Assault and Beadery

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  “What?”

  “Even when it’s cleaned up, blood leaves a trace. It takes special equipment to find it.”

  “What good would that do?”

  “Specialists examine the blood and it’s like an intricate puzzle. They can tell a lot by the patterns.”

  “How interesting,” Cora said.

  A young mother entered the lobby as the three of them stood chatting. Harried, she looked up at Jane and Cora. “I’m so glad he closed this show. I wish my daughter had never gotten involved with these people. I’ve had it.”

  “What’s wrong, Gladys?” Jane asked. Both Brodsky and Cora moved toward her.

  “It’s just that my daughter wanted to do this so badly. She’s never done anything like it before. We didn’t know what to expect.” She tucked hair back behind her ears, with trembling fingers.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, nothing really,” she said. “It’s just that when I think of my daughter being here, where a killer was lurking. And then I think of the kind of women some of these mothers are, well, I don’t want to be like them.”

  “You’re nothing like them,” Cora said. “Believe me.”

  Jane wasn’t buying that nothing happened. A woman didn’t tremble like that unless she was frightened. She wasn’t going to tell them a thing as long as Brodsky was there. And he stood like an immovable tree.

  “I better get going,” Gladys said. “I need to pick up my son from soccer practice.” And she slipped through the door onto the streets of Indigo Gap.

  “There’s more to that story,” Cora said, crossing her arms.

  “I agree,” Brodsky said. “I’ve already talked to her and all of the mothers.”

  “Maybe something happened after you left,” Jane said. “She certainly wasn’t going to tell us.”

  “Maybe she would,” Cora said. “Maybe she’d talk to us if Brodsky wasn’t here.”

  His head tilted, and he leaned in. “We’ll make a cop of you yet.”

  Cora’s face heated and she laughed awkwardly.

  “I’d suggest you wait awhile. Let her calm down a bit,” he said.

  Jane found herself liking Brodsky more and more. He was a good cop, a good guy, and he thought highly of Cora. In any case, she didn’t want Cora getting herself into a dangerous situation, as she had several times before. Simply talking with Gladys wouldn’t be harmful. Not at all. In fact, Jane was keen on the idea.

  “I want you to let me know what she says,” he said.

  “Okay,” Cora replied, standing a bit straighter with her new assignment from her detective friend.

  “How is Roni?” he asked. “Has she left yet?”

  “She started to leave, but I asked her to stay until she’s rested,” Cora said.

  He nodded. “Good.”

  “What happened with Jo?” Jane asked.

  “We’ve got nothing on Jo. She just wanted to get home to her kids,” he said.

  “That’s good to know, although I feel sorry for her. I think we should probably refund her money,” Cora said, pushing away the image of the woman she thought was Jo last night at the theater. There one minute and gone the next.

  “We’ll do no such thing,” Jane said.

  “Who knew she was such a hard-ass?” Brodsky joked.

  “I’ve learned to be one the hard way,” she retorted.

  Chapter 44

  By the time Jane and Cora got back to Kildare House, the French beading class was half over. Several of the crafters had decided not to go, including Vera and Lisa, who were sitting in the living room along with a few others, knitting.

  “I need to go home and check on a few things. I’m expecting some packages. I don’t want them sitting out. It looks like it might rain,” Jane said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Cora nodded. She found her way to the chair she loved and the basket she kept near it, which included her embroidery projects. Cora pulled out a sampler and started working on it. As she worked, she considered the past few days. Stan was dead. Zee was a suspect, then Jo, then Roni confessed.

  She pulled her orange thread through the muslin. She reflected on Roni and how she actually thought she’d killed Stan. How awful. She seemed to be fine, up until she passed out and confessed. All weekend, she was one of the women who appeared to be having the best time. Odd. Some people were better at shoving things inside and pretending they didn’t exist than others. When Cora considered it, it chilled her. She was staying in Kildare House, thinking she’d killed someone, and appeared to be having a fabulous time. But it certainly caught up with her.

