Death Among the Doilies (13 page)

During the brunch, Jane pulled Cora aside. “What is going on? Why is Darla being so nasty to me?”

Cora didn't want to lie. But she wasn't sure she could tell her the truth. So, instead she just took a bite of her miniquiche.

“She read the paper, of course,” Jane said. “She thinks I'm a killer. Did you tell her I'm innocent?”

Cora took another bite of her quiche before answering.

“Of course I did, or maybe it was Ruby. In any case, we defended you. She's a good caterer, but I'll find someone else for the next retreat. What an ass.”

Jane exhaled. Her body seemed to relax.

They observed the retreaters; some were gathered around the table, stocking their plates, while others were scattered about, sitting and eating. Ivy walked across the room and handed Jude a plate. He looked up at her and thanked her. But it was a clear indication to the other women that something may have been going on between them. Cora noted that knowing glances were exchanged.

Her initial feeling about a man teaching at a retreat full of women was that it would not be a good thing. She was right. The energy was different when a man was around. She wanted her retreaters to be able to relax—not twitter around, serving the teacher. Or sleeping with him. She nearly blushed at the thought. Some people had no scruples.

Ruby came up to the two women. “I saw them early this morning in the garden,” she said, indicating Jude and Ivy.

“Isn't she married?” Jane asked in a hushed tone.

“That she is,” Cora said. “Or at least that's how she registered.”

“Oh well,” Ruby said. “To each his or her own. We've no idea what her life is like.”

“True enough, Ruby, but let's hope she's not making whatever her situation is worse.”

She and Jane exchanged knowing glimpses. They had seen so many cheating wives and husbands, and as a result they were both a bit jaded.

“Well, we better mingle, ladies,” Jane said.

They split up and walked through the crowd. Ruby was pulled aside to answer some questions about different kinds of wax.

Another group was gathered on the couch, inspecting an almost-finished minibroom.

“Can I see that?” Cora said. “It's lovely.”

“Thank you,” said Linda, a soft-spoken woman from South Carolina. “It's one of mine.”

The woven handle fit nicely in Cora's hand. The weaving was sturdy, and as the handle reached the top, it formed a crescent, with the broomcorn splaying out from it, in plumes of golden yellow and deep crimson.

“It needs a knot here,” Linda said, pointing to the joint. “I think I might make another one of these. I seem to have a knack for it.”

“I sure don't,” the woman next to her said. “I'm getting there, but not as quickly as Linda.”

“Keep plugging away. You'll get there,” Linda said to her. “I can't knit worth a damn and you zoom through it.”

“You know, that's the way it is. It's part of the beauty of crafting. You don't know what you'll be good at. How fast it will take you to learn it. But it's all fun,” Cora said.

“And these brooms are so useful,” Linda said. “So it's not one of those things that you make and sit it in a corner or stack in a dresser somewhere.”

“Why did you choose the small hearth broom, rather than the full size?” Cora said.

“It seemed more manageable,” Linda replied. “Though I may give the full-size brooms a go. I do love the sticks you chose. Very gnarly and beautiful.”

Jude came up to the group and took the broom from Cora. “Look at the gorgeous weaving of the handle. So nice and tight.”

Linda blushed. “Thanks, Jude.”

Jane came up beside Jude.

“Excuse me, Jude and Cora, I need to see you for a moment in the paper-crafting room,” she said.

Cora took one look at Jane and knew something was wrong.

“Excuse us,” Cora said. The three of them walked together to the room, where two uniformed police officers sat, along with Cashel and one other man.

Cashel introduced the man as Detective Thomas Brodsky. “He has a few questions,” he said.

“Ms. Chevalier, I've checked the report from last night and I'd like to ask you about the door,” Detective Brodsky said. “How open was it?”

“About this much,” she said, holding up her hand, and with her thumb and her index finger indicated about an inch.

“The door was open,” the detective said. “And you went in. Why would you do that?”

“Well,” Cora said. “I thought the yard sale was going on still. Besides that, I only had one thing on my mind, Detective. And that was to return the gun that I found in the box of doilies Josh Waters had left here.”

Detective Brodsky appeared as if he were trying not to smile. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?” he said.

