Chapter 47
They spread out to search for Adrian. If they didn’t find him soon, they’d have to call the police. The good news was if he had gone far, the alarms would have gone off and the cops would also be searching for him. Which meant he was here, somewhere on the resort—maybe on the beach.
Jane said she’d searched the restaurants and cafés. Mathilde decided to search the beach, Cashel the gym and spa, and Cora was going into the classrooms. The plan was to meet in twenty minutes and regroup.
Jane entered the first café, which was nearly empty. It was easy enough to see that Adrian was not there. The place had taken on a menacing quality. Was it the lighting? Her mood? She suddenly hated it there and wanted to escape from this restaurant, this resort, and island.
“Excuse me,” she said to the cashier. “I’m searching for a friend of mine. Was he here?”
She showed him a photo of Adrian on her phone.
“I saw him in here yesterday, I think. Was it yesterday? Hmmm. Either yesterday or the day before. Definitely not today,” she said. “I’d remember him. Those eyes! And he’s such a great tipper.”
That didn’t surprise Jane. Adrian was a class act. Which was one reason she got Cora and him together and was thrilled they’d gotten along so well.
Jane smiled. “Well, thanks.” Off to the next restaurant, which was jam-packed with people getting up and eating the brunch buffet. The scent of eggs, bacon, biscuits, and coffee wafted as Jane searched for Adrian. Nothing.
“Can I help you?” A server came toward her.
“I’m looking for this guy,” Jane said.
“Hmmm. I don’t think I’ve seen him. It’s been crazy this morning, though. He could’ve been here,” she said. “Do you want to take a seat and eat?”
“No,” Jane said. “I ate breakfast hours ago. But thanks.”
She walked out of the restaurant into the hallway and turned the corner toward the mermaid fountain. One more restaurant to visit, since the others weren’t open until later.
But as she got closer to the fountain, Cora and Cashel came into view. And they were speaking to a police officer. Uh-oh, what was going on? Cora’s face was pale and her blue eyes were as wide as saucers.
“Jane,” she said, reaching for her. Jane’s arm went around Cora.
“What’s going on?”
“We’ve been searching for Adrian,” the officer told her. “The signal on his bracelet weakened, which alerted us.” He held up a mangled bracelet. “This is what’s left of the bracelet.”
Jane stood, dumbfounded. “So, someone has him? Someone destroyed his bracelet?”
“That’s what I think,” Cora said.
“That’s what I know,” Cashel said. Cool, calm, collected. Cashel the attorney was taking over. “My client would not have removed that. He’s a law-abiding citizen—a librarian, for God’s sake. He’s innocent of all the charges. I suggest you drop them and you find him immediately.”
“You realize it doesn’t work like that?” the officer said. “But I assure you we’re doing everything we can to find him.”
Adrian was missing. He was in trouble. He never would have escaped. He was an upstanding guy. Waves of panic surged through Jane. Cora was calm—she had just taken a pill. But Jane’s knees wobbled. Whoa, that had never happened to her before. Where was she standing? The floor rippled.
“Jane?” Cora said, trying to hold her up.
“Furthermore,” Cashel continued, “I’d like to know what is going on on this island. I was drugged the other day, Cora and Adrian were attacked at the Drunken Mermaid, and so on. It seems like we’ve stepped into a quagmire. Unless you’d like a few lawsuits and the publicity that goes with it, I suggest you and your cohorts tell us what’s going on here.”
Jane blinked. Cora was still trying to keep her awake. But her legs felt like mush and she wanted to close her eyes.
“Jane!” Cora said, and smacked her face—not hard, but hard enough.
“Hey!” Jane squealed.
“What’s going on?” Mathilde said as she entered their circle. Cora explained what had happened.
“I think Jane needs to sit down and might need some water,” Cora said, leading Jane to a chair.
“I’ll get some water,” Mathilde said.
Jane watched as she asked a man behind the counter for water. He reached underneath and handed her a cold bottle of water. At that moment, Jane wanted nothing more than that water. She wanted to yell out to Mathilde to hurry, hurry, please!
Cora sat next to Jane on the love seat and said, “Take some deep breaths for me. I’ve never seen you pass out, girl.”
“I didn’t pass out,” Jane said. “I feel woozy.”
“You almost passed out,” Cora said.