  Some people were master actors in their everyday lives. She’d known men who were the pillars of the community who regularly beat their wives. She’d known women who were high achievers, smart, beautiful, who put up with it. Humans were complex creatures. Sometimes it was deep denial. Other times it was a power trip.

  “You’re skipping out on the French beading class?” Lisa asked, breaking into her thoughts.

  “Well, I missed half of it. I don’t like coming into the middle of things. Besides, those little beads don’t thrill me,” Cora said.

  “Yes! So tiny,” Lisa replied. “Some people enjoy tiny, though. Vicki is into it. I bet she makes something lovely.”

  “Oh, it can be beautiful,” Cora said. “I appreciate some crafts from afar, rather than frustrate myself.”

  “Ha!” Lisa said. “I hear you. Those little beads would drive me nuts.”

  Jane walked into the room with a big padded envelope. “I’m so excited,” she said.

  “What’s up?” Cora asked.

  “I’ve gotten more artist trading cards,” Jane said, taking her envelope to the center coffee table and sitting on the floor.

  Cora set aside her embroidery. Lisa leaned closer. Vera came in from the paper crafting room, clutching some pink-and-black checked paper.

  Jane gingerly pulled out the cards. “Fall-themed cards,” she said. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

  “Wow,” Vera said, coming closer, then sitting on the floor next to Jane.

  Jane sat all six cards on the table. They were all the size of playing cards, standard issue. Her trading partner, Ellis, had painted and cut autumn leaves on top of torn paper of all sorts. Cora found herself partial to the card printed with musical notes on bits of paper.

  “I like this one the best,” Vera said, pointing to one with a cut-out, intricate, bare tree placed over torn paper with autumn leaves on it.

  “He’s very talented,” Cora said.

  “He’s a musician by trade,” Jane said. “He just does this for a creative outlet.”

  Jane’s voice held a note of excitement, one Cora hadn’t heard from her in a long time. Was she interested in this man? Cora made a mental note to ask later.

  “How do you get involved with this?” Lisa asked.

  “There are several groups online,” Jane said. “I could hook you up.”

  “I thought I’d love to try this, but this looks too complicated for me,” Vera said.

  “Oh, don’t judge by these,” Jane said. “Ellis’s work is extraordinary.” Her dark eyes lit. “It can be simple, and it’s a lot like scrapbooking.”

  Vera nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that.”

  “How well do you know this guy?” Cora asked.

  “I just know him online and through the mail,” Jane said. “I’ve never met him. That’s the way most of the artist trading exchanges work. I’ve got several batches from him.”

  “Do you send yours to him as well?” Lisa asked.

  “Yes, for the time being,” she said, then paused. “It’s like having an arty pen pal.”

  “I love that idea,” Vera said. “I think I’m going to try.”

  “I advise you to keep it simple as possible. I can show you what I mean,” Jane said.

  Cora noted the shift in the air among the women in this room. Suddenly they were setting aside their projects and coming together over learning somethin
g new. Jane’s enthusiasm was spilling over. Cora placed her embroidery back in her basket.

  “Let’s go into the paper room and have a little fun with paper,” Jane said.

  Cora’s mood lifted. Lisa sat aside her knitting. “Sounds great to me,” she said.

  As they were walking into the paper room, Cora received a text from Brodsky. Have you talked with Gladys yet?

  She quickly texted him back. No, but I will.

  She hadn’t realized he was waiting for her. She’d slip off after this impromptu artist trading card lesson. Cora had to admit she was not looking forward to the conversation.

  Chapter 45

  As the crafters gathered around the table, Jane pulled out a deck of playing cards.

  “So most artist trading cards are the same size as playing cards. You can use anything you want as a base, but many of us use playing cards. We cover it with paper or fabric,” Jane said, reaching for some peach scrapbooking paper.

