Macramé Murder

Cora followed Linda on to her balcony, where she was eating a large breakfast.

She moved plates of food around on the table and finally found the biscuit she wanted and spread butter on it. “I can’t eat enough food,” she said.

“I understand,” Cora said. “I’ve seen that a lot among women, especially. Sometimes food is comfort.”

“What do you mean you’ve seen it a lot?” she asked.

“I used to be a counselor in a women’s shelter,” Cora said.

“Is that why you’re here? Did my friends send you to counsel me?”

“No, not per se,” Cora said. “Is that a Bloody Mary?”

Linda nodded. “It sure is. There’s a whole pitcher. I don’t usually imbibe so early in the day. I need to get a grip. I realize I’m missing out on the retreat. But . . .”

“You’re a nurse?” Cora said.

She nodded. “I’ve seen some stuff, but never someone who’s been murdered.” Her voice cracked.

“I know what you mean,” Cora said, remembering the time she literally stumbled on a murder victim in Indigo Gap. She had passed out. And it took months for her to stop dreaming about it, remembering the image.

“Do you?”

“Yes, it’s happened to me,” Cora said. She paused. “Come to think of it, I will have a Bloody Mary.”

“Oh, great,” Linda said, and she rose from the table to fetch a glass. She poured the red, thick liquid into a large glass.

Cora took a drink. “Wow, that is one delicious Bloody Mary,” she said. It had been a few years since she drank one. She was mostly a wine girl.

“I know, right?” Linda’s eyes were covered by her sunglasses, but Cora still saw the lines of worry on the edges.

“It’s going to take time, you know,” Cora said. “I had bad dreams for weeks.”

Linda merely grunted.

“And then something would happen and it would remind me of... the shape of his foot. And I’d freak out,” she said.

“Yes, exactly.” She paused and took a long drink. “You do understand, don’t you?”

“Some people get over it quicker than others, or they think they do. Your friends are pushing through, but in the months to come, it might sneak up on them,” Cora said.

“I was thinking that, too. Although I don’t think any of them got the close-up view of her that I did. It was the bag, you see,” Linda said. “The bag was beautiful. Now, I don’t even think I can look at macramé.”

“What was it about the bag that disturbs you? Katy told me,” Cora said.

Linda sipped from her Bloody Mary. “I can’t quite figure it out. It was off—that’s all I can say about it. It wasn’t quite right. I keep thinking about it. Thinking about those knots. What was it that was wrong with them?”

“If you can remember, let me know,” Cora said.

“Why? Why are you so concerned?”

“Well, first, I’m concerned about you working through that image. Once you figure it out, you’ll start to feel better. And secondly, my boyfriend is a suspect for the murder of Marcy Grimm. He has an alibi for Zooey’s murder. But his lawyer and all the rest of us think that two murders in three days . . . Well, they have to be linked.”

“You’re hoping if you find Zooey’s killer, he’ll also be Marcy’s killer and your boyfriend will be off the hook,” Linda said.

Cora nodded.

“How very Jessica Fletcher of you,” Linda said.

“Excuse me? Jessica Fletcher?” Cora said.

“You know. Murder, She Wrote,” Linda said.

“Oh yes, I’ve heard of it,” Cora said.

A breeze came across the balcony. The tablecloth fluttered. Cora grabbed her napkin before it was carried off by the wind.

“I wonder if it’s going to rain,” Linda said. “The sky’s a little dark over that way, see?”

“I don’t think they are calling for rain,” Cora said. “But you never know.”

“How did the class go this morning?” Linda said.

“Oh, here—I brought you the handouts,” Cora said, and reached into her bag.

“Oh, thanks. That was so kind of you,” Linda said.

“Your friends will bring you up to date, too. What an awesome group of women,” Cora said with a smile.

“Oh yes. We’ve been scrapbooking together for over twenty years,” Linda said. “They are like my sisters.”

Cora beamed. She loved stories about women crafting together and forming deep friendships. “I’d like to feature your group on my blog. I think it would make a great story.”

“How fabulous,” Linda said, clapping her hands together. A smile spread across her face. It was the first time she’d smiled since Cora had been there.

“But in the meantime, you’re aware how much your friends care about you. Don’t shut them out,” Cora said, with a soothing note in her voice.

“Oh, I won’t,” Linda said. “I need to work through this alone for some reason.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Cora said.

“Sure.”

“Do you knit? Crochet?”

“Well, I do now,” Linda said.

“Sit with your yarn and needles. Make something. I’ve seen it help time and time again,” Cora said.

Linda’s head tilted toward her and her brows knit. “You know, you may be on to something there.”

Cora finished her Bloody Mary. “I’ve got to go. But here’s my card. If you can remember anything that might help us find the killer, let me know. Text me. Call me. Whatever.”

“Sure thing,” Linda said, taking Cora’s card. “I’ll stay in touch.”