“I did?” Jane said.
“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Cora said. “Everything that’s happened, and now Adrian is missing.” Her voice cracked.
“Hey, I’m supposed to be the strong one,” Jane said. “I can’t be passing out.”
Cora grinned. “Sometimes we don’t get a choice.”
Mathilde was there and handed Jane the bottle of water.
“Thank God,” Jane said. “I need this water. Maybe I’m dehydrated.” She opened the bottle and swigged.
“You’ve had quite a shock, dear,” Mathilde said.
“We all have,” Cora said. “How are you?”
Mathilde flung her arms around. “I give up,” she said. “I give up even trying to salvage this retreat. I think moving through it as best we can is the thing to do.”
Cora nodded. “It might not be as bad as you think. I mean from the guests’ perspective. We had an incident during our last retreat and the guests viewed it all in a different way than we did.”
Cashel and the police officer were joined by two plainclothes men, as Jane drank her water. Passing out was not in the program. No, indeed. She must find Adrian. That’s all there was to it. Poor guy. Came to this craft retreat to spend more time with Cora. How many men would attend a craft retreat to be close to their girlfriend?
“Well, I guess I can see that,” Mathilde said. “Oh God, I hope you’re right.”
* * *
Where could Adrian be?
Cora swallowed. She closed her eyes. Please, Adrian, be okay. She whispered a prayer to the universe and a thought poked at her.
“Let’s go see Rue. Just in case she can help us,” she said.
“Rue?” Jane said. “That psychic?”
“Yes, the woman who makes the spirit chimes.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in psychics,” Jane said.
Mathilde sighed loudly. “She’s been right too many times, I’m afraid. I’m suspicious of her.”
“I believe in psychics,” Cora said. “Or rather, I believe some people have a kind of a gift. But I also think there are those who want attention and money.”
“What about Rue?” Jane asked. “Which kind is she?”
Cora thought a moment. “I don’t know, but she has an impeccable record with helping the police. And she’s a gifted crafter.”
“I’d agree to that,” Mathilde said. “Oddly enough, she’ll have nothing to do with the retreat.”
“She thinks you charge too much money,” Cora said.
“Another reason to like her,” Jane said, and grinned.
Mathilde’s face fell. “Do I? Do I charge too much money?”
“How would I know?” Cora said. “You’re paying me well. Better than any other retreat, and that’s a plus.”
“Yeah, I’ve found in order to attract the best teachers you’ve got to pay them well,” she said.
“Ladies,” Cashel said, walking up to them, “I hate to break up this little circle, but the police have asked that we go into a conference room, where we can chat a little more.” The two detectives were on his heels.
“I’d rather go and see Rue,” Jane said.
“Rue?” one of the detectives said.
Jane nodded. “Maybe she can help us find Adrian. We’re not getting anywhere. We’ve searched high and low.”
“Please,” Cashel said. “Let’s do what the officers are asking.”
“Actually we recognize Rue. It’s not a bad idea to visit her,” the sandy-haired detective at the computer said, standing. “I’ll go with you.”
“Okay, Mr. O’Malley, you come with me, and you”—the other detecive said and pointed toward Mathilde—“let’s go into the conference room.”
“I’m Detective Andrews,” he said, and reached his hand out to Cora. She took it. His hands were large and strong and now that she saw him closer his hair was more gray than sandy.
She’d seen him before. He was the man who talked with Mathilde about the first murder when they were having breakfast.
“Cora,” she said.
“Jane,” Jane said as she shook his hand.
“Well, shall we go? I don’t place a lot of stock in psychics, but you never know,” he said. “She’s got a pretty accurate record of working with the police. It won’t hurt to stop in and check with her, while the crews are out searching for Mr. Brisbane.”
“You have crews out?” Cora’s heart skipped a few beats. This meant they considered him a missing person.
“Sure,” Detective Andrews said. “At this point, he’s an escapee.”
“Escapee?” Jane said. “He’d never do that.”
He opened his car door to Jane. “So you say,” he said, and tilted his head as a motion for her to enter the car.
“I don’t think I like you,” Jane said, sliding into the car.
“I’m not here to be your friend,” he replied, and shut the car door.
He opened the other door for Cora, smiling at her. “Madam,” he said, with a sarcastic note.
Cora laughed and slid into the car.
