Death Among the Doilies (16 page)

After cleaning up the craft room, Cora and Jane strolled through the other rooms to see how everything was going. The crafters were gathered in small groups, eating and chatting. Some were in the dining room, others were in the living room, and a few stood in the foyer.

“The food is so good,” Jennifer said to her as she walked by.

“So glad you like it,” Cora said, thinking no matter what evil thing she could say about Darla, she could not say her food was bad. No, indeed.

The brunch was coming off without a hitch. Darla and her crew worked like a fine-tuned symphony. Jude was in the craft hall preparing for his next class, where they would be focusing on options for the knurl—the part of the broom that fastens to the stick. He was famous for making colorful weavings that held the broom together at its knurl, or joint.

Cora and Jane pulled Ruby aside.

“What do you know about Darla?” Cora said.

“Not much,” Ruby said. “What do you mean? What's going on?”

“She's been accusing Jane of the murders and now she's disheveled and we had words in the kitchen. She cried,” Cora said. “I felt horrible. But at the same time, I'm paying her good money.”

“What were your words with her about?” Ruby asked.

“Jude,” she replied.

“He's turned out to be more trouble than he's worth,” Jane muttered.

“Wait—you mean . . .” Ruby said.

“I don't know what's going on between them,” Cora said. “He followed her into the kitchen. And he didn't answer me when I asked him about it.”

“Did you do a background check on either of these people?” Ruby said.

“Jude Sawyer? The internationally famous broom maker? No,” Cora said. “With Darla, I got several references and tried her food. What kind of a background check do you mean?”

“I mean the police kind. You know, to see if they've been convicted of any crimes,” Ruby said. “Even if they don't have a criminal record, those checks can tell you a lot. Previous addresses, names, divorces, and so on. I'll call Cashel to see if he can run a check on both Jude and Darla.”

“Wait,” Jane said, her eyebrows knitted together and voice raised a bit. “Just because they were having a fight doesn't mean we should go snooping around in their backgrounds. I mean, what's the point?”

The three of them regarded one another. Cora was trying to put into words the sensation she had in the kitchen when Jude and Darla had been arguing, but she couldn't. Maybe she was being unusually paranoid, what with a killer on the loose.

“I should've done those checks beforehand,” Cora said, with firmness in her voice. “I think it would be fine to run them now to see what it brings up. But I'm most suspicious of Darla. How does she even know Jude enough to argue with him?”

“Well, this is a small town,” Ruby said. “And even though Jude is not from here, they might have met up at some other event.”

“I agree that her behavior has not been professional. But does it warrant a background check?” Jane said. “We just won't hire her again. I think this is invading her privacy. Don't we need to get their permission?”

“Not if we're not using it for employment purposes. It's not going to hurt to do the check,” Ruby said. “Cashel can do it. No problem.” Ruby said it with a note of finality.

“If someone did a check on me, they wouldn't like what they saw,” Jane said in a hushed voice. “You can't judge people on their pasts.”

Cora's heart sank.

“It's a good place to start,” Ruby said. “Sorry to say it, but it's true. I backed Cora into a corner the other day after hearing nasty gossip about you, Jane. I know your secret. Just know that if I read your report and saw that you almost killed your first husband in self-defense that tells me about your character. It tells me you are a strong woman, darling. What you did was not a bad thing. You were defending yourself and your baby. Now let's find out what's going on with those two.”

Jane's mouth dropped opened. She eyed Cora for an explanation.

“Sorry,” Cora said. “I meant to tell you.”

As she thought about Ruby and Cashel, and so on, it occurred to Cora that Cashel might be able to help her figure out the insurance claim business with the Waters family. “Can you tell Cashel to call me?” Cora said. “I want to ask him a question.” If he could run background checks, surely he had access to other kinds of information. Why hadn't she thought of that before?

When Cora turned around, she was greeted with the sadly familiar sight of two uniformed police officers entering her front door, along with the detective she had met earlier. One of the officers was Ted Glass.
Again.
The group of women in the living room looked up from their knitting and eating, startled.

“Coralie Chevalier?” asked Officer Glass.

“Yes, you know that,” Cora said.

“Jane Starr?”

Jane nodded.

“Is there someplace we can talk?” Detective Brodsky said.

“We can go in here,” Cora said and opened the door to the paper-crafting room. Two women were inside at the table, scrapbooking. They looked up and smiled.

“Should we leave?” one of the crafters said.

“No, no,” Cora said. “We'll go in another room.”

Cora led the police to another room.

The fiber-arts room was not quite ready for guests, but it did contain chairs and tables, surrounded by colorful yarn and fabric, yet to be entirely organized. The scent of wool and felt greeted them as they entered the room, which was on the other side of the foyer from the paper-crafting room.

“What's going on?” Cora said after they were all seated.

“Should we call Mr. O'Malley?” Jane said.

“You can, if you wish,” the detective said.

“I'll call him,” Cora said. She noted the time on her cell phone. Jude should be getting started on his class now. Cora hoped the retreaters were happily busy and none too concerned with the sudden police presence.

“My mother just called,” Cashel said after Cora dialed him and said hello. “I'm running your reports now. What is it?”

