The lead held the audience enthralled as he sang “If I Were a Rich Man,” in front of the house Jane and Cora had painted. Cora liked watching the audience’s reaction as much as she liked listening to him sing. As she gazed out over the audience a woman caught her eye. She squinted in the light and shadows. Was that Jo? Made up with lipstick and eye shadow? What was she doing here? But Cora turned her head to point out the woman to Jane and when she looked back, she was gone. Disappeared.
“Jo is here,” Cora whispered, and pointed.
“Jo is not here,” Jane whispered. “Must be someone who looked like her.”
Maybe. That could be it. Why would she be here when she missed her children so much that she left the retreat early to get home?
As the song finished and the audience roared, Jane and Cora took their cue to leave the balcony.
“You’re a bit jumpy,” Jane said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing really except that I thought I saw Jo.”
“Must be a million women who kind of look like her, especially in the dark,” Jane said as she started down the stairs. “But hey, how about that set?” She poked Cora playfully on the shoulder.
“We rock!” Cora said.
As they came down the flight of stairs, they saw Maisy, one of the helpers and a stage mom, and Lucy across the lounge. Lucy’s face was red-hot as she pointed in Maisy’s face. “Honestly, the man is dead! Just let it be!”
“What’s going on here?” Cora said as she approached them.
“N-nothing, Cora,” Lucy said, and scampered off to the ladies’ room.
Maisy, however, stood and glowered after her. “Some people don’t know their place.”
Cora didn’t like the sound of that. The hair on the back of her neck pricked her. “I’m sorry. What’s the problem?”
Jane slid behind the concession stand and took her seat.
“Never mind,” Maisy said. “You’re not theater people. You wouldn’t understand.”
Jane’s mouth dropped. Cora crossed her arms, eyeballing Maisy. Who did she think she was? This was Indigo Gap, not Broadway.
Maisy huffed off in the opposite direction of the bathroom Lucy had gone to.
“What a b—” Jane said.
“Now, Jane,” Cora said. “We don’t know exactly what’s going on here. We happened into something we don’t know anything about.”
“Poor Lucy,” Jane said after a minute. “I really think that Maisy was picking on her.”
“Yes, I do, too. What’s more, it definitely had something to do with Stan.” Cora found her place behind the table and readied herself for the eventual onslaught of hungry and thirsty theatergoers. But her mind was racing. What were they talking about? Lucy was sticking up for Stan, so much so that she was red and yelling at Maisy, who stood there as cool as if nothing fazed her. Cora shuddered. She’d seen sociopaths with the same lack of compassion.
Maisy. What did she know about her? Had Detective Brodsky spoken with either one of them? If they hadn’t had a confession, Cora would add Maisy to the list of suspects. She was lost in her thoughts and had no idea of how much time passed.
“Are you okay? You’re zoning out,” Jane said. “I know how sensitive you are.”
“I’m fine,” Cora said. “Just wondering about Maisy.”
“She’s one of the worst,” Jane said. “Don’t let her get to you.”
“Get to me?” Cora said, shaking her head. “Nah.”
The two of them sat in silence, fiddling with the money box and snacks.
“I’ve been thinking about Maisy and—” Cora said.
The doors opened and a crowd headed their way.
“Hold that thought,” Jane said.
As if Cora had a choice.
Chapter 39
After they cleaned up and sorted out the money, Cora and Jane took their leave from the theater. They walked home in silence.
“Good night, Jane,” Cora said as they parted, each heading for her own apartment.
“See you in the morning,” Jane said as she walked off down the garden path to her carriage house apartment.
Cora made her way up to her apartment and opened the door to a famished Luna.
“Hello, Luna,” she said.
The cat mewed and rubbed against her legs.
After she fed the cat and readied herself for bed, she checked her phone—there were no messages from Ruby, who was supposed to be visiting with Cashel. What did the lack of news mean? Was everything okay? Or was it a disaster?
