Assault and Beadery

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  “One of the mothers?” Roni asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I’m not surprised. I was not one of those women,” she said. “Just to clear that up. I did have a friend in those days who slept with him. She continued seeing him for years after her daughter wasn’t even interested in theater. Her girl went on to become a computer analyst. Smart.”

  It surprised Cora that Roni was so cavalier about it. Even after all these years, working as a counselor and so on, Cora maintained a healthy respect for the sanctity of marriage. She liked to believe she wasn’t naïve, but perhaps she was. Some married women were so unhappy that they frequently turned to other men. Cora felt for them. It was no way to live.

  Her thoughts turned to Adrian. If they were ever to marry, she hoped they both would take their vows to heart.

  She understood things happened in marriages. She understood it intimately. She caught many glimpses of marriages gone wrong, which was one reason she’d not gotten involved seriously with a man. But Adrian was different.

  “So, do you know if he was ever serious with anybody? I mean, did he only ever sleep with married women?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking up from her knitting. “There were some ex-wives, both long gone, moved out of the area. Then there was a fiancée . . . Let’s see, what was her name? Mary . . . Stillwell, yes. That was it. I believe they were engaged.”

  “Interesting,” Cora said. The name sounded more than a bit familiar. It was an unusual name, and it was as if she’d just seen or heard it somewhere. But she couldn’t quite recall. “Do you know what happened?”

  “Not a clue,” she said, with her fingers and knitting needles moving in rhythm.

  “What was it about him that appealed to women?” Cora asked. “I didn’t find him attractive at all.”

  “I didn’t either,” she said. “I suppose it has something to do with power.”

  “Power? Small-town theater producer? Really?” Cora said.

  “You have to realize that many of these women ... well ... this small-town theater is a big deal to them. They place their hopes and dreams into their kids and hope it’s a way out for them.”

  “Not education? School?”

  “Some kids aren’t meant for school,” Roni said, paused, then went on. “You know, it took me a long time to realize that kids are their own little people. They come with their own gifts and aptitudes. It’s hard for parents, sometimes, to acknowledge that. You may be a brilliant scientist, for example, and pop out a kid with no interest in science at all.”

  Cora chuckled.

  “I have a sister who’s a talented chef, and I can’t bake a cake to save my life,” she said.

  “Someone baking a cake?” Ruby said, coming into the room with the French bead class.

  Vicki held up a tiny blue-beaded flower she made. “Isn’t it sweet?”

  Cora’s attention shifted to the flower. “It is. You’ve done a great job on that.”

  The crafters all gathered around sharing their crafts and the paper crafters entered the room at the same time. Cora mentally checked off the number of people present. It had become a habit.

  One was missing. She looked over the faces and couldn’t figure out who was absent. Then it dawned on her that it was because Jo had left early. Then, it was as if a bell went off in her head: Jo Anna Stillwell Madison. Stillwell . . . could it be? A chill moved through her. Stillwell was one of those old Indigo Gap family names. And Roni had just mentioned that Stan was involved with a Stillwell. Did Jo have a connection here?

  “Are you okay?” Jane asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  “You’ve just gotten very pale. Well, paler than usual,” Jane said, sitting next to her.

  “What did Brodsky say about Jo?” she said with a lower voice. “Didn’t he say that she has a clear record?”

  “That’s right,” Jane said.

  The other crafters were gathered in groups and examining one another’s work.

  “I’m not sure that’s the case,” Cora said.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  Cora told her what she’d just learned.

  “There must be thousands of Stillwells. Calm down. Relax and enjoy the retreat.”

  “I need to talk with Brodsky, then I can relax,” Cora said.

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard the words ‘Brodsky’ and ‘relax’ in the same sentence,” Jane teased.

  Chapter 47

  As several of the crafters excused themselves to call home before the last class of the day, Cora took the opportunity to head upstairs to her apartment and call Brodsky. She didn’t want any of her guests to overhear.