  “Fabric?” Lisa said. “I love that idea.”

  Jane placed the paper on the paper cutter and quickly cut the size she needed. “See, you choose your background paper and then start to decorate.”

  “What? How do you know what to do?” Vera said. “I mean I can see how similar this is to scrapbooking. There’s no pictures or reason behind this.”

  “It’s just for fun and creative expression. It’s always best to come up with a theme. Like the seasons. Or Christmas. Or, I don’t know . . . chocolate,” Jane said, and smiled at Cora.

  “Now you’re talking,” Cora said. She was trying to enjoy the fact that these women came together in an impromptu craft experience, but the phone call to Gladys niggled at her. For Brodsky to follow up so quickly meant that he considered it important. What did he hope to learn from Gladys?

  “Try it,” Jane said, and handed Vera the paper and the card. “Let’s go with the autumn theme. We’ve got stamps, stickers, every kind of paper imaginable. And let’s not forget all of the embellishments.”

  “Excuse me,” Cora said. “I need to make a phone call. Please carry on without me. I’ll be back.” She slipped out of the room. The others barely lifted their heads to acknowledge her departure. She took that as a great sign.

  After looking up Gladys’s phone number, she dialed her.

  “How can I help you, Cora?” she said. The happy noise of kids playing in the background came through the phone.

  “How are you? You seemed a bit upset earlier,” Cora said, leaning against a wall.

  “I’m okay now,” she said. “But it was intense.”

  “How so?”

  “Just everything at that theater that’s happening.”

  “I’m glad you brought that up because I wanted to get your opinion on what’s been happening there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the whole thing. The way it’s run, Stan’s death, and you mentioned something about the mothers of some of the other kids. What’s going on there?”

  She hesitated. “This is Ella’s first play there, and I don’t have much to compare it to, but she won’t be going back even to audition, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, for one thing, it’s always the same kids that get picked. The same people. I viewed the kids’ auditions, and some superb kids tried out and didn’t get in. And I hate to be ugly, but they were more talented than those Trex sisters, who get into everything.”

  The Trex girls had a fascinating mother, Cora knew. They were one of the wealthier families in the community.

  “I hate to think it, and I certainly hate to say, but their mother made it clear that she supports the theater and expects her girls to get the best parts,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Yes,” she said. “She buys her kids roles. Do you believe it?”

  “Yes,” Cora said after a minute. “I do. What had you so upset today?”

  “The bickering between her and Maisy Everheart. It was vicious.”

  “Was it over Stan?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Stan had promised a lead role to Maisy’s daughter and gave it to Jenny Trex.” She paused, thoughtfully. “I just don’t know what gets into people. Community theater used to be fun. Well, back in the dinosaur ages when I was a kid.”

  “I hear you,” Cora replied. There was a lot of backbiting and angst for a community theater group. She had wondered if perhaps she was a little naïve when she was an involved kid. Maybe all of this was going on, and Cora was completely unaware.

  “I just don’t think it’s good behavior to model for your kids.”

  “I agree,” Cora said. Was that enough for Gladys to be so upset over? “And then the whole Stan thing. Who would want to kill him?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “Hold on! Jason, put down that rock. Thank you. Sorry, where were we? Yes. Who would want to kill him? I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  “He seemed so dedicated,” Cora prompted.

  “I think he and Maisy were having an affair,” she whispered into the phone.

  “What? No!”

  “Oh yes . . . and maybe Tina Trex was aware of it. There was a lot of innuendo and secret glances. Don’t you just hate when you’re in a meeting, and feel as if everybody else knows what’s going on and you don’t?”

  Cora had been in that uncomfortable position.

  “I couldn’t put my finger on what was going on. But whatever it is, is serious.”

  “Murder serious?” Cora couldn’t help but ask.

  Silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Gladys?”