“Ridiculous or not, that's the truth. I was there,” Cashel said.

“Okay, so, the door was open by the time you'd gotten there. Which was what time?” Detective Brodsky said.

“About eight-thirty,” Cora replied.

“What time were you there?” The detective eyed Jude.

“It was right before the reception. I suppose it was around five. I looked at the clock because I knew I had to be back to mingle and to eat.”

“What happened when you arrived?”

“I walked up to the door and I knocked,” Jude said. “Nobody answered so I left my card. It's that simple.”

“Did anybody else see you there?”

“I don't think so.”

“Were you alone?”

Jude looked down at his hands, then back up at the detective.

“Were you alone?” Det. Brodsky asked again, this time with an edge to his voice.

“Ivy was with me. Well, she waited for me at the sidewalk. She didn't walk to the door with me,” he spit out, with some effort.

Jane and Cora exchanged looks.

“Who is Ivy?”

“Ivy Renquist,” Jude replied. “One of the guests here.”

“What were you doing at the Waters'?”

“As some of your officers know, one of Sarah's daughters wanted Sarah's broom collection back. I had paid for it, fair and square, but it started to bother me and I wanted to talk with Josh, without police or lawyers, and see if we could come to some arrangement,” he said. He was calm and cool, as if he were questioned by the police all the time. It wasn't making him nervous at all. Cora, on the other hand, had to focus on breathing.

“I see,” said the detective, after moment, nodding his head and narrowing his eyes as if he saw something nobody else did.

“The door was closed when I knocked, I assure you. I am certain I would've noticed if the door was open. I slid my card right in the door jamb.”

The more Cora listened, the more it made sense. Why had Cora ever suspected him?

“Who found the card?” the detective asked Cora and Jane.

“I did,” Cora said. “It was in the yard, sort of right near the door.”

“Sounds to me like someone—your killer—entered the house between the time Jude was there and the time we got there,” Cashel said.

“Yes, thanks for that,” the detective said a bit sarcastically.

“Do you think this murder has to do with Sarah's murder?” Cora asked.

“That would seem to be the million-dollar question,” the detective said.

After the police and detective left, the doorbell rang. It was Edgar Thorncraft.

Cora opened the door and took him in: bow tie, cardigan, tiny mustache. She doubted he was trying to make a fashion statement. Or was he?

“Can I help you, Edgar?” she said.

“I wanted to thank you for keeping your word on the parking situation,” he said. “The town is full of tourists this weekend.”

That was the most pleasant thing Edgar Thorncraft, chair of the historical commission, had ever said to her.

She beamed. “Why don't you come in and help yourself to some brunch?”

“Well . . .” he began, but as Darla walked into the room, his eyes widened. “She's the caterer?” he said in a low voice.

“Yes,” Cora, said lowering her voice to match his. “And I'm afraid it's just not working out.”

“She looks familiar,” he said. Darla clearly agitated him.
Odd.

He turned to leave.

“Mr. Thorncraft,” Cora called after him. “Please stop by Sunday night for our chocolate reception. I'd love for you to meet my great-uncle and his wife, who are coming in from Virginia.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I might just do that.”

And with that, he was gone.

Cora found Jane talking about pottery glaze with a small group of crafters, who dispersed soon after Cora's arrival. She then told Jane about Edgar.

“He really doesn't like Darla,” Cora said.

“I'm not sure he likes anybody,” Jane said. “Or if anybody likes him. He's keeping a close eye on us. That irritates me.”

“He takes his job very seriously,” Cora said.

Cashel walked up beside them with a plate of food. “Mom said I should help myself,” he said. “Nice spread.”

“Darla Day is our caterer. Do you know her?” Cora said.

Cashel shrugged. “Not at all.” He scooted his fork around on the plate and brought up a bit of cheesy hash browns.

“Edgar Thorncraft certainly doesn't seem to care for her,” Cora said.

“He doesn't care for most of us,” Cashel said, brushing it off.

“He seems to like us,” Jane said, grinning.

“Now, that's more interesting than him disliking someone, I'm afraid. But what's not to like—two attractive, intelligent, talented women in a gorgeous house, who are on their way to great things.”

