Chapter 42
That night Cora dreamed of her cat Luna, spirit chimes, and mermaids. She awoke early with mermaids on the brain. She made herself coffee and found her way to her laptop, where she prepared to write a blog post about spirit chimes. She downloaded the photos she’d snapped of Rue and her craft room. The photos were gorgeous and Cora thought that the blog post would be more of a photo essay.
Rue was a gorgeous, formidable woman and her craft suited her. Cora looked over photos of boxes of colorful sea glass, wires, threads, and so on, with Rue’s long, delicate fingers resting near them or holding them. A cluster of sea glass and beads twisted into a macramé necklace hung from a shell behind Rue in one photo. She hadn’t noticed it before. Cora zoomed in to it—it resembled a necklace designed by Zooey.
Nothing odd about that, was there? Rue was a creative, stylish woman and it wasn’t a long stretch of the imagination to think she owned some of Zooey’s macramé jewelry. She choked back the initial sense of dread she felt when she spotted it. Of course she felt dread. Poor Zooey, or Susan, or whoever she was, she was now dead, her body placed in a macramé bag in a last twist of a sick gesture, as if the killer was trying to be ironic.
Zooey, the gifted macramé artist, killed and shoved into a macramé bag. Who could have done such a thing? Who would want to make such a statement? True, Zooey was taken with herself and Cora was not overly fond of the woman, but how could she have made such a vicious enemy? Why? Because she’d changed her name and found success—a rare success among crafters? Had she gotten above herself? Was someone from her past pissed enough and jealous enough to kill her?
A pang of sadness tore through Cora. She herself was certain people from her past despised her for her success. But did anybody hate her enough to kill her? She hoped not. She hoped that people could be happy for her success—but she understood that wasn’t always the case.
She mulled over Zooey. It wasn’t as if she were a movie star who everybody recognized when she went out on the streets. No, she was only easily recognized among crafters. So if the killer was not someone from her past, maybe he or she was a jealous, vindictive person—possibly another macramé artist. Several macramé artists were at the retreat. Several who had been taking her class.
Cora tried to focus on writing her blog post and Rue’s story—how she grew up making the spirit chimes, how she used to sit with her mother and aunts as they made the chimes, how it became such a part of her culture, and how she moved the craft into something more: art. Cora loved stories like this. Crafting was about more than making pretty and/or useful things. It could be about maintaining connections with your culture, as Rue was doing.
Cora was certain Rue could have moved out of her tiny swamp home, but she chose not to. She was one of the people their guide was referencing when he said, “Some of the people have more money than God, but they choose to live here.”
Home was home and sometimes money wasn’t enough to tear a person away from home.
Images of Kildare House played in Cora’s mind. The stained glass window of Brigid, the Celtic goddess of crafts and poetry. Her window seat in her attic apartment. Jane’s darling carriage house. The backyard flower garden. Ruby’s herb garden. A sinking feeling came over Cora. Was she homesick?
She zoomed in on the macramé necklace in the photo. She was still uncertain if it was one of Zooey’s pieces. But it was intricate enough to be one of hers. Macramé was an interesting craft, Cora mused. It was one in which the different knots went through historic phases. In the seventies, excessive knotting was popular. Now, macramé usually was a simplified, streamlined craft—of course depending on the artist. Some of the knots could be quite intricate. She wondered if that was always the case.
It was certainly going through a phase of popularity again—but a woman like Zooey must have been doing it since she was a child. Wait. Cora wondered if she knew Rue as well. She must—it was such a small community. So that was one thing both Marcy and Zooey had in common besides being cousins: knowing Rue.
Could Rue possibly have something to do with the killing of these two young women?
A chill moved up Cora’s spine. Shame crept along with the fear. Of course Rue would not kill anybody. What a horrible, awful thought that was! But Cora was often surprised about who actually did commit murder. It could be any of them: Rue, Mathilde, Hank. She couldn’t say which. But Adrian was innocent. She felt it deep down in her bones.
After she wrote her blog post, she wandered into Jane’s room, surprised to hear London’s voice. Then as she opened the door, Jane motioned for her to come in.
“How much longer will you be?” London asked Jane over the computer.
“One more day,” Jane said. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like staying with Luna and Ms. Zora?”
“I do. We’re having fun. We’re going to make a cake today,” London said. “There are no more bad things at the beach, are there?”
“No, it’s fine,” Jane said. “I miss you.”
She was an artist and worked at home, and London was always there. She’d hired sitters to help from time to time, but usually, the sitters and London were always close by. Now London was in school, and she loved it, but once in a while, the child expressed how much she missed Jane. Were they too close? Did Jane hover too much? She didn’t know. All she realized is she wanted her daughter near.
“I miss you, too. I’ll be fine, Mama. I’ll save you and Cora some cake.”
London blew a kiss to Jane and went off with Zora, waving, before the screen went blank.
Gone from view now, Jane sighed. One of these days, her daughter would leave her. That was the way of things. But it seemed a long way off. She’d enjoy every moment of her until then.
Not that there weren’t times she could use a break from her.