  “I hate to think that of anybody I know. But those women are ambitious and vicious and every cliché you’ve ever heard of about stage mothers. I don’t know ... But Maisy . . . had this dead-cold stare in her eyes. I’ve never quite seen anything similar,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go. Jason! Get back here!”

  Cora knew the exact look Gladys was talking about. It chilled her.

  “Thanks for talking with me,” Cora said.

  “Anytime.”

  Was Maisy having an affair with Stan? In such a small town, wouldn’t that be an incredibly foolish move on both of their parts? This was all interesting gossip. She wasn’t certain she had anything to tell Brodsky. Still, she told him that she’d call. Could either of his women have killed Stan by stabbing him? She didn’t know either one well enough to say. But people surprise you.

  She dialed Brodsky.

  “Cora,” he said.

  She paced in the foyer. “I just talked to Gladys.”

  “And?”

  “Well, it’s all gossip I’m sure.”

  “Sometimes gossip has a nugget of good information in it. So please go on.”

  “She said that she thinks Maisy Everheart was having an affair with Stan.”

  “Oh yes, that’s been confirmed,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh,” she said. Her heart sank at the thought of it. She had a husband and kids and was fooling around with Stan? Her stomach tightened. “Does her husband know?”

  “He does now,” Brodsky said.

  “Oh boy,” Cora said.

  “Gladys said that Maisy and Tina Trex were fighting,” she added.

  “Interesting.”

  “Quite vicious, apparently,” Cora said, and then relayed the rest of the story. “I’m sorry. This doesn’t seem helpful.”

  “Well, it’s helping to paint a clearer picture of Stan and his life. That in itself is useful at this point.”

  “I didn’t care for him,” Cora said. “But I don’t think he deserved to be killed.”

  “Yeah, sounds like an arrogant SOB,” Brodsky said. “He ruled that theater like it was his kingdom. What surprises me is that he’s gotten away with it as long as he has.”

  Chapter 46

  Cora found her way back to the living room, forgoing both the French beading class and the impromptu artist trading card gatheri
ng. She was surprised to find Roni sitting on the couch knitting, alone.

  “I thought you’d be sleeping,” Cora said, picking up her basket of embroidery.

  “I did sleep for a while, but I’m tense,” she said. “I thought knitting might help. It’s always been so soothing and helped me get my thoughts together.”

  “I hear you,” Cora said, pulling out her embroidery.

  “I just can’t get Stan out of my mind,” Roni said after a few minutes.

  Cora had hoped he wouldn’t come up in this conversation. Her head was spinning from all the information she’d just found out about him and the group of mothers involved there, especially Maisy. She didn’t respond, but Roni continued.

  “I blamed him for so long about my daughter’s death. It feels good to let that go,” she said. “She was sick. She was addicted. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “Did she overdose?” Cora asked, feeling as if Roni needed to talk about it. Even though the woman must be exhausted, relief and rest emanated from her. Her fingers and hands continued to work in rhythm.

  “Yes. We’ve never known if it was intentional. She took so much that we feel like it had to be. She was miserable. She wanted to kick the habit and just couldn’t seem to. She was wracked with pain, guilt. I don’t know. I’ve never understood addiction.”

  “I’m not sure anybody does,” Cora said. “Several of my clients used to say that if you didn’t have an addiction yourself, it was impossible to understand.” She pulled her orange thread through and took a moment to check out her stitches. Not quite even. Oh, well.

  “I keep thinking if I hadn’t gotten her involved with the theater, she’d still be alive,” Roni said. “But those sorts of thoughts led me into that alley with Stan.” Her voice cracked.

  “Speaking of Stan,” Cora said. “How well did you know him?”

  “Well, when we lived near the university and were involved with the theater here, I knew him quite well,” she said. “Even after we moved we kept in touch because he was so interested in my daughter’s career.”

  “I’ve just learned he was having an affair with a married woman,” Cora said with a note of disbelief in her voice, then looking up from her embroidery to gauge Roni’s reaction.