Cora slipped beneath her quilts and sank into her bed. After tossing and turning among her quilts and pillows, Cora rose from her bed and turned on the teakettle. Maybe some chamomile tea would do the trick. While waiting for the water to boil, Cora padded over to her laptop and sat in front of it.
She wanted to know more about Maisy and Roni. Yet she sensed she’d be invading privacy. But then again, things on the Internet were not private, were they?
First, she keyed in “Maisy Everheart.” A string of items came up, all relating to her volunteer work at school and the theater. Nothing more personal than that. Cora vowed to start asking around about her. Maybe the grapevine was the best way to find out about Maisy. She was just curious about the woman.
Next, she keyed in “Roni Davis” and a whole slew of items appeared on the screen. Hmmm. She was involved in the PTA, Girl Scouts, and active in her Unitarian church. Nothing unusual here. She seemed to be a typical middle-aged mother. She clicked on the next page. She was the chair of a suicide prevention program. Hmmm. She scanned the article.
Roni Davis spoke about the loss of her daughter Amelia, and how difficult it had been on her family, especially Amelia’s twelve-year-old brother and eight-year-old sister.
Roni lost a child to suicide? Cora’s stomach tightened. Was Amelia the daughter Stan hurt years ago? Is that why she came looking for Stan? Chills ran down her spine. She’d seen the devastation suicide wreaked on those left behind. But to be a mom of a suicide victim must be the worst.
Maybe Roni didn’t mean to kill Stan. She certainly wanted to confront him. If Amelia was the daughter he hurt, Roni was avenging her death. Did she realize that nothing she did now would bring her daughter back?
A deeply hurt, grieving mom would not be seeing things clearly at all. Emotions twisted into all sorts of things. Addiction. Depression. Revenge.
Cora’s heart ached for her.
The whistle went off, and Luna perked up, standing on the bed, arching her back for a good stretch, then thought the better of getting up and lay back down, curled in a ball.
Cora dunked her tea bag into the hot water and breathed in the scent of her tea. She hoped it would help her sleep. God knows she was tired.
She worried about Roni now, but she was also worried about her retreat. She had wanted her retreater-moms to relax, not be sidetracked by murder. And she hoped they were getting plenty of relaxation in between the classes. Still, the police being there placed quite a pall over the retreat.
There was nothing Cora could have done about that, was there? Once she told Brodsky about the scarf, there was no turning back. Informing him was imperative.
A killer hiding at her retreat.
Would people hold it against her? Or would they see it for what it was—just happenstance, dealt with expediently, with nobody in jeopardy.
She held the steaming brew to her mouth and sipped from the bitter, earthy tea.
Knowing everything that she knew, everything about Roni, everything about Stan’s murder, something gnawed at her. She couldn’t figure out quite what it was. She drank from her mug. Maybe, for tonight, she’d just have to make peace with this strange feeling. Was it intuition? Fear?
Sometimes she’d get this feeling when she was still working as a social worker. Mostly, it was when she’d gotten too close to the situation, and all the facts told her one thing, but her feelings led her elsewhere. Maybe she was entirely too close to this situation. She knew Stan
. Even though she didn’t care for him, she still knew the man personally and had gotten closer to him as they readied for the production.
She was friends with Zee, who was accused of his murder and in jail, and hopefully, now released. And Zee had become one of her closest acquaintances since moving to Indigo Gap.
And she also knew Roni, who stayed here in Kildare House as her guest. And now, finding out about Amelia’s suicide, Cora’s heart broke for Roni.
She didn’t know Maisy that well. And she wanted to keep it that way.
So perhaps she was too close to it all to make sense of it. Maybe that’s what this odd feeling was.
One more sip of tea. Her eyes blurred and stung.
She sat her cup down and slipped into her bed, careful not to disturb Luna. Her eyes searched around her moonlit room and landed on her lace curtains. Happy thoughts of the woman who crafted those for her. An Irish woman named Maura with a singsong accent and beaming grin. Yes, happy thoughts before sleep.
Chapter 40
I’m free! Zee texted Cora early the next morning, sometime between Cora’s showering and dressing.
Fabulous! Cora texted back. Thank goodness! Knots unloosened in the back of her neck.
