Macramé Murder

Cora was a kickass researcher—if she did say so herself. Her fingers took control of the keyboard and her screen lit up. She focused on the task in front of her so that the panic sensation would diminish. What was going on with Mathilde and her assistant and the tiara? The second conversation she overheard heightened her curiosity. Extremely unpleasant. But, as the images popped up on the screen of the newly planned Sea Glass Resort, she feasted her eyes on the travesty of it. The resort she was sitting in took up a big chunk of the island. This proposed resort would take up about half of the remainder.

It was on the other side of the island—near the swamp and marsh area. Hmmm. She remembered reading something about Disney filling in swamp in order to build in Florida. And that looked like what was happening here. Images of the row houses and the somewhat dilapidated homes played in her mind. What would become of those folks?

Were the developers offering to buy?

She clicked on the image of the article. She scanned it and recognized several of the names: Rue, Josh, and the Grimm family were mentioned several times. Interesting. And no wonder Cashel was researching this situation. It seemed the perfect motive for murder. Well, no perfect reason existed in reality—but given what she knew about people, money was always at the top of the list for reasons for murder—that or love, or drugs. Her little town of Indigo Gap had even been infiltrated by the drug problem.

Her heart fluttered as she thought about Indigo Gap. Wow, she hadn’t expected to miss it so much. She’d always thought of Pittsburgh as home. It was where she grew up, where she went to school, and where she had built her life as a social worker. But, ultimately, it was the place she was compelled to leave. She understood the city too well, knew the secrets of its residents, and it became like a weight on her chest. She thought she had her anxiety under control, and for the most part she did. But she didn’t like confrontation—even other people’s confrontations.

According to the article she was reading, the Grimm family was trying to stop the new resort. They had more money and influence than anybody on Sea Glass Island, apparently. But other residents wanted the resort. It would mean jobs to those who couldn’t land jobs at the already built resort. Unemployment was high on the island. Several people commuted to other islands for work, or to Charleston.

The Grimms were allied with the preservationists and the conservationists, trying desperately to save what was left of the landscape, the plants, animals, and the swamp. Interesting family.

Most wealthy sorts would be on the other side, the side of the developers. Of course the developers were backed by even more money. Adair Development was a huge corporation. Cora hoped they’d lose. Sea Glass Island was so charming—she hated to see it developed even further.

But how did this have anything to do with the killing of Marcy Grimm?

Would a developer send someone to kill a woman who belonged to an opposing wealthy family? Cora doubted it. That was the stuff of fiction—wasn’t it?

And why Marcy and not her parents? Or her new husband, for that matter? Everything she owned was now his.

Once again, the fleeting thought came to her that love was often the reason for murder. A twisted kind of love. But this story offered everything: love, murder, and money. Which thread to follow?

Her phone buzzed. It was Jane. Was her macramé class over already?

“Yes,” Cora said, picking up the phone.

“Something terrible has happened. Thank God I just got London safely off this island.”

“What?” Cora felt a bolt of panic travel along her spine.

“It’s Zooey . . .” Jane’s voice quivered.

“What’s going on?”

“She never showed up for class and . . .”

“And what?”

“They found her body. She’s dead,” Jane said.

“Now, calm down,” Jane said. “Take some deep breaths, my friend. You’ve not heard the worst part.”

“Worse? Worse?” What could be worse?

“She, her body, was, um, cinched in a huge macramé bag,” Jane said.

Cora didn’t think she heard right. “Come again.”

“She was found in a macramé bag,” Jane said.

Cora sat, stunned.

“So Mathilde is having a meeting in another part of the resort and wants all the teachers to attend. Can you meet me at the Golden Seashell?”

“Yes,” Cora said. “I’ll be there.”

She shut off her laptop and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was normally pale—but now she was as white as a sheet. Gosh, she needed to put on a happy face for the retreaters—how was she going to do that? Poor Zooey. How gruesome. How perfectly awful.

She smoothed her vintage baby doll dress and reached for her crochet bag. Lipstick should help. Her heart thudded. How could such a terrible thing happen? Two murders on such a tiny, beautiful island. She drew in air and headed out the door. Memories of what she had heard when she entered the hallway tugged at her, along with all the stuff she’d read about the resort. Surely, Zooey had nothing to do with any of that. Could Zooey and Marcy have anything in common?

Cora pressed the elevator button. At least her boyfriend had an alibi; he was still in his room fast asleep. Well, the last she’d checked on him, he was safely tucked in.

Where are you? she texted him.

In my room, he replied. Just got out of the shower.

She stepped on the elevator and took advantage of being alone. She called him and filled him in on the story.

“And you’re going down there? I don’t like it,” he said.

“It’s in another part of the building. Why don’t you join us?”

He was silent. “Okay. I’ve not heard from Cashel. I suppose he’ll call when he has something to tell me.”

One would hope.

“See you in a few?”

“I’ll be right down,” he said. “And, Cora?”

“Please be careful,” he said.