Chapter 43
Had breakfast with Hank. He had some interesting things to say. Do you think Mathilde is “all about the money”? Jane asked in a text message when Cora was on her way to her class.
She considered it. She would not have thought that before this retreat. But, as she thought over the fights she heard between Mathilde and Hank, Cora thought it was probably true that she was money hungry. But the question was: why? She was successful and had plenty of money, didn’t she? Why did she need to be so grubby?
Probably true, Cora texted back.
She walked into her full classroom. The crafters were ready for her to divulge her many secrets about craft blogging. She almost laughed at the thought of secrets. Blogging was plenty of hard work. She owed much of her success to luck.
She had no formula for successful blogging. She had no idea why her blog took off the way it had—except that it filled a niche at a time when the niche needed filling. Of course her blog was unique—but there were many others out there.
“Have the police found the killer yet?” Katy asked.
“What?” Cora took a moment to switch from blogger brain to the murders.
“The killer?” Katy said.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’d have no way of knowing about that,” she said.
“I hope they find the killer soon,” Katy said with a quiver in her voice. “Linda is not coming out of her room.”
“What?” Cora said. “I thought she was a nurse and had seen so much in her life she would be okay.”
Katy shook her head. “None of us are okay.” The other crafters were all settling into the classroom. “But she is too afraid to leave her room. She keeps saying something was off about the knots on the bag. Something that freaked her out. But she hasn’t been able to figure it out.”
“The knots?” Cora said.
Katy frowned. “I wanted to stay with her, but she insisted we all come to class this morning.”
“I see,” Cora said. “Well, take notes for her.” Dread came over her—poor Linda, afraid to leave her room. She wondered how many others had been affected by the murder of Zooey right in the same resort where their craft retreat was being held. Cora glanced around the room. Most of her students had come back this morning. Of course, that didn’t mean that they weren’t frightened. Hell, she was frightened herself. Something strange was going on here: all the people involved were natives. That was pretty strange, considering the island’s small population. And Zooey kept that bit a secret—Cora had read about her and hadn’t come across anything that said she was from this island, let alone that she had another name. Had something gone on years ago that someone was seeking revenge for? Or did the murders have something to do with the newly proposed development that had recently been stopped? Or were they acts of passion?
As she readied her laptop, she thought about what she knew about murder—too much, she feared. Most murders in the US circled back to drugs. That thought led her straight back to the Drunken Mermaid.
The other leading cause of murder? Love. Unrequited. Or twisted. Love gone wrong.
Was Zooey involved with someone? Cora hadn’t thought of asking that question before.
Marcy, of course, had just been married. It didn’t seem likely she was involved with someone else. It didn’t seem likely her spouse would off her on their wedding night. But stranger things have happened.
The person who killed Marcy understood the severity of her allergy to jellyfish stings.
The person who killed Zooey, brutally strangling her and stuffing her into a macramé bag, seemed to be making a statement about . . . what? Macramé? Zooey? Or was it the retreat?
Did someone have it in for Mathilde and her successful retreat? What better way to insure nobody would want to come to the retreat than to murder one of its famous headliners?
Get a grip, Cora, she thought to herself. Your imagination is in overdrive. But as she took in her students and gauged the mood, it was somber. She saw fear in many eyes. How many of them were fighting the impulse to go home? How many of them were putting on a brave face?
“Good morning,” Cora said, trying to sound bright and cheery. “I realize many of you must not want to be here now.”
A hush fell over the room.
“But I’m glad you’re still here,” she said. “Rest assured, we are safer than ever now. You’ve noted all the officers posted everywhere. And I can assure you the local police are doing everything they can to find the person who committed this hideous crime.”
All eyes were on her.
“I think the best we can do now is move forward. Does anybody have any questions about the class, blogging, before I go on?” she asked.
One woman raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“I wonder if you can talk a little bit about the difference between the different platforms. I’m still trying to make up my mind between Blogger and WordPress.”
Cora breathed a deep sigh of psychic relief. A question that she could answer.
After class, while Cora was gathering up her things, she remembered the conversation with Katy about the knots on the macramé bag that held Zooey’s body. What could freak someone out about knots? What was so odd about them? She saw Katy slip out of the room. Cora quickly gathered her things to follow her. She wanted to talk with Linda.
“Katy!” she said, scrambling out the door.
“Yes?” Katy turned around.
“I was wondering if it would be okay for me to go and see Linda?”
Katy softened and blinked. “I guess she wouldn’t mind you visiting. Let me text her.”
They stood in the hall and waited for the answer, which came quickly.
I’d love to see Cora. Are you kidding? Send her right up.
“There you have it. She’s in room 319,” Katy said. “A word of warning . . . She is messed up over this.” Her face spoke volumes about her worry about her friend.
“Okay, I’ll be gentle with her,” Cora said. “Don’t worry. I used to be a counselor. Maybe I can help.”
After all, helping was Cora’s thing. She had the disease to please. And that wasn’t always a bad instinct.