Chapter 40

“First, let me say how sorry I am for your loss,” Cora said.

“Thank you,” Rue said. “She was a wonderful woman who would have made an excellent daughter-in-law.”

“How is your son?” Jane asked.

“He’s not handling things well at all. But what can you expect? It’s an awful thing,” she said. She frowned and folded her hands on her lap.

“Let’s change the subject,” Cora said. “Let’s talk about the spirit chimes.”

Rue brightened. “Well, I grew up making them,” she said. “I’m one of the few Sea Glass Island natives who are actually from here. There’s fewer and fewer of us remaining.”

“Any idea how it began? Who started it?”

She shook her head. “No. Sea folk are superstitious,” she said. “Hence the tales you sometimes hear. Fishermen and their wives founded this island. Generations of fishing, until the tides shifted, I suppose. But in any case, the spirit chimes are supposed to keep the bad spirits away and invite good spirits to stay around. It’s that simple.”

“I wouldn’t want any spirits around,” Jane said.

Rue leaned in to her. “Oh, my dear, they are everywhere. And you . . . you have such goodness around you.”

Cora shivered slightly and cleared her throat. “Let’s get back to the chimes, shall we?”

“Yes, of course,” Rue said. “I try to use found items. Sea glass. Seashell. Bits and pieces of driftwood. Feathers. Bones that I find.”

Whew, Cora thought.

“But, a few years ago I experimented using semiprecious stones, like amethyst, moonstones, and so on. People seem to like them,” she said.

“Sometimes these stones have a folklore behind them,” Jane said. Cora could have kicked her. She didn’t want the conversation to veer in that direction at all. “Are you creating them with that in mind?”

“Oh, yes,” Rue said. “I only use gems that attract the light.”

“I wonder why you’re not teaching at the retreat this week,” Cora said. “You are gifted. Your chimes are an art.”

Rue flushed. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ve been asked a few times, but I have other obligations.”

“Oh?” Cora said.

“Yes, well, I try not to charge too much for my chimes. Only what I need. It’s a part of my belief system, you see. I have plenty,” she said, and gestured with her hand.

It was true, mused Cora. The smallish house, simply decorated, held an aura of plenty. “We don’t need much in this world. We’re only passing through,” she said.

“What does that have to do with the retreat?” Jane asked.

“They charge too much,” Rue said. “For everything. And I can’t be a part of it.”

“How well do you know Mathilde and, what’s his name . . . Hank?” Cora said.

She grunted and said, “Too well.”

Well, that answers one question, Cora thought.

“I’d like to take you into my little studio,” Rue said. “I’ve got a couple pieces in progress.”

“Oh, yes, I’d love to see your studio,” Cora said.

They followed her into the small but tidy room, where there was a long table filled with small boxes brimming with stones, beads, glass, and so on. A window allowed plenty of light into the room. Several chimes were in front of it and the light played against the opposite wall—reflections of gold, red, sea-green, and orange.

“Those are my love chimes,” Rue said, laughing. She placed her hands on the table. Cora snapped photos.

“I’ve been working with copper wire now for some time. I like it,” Rue said.

A doorbell interrupted Rue. “Excuse me,” she said, and left the room.

“Well, we’re aware she knows Hank,” Jane said.

“And we understand how she feels about the craft retreat. That’s all we know,” Cora said. “But this is going to make a great story for the blog.”

“Agreed,” Jane said. “But don’t you think we need to wrap it up soon? We’ve gotten what we came for.”

Cora nodded. “I suppose. It’s so lovely here. So warm and welcoming. I kind of hate to leave.”

She heard an odd noise out in the living room—was Rue okay? It was a crashing noise, Cora realized. She and Jane ran out into the living room to find Rue lying on the floor and a man standing over her. Cora recognized him.

“Step away from her,” Cora said.

“Now hold on,” he said. “I’m a police officer. I’m trying to help.”

Cora’s attention focused on Rue, who seemed faint. But she nodded. “I’m okay, sweetie.”

The officer helped her to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” Rue said to them, and turned back to the police officer. “Adrian Brisbane is not your man.”

Cora’s heart lurched in her chest. “What?”

“I sometimes consult with the local police. I’m a psychic,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Brisbane is the only one we have anything on,” the officer said.

“Keep digging,” she said. “As I told you, I keep seeing a large woman.”

Mathilde was a large, top heavy woman with big bones. Tall. Heavy.

Maybe they were all barking up the wrong tree. The police. Cora. Cashel. Everybody. Maybe Mathilde was the killer.

Cora swallowed. “I’m sorry. We need to head back to the retreat. I’ll be in touch about the post.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Rue said.

“I’d love to. I like it here. It’s so comforting. But I need to head back to the retreat, unfortunately,” Cora said. So ironic. This place felt more like a retreat than the retreat.