Chapter 30
After the police and detective left, the doorbell rang. It was Edgar Thorncraft.
Cora opened the door and took him in: bow tie, cardigan, tiny mustache. She doubted he was trying to make a fashion statement. Or was he?
“Can I help you, Edgar?” she said.
“I wanted to thank you for keeping your word on the parking situation,” he said. “The town is full of tourists this weekend.”
That was the most pleasant thing Edgar Thorncraft, chair of the historical commission, had ever said to her.
She beamed. “Why don’t you come in and help yourself to some brunch?”
“Well . . .” he began, but as Darla walked into the room, his eyes widened. “She’s the caterer?” he said in a low voice.
“Yes,” Cora, said lowering her voice to match his. “And I’m afraid it’s just not working out.”
“She looks familiar,” he said. Darla clearly agitated him. Odd.
He turned to leave.
“Mr. Thorncraft,” Cora called after him. “Please stop by Sunday night for our chocolate reception. I’d love for you to meet my great-uncle and his wife, who are coming in from Virginia.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I might just do that.”
And with that, he was gone.
Cora found Jane talking about pottery glaze with a small group of crafters, who dispersed soon after Cora’s arrival. She then told Jane about Edgar.
“He really doesn’t like Darla,” Cora said.
“I’m not sure he likes anybody,” Jane said. “Or if anybody likes him. He’s keeping a close eye on us. That irritates me.”
“He takes his job very seriously,” Cora said.
Cashel walked up beside them with a plate of food. “Mom said I should help myself,” he said. “Nice spread.”
“Darla Day is our caterer. Do you know her?” Cora said.
Cashel shrugged. “Not at all.” He scooted his fork around on the plate and brought up a bit of cheesy hash browns.
“Edgar Thorncraft certainly doesn’t seem to care for her,” Cora said.
“He doesn’t care for most of us,” Cashel said, brushing it off.
“He seems to like us,” Jane said, grinning.
“Now, that’s more interesting than him disliking someone, I’m afraid. But what’s not to like—two attractive, intelligent, talented women in a gorgeous house, who are on their way to great things.”
Jane crossed her arms. “You are such a smooth talker.”
“That’s why he’s a lawyer,” Cora quipped.
Cashel’s mouth curled into a grin and a laugh escaped. “What? It’s true.”
“How goes the case?” Cora asked.
“I checked out your alibi, or should I say, alibis,” he said to Jane.
“Alibis?” Cora said.
“Yes, both men checked out,” he said, and popped a minibiscuit in his mouth.
Cora glared at Jane. “Both men? What is he talking about?”
“Excuse me,” Jane said. “Ivy looks like she’s upset.” She took off quickly, leaving Cora alone with Cashel. Cora started to follow. “I’ll take care of it,” Jane said, with a tone signaling Cora to leave her alone.
“What was that all about?” Cashel said.
“Jane hasn’t told me what her apparent alibis are.”
“But you’re her best friend.”
“Trust is an issue for her. But then again, I’m not one to talk.”
“You trust me, don’t you?” Cashel said, bumping his shoulder into her. It was a little flirtatious, but she didn’t have time for it.
“Who were the men Jane was with?” she said.
“Huh?”
“Who were the men who are her alibis?”
“I can’t tell you that,” he said with an impish grin.
“Do you want me to trust you?”
“I’m sorry. I’m her attorney. She can tell you. Ask her.”
“Evidently she doesn’t want me to know.” But why? Cora could only think of one reason: Neil. Jane wouldn’t have been off with Neil that weekend—would she?
She saw Jane wrapping her arm around Ivy, who seemed distressed, and walking her out onto the front porch. What was going on there?
Darla walked by with a tray and stopped to also watch Jane comfort Ivy.
“You’d never know that she was a violent woman, would you?” Darla said.
“Darla,” Cora said. “As I am paying you handsomely for this weekend, I’d thank you to keep your opinions to yourself. Also, there’s something you should know about Jane. She’s one of the gentlest souls I’ve ever known. She didn’t kill anybody. I don’t care if they find her fingerprints all over the house, the body, or wherever, Jane would not harm a soul.” Unless someone was attacking her with a blade, that is.
Darla drew back, lowered her head, and muttered an apology as she left the room.
“Was that wise?” Cashel said, after laughing.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve always heard it’s not a good idea to piss off your caterer.”