Chapter 2
Cora and Jane made their great escape from the theater to the streets of Indigo Gap. They walked briskly, passing several local businesses: the florist, the paper shop, and the Blue Dawg Diner.
“Do you have everything you need for your class?” Cora asked. “I know you were expecting more materials.”
Jane nodded. “Everything is set.”
Jane planned a mini-class on making raku beads. As a potter, she understood all about clay and already possessed the tools and materials for the class. Embellishments and instruments were ordered for the crafters. Cora had peeked at the beads Jane fashioned while practicing for the class. Jane thought of them as whimsical projects, but Cora was amazed by them. Because of the firing techniques and the materials used, the clay resembled glass. Jane’s beads shimmered with colorful translucency, reminding Cora of swirly carnival glass.
“I’m so looking forward to this retreat,” Jane said. “What a great idea to hold a retreat for moms after the summer. Maybe we can make this an annual event.”
“Let’s see how the first one goes,” Cora said. “For now, I’m all for it.”
“I like the idea of a single craft, but with each teacher adding their own unique element,” Jane said.
This crafty moms retreat was the first. Up until this point, at each retreat Cora and Jane had offered two or three different crafts.
“Well, beading lends itself to it,” Cora said. “I’m looking forward to Ruby’s herbal beading class.”
“She’s a bit more prickly than usual,” Jane said. “I hope everything is okay with her.”
Now the third partner in their craft retreat business, Ruby lived in the gardener’s cottage on the property and came with the purchase of Cora’s house-turned-retreat center. She was a local and a gifted herbalist, both of which benefited the business.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I think she’s just a moody person,” Cora said.
“It’s almost time for me to pick up London from school,” Jane said, as they approached Kildare House. “I’ll catch you later.”
“You should come by later and check out Zee’s floral arrangements,” Cora said.
“I’ll try,” Jane replied as she walked around the side of Kildare House and back to her carriage house abode. She and London lived in a second-floor apartment, over Jane’s pottery studio and shop.
Tomorrow, along with their guest teacher’s arrival, a few of the crafters would be arriving as well, so Cora took this time to once again make certain everything was prepared for them. She walked through each room and each bathroom, inspecting things. Did everybody have enough towels? Soap? Sheets? Extra blankets? Satisfied that everything seemed to be in order, she moved along at a brisk pace until she arrived at Mémé’s Boudoir, where she always paused because the room was filled with her grandmother’s things. Worn French linen covered the bed, lacy antique linen hung on the walls in French-inspired, gilded frames, and old family photos sat on the dresser on top of a long frilly doily. Perhaps it was just the memory of the woman who saved all these treasures for Cora, or maybe the items themselves held a comforting vibe. She smoothed over the bed, and the feel of the soft linen on her skin calmed her.
When she thought of calm and comfort, Cora’s thoughts moved to Adrian, her boyfriend, who was working late tonight at the public elementary school. As the school librarian, he was readying for parent night, tidying up his library. She’d not gotten to see him much over the past few weeks because school was in session and she’d been recruited into helping out with the IndigoArts play. Never again, she told herself.
Just then her cell phone rang. “Cora Chevalier,” she answered.
“Hi, Cora, this is Roni Davis.”
“Hi, Roni, how can I help you?” Cora asked.
“I’m one of your retreaters and I completely miscalculated how many days it would take me to drive to Indigo Gap from Virginia, so I’m almost there. Should I get a hotel room, or is it okay for me to just come to Kildare House?”
So much for having the night to herself.
“You’re welcome to come here. No worries,” Cora said. She wondered what Jane would say. She’d been telling Cora she ought to work on her “need to please” and set more boundaries.
“Thanks so much,” Roni said. “I’ll pay you for the extra night.”
“Thank you,” Cora said, thinking that would make Jane happy. “We’ll see you in a bit.”
Cora sat on the edge of the bed, surrounded by her grandmother’s worn but beautiful objects. Sometimes she felt like pinching herself. Could it be that her dreams were all actually coming true? The Crafty Moms’ Escape Weekend was her third retreat—and the arrangements were all in place. She expected blips, such as a guest arriving earlier than intended. Cora could manage. She was managing. She hadn’t had a panic attack in months.
Not only was her professional life coming together, but she and Adrian were moving along in their relationship. She had a great boyfriend, a lovely home, and a booming craft retreat business. Dare she hope for even more success and happiness?
After giving everything a final check, Cora called Zee. She was late with the flowers, which was totally unlike her. She didn’t answer her phone, which was also unlike her.
Oh well, Cora thought, maybe she’d gotten busy at the theater. After all, it was opening night.
Cora set off to check over the gift baskets, which had become a signature of their retreats. Each crafter received a basketful of tools and crafting goodies on arrival. Almost everything they needed was in the baskets—beads, wire, felt. Gifts from a few local crafters were also included, such as a paper pack from the new paper shop and tiny felted birds from an art teacher at the high school who had a craft business on the side.
Her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts and her checking over the baskets. “Cora Chevalier.”
“Hello?” Cora said when no one spoke at first.
“It’s Zee.”
Cora’s heart raced. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t bring your flowers. I’m at the ... I’m at the police station.”
“Whatever for?”
“It’s Stan. He’s dead.”
“What? What happened?”
Zee inhaled and exhaled into the phone before answering. “It was no accident. Someone killed him, and they think it was me.”