Jane crossed her arms. “You are such a smooth talker.”

“That's why he's a lawyer,” Cora quipped.

Cashel's mouth curled into a grin and a laugh escaped. “What? It's true.”

“How goes the case?” Cora asked.

“I checked out your alibi, or should I say, alibis,” he said to Jane.

“Alibi
s
?” Cora said.

“Yes, both men checked out,” he said, and popped a minibiscuit in his mouth.

Cora glared at Jane. “Both men? What is he talking about?”

“Excuse me,” Jane said. “Ivy looks like she's upset.” She took off quickly, leaving Cora alone with Cashel. Cora started to follow. “I'll take care of it,” Jane said, with a tone signaling Cora to leave her alone.

“What was that all about?” Cashel said.

“Jane hasn't told me what her apparent alibis are.”

“But you're her best friend.”

“Trust is an issue for her. But then again, I'm not one to talk.”

“You trust me, don't you?” Cashel said, bumping his shoulder into her. It was a little flirtatious, but she didn't have time for it.

“Who were the men Jane was with?” she said.

“Huh?”

“Who were the men who are her alibis?”

“I can't tell you that,” he said with an impish grin.

“Do you want me to trust you?”

“I'm sorry. I'm her attorney. She can tell you. Ask her.”

“Evidently she doesn't want me to know.”
But why?
Cora could only think of one reason: Neil. Jane wouldn't have been off with Neil that weekend—would she?

She saw Jane wrapping her arm around Ivy, who seemed distressed, and walking her out onto the front porch. What was going on there?

Darla walked by with a tray and stopped to also watch Jane comfort Ivy.

“You'd never know that she was a violent woman, would you?” Darla said.

“Darla,” Cora said. “As I am paying you handsomely for this weekend, I'd thank you to keep your opinions to yourself. Also, there's something you should know about Jane. She's one of the gentlest souls I've ever known. She didn't kill anybody. I don't care if they find her fingerprints all over the house, the body, or wherever, Jane would not harm a soul.”
Unless someone was attacking her with a blade, that is.

Darla drew back, lowered her head, and muttered an apology as she left the room.

“Was that wise?” Cashel said, after laughing.

“What do you mean?”

“I've always heard it's not a good idea to piss off your caterer.”

“Ivy, are you okay?” Jane asked as she led Ivy to the front porch. “Perhaps we should go for a walk?”

Ivy gaped at her. “Walk? Why? What's that going to do for me? Bring him back to me?—Men!—I'm tired of them ruling my life. You know?”

Jane didn't answer immediately. “I know exactly what you mean,” she finally said. But the woman had hopped into bed with Jude the first day she met him. She was married. It was hard to feel sorry for her.

“I mean, I'm no fool,” Ivy continued. “I thought Jude and I could have a fling and then he'd go back to his life and I'd go back to mine. I know it must sound horrible. I know I must sound like . . . a slut . . . or something. But I just wanted a little something just for myself. For once.”

Ivy studied Jane, as if she were expecting answers. Jane thought she might have some, but she was certain Ivy wouldn't like those answers. So instead, she said nothing and handed her a tissue from her pocket.

* * *

Jane had lost track of Cora. And she hoped that Cora had lost track of her.

After her encounter with Ivy on the porch, Jane was heading back to her place for a break. Sometimes she just had to get away from the crowd. Tonight, London was staying with a friend—so, at this point, a moment of solitude beckoned. The crafters had settled in and were working on their brooms—except a small group that were knitting. The knitters were hard-core. The phrase “hard-core knitters” rolled around in her brain and made her grin.

She pulled the collar of her sweater tighter around her neck. The sun was still in the sky, and it was warm out, but the wind had a chill to it. As she shuffled along the garden path, soaking in the fall flowers they had planted along the red brick path to her house, she thought she heard someone behind her. She moved faster. She didn't want to be bothered with niceties and pleasantries. She had had enough socializing for one day—though she knew she'd have to do more later. She craved a bit of replenishment.

The next thing she knew, a figure stepped in front of her and blocked her path.

“What are you doing?” Cora said.

“I wanted a bit of a break,” Jane replied. “Everything seems to be rolling right along. Why? Do you need me?”