  Could Jo have killed Stan?

  Could they have had a killer here and not realized it while they were suspecting another person?

  After a bad incident, she and Jane had decided to do background checks on all their guest teachers. They hadn’t contemplated checking the guests. Cora might consider it an invasion of privacy. At the same time, her other guests might have been in danger. Her heart raced. She reached for her meditation beads and called Brodsky.

  “Cora, what’s up?”

  She quickly filled him in on her conversation with Roni.

  “But Jo checked out. We talked with her. She hadn’t gone very far. I don’t know. It’s a long shot, but God knows we’re not getting anywhere else.” He paused. “How is Roni?”

  “She seems fine,” Cora said. “She slept awhile and then came downstairs to knit.”

  “Knit? I hadn’t pegged her for the knitting type,” he said. His voice lifted in a feminine kind of way. Cora imagined those bushy eyebrows of his jiggling.

  “We’ve talked about this before, Brodsky,” she said. “You never know about people, do you?” She couldn’t resist playing along. His wife was a voracious knitter who had yet to come to a retreat. And Cora had yet to meet the woman.

  “So, Jo, huh?” he said, steering the conversation back to business. “If I remember correctly, she’s a big woman.”

  “Yes,” Cora said. “Just based on her size, I’d say stabbing a man is within her capability.” Cora’s pulse continued to race. The meditation beads were not helping. Not this time. She’d thought their involvement in this case was over. With Zee released, then Roni, she had started to feel a bit relieved. God forbid.

  She went on. “But her demeanor . . . she was reticent and didn’t quite fit in. I believed her when she said she wanted to get back to her kids.”

  “Maybe she’s a good actress,” he said, and then snickered at his own odd humor.

  “Could be,” Cora said, rubbing her beads harder now.

  “Well, I better get an APB out and find this woman.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you how his body got from the alley to the stage?” Cora asked.

  “I haven’t a clue,” he said. “At first, I thought he might have walked. But there’s no evidence of that. So I’m assuming someone witnessed his struggle with Roni and took advantage of it. You know, pulled up and put him in the car or truck or van. Do you see what I’m saying?”

  “Yes,” Cora said. “Okay. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “Will do. But I think we’ve got this,” he said with a patronizing tone.

  I doubt that, Cora wanted to say. You thought you caught the killer not once, but twice, and things are going from bad to worse. She held her tongue.

  “Good luck,” she said. You’re going to need it.

  After they had hung up, Cora placed her beads on the table and sat cross-legged on her pom-pom rug. Luna loved it when Cora sat on the floor, and she waltzed over to her, rubbing against her and purring. Cora centered herself and drew in breaths, hoping to will away a panic attack. Her heart continued to race. Luna curled herself in Cora’s lap, her purr still loud. Cora concentrated on the soothing noise, and her body relaxed, almost one muscle at a time, unraveled.

  At least she didn’t have to pop a pill. Not this time
. Not that there was anything wrong with it. She just wanted to deal with her panic on her own, without medicine.

  Now that she was somewhat calmer, she’d update her blog quickly, upload some photos she’d taken earlier in the beading class. It wouldn’t take much time at all. She glanced at the clock and timed herself. She should be able to get to the knot class. Luna wasn’t thrilled to be disturbed, but Cora needed to get to her computer.

  She turned it on and waited for the blue screen to fire up. Within minutes, she’d uploaded several photos of the felt beading class. Then she responded to a few commenters on her blog.

  There, all caught up.

  Now if she could just shake this ominous feeling.

  Chapter 48

  Jane slipped out the back of Kildare House and found the garden bench she’d come to love. It offered a great view of the backyard and her home, the sweet little carriage house.

  She dialed her daughter. She was beginning to miss her so much that it was becoming a raw ache in her stomach.

  “Hi, Mommy,” London said.

  Jane took a moment to let that sweet voice sink in. “Hey there. How are you doing?”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you having fun?”

