Assault and Beadery

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  “I’m worried.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  Cora nodded. “I need to talk with a few people.”

  Ruby harrumphed, then turned to stir the petals. “You need to stay out of it. I’m sure Cashel has the situation under control.”

  “Then why is Zee still being held?”

  Ruby offered no answer.

  Jane entered the room with not just one, but two pitchers of Bloody Marys. Lena trailed her with a tray of glasses.

  The rose petals simmered and the room filled with the scent. Soft, golden-hued light streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “So now, the petals need to cool to room temperature,” Ruby said. “Then I’ll pour them into the food processor and blend on the highest setting. What we are looking for is a fine paste, which will make for some smooth and durable beads.”

  Ruby turned her back to the others. “Maybe Zee knows more than she’s telling,” she muttered to Cora. “Something is not right.”

  “You’re not suggesting she actually—”

  Ruby held up her hand. “No. I’m just saying there’s probably more to all this than what we know.”

  “What’s next?” Vera asked, coming over to them with her drink in her hand.

  “We’ll pour the pulp into a pan. Now, you can’t use an aluminum pan. The rose petals are acidic and react oddly in aluminum. We don’t have the time to do this properly on this retreat. So what I’ve done is brought this along to show you what to do next.

  “I’ve simmered this mixture for about thirty minutes, twice a day, for three days. In between simmering, I set the mixture aside to cool and dry out a little bit. Both the simmering process and the natural evaporation makes the pulp condense into a thick paste that’s ideal for working with beads. The ideal consistency is that of modeling clay, so if you find that the pulp is still too wet on day three, feel free to continue the simmering and drying process until it attains that magical claylike texture.”

  Ruby scooped a spoon into the mix. “See?”

  “No wonder you don’t find these beads anymore,” Roni said, slurring her words just a bit. Uh-oh. Just how much drinking had Roni done today? Was she getting tipsy? That’s all Cora needed—a group of moms gone wild. Still, the thought of it made her grin. “Who has time to do this?”

  “Okay, so that’s the most time-consuming part,” Ruby said. “And the end result is so lovely. Now, what we’ll be doing next is working with this paste mixture. It’s time to make your beads. Roll the mix into little beads, like this.” She showed the class how she rolled the mix between her palms, fashioning a bead.

  “Use those needles to poke holes in the center after they’ve sat awhile. I will tell you that they shrink a lot during the drying process, so make the balls bigger than what you want,” Ruby said.

  “Bigger balls?” Roni said, amused.

  The room exploded in laughter.

  Chapter 22

  After the group rolled their rose petal beads, Cora snapped some photos of them aligned on a baking tray. The beads needed a day to dry, out of the direct sunlight.

  Jane considered this group of crafters, all mothers and quite different from the other groups of women who’d crafted with them. Each band of crafters had a personality. This one was . . . ribald, bawdy.

  “Once the beads have cured, they can be used in craft projects, turned into jewelry, made into rosaries, or even just tucked into dresser drawers to scent your clothes,” Ruby said.

  “They’re so pretty lined up on the tray like that,” Jo said.

  “A word of warning, ladies, they will dissolve if exposed to water for more than a couple of minutes, so be sure that you don’t wear any rose bead jewelry in the shower. They’re fine when worn against the skin, as a little bit of sweat won’t harm them; you just don’t want to immerse them in any liquid. Should they happen to get wet accidentally, pat them dry immediately and let them rest in a dry place for a few days. When you’re not using or wearing the beads, store them in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight.”

  Jane had experimented with adding bits of flowers and other natural objects into her pottery. Sometimes the results were spectacular—other times not so spectacular. You just never knew. She considered it important to keep experimenting and growing as a potter. Heck, as a person.

  When Jane thought of older women who continued to grow and learn new things, she automatically thought of Zee, who was always learning some new skill. Recently she learned how to design websites. And she just signed up for a class on cooking Indian food. Jane joked that she would be available to help taste test the Indian food.