Yes, but Lulu has made a complete mess of things! I have my work cut out for me over here, Zee texted back.
Oh dear. Can you get away for lunch? I’d love to see you, Cora texted.
I’ll let you know, Zee texted back. Have a lovely crafty day!
Thanks, Cora texted in response.
She stretched, opened the lacy curtains, and took in the morning light. She felt less burdened already. At least one good thing had happened today, and it wasn’t even eight A.M. Maybe it was a sign of things to come. She’d not allow thoughts of Roni or her daughter to drag her down. Not today. She owed her other retreaters a grand time, didn’t she?
She plopped down in front of her laptop and uploaded some of the photos from yesterday’s classes. The polymer clay class photos turned out better than she expected. She liked to keep her blog readers up-to-date during her retreats, hoping for them to feel as if they were there, experiencing it, as much as possible.
Even if she just published the photos, without much text, she’d considered it a win.
Luna hopped onto her lap. Cora stroked her fur, and then her fingers went back to keying in captions for the photos.
Today’s classes included a French beading class and a class of more advanced knotting and beading, for those who wanted to take it. And Cora was teaching a felt bead class. So many beads, so little time.
Her guests would have plenty of beads to take home with them tomorrow after the chocolate closing reception, which was starting to be a signature event at her retreats.
Cora hoped to make a slight profit with this retreat. Her investors would be pleased if she did, as would she.
After she finished updating the blog, she stood and took a quick glance in the mirror. She wore a 1970s granny-green floral dress with her purple sneakers. She smoothed over the skirt, so soft and comfortable. Her red curls were pulled up into a sloppy bun, which worked for her because she hated messing with her hair. She smeared lipstick onto her lips and voilà, she was ready to go.
When she entered the retreat kitchen, a group of women were already there, chatting, eating, drinking coffee.
“The play was fantastic,” Vicki said. “I can’t get over how good those kids were.”
“I know,” Lisa said. “My son is just too shy to be interested.”
“Mine too,” Judy said. “I’m not sure I’d want them to get involved with that anyway, you know?”
“I hear ya,” Lisa replied. She turned to Cora, edging her way into the circle. “The sets looked great. Didn’t you say you and Jane worked on them?”
Cora nodded. “She designed them, and I helped her paint.”
“Sounds like fun,” Vicki said. Cora felt a pang of guilt because she had suspected Vicki of murder.
“I’m fond of painting, but I wouldn’t characterize it as fun,” Cora said, taking a drink of coffee. Dang, this was strong coffee. Good, intense, hot.
“I didn’t think I could enjoy a show there, knowing that the producer of the show was killed,” Lisa said. “The minute the curtain went up, I forgot all about it. That’s how good it was.”
“Annie and I didn’t go,” Vera said, walking up to them. “We went out to dinner, then called it a night. Yesterday was exhausting. I just couldn’t get poor Roni out of my mind. And I kept wondering . . . what did she mean that he hurt her daughter? It just creeped me out.”
“I was exhausted yesterday, too,” Cora said, hoping to steer the conversation away from all things negative. “But it’s a new day. It’s gorgeous outside, the sun is shining, and we have some beading to do.”
“Did I hear someone say beading?” Lena said as she walked into the room, dressed in a blue silk tunic and pants, with gold beads draped around her neck, and shiny raku beaded bracelets around her arm.
“I think you did,” Vera said, brightening. “Though I can’t imagine how many more kinds of beads there could be!”
“Oh, we’re just scratching the surface here,” Lena said as she reached for a coffee cup. “People have been making beads for thousands of years, out of all sorts of things. Seeds, nuts, clay, teeth, bones. You name it.”
“You know, I hadn’t thought about that until yesterday when we were making paper beads,” Annie said. “Making something beautiful from old paper ... it was oddly inspiring. It forced me to wonder about all the things I have piled around my place. I’m wondering what I can do with them.”
