we still can.”
Chapter 2
Cora and Jane made their great escape from the theater to the streets of Indigo Gap. They walked briskly, passing several local businesses: the florist, the paper shop, and the Blue Dawg Diner.
“Do you have everything you need for your class?” Cora asked. “I know you were expecting more materials.”
Jane nodded. “Everything is set.”
Jane planned a mini-class on making raku beads. As a potter, she understood all about clay and already possessed the tools and materials for the class. Embellishments and instruments were ordered for the crafters. Cora had peeked at the beads Jane fashioned while practicing for the class. Jane thought of them as whimsical projects, but Cora was amazed by them. Because of the firing techniques and the materials used, the clay resembled glass. Jane’s beads shimmered with colorful translucency, reminding Cora of swirly carnival glass.
“I’m so looking forward to this retreat,” Jane said. “What a great idea to hold a retreat for moms after the summer. Maybe we can make this an annual event.”
“Let’s see how the first one goes,” Cora said. “For now, I’m all for it.”
“I like the idea of a single craft, but with each teacher adding their own unique element,” Jane said.
This crafty moms retreat was the first. Up until this point, at each retreat Cora and Jane had offered two or three different crafts.
“Well, beading lends itself to it,” Cora said. “I’m looking forward to Ruby’s herbal beading class.”
“She’s a bit more prickly than usual,” Jane said. “I hope everything is okay with her.”
Now the third partner in their craft retreat business, Ruby lived in the gardener’s cottage on the property and came with the purchase of Cora’s house-turned-retreat center. She was a local and a gifted herbalist, both of which benefited the business.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I think she’s just a moody person,” Cora said.
“It’s almost time for me to pick up London from school,” Jane said, as they approached Kildare House. “I’ll catch you later.”
“You should come by later and check out Zee’s floral arrangements,” Cora said.
“I’ll try,” Jane replied as she walked around the side of Kildare House and back to her carriage house abode. She and London lived in a second-floor apartment, over Jane’s pottery studio and shop.
Tomorrow, along with their guest teacher’s arrival, a few of the crafters would be arriving as well, so Cora took this time to once again make certain everything was prepared for them. She walked through each room and each bathroom, inspecting things. Did everybody have enough towels? Soap? Sheets? Extra blankets? Satisfied that everything seemed to be in order, she moved along at a brisk pace until she arrived at Mémé’s Boudoir, where she always paused because the room was filled with her grandmother’s things. Worn French linen covered the bed, lacy antique linen hung on the walls in French-inspired, gilded frames, and old family photos sat on the dresser on top of a long frilly doily. Perhaps it was just the memory of the woman who saved all these treasures for Cora, or maybe the items themselves held a comforting vibe. She smoothed over the bed, and the feel of the soft linen on her skin calmed her.
When she thought of calm and comfort, Cora’s thoughts moved to Adrian, her boyfriend, who was working late tonight at the public elementary school. As the school librarian, he was readying for parent night, tidying up his library. She’d not gotten to see him much over the past few weeks because school was in session and she’d been recruited into helping out with the IndigoArts play. Never again, she told herself.
Just then her cell phone rang. “Cora Chevalier,” she answered.
“Hi, Cora, this is Roni Davis.”
“Hi, Roni, how can I help you?” Cora asked.
“I’m one of your retreaters and I completely miscalculated how many days it would take me to drive to Indigo Gap from Virginia, so I’m almost there. Should I get a hotel room, or is it okay for me to just come to Kildare House?”
So much for having the night to herself.
“You’re welcome to come here. No worries,” Cora said. She wondered what Jane would say. She’d been telling Cora she ought to work on her “need to please” and set more boundaries.
“Thanks so much,” Roni said. “I’ll pay you for the extra night.”
“Thank you,” Cora said, thinking that would make Jane happy. “We’ll see you in a bit.”
Cora sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by her grandmother’s worn but beautiful objects. Sometimes she felt like pinching herself. Could it be that her dreams were all actually coming true? The Crafty Moms’ Escape Weekend was her third retreat—and the arrangements were all in place. She expected blips, such as a guest arriving earlier than intended. Cora could manage. She was managing. She hadn’t had a panic attack in months.
Not only was her professional life coming together, but she and Adrian were moving along in their relationship. She had a great boyfriend, a lovely
home, and a booming craft retreat business. Dare she hope for even more success and happiness?
After giving everything a final check, Cora called Zee. She was late with the flowers, which was totally unlike her. She didn’t answer her phone, which was also unlike her.
Oh well, Cora thought, maybe she’d gotten busy at the theater. After all, it was opening night.
Cora set off to check over the gift baskets, which had become a signature of their retreats. Each crafter received a basketful of tools and crafting goodies on arrival. Almost everything they needed was in the baskets—beads, wire, felt. Gifts from a few local crafters were also included, such as a paper pack from the new paper shop and tiny felted birds from an art teacher at the high school who had a craft business on the side.
Her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts and her checking over the baskets. “Cora Chevalier.”
“Hello?” Cora said when no one spoke at first.
“It’s Zee.”
Cora’s heart raced. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t bring your flowers. I’m at the ... I’m at the police station.”
“Whatever for?”
“It’s Stan. He’s dead.”
“What? What happened?”
Zee inhaled and exhaled into the phone before answering. “It was no accident. Someone killed him, and they think it was me.”
Chapter 3
Cora reached for her tapestry handbag, her keys, and a scarf. She needed to get to the police station, and fast. Poor Zee! Cora knew she didn’t kill Stan. What was going on? Why would they even bother questioning her?
What an odd town Indigo Gap, North Carolina, is, she thought. She’d been here a little over a year, and this was the third murder. Murder? Surely not. Surely Zee must be mistaken. Who would kill a director at the theater on opening night? Zee must be upset and confused.
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