No matter how she tried to sit still during the car ride, Cora found herself twisting her hair, then her skirt, and wriggling around in the seat until Jane placed her hand on her leg. “Chill,” she mouthed.
* * *
When they entered Rue’s house, something appeared to be off. Whereas the energy had been all fuzzy and warm when Cora was here the day before, it felt entirely different now.
There was someone else here.
It was Rue’s son—the grieving widower. He sat in a chair in the living room, brooding, staring off, as the others entered the room.
“I’m sorry,” Rue said. “This is my son. He lost his wife.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Cora said.
His eyes met hers. They were nearly vacant. He blinked. “Thanks,” he said.
Did he recognize her? Realize that she was the one who’d defended herself and Adrian from him at the Drunken Mermaid? It didn’t appear so.
“Unfortunately we’re here today on police business, again,” Detective Andrews said.
“Oh dear,” Rue said. “What can I help you with?”
Rue was distracted by her son—as any mother would be. He was obviously bereft. But Cora suspected it was more than that. He was disturbed. He’d probably been imbalanced before his new wife was killed.
“Adrian Brisbane is missing,” the detective said.
“The suspect?” Rue asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “The very man.”
“I don’t think the man had anything to do with anybody’s murder, but don’t you have him under surveillance?” Rue said with an accusing tone.
“Yes, ma’am, we did,” he replied. “But his bracelet has been removed.”
Her hand clutched at her chest. Her eyes searched around the room, as if she didn’t know where to begin.
“We wondered if you’ve seen him,” Jane said.
“Or maybe if you can tell us . . . something. You know, with your psychic abilities,” Cora said.
Rue guffawed. “Yes, my blessing and my curse, believe me.”
Interesting. A blessing and a curse. Could she be the real thing? Could Cora allow herself a sliver of hope? Could Rue tell them where Adrian was?
“Do you need something personal of his? To get his vibes? Or something?” Cora asked.
“No. I don’t work like that,” Rue said.
“Mother, you aren’t going to help Marcy’s killer, are you?” Josh said.
“He’s not a killer,” Cora said. “Whatever Adrian Brisbane is, he’s not someone who could have killed Marcy. He loved her at one point. She broke his heart. But he did not kill her.”
“The text message. The needles,” Josh said. He was grasping, trying to make sense.
His mother interrupted. “I don’t think he killed Marcy either, but someone did. The police still have him listed as a suspect, so it’s in our best interest to find him.” She turned toward her son. “Please drink some more water. You need it.”
He smiled a twitchy smile and lifted the glass to his lips.
Rue sat quietly, closed her eyes. “I’m trying to feel him, feel something about Adrian Brisbane.”
They all sat quietly. And Cora’s phone beeped.
Embarrassed, she reached for it quickly, noting that Rue’s meditative stance had not changed. It was a text message from Linda:
I realize what was odd about that bag. It was almost completely backward, as if it were crafted by someone who was, I don’t know, either joking, disturbed, or maybe, left-handed.
Left-handed? Cora sifted through the several people she’d met this weekend who were left-handed. Mathilde was ambidextrous. Hank was left-handed. Mathilde didn’t kill anybody—that was for sure. Hank? Could Hank have been the person who made the bag, killed Zooey, and stuffed her inside? What possible motive could he have?
He had been fired. But that was after this incident.
Had he wanted to destroy Mathilde and the retreat all along? Even before their argument?
This was her best working theory. And if Hank was the killer, he might have Adrian. He would have approached him, and Adrian, in his innocence, would have thought nothing of it. Cora’s heart raced and a bead of sweat formed on her forehead.
It must be Hank. Hank must have killed both Marcy and Zooey and tried to frame Adrian. He must have Adrian.
“I’m sorry. I can’t get a handle on it,” Rue said. “I think I’m distracted. Sorry.”
“Me too,” Cora said, standing. “Well, it’s time to go.”
“Wait, there is one thing you should know,” Rue said, following Cora’s lead and standing.
“What’s that?”
“Adrian must still be alive,” she said. “If he was dead, I’m sure I’d be aware.”
“Good to know,” Jane said wryly.
“And you are sure you haven’t seen him?” Detective Andrews asked, as he stood.
“No” she said. “I’ve not see him.”
“Me either,” said Josh, and lifted his water to his mouth. With his left hand.