“You need to follow Cora’s blog,” Lena said. Cora noted the perfection of her eyeliner sweeping across her lids, along the rim of her false eyelashes, though she’d never understood why women wore them and she had told Lena that it was a relaxing weekend, hadn’t she? Why did she feel it necessary to be fully made up all the time? “She does a fabulous job of making new things out of old things.”
“I’ve read it,” Annie said. “But, I don’t know, seeing it in person, was utterly inspiring to me.”
“I’m happy to hear that,” Cora said, feeling even lighter than she had this morning.
Even though Stan’s murder had created tension and darkness yesterday, and Roni’s confession even more, maybe this retreat was doing the work Cora and Jane intended. Retreaters were thinking of things in new ways. Not just beading. It was never just about the crafts. It was about giving themselves time to explore, about maybe making changes in their lives, small changes with meaning and purpose.
Cora’s good mood didn’t last long, as she found it hard to keep her mind off Roni and her daughter.
Chapter 41
Cora, Ruby, and Jane worked together in the craft room to set up for the felt bead class.
“Why do you look so sad?” Ruby asked Cora as she fluffed some wool.
“I do?” Cora said.
“Yes, I was going to ask you myself,” Jane said as she placed a tuft of sky-blue felt on the table.
“Well,” she said in a hushed tone. “I thought I was a better actress than that.”
“Puh-lease,” Jane said. “Your face always gives it away.”
“It’s the eyes,” Ruby said as Jane and she moved closer to Cora.
“Last night I did some digging around and found out that Roni’s daughter killed herself,” Cora said, voice cracking.
Jane gasped. Ruby placed her hands on her hips and shook her head, eyes downcast.
“How awful,” Jane said.
“Then the bastard had it coming,” Ruby muttered. “Who would hurt a child like that?”
“When she said he hurt her, I don’t think she meant that, Ruby,” Jane said. “Let’s not get carried away.”
Ruby walked off and placed the rest of the felt on the table. A grim stance settled over her.
Crafters trickled into the room, some clutching coffee mugs.
After everyone had sett
led in, Cora turned the music on a low volume.
“Remember the paper and fabric beading classes and how simple they were? Well, felt beads are just as easy and inexpensive to make. You only need a few grams of merino wool and some soapy water. Combined with glass, metal, or ceramic beads, they make beautiful jewelry, and decorations, zipper pulls, hairpins, charms for phones and purses.” Cora took a deep breath. “I could go on a bit here, but you get the point.”
“This is so soft!” Vera picked up a clump of fuchsia wool. “I had no idea.”
“We’ve placed bowls of warm soapy water in front of you,” Cora went on, hoping she didn’t appear as sad as Ruby and Jane said she did. “When you’re at home playing with this, you can try different shapes and sizes. The tufts we have here are all about five inches long and will give you a bead about the size of a small cherry.”
“May I add something here?” Lena asked.
“Please do!” Cora replied.
Cora noted that dark circles rimmed Lena’s eyes. Even with her makeup on, Lena looked haggard. “If you want to make lots of beads of the same size, weigh the wool so that you know exactly how many grams to use each time,” she said.
“Great idea,” Ruby said.
“Now just take your tufts and roll them up tight,” Cora said, showing the group exactly what she meant.
“Just like you do with Play Doh,” Lisa said.
Cora couldn’t help but laugh. “Exactly.”
“Then after you have your first ball, place it on the bottom of your other tuft and roll them together, starting at the bottom, until you have a rough ball shape. Like this,” Cora said, holding up her ball of purple wool. “Now, take your ball and dip it in your water for a few seconds. Next, when you take the ball out, give it more soap.” Cora held the ball between her fingers and squirted a tiny bit of soap into her palm. She rolled the ball between her palms. “Be gentle here. Use very little pressure when you roll it. If you try to force it at this stage, you will end up with a rough bead that resembles a ‘brain.’”
“We don’t want any brains!” Vera said with gusto.
“As the ball starts to shrink and harden, increase the pressure of rolling until you have a felt bead. The finished bead should be firm but with just a little give so that you can poke a hole through it,” Cora said.
Assault and Beadery Page 16
