Chapter 35

It was amazing what a few moments back into the hubbub could do for you.

Each little tendon and muscle in the back of Cora’s neck seized and twitched as she approached the “craft-in” room. She had dropped by her room to pick up her crochet project. She’d not gotten the hat finished, like most of the other crafters had. Within a few hours, many of the crafters in the crochet class had finished beautiful, colorful hats—and Cora was inching along at a snail’s pace.

She loved crochet. Loved the idea of crochet. Loved the feel of yarn on her fingers. She understood its benefits—the same with knitting. From everything she’d read (and seen) about the health benefits of crochet and knitting, well, she wanted them. The Zen-like qualities of finding the rhythm, clearing your mind of everything but your stitching, and the actual textural benefits of the yarn against skin. Yes. She wanted that. But her fingers were not as dexterous as she needed them to be. She hadn’t enjoyed it because she was too busy trying to figure it all out.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” Jane said as Cora ripped out another row.

“No, but it does have to be somewhat recognizable as crochet,” Cora said with a laugh.

They were sitting on a couch, listening to relaxing music, along with the others at the craft retreat.

Now, this is a retreat, Cora thought, not running from class to class and stressing yourself out over learning new techniques, new crafts. And it took a murder for Mathilde to give them this space and time.

Murder. The word held firm in Cora’s mind, even as she moved on to the next olive-green row of crochet stitches. She’d left Pittsburgh because of the stress of working in a women’s shelter. She could not handle it. Her anxiety had become debilitating. And since she left and made Indigo Gap her home, she’d had the bad luck to be involved in murder cases. Well, she hoped this was the last of it.

She must help Adrian out. But what next?

The music calmed her. Women sat in groups and focused on their crafts. Low conversations were going on.

She and Adrian had been at the Drunken Mermaid when they ran into Josh and his mother, Rue, the day after his wife’s body was found on the beach. Odd, but not completely out of line. People had to eat. Grieving sapped the energy from you and cooking was often set aside.

But Cashel swore he’d been drugged there. Swore he only had one drink. Yet, he appeared snockered. Drugs will do that, as well, Cora reminded herself. But why would someone drug him, unless Cashel found incriminating information at the courthouse? The fact that it happened at the Drunken Mermaid could not be a coincidence. The fact that they spotted Hank there and that Mathilde owned the place could not be a coincidence, either, could it?

But what did Mathilde have to do with any of it? What would her reason be to kill Marcy and Zooey, and try to drug Cashel? She was an extremely successful crafter. Highly respected. And she had created and ran one of the most popular craft retreats in the world. Why would she be bothered with murder?

Cora sunk her crochet hook into the stitch.

“What are you thinking about?” Jane asked, as she lifted up her hat, almost finished.

“Mathilde,” Cora said. “I’m thinking all the evidence sort of suggests Mathilde had something to do with . . . everything.” Cora lowered her voice, not wanting others to hear her.

“But why would she take such a risk? More than that . . . is she capable of such hideous acts?” Jane asked.

“Yet, she owns the Drunken Mermaid. There’s something about that place. Too much going on there,” Cora said.

“Well, even our Roy suggested there’s a lot going on there,” Jane said.

“I don’t care to go back there ever again,” Cora said.

“But . . . ?”

“I wonder if we could help Adrian by going back and checking things out at night,” Cora said.

“I don’t think so,” Jane said. “Imagine what somebody did to Cashel. What would they do to you or me?”

“Somebody is hiding something,” Cora said. “Whatever it is, it’s big enough for murder.”

Jane’s face paled. “I think you’ve hit the nail on the head. That’s enough reason to stay away from the place.”

“But—”

“I know you want to help,” she said. “I know that.”

“Adrian is in trouble,” Cora said. ‘I’d think you’d want to help, as well.”

“I do, but getting ourselves killed is not going to help anybody,” Jane said.

Cora grimaced. A chill ran through her. The impulse to help had gotten her into trouble before. She was certain she didn’t want any more danger in her life. Was there a smarter way to manage?

“What do you suggest?” Cora said. “I mean, I feel utterly helpless.”

Jane appeared to be mulling things over as she ran her fingers over her hat.

“I think we should talk with Adrian and see what he’s found out. But while we’re here, we need to work the crowd,” Jane said.

“Most of these people are crafters. They came from other places. What would they know?” Cora said.

“It’s not so much what they know,” Jane said. “Let’s listen in on how they are feeling. And what they’ve observed. Some of these women walked in on Zooey’s body. Some of them might have observed reactions of some of the key players. C’mon, Cora. We can do this.”

Cora scanned the room. She spotted Katy and her crew. She zoomed in on Linda. Wasn’t she the nurse? The one who had gotten close to Zooey’s body?

She sat her crochet down and girded her loins.