“The cops are here,” Cora said.

“Where is here?”

“At my place.”

“What do they want?”

“They have more questions.”

He sighed. “I'll be right there. Don't say a word until I get there.”

“Okay,” she said. Then she turned back to the police. “Can I get you some coffee? We might have some muffins left. Please help yourself while we are waiting on Mr. O'Malley.”

Jane resembled a deflated inflatable. Her shoulders hunched as she sank into herself, staring at the felted wool. Her hands were in her lap, her knuckles white.

“Can I get you something?” Cora whispered to her.

Jane shook her head. Her eyes held a fear that Cora wished she had never seen. It sent shivers through her as it took her to the night that Jane had been brought to jail for the attempted murder of Neil Jones.

Jane had been a husk of herself and moved like a zombie through the police procedures. Her hands were stained in blood and her skirt was covered in it.

She had shot the man she loved. Then she tried to save him by bandaging his wound. Thankfully, London had been sleeping over at a friend's house.

Yes, she had shot the man she loved. The dream of a British man that she met while studying art in London. They had a few wonderfully happy years, before moving to New York, then the pressure of his theater career had gotten to him—and the drug use and violence started. The night Jane shot him was the night he came at her with a blade. It was him or her. And Jane was a survivor—a mother who ached to be there for her daughter. She wasn't going down without a fight.

Cora knew this place of strength and steel in her friend was still there. As she sat surrounded by the police, Cora struggled to see some shred of evidence that the survivor in Jane still thrived.

“I thought you had new questions,” Cora said. After Cashel had arrived, the questioning had begun, first with Jane and now with her, and Cashel overseeing things. She answered the detective's questions—the same questions they'd answered before.

“Standard procedure,” Brodsky said. “We wanted to be certain we've gotten everything correct.”

“Have you found out who vandalized Jane's place?” Cora asked them, just as it was appearing they were getting ready to leave. “What did your paint analysis reveal? Anything?”

“Unfortunately not,” Officer Glass said. “It was standard stuff found in any store that carries paint. Not helpful at all.”

“Have the fingerprints experts found anything?” Cora asked.

“They're still working on it,” Brodsky said. “It takes time. This isn't like on a TV show, you know.”

“I know that,” Cora said. “But how long does it take to examine something and see if it matches?”

“Remember that we only have half of a print,” Brodsky said. “This just means they have to go through several variations of possibilities with that print,” he said. “Believe me, if you want your friend to not be charged, you want the team to be as thorough as possible.”

That was a good way to look at it. Cora's stomach settled a bit. She wanted to press the detective more—but he seemed to be in a hurry. And she had a craft retreat to run.

“I'd like to talk with you more,” Cora said to him. The uniformed officers were almost out the door. Brodsky turned and handed Cora a card. “Call me.”

“I will. I've something I'd like to run by you,” she said.

He stopped. “Pertaining to this case?”

She nodded. “Yes, I've been doing some research.”

“Cora,” Cashel interrupted, his hand on her shoulder. “This isn't the time.”

“Research?” The detective ignored Cashel. “Look, I'll swing back around later today. If you don't see me by, say, three, give me a call to remind me.” He turned around and started walking down the sidewalk. “This ought to be good,” he said to one of the officers, who laughed.

Cora's face reddened. “Was he making fun of me?” she said to Cashel.

“I told you the cops don't want you poking around in their business,” Cashel said.

“But this
is
my business. Jane is my friend and my business partner. She's been unjustly accused of murder. They keep coming to my house, keep asking me the same questions. They seemed to be spending a lot of time on Jane and me, when the real killer is out there somewhere. It's troubling,” she said. “And as her lawyer, I'd think you'd be more troubled than what you appear.”

“I am,” Cashel responded. “But we need to do things by the book. Everybody has a role to play. The cops are doing their job. I'm doing mine.” He pulled her arm until she was closer to him and looked directly in her face. “You've got to trust me, Cora.”

As she stood there and saw the passion in his eyes, the way his jaw set firmly, something was exchanged. A heat? A longing? Or was she mistaken? He was asking her to trust him about this case—but was he asking more? Asking her to trust him, as a person? As a friend? More than a friend?

“What's going on here?” Jane said as she approached them. “Are you two going to kiss? Fight? What?” She laughed nervously.

Cora stepped back from Cashel as he let go of her. “Um,” she said. “Ah, we were discussing the case.”

“Yes, the case,” Cashel said, weakly.

“He's trying to tell me to back off from investigating, to leave the cops to it,” Cora said, regaining her composure.

“That's a good idea,” Jane said. “I told you we shouldn't be poking around.”

“Poking around?” Cashel said. “What have you two been up to?”

Cora thought a moment before answering truthfully. “Honestly? Not much. The retreat is getting in the way. But I did research the divorce and estate records and stumbled on news of a robbery at the Waters place a month before Sarah was killed.”

“What?” Cashel said. “How . . . ?”

“I used to work with battered women. I know all about husbands and wives and how bad it can get. So I thought I'd start there,” Cora said.

“We need to talk about this,” he said, watchful. “Can we go up to your apartment?”