“I don't care if you're taking a break,” Cora said, with an edge to her voice. “I want to know—were you with Neil the night of Sarah's murder?”

There it was. It was hard for Cora to even utter his name. Jane knew that. How was she going to explain this to her? Her mind raced.

“Should we go into my place and drink some wine?” she said, after a moment.

“No, I don't think so. Not until you tell me what's going on.” That was unlike Cora, to pass up a glass of wine.
She must be very upset,
thought Jane.

“I'll tell you what happened, but you have to make me two promises,” Jane said.
Could she really do this?

“Okay,” Cora said. “What are they?”

“First, you have to let me finish before you jump down my throat.”

“Well, that tells me everything I need to know.”

“You promise or I won't go on.”

Cora crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

“The second part of the promise is . . . well . . . try not to blow what I'm going to tell you out of proportion like you always do.”

“What? I do not.”

“Do you want to hear my answers, or not?”

Cora nodded. “Okay, I promise.”

“Neil called me.” Jane watched, as Cora bit into her lip. Literally. Her face reddened and twisted.

“He wanted to talk,” Jane said. “It was a moment of weakness, I suppose. I thought I'd meet him somewhere neutral—not close to home. He still doesn't know where we live. But he is London's father. And he said he was clean and wanted to talk. I thought I should see for myself. I know what you would've said. And you would've been right. He is my weakness. And he lost the right to be in my life and certainly in London's life.”

Cora was now rocking on her feet. She gently kicked at some marigolds that had grown over onto the path.

“But the closer I drove to our meeting place, the more I realized it was a mistake, so I pulled over in the next town,” Jane said. “I rented a hotel room and lay in bed and sobbed myself to sleep. Please believe me. It wasn't pretty.

“When I woke up, I was starving,” she said. “So I went to into the hotel restaurant and ate, then went to the bar and had a drink,” she said, then gulped. “And I met a man.”

Cora gasped. Then went back to biting her lip. Her face was turning every shade of pink.

Jane's heart quickened. Cora was her closest friend. But she was a private person and some things you didn't share until the right time, or if at all. And, she was kind of embarrassed.

“Well, one thing led to another and we spent the night together in the hotel,” Jane said.

“Get out!” Cora said and shoved her a bit. “What? That's not like you!”

“You promised!” Jane reminded her.

“Your story's finished, right? I don't get to talk about this ever?” Cora said with a wide grin.

“You promised to not blow this out of proportion, right? You know what I think about men coming into my life. I have London. She is my priority. I need to make certain any man who comes into my life is good enough for her,” she said.

“And?”

“It's too early to tell,” she said. “We spent that weekend together and we've kept in touch. The attention has been nice. But that's as far as it's gotten. He lives in Hendersonville.”

Just then, they heard people coming up the path. As they drew closer, Jane saw that it was Linda, the woman who made the wonderful broom, followed by Jude. They stopped, and Jude cleared his throat. Linda reddened when she saw Jane and Cora. Jane had just comforted Ivy, who had, in essence, been dumped by Jude. Was Linda the reason why? What kind of a cad was Jude?

“Hey,” he said. His voice was ragged. “We're taking a bit of a stroll. I wanted to check out Ruby's candle-making class. Is that her cottage?” He pointed to the carriage house.

“No, that's my place,” said Jane. “The cottage is a little farther down the path. You'll see it if you keep going.”

People were often surprised by how much property was behind Kildare House, as most of its depth was hidden by trees, fences, and gates.

“Thanks,” Jude said, and he and Linda kept walking. He turned and peeked back over his shoulder and gave the women a hangdog grin.

Was he really going to Ruby's place? Or was he planning to ravage poor Linda somewhere in the garden?
wondered Cora.

She looked at Jane, who rolled her eyes.

“What's with him?” Jane asked.

“Remind me to not hire another male teacher,” Cora said. “This is part of what I meant when I said they change the energy in the room.”

Jane laughed. “Point taken.”

Cora laughed as well.

“Are we good?” Jane said. “I really was going to tell you all about this at the right time. So are we good?”

“Of course we are,” Cora said. “Now about that wine . . .”