  “I am. We went horseback riding. I rode a horse named Butterscotch. And do you know what? She ate a sugar cube right out of my hand.”

  Torn between feeling left out and happy for her daughter, Jane exhaled. “Well, I’m glad you’re having fun.” Horses? They were dangerous, weren’t they?

  “How are you, Mommy?”

  “I’m good, and the retreat is going well,” Jane said. “I’ve made some pretty beads and learned a lot.”

  “I can’t wait to see them!”

  “How was your swim?”

  “Good. The pool is nice. Can we get a pool?”

  “Where would we put it?”

  “In the garden, silly.”

  “We’d have to get rid of all those pretty flowers and trees,” Jane said, knowing how much London loved them. She tagged along with her or Ruby when they worked in the garden.

  “Maybe that’s not such a good idea,” London said. “Maybe I can find another place to swim.”

  “Have you had a chance to finish reading your book?”

  “I tried,” London said. “But at night I can only read a little bit, and then I fall asleep.”

  They were wearing out London. Jane didn’t think it was possible. She found herself grinning. “Well, it’s good that you’re trying.”

  “I miss you, Mommy. I’m having fun. But everything is more fun when you are here,” she said.

  Jane caught her breath as a sharp pang moved through her. “I feel the same way, London.”

  “I love you, Mommy.”

  “I love you more,” she said.

  Jane remained on the bench, looked out over the garden and the carriage house, and soaked in the fresh autumn air, thinking of London, motherhood, and all the weird events of this weekend. A group of mothers. Who would have thought?

  Then again, just because you became a mother, the rest of your life and personality didn’t get shut off, did it? Jane liked to think mothering made her a better person. She still was the same person, only better. She also recognized the complexities of motherhood. Some women were unprepared. How could you prepare for the landslide of emotions that came when you first held your baby? Or the first time they got sick or fell?

  “There you are,” Ruby said as she walked up to her. “You okay?”

  “I just wanted to speak with London,” Jane said.

  “Ah,” Ruby said. “Is she having fun?”

  “She is,” Jane said.

  “But you hate being away from her,” Ruby said.

  “I do,” Jane said. “It’s weird because there are times, you know, when I feel like I could get more done if she weren’t around. Or I could at least get some real rest. I guess if the truth were known, none of it matters. I’d rather be with her, tired, haggard, with dirty dishes piling in the sink, than left to my own devices.”

  “I get it,” Ruby said.

  Jane was aware that she did.

  “What are you two doing out here?” Cora came rambling toward them.

  “Just getting some fresh air,” Ruby said.

  “Did you talk to Brodsky?” Jane asked.

  “I did, and I uploaded some photos and replied to a few comments on the blog,” Cora said.

  “Brodsky?” Ruby said. “What’s going on?”

  Cora relayed what they had found out about Jo.

  “Jo is a Stillwell?” Ruby said.

  “Know them?” Jane asked.

  “Sort of. I didn’t run in those circles.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, back in the day, I was a single mom, working here, very busy. I didn’t have time for much of a social life,” Ruby said.

  “I hear ya,” Jane said.

  “There was this group of people. Moneyed. Educated. Artsy-fartsy. The Stillwells were a part of that. So was Zee, for that matter,” she said.

  “Really?” Cora said.

  “So hard to believe. It doesn’t seem like her kind of thing to hang out with a bunch of socialites,” Jane said.

  “I don’t know if it was her thing,” Ruby said. “She was married to Mancini then, and it was his thing.”

  “I wonder if Zee and Jo knew each other?” Cora said.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. As I said, I didn’t run in those circles. The few friends I had were single moms, like myself. Am I to understand that Jo is now a suspect?” Ruby asked.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Cora said. “She is a person of interest. Who knows?”

  “She’s certainly big enough to hurt a man if she put her mind to it,” Jane said.