“Why, Mr. O'Malley, I thought you'd never ask,” Cora couldn't help but say and laughed.

“I'm going with you,” Jane interjected. And she wasn't laughing.

“Jude is clean, by the way,” Cashel said as they entered Cora's attic apartment. The small sitting room was a bit of a mess. Her new doilies were still spread over the couch, as she was still waiting for inspiration.

Cora scooted around the room, picking up the colorful doilies.

Cashel dropped a pile of paper, presumably Jude's background check, onto Cora's coffee table. “Take a gander.”

“I trust you,” Cora said, placing the doilies in a pile on an end table.

“You trust me and yet you're conducting your own investigation?” he said.

“He's got you there,” Jane said, plopping down onto the papasan chair. She always sat in the same place when she visited.

“You can't go poking into police affairs when you're not a cop,” he said.

“Wait a minute. I've done nothing illegal. What's wrong with my poking around a bit in the hope that I can help clear my best friend?” Cora said, sitting down on the sofa. “Please sit down.”

“I don't want to,” Cashel said. “Tell me what you've found out.”

“It's not a big deal, really,” Jane said. “We read the divorce and probate records. Anybody can do that. You know that.”

“Yes, of course,” he said.

“We learned Sarah was having an affair. That's why they divorced. And the only thing she wanted was the house. That tells us something about her character, doesn't it?” Cora said. “We also know that someone was involved in drugs or alcohol at one point because I ran across an interview with Josh Waters talking about drug addiction.”

“That would be his daughter,” Jane said. “Ruby told us, remember?”

“But we also found out that Sarah was robbed a month before her death,” Cora said.

“I remember that now,” Cashel said. “Several jeweled opium kits were taken, or something like that. Worth an outrageous amount of money.”

Cora nodded. “I wondered about the insurance claim on it. When I scanned the list of items in Sarah's estate, I saw no mention of millions. What happened? Did she make a claim? If so, where is the money? How do we find out?”

“They always say to follow the money trail in murder investigations,” Jane said. “Is anybody doing that?” Jane leveled her gaze at Cashel.

He sighed. “I'm your attorney, not a PI. My focus is on those fingerprints. It's very simple. If you didn't kill Sarah and Josh, then you will be cleared when the experts are done examining the prints.”

“In the meantime, we are losing customers and our current customers are asking questions about Josh's murder,” Cora said. “We have a vested, as well as a personal, interest in this case. The faster it's solved, the better it is for Jane and for the business.”

Finally, Cashel sat down next to Cora. They all sat in silence for a few moments before Jane spoke up.

“You said that Jude was clean. What about Darla?”

“Darla?” Cashel replied. “I couldn't get a thing on her.”

“What do you mean?” Cora said, sitting up.

“Her records are sealed,” Cashel said. “At least at the level of security that I'm cleared on.”

“You mean you can't access her records? Isn't that odd?” Jane said.

“Why would the records be sealed?” Cora asked.

“The only time I've seen this has been in cases of either stolen identity or witness protection,” Cashel explained.

“Witness protection?” Cora said.

“I don't think it could be either of those things, really,” he said. “I know I've seen her around town for a year or so. It's not like she just showed up, which is what you'd expect for witness protection.”

“Unless it happened when she was very young,” Jane pointed out.

“But what about stolen identity? Do you mean she stole someone's identity—or that someone is stealing hers?” Cora asked.

“Either one, I suppose,” he said. “You can take legal steps to seal your records and you might want to do that if your identity has been stolen.”

“Well, she's the least of our worries. As soon as this first retreat is over, I'll never hire her again,” Cora said.

“What exactly has she done?” Cashel asked.

“She's mentioned Jane's trouble several times to me, and been rude about it, plus I walked in on a strange exchange between her and Jude,” Cora said. “She's extremely unprofessional. Your mom thought it best to run a background check on her.”

“My mom, huh?” he said and grinned. “You know, she has great instincts.”

“What about this insurance business?” Jane said. “How do we find out if a claim was made and, if it was, what happened to the money?”

“First, we'd need to find out who Sarah's insurance agent is or was—maybe via her attorney. I can make some inquiries, ladies, if you insist on pursuing this,” Cashel said. “Probably by the time I find out, Jane will already be off the hook and it won't matter.”

“Let's hope so. Let's hope this all ends as quickly and as you suggest,” Cora said. “Though I have to say, that never seems to be the case with us. We are full of complications,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“In the meantime, our caterer could be someone other than she claims to be,” Jane said. “I don't like that. I have a child to protect.”

“So far, she doesn't seem to be dangerous, perhaps just a bit overwrought,” Cora said reassuringly. “But believe me, I have my eye on her. Perhaps it's best that you keep London at her friend's house another night.”

“Already on it,” Jane replied, getting up from the papasan. “Well, let's go. We have a plan.”

“We do?” Cora said.

“Yes—Cashel is going to find out about the insurance policy, you and I are going to keep an eye on Darla and Jude, and run this retreat, as if nothing else is going on,” she said. “And we are all leaving this apartment right now, together.”

Cashel looked at Cora to see if she agreed with the proposed plan.

Cora merely shrugged in response.

“Okay. Let's go.”