  Jane couldn’t shake Zee’s appearance during their visit. She was hoping Zee would be okay, but she seemed broken.

  “How are you?” Cora asked as she walked up to her.

  “Worried,” she replied.

  “Me too,” Cora said. “Zee is struggling.”

  “It makes you feel awful when people accuse you of something you didn’t do,” Jane said. “Not only is it scary, but it feels akin to, I don’t know, maybe a betrayal.”

  “A betrayal?”

  “Of the universe. You know. You go about your daily life. You try to be a decent person. You don’t hurt anybody and then suddenly you’re accused of murder. It’s like the universe is punishing you.”

  Cora paused. “I get it. I felt similarly when I worked as a counselor. I was working for good. It rarely helped the way I wanted it to.”

  “Oh hey, all that?” Jane said, and smiled. “All that was the universe pointing you here.”

  Cora cracked a smile. “It’s going well, isn’t it?”

  Jane nodded. “Sure. We’ve yet to make our millions.”

  “Or pay back our investors,” Cora added.

  “We’re on our way,” Jane said.

  * * *

  Cora fussed over something on her phone, editing photos. “How well do you know Ralph?” Cora asked as she worked.

  Jane tucked her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans. “About as well as you do, I guess.”

  “Would he talk with us?”

  “Why not? Unless the police have told him to keep quiet.”

  Cora glanced at her phone. “If they’re having the show tonight, he might be over at the theater.”

  “The last I read, they’re going to go on with the show tonight,” Jane said. “Maybe we have time to go over there and talk with him before the next class.”

  “I’ll get my bag,” Cora said.

  The guests settled in with their drinks and bead projects. A few women had also brought knitting, and they sat in the living room knitting and chatting. The knitters always found one another, Jane noted as she and Cora slipped out.

  “I better text Ruby and let her know we’ll be offsite for a little while,” Cora said, and pulled her phone out from her bag.

  After she messaged Ruby, the two of them took off down the street toward the IndigoArts Theater.

  “Looks like there are people here,” Jane said. “I wondered.”

  Cora opened the door. “Well, it’s open. Shall we?”

  They walked into the small but efficient lobby of the community theater and then opened the door to the house. Several people were scurrying about on the stage, assembling props.

  Cora looked up at the lights booth. “Do you think Ralph is up there?”

  “One way to find out,” Jane said. “Follow me.”

  When they arrived at the top of the steps, voices alerted them to the fact that yes, Ralph was here. And so was someone else.

  Jane rapped lightly on the door and then opened it. Ralph sat there with the stage manager.

  “Hey, Jane, Cora, what can I do for you?” he said. He was like any light board operator Jane had ever met. He wore old jeans, a sweatshirt, and a baseball hat. It could be ninety degrees and he’d wear the same type of outfit. His shirt bore a whiskey label—Jack Daniel’s.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Jane said.


  “It’s okay, I was just leaving,” the stage manager said. “We’re going to try to run the show tonight, in case you were wondering.”

  “That’s great news,” Cora said, taking a seat after Jane sat down. The stage manager left.

  “Ralph, we’re not going to beat around the bush,” Jane said.

  Cora sat back, and let Jane go for it.

  “Okay. What’s up?” he asked, scratching his chin.

  “Zee is in trouble. We don’t think she killed Stan. We understand that you are the person who found her,” Jane said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Was there anybody else here?”

  “Look, I talked to the police. I told them my story already. But yeah, several of the moms of the kids who were in the play were having some meeting here.”

  Cora rolled her eyes. Stage moms.

  “Then some of them left. I wasn’t paying much attention. You know, they drive me crazy.”

  “So, you and the stage moms? You were the only ones here?” Cora asked.

  “As far as I know,” he said. “I think Trish was here. You know, the costumer?”

  “What happened, exactly?” Jane asked.

  “I heard this strange thud.”

  “From here?”

  “No, I was checking some of the floodlights on stage. One of them had been flickering,” Ralph said.