“Are you ready for breakfast?” Jane turned and asked Cora.
“No, I need to get my shower. Just thought I’d pop over and see if you finally connected with London,” Cora replied.
Jane was freshly showered, dressed, and ready to go. “We’ll see you later then.”
“Yes,” Cora said, and exited the room, while Jane closed her laptop, then reached for her bag.
Jane took an almost empty elevator downstairs and walked toward the bistro. She needed coffee and a croissant. That was all she had time for. She walked into the bistro at the same time Hank did.
“Well, hello, Jane,” he said, sweeping his eyes up and down her person. “Lovely outfit.”
“Thanks,” Jane said, thinking she wasn’t wearing anything special, a pair of jeans with a peasant shirt. She was planning on doing a lot of pottery today and needed the freedom of movement. What was he up to?
“Care to join me?” he asked.
“Um, well, I don’t have much time,” she said.
“Just a quick cup of coffee?” he asked.
She’d like to sit with him and pump him for more information—if she could. But he left yesterday with a warning to them. Was he trustworthy? A twinge of hesitation and fear lurked in her. But as she glanced around, she saw that there were plenty of other people nearby. He couldn’t do any harm while they were in such a public space.
“Well, okay,” she said, following him to the table.
A server came behind them. “I want a cup of coffee and a croissant,” she said.
“That sounds delicious,” he said. “I’ll have that, too. Make that two croissants.” He paused. “I’m a big boy.”
It was an odd thing for a grown man to say. Even odder that he was still here, Jane mused. If she had been fired, she’d hightail it out of there. Why was he still here?
“I’ve got some business to wrap up today,” he said. “Otherwise, I’d be nowhere around. Can I tell you something?”
Jane nodded as the server came by and filled her cup with steaming black coffee. Oh God. She sucked in the scent of it. She needed that coffee.
“Certainly,” she said, pouring cream into the coffee, stirring it.
He sat back as the server poured his coffee, waited until she left. “I’ve never felt better. I mean, I feel so unburdened. I didn’t realize how much . . . everything had been weighing on me.” He let out a singsong sigh. “I mean, it’s been a huge relief in my life.”
He smiled. He was pretty, as Ruby had said. Jane was like Ruby in that she was not a fan of “pretty” men. His teeth were straight and white. He barely had a line on his well-shaven face. His brown eyes were clear and bright, framed in long eyelashes. Very pretty.
“Was it that bad?” Jane said, and sipped her coffee. Dark and rich, the roasted flavors played in her mouth.
“I didn’t realize how bad it was,” he said. “But last night I was talking to Tom. You know Tom? He was Zooey’s assistant. He couldn’t believe some of the things Mathilde made me do. The way she treated me. Zooey treated Tom like gold.”
“Really?” Jane said. “That’s so hard to believe. Mathilde has always been so kind to us and she has a great reputation.”
“Of course she does,” he said. “I saw to it. But now she’s on her own and it’s going to be interesting to see what happens.”
“Won’t she hire someone else?” Jane said, as the coffee kicked in.
He sighed a long and frustrated exhale. “She’ll have to, I suppose.”
The server brought their croissants, their smell filling Jane’s nose. The divine scent of the freshly baked pastry set her mouth watering.
“They have the best croissants,” he said. “They make them right here.”
The server smiled. “We do.”
“I have breakfast here a lot. My apartment is here at the resort. That’s something else that’s going to change. I’ve no idea where I’ll go, but it will be off this island, far away from Mathilde and her shenanigans,” he said.
“Well, you have the world at your feet,” Jane said. “You’ve got experience. I’m sure something great will happen for you.”
“I feel like turning over all our partnerships to Mathilde,” he said. “You know, sign them away. I just want out of it all.”
“That would be foolish,” Jane said. “You’ve put a lot into it, I’m sure.” It was almost like Mathilde and Hank were going through a divorce.
“Yes, I’m sure it would be foolish,” he said.
Jane downed another drink of coffee, and bit into the most heavenly pastry she’d ever eaten. “Oh my God, you weren’t kidding. This is delicious.” She took another bite, allowing the flakey, airy, and buttery treat to mingle in her mouth before taking another drink of coffee. She glanced up at the clock. “Dang, I need to leave in a few minutes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “But before you go, I kind of wanted to apologize for yesterday. I’m a bit embarrassed about the condition of the Drunken Mermaid. We never meant for it to harbor the island’s problems. I’ve been trying to spend a lot more time there to keep an eye on things. But it’s so entrenched. The drugs,” he said, and paused. “But it won’t be my problem much longer. I’ll happily let Mathilde buy me out of that one.”
“What does Mathilde plan to do with it?” Jane said.
“Between you and me, I think she plans to let it ride. She couldn’t care less if it’s the place to go for drugs. Just as long as it’s making her money,” he said.
“Surely not, Hank,” Jane said.
He nodded his head as he shoved two bites of croissant in his mouth. “Hmm-mmm,” he said. “If you don’t believe me, ask around. She’s all about the money.”
Jane downed the remainder of her coffee and took the last two bites of her croissant. Something told her that every word Hank said was true.