  “What does that have to do with it?” Ruby said. “Look at how tiny Cora is. She can kick some ass.”

  Cora and Jane giggled. But it was true.

  “She’s been trained,” Jane said. “But stabbing takes strength, right?”

  “Pshaw,” Ruby said. “I’d not think it takes more strength than cutting a turkey.”

  The three women stood in silence a moment.

  Jane breathed in the scent of lilacs, vowing to not think of Stan the next time she sliced a turkey.

  Chapter 49

  Ruby, Jane, and Cora ambled back into the house, where the crafters were showing one another their handiwork—both the French beaders and the artist trading card makers. A few were chatting about dinner plans, after the knotting class. They were free for the rest of the night, free to go out and eat, or stay in the house and eat, or catch up on their projects.

  Annie lifted her flower to show Vera, who was duly impressed. A beaded daisy, so intricate. “I’d have never imagined I could make such a thing,” Annie said.

  “It is sweet. So delicate,” Vera said. “Was it difficult?”

  “No,” Annie said. “Once you get the hang of it, it’s easy. Tedious, but easy.”

  “Tedious?” Lena said.

  “I don’t mean that in a bad way,” Annie said. “I guess, for me, it was meditative. You know how you were talking about the meditation beads and I’ve read about how knitters sometimes feel like they are meditating. Well, that’s sort of how it felt to me. Kind of calming.”

  Annie’s dark eyes lit with passion.

  Lena grinned. “That’s fabulous.”

  “Just what I like to hear,” Cora said. “We don’t want people to get frustrated with the crafts. We try to keep it simple.”

  “Those little tiny beads would drive me crazy. I just know they would,” Vera said.

  “It’s a good thing you know that about yourself,” Cora said.

  “Oh, Vera knows exactly what she wants and never has a hard time expressing it,” Annie said, joking.

  “And you do?” Vera said, elbowing her.

  Cora pondered their friendship. Annie was definitely not Southern, like her friend Vera. She was tall, thin, dark
, and had a much more urban manner in her dress and attitude. Vera reminded Cora of a character in an old TV show she used to watch with her grandmother. What was the name? Suzanne Sugarbaker from Designing Women. She reflected on her own friendship with Jane—for all the world, they looked different from each other. Jane, tall and dark, like Annie. And she was tiny and slight, fair. Still, they were a lot alike. Sometimes they even finished each other’s sentences. Cora chalked that up to growing up together.

  The crafters started filing into the craft room for the knotting class. Some were carrying cups of coffee, some were carrying water or iced tea. Cora noted there were no Bloody Marys. She briefly wondered if she should whip up a batch. Then she thought the better of it.

  “Beading is not for everybody,” Lena said as each person took her seat around the craft table. “It’s my passion, and I’m always happy to share it. I’m thrilled that so many of you have taken to it. Knotting is so important, especially if you want to move further into the hobby.”

  “Oh, I am!” Judy said. “I love it.”

  “I love the French beading,” Annie said. “I’m surprised, but there it is.”

  The group chuckled.

  “Yes, but how many different kinds of knots can there be?” Vera said.

  “Too many to cover here. We’ll only be talking about five different kinds today,” Lena said. “Knots are essential in beadwork and jewelry making. In beadwork, you use them when adding and ending thread. The type of knots you use vary depending on the stitch you use, the type of thread, and bead sizes. Using the right knot and making it correctly can help prevent your thread from unraveling and make your beadwork last longer.

  “We’ve kind of learned some basic knots as we were stringing the prayer beads. We have the useful function of knots, which is to keep the beads in place. You can also use knots as a design element. The lark’s head knot is a good example of a knot that is easy to tie and secure, but also looks great as part of a design element in jewelry.”

  When Lena said “lark’s head knot,” Cora remembered the recent beach retreat she attended and the macramé knotting she learned. A twinge of sadness moved through her. Two young women died over that weekend. At least justice had been served. Would it be served for Stan’s death?