  “Go on,” Jane said.

  “So I heard this noise and then a cry. Then weird, like, scuffling noises, and then Zee, man, she screamed this bloodcurdling scream. I was aware something was, uh, very wrong. So I ran to where I heard the noise coming from, you know? And there she was, lying next to Stan, with her hand on the knife, completely passed out. I thought they were both dead,” he said. “Seriously. I, uh, don’t think I’m ever going to get this out of my mind.”

  His hands balled into fists next to the light board.

  Cora cleared her throat. “You know, that’s an awful thing to witness. Give yourself some time. If you need someone to talk to, well, I used to be a counselor, please give me a call.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I keep racking my brain for something that might help Zee. But I’ve got nothing. That’s what I heard and saw, and that’s what I told the police.”

  It was hard to imagine one of the mothers stabbing Stan. He was such a big guy. But could one of them stab him?

  “Did Stan get along with the moms of those kids?” Cora asked.

  He rolled his eyes. “There are a couple that give everybody grief. Hilary’s mom, you know, the one who plays Shprintze. Man, she’s a number.” He paused. “But Stan was a number, too. If I didn’t need this experience for my internship, I wouldn’t be here. I, ah, mean, I’m happy for the chance, but I don’t need some guy yelling in my face over nothing.”

  “That’s too bad. Why would he yell at you?” Cora said.

  “It had to do with those flickering lights. He told me about them more than once. I knew I had to take care of it and it was on my list. I’m just so busy with school. He never got that this place, uh, well, it’s not my priority.”

  “Thanks, Ralph.” Cora stood. “We need to go. It’s about time for our class.”

  “My mom would love to attend one of your retreats,” he said.

  “Well, she should come,” Cora said. “We’d love to have her.” It was then that she realized how young Ralph was ... twenty, maybe?

  He’d just relayed some valuable information. Had he told the cops that? Did they even ask?

  “Let’s find Trish,” Cora said as they exited the lighting booth.

  “The costume shop is backstage,” Jane said almost to herself, and they walked down the stairs, and made their way to the costume shop. Sure enough, Trish was bent over a sewing machine, then glanced up to see Jane and Cora.

  “Hey, Jane. Hey, Cora,” she said. A recent college graduate with a major in theater and costume design, Trish was like a daisy in a garden of weeds, as far as Cora was concerned. She was always friendly, never gossiped. She just sewed. Cora understood that.

  “Hi, Trish,” Cora said, feeling a little awkward because she knew that Trish never gossiped. “Were you here the day Stan was killed?”

  Her face drooped. “I was and I’ve already talked with the police.”

  “We’re just trying to help,” Jane said. “Zee is in trouble.”

  “Well, of course she is,” Trish said. “She was found with a knife in her hand next to a man who’d just been stabbed to death! Poor Stan. He gave his whole life to this place and to be killed like that. How terrible!”

  “It is terrible. I agree. But we don’t think she could have possibly done it, given her size and age,” Cora said.

  She thought a moment. “I suppose you’re right. But like I told the cops. I didn’t really see anything, only a group of stage moms yelling at each other, as per usual.”

  Trish wasn’t quite the innocent daisy Cora had her pegged for.

  “So they were fighting?” Jane asked.

  “I guess,” she said, shrugging. “Look, they get on my nerves something awful, so I try not to pay attention to them. I’ve been known to put my earbuds on so I can concentrate on my work instead of their bickering.”

  The group of stage moms had now come up twice from both the people who were there. Cora wondered if Brodsky was checking into this. She wasn’t certain the witnesses would talk as freely with him. Cora was learning more about human nature than she wanted.

  One thing was certain. Hell hath no fury like a stage mom done wrong.

  Chapter 23

  Jane and Cora left the theater and headed toward Kildare House, past the shops and businesses. As they walked by the Blue Dawg Diner, Detective Brodsky was walking out of the door.

  “Hey there,” Cora said.

  “Cora. Jane,” he said with a polite smile on his face. “What are you two up to? Don’t you have a retreat going on?”

  “Ever the observant detective,” Jane said with a wry note.

  “Hah,” he replied. “Seriously, ladies. What’s going on? You two look like the cat that swallowed the canary. Or felted fur balls, as it were.”

  Cora grabbed him by the elbow and led him off the sidewalk to the alley between the Blue Dawg and the Blue Diamond.

  “We just came from IndigoArts,” she said.

  “Oh?” His eyebrows raised.

  “We talked to Ralph, the guy who found Stan and Zee,” Jane said.

  “And?” He leaned forward.

  “He said there were a bunch of stage moms around that day. Did he tell you that?” Cora said.

  “Cora, Jane, I know Zee is a friend of yours, and you’re involved in the theater, but you had no business talking with him. And yes, he told us all of that. But really? Moms?”

  “Some of those stage moms are certifiable,” Cora said.

  “Is that your professional opinion?” His eyes slanted.

  “No, not really,” Cora said. “I barely spoke to them, but I’ve observed their behavior. One woman went into the auditions and said if they didn’t give her daughter the part, she’d never support them again.”

  “Big supporter?” he asked.

  She nodded. “And the child got in.”

  “That seems to be the way it works at IndigoArts,” he said. “Small-town theater crap. Just because you want to see your kid on the stage, doesn’t mean you have the personality to kill.”

  “Right,” Jane said. “I still think it’s worth looking into who was there.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Starr. I’ll take that under advisement,” he said with a joking tone.

  “I’m sorry,” Cora said, feeling a bit foolish. They should back off. Detective Brodsky and his colleagues were the best. They would work hard to get to the bottom of this. “It’s just that Zee is our friend and we hate the idea of her being in jail under suspicion for murder.”

  “I hear you,” he said. “We’re doing our best.”

  Jane folded her arms. Cora realized she was holding back.
Jane didn’t have the same soft spot in her heart for cops.

  “Why hasn’t bail been posted, at least?” Jane said.

  “Sometimes, it’s more complicated than it looks.”

  “The situation with the judge and her ex doesn’t help, I’m sure,” Jane said.

  “Look,” he said. “I’m aware of that situation. It’s under control. Don’t you worry.” His cell phone went off. “I’m sorry, ladies. I have to go. Behave yourselves. I mean it.”

  Cora smiled and nodded. Jane frowned.

  “He’s hiding something,” she said.

  “I know,” Cora said. “He can’t divulge everything to us while the murder investigation is ongoing.”

  Jane and Cora walked on down the sidewalk toward Kildare House.

  “You are almost as much of a goody-goody as Cashel,” Jane muttered.

  Cora gasped and playfully swatted at Jane. “That may be the worst thing you’ve ever said about me.”

  “At least to your face,” Jane said, and laughed.

  “I think the detective is selling women short,” Jane said, after a few minutes of walking along in silence.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that he disregarded the stage moms without a care.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “Yes, we do. Brodsky almost laughed when you suggested it. I just think that women are much more capable of devious behavior than most men are aware. In fact, my theory is more women are killers than what we know. They’re just too smart to get caught,” Jane said.

  “You know, Vicki was just talking about the same thing,” Cora said. She had found it unsettling that a new mom had been thinking so deeply about women and murder.

  “What do you think?” Jane asked.

  Cora mulled it over. “You may be right. But people are people. Some are good. Some are bad. Gender has little to do with it. When I worked at the shelter, most of the bad sorts were men. But we did have guys come in who were abused by their wives. I know women can have violent tendencies.”

  “I certainly do,” Jane said. “Come at me or my kid?”

  She didn’t need to go on.

  Jane had come a long way. But admitting to her violent tendencies gave voice to them and somehow the more she talked about it, the less violent she became. Cora had been in bad situations and was able to defend herself without a weapon. But she had no doubt in her mind that she’d support someone in trouble, no matter what it took.