“Too bad they don’t have historical cop cars, hey, Edgar?” she said.
“What? Oh, yes.” He smiled, as if he’d just gotten the joke.
“One of our guests found a necklace that may have belonged to the missing young woman. She’s leading the police to where they found it,” Cora told him, and watched his eyebrows raise.
“Oh,” he said, then clicked his tongue. “It’s too bad about the woman. Did you know her?”
“Not well,” she said. “She babysat for London. How about you?”
He shook his head. “She’s not from around here,” he said, as if that explained everything. Cora wasn’t from around here either. Which he knew.
Cora and Jane were both from Pittsburgh and had chosen to move to Indigo Gap to open the retreat because it was a beautiful town, historical, and full of artists and crafters. Cora also had fallen head over heels in love with Kildare House.
“I need to go. I have a retreat going on,” she said. “As you can see.”
He nodded. “I appreciate your sensitivity with the parking situation,” he said. His constant concern was that too many cars were parked in front of the historical Kildare House. He was afraid it would blemish the town’s most historical home.
Cora smiled at him, gritting her teeth, hating the way he sometimes behaved as if he were a benevolent dictator.
Cora walked off, leaving Edgar watching the cop car snaking through the streets of Indigo Gap.
* * *
“Well, this has all been very exciting,” Ruby said as they gathered in the craft wing of the old house.
“If I can have your attention,” Cora said, and the women quieted. She explained the Gracie situation and how the police were working hard to find her. She also told the crafters that Gracie’s boyfriend, Paul, would be staying with them as a special guest for the retreat.
“It’s just so lovely of you to keep him here,” Sheila said.
“I had no choice,” Cora said. “He’s completely bereft and shouldn’t be left alone. The police are trying to reach his family, who are traveling abroad. Until they do, he stays here.”
“In the meantime, let’s get on with it,” Ruby said. “Does everybody have their paint and their rocks?”
“Okay, okay,” Cora said. “Let’s get started. After this miniclass, you’re free to wander about the town, get something to eat, or just hang out here. We have plenty of leftovers from brunch.”
She hoped they would all go out and spend their money in town. So many of the business owners thanked her for bringing them customers during the last retreat. The last retreat . . . when there were two murders in this small, quaint town. Cora could not get over it—and now, another suspicious death and a missing young woman. Perhaps this town wasn’t as safe as she and Jane thought it was.
She brushed off that negative thought—she couldn’t let it drag her down into a dark anxiety. She was here, in this new life, among other things, to get healthy, to free herself from the chains of her own anxiety disorder. Moving away from Pittsburgh and her job as a counselor at the Sunny Street Women’s Shelter was the first step to a healthier life. She developed an anxiety disorder because of the incredible stress she faced every day. Some counselors were great at maintaining a professional distance. She was not—and had become sick because of her nature.
She turned her attention to the basket of examples of painted rocks that sat on the long table. The crafters were fussing over them. Cora, Jane, and Ruby had a fabulous time last weekend painting the rocks. Jane painted a series of bright-colored owls, Ruby painted herbs, and Cora painted designs full of swirls and spirals.
“Some of these are so gorgeous. I never knew painted rocks could be so pretty. I always thought of them in, I don’t know, kind of tacky terms,” Sheila said. “I’ve seen them at local craft shows and didn’t care for them at all, but these are little works of art.”
“I don’t know about art,” Ruby said, grinning. “But they sure aren’t your grannie’s painted rocks, are they?”
“Or your preschool student’s,” said Sheila.
“Have at it,” Cora said. “Remember, after you are done, we’ll be placing a kind of a varnish over them.”
She studied the scene around the table, as the women picked and preened over rocks and paints. Where was Jane? Cora spotted her, lagging behind them, staring out a window. Oh dear.
Cora waltzed over to her. “What are you doing?” She elbowed her.
“Hmm?” she said, distracted and wet-eyed. Those deep blue eyes of hers displayed her every emotion. She could never have been an actress.
“Are you okay?” Cora said.
Jane shrugged. “I can’t get Gracie off my mind.”
Cora slipped her arm around her. “I know.”
“The river—”
“Shhh,” Cora said. “We don’t know anything yet.”
“But they are dragging the river. They must think—”
“Stop thinking the worst,” Cora said. “Please. It will not do you good. Or her.”
“Part of the angst is, well, I feel so helpless,” she said.
“We’re helping by keeping Paul safe,” Cora said.
“You know what I mean,” she said.
Cora thought a moment. “I do. I know exactly what you mean. But we have to leave this to the police and the search teams. They know what they are doing.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Chapter 15
Paul came down the stairs just as the group was breaking up. Some of the guests were planning to go out for the evening; others settled in the living room to knit, chat, or read.
“Hey,” he said to Cora and Jane.
“How are you feeling?” Cora asked.
“I’m still a bit woozy,” he said. “I’m not sure what they gave me, but it really knocked me out. But I’m starving, so I’m going out to get something to eat.”
Jane poked Cora with her elbow. “Why don’t you stay here?” Jane said.
“Oh yes, I can fix you something,” Cora said. “And we have plenty of leftovers from the brunch.”
“Cool,” he said, and shrugged.
“Follow me into the kitchen,” Cora said. Jane trailed behind them.
“I need to get going,” she said as they walked. “I’m sure the babysitter is ready for me to come home. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Are you all set up for tomorrow?” Cora asked.
“I think so,” she said. She turned and glanced at Paul. “Have a good night.”
“Thanks,” he said, and looked away. His eyes were still rimmed in red and black circles.
He sat down at the kitchen table and Cora pulled out leftovers from the fridge and placed them on the counters and the table. “Ham biscuits,” she said. “Here’s some fruit. Quiche. Cookies.”
“A feast!” Paul exclaimed. He stood and wandered from counter to counter, piling his plate high with food. “I’m so hungry. This is fabulous.”
“Did someone say food?” Liv asked as she wandered into the kitchen, still wearing her heavy makeup, but now in sweatpants and a T-shirt.
“There’s plenty for everybody,” Paul said, and smiled.
“You must be Paul,” she said.
He nodded. “And you are?”
“Liv,” she said, reaching for a plate. “I’m a student at BMU. Seems like I’ve seen you around.”
He nodded. “My girlfriend just graduated prelaw. I’ve taught a couple of classes there.”
“What kind of classes?”
“Writing,” he said. “I haven’t taught there for a while, though.”
“Hmm,” she said, piling fruit salad on her plate. “I try to stay away from writing classes. I’m an art student.”
Cora sat quietly and drank from a tall glass of water, observing the two.
“Hey, I’m sorry to hear about your friend,” Liv said. “And your girlfriend. Hope they find her soon.”
He nodded. “They have to. They ju
st have to. But thanks.”
“Cora,” she said. “Do you mind if I take my plate to my room? I’ve got something I’m working on up there.”
“No, go right ahead,” Cora said.
“Nice meeting you, Paul,” she said, and walked out of the kitchen.
Cora sat and ate the quinoa-fruit salad while Paul downed several ham biscuits.
“So you’re a writer?” Cora asked him.
“Yes, I freelance now, but I’m hoping to get a novel published someday,” he said.
“That’s interesting,” Cora said. “How did you and Gracie meet?”
“At school,” he said. “It’s where I met Henry, too. Henry is . . . I mean was, a poet.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but his degree was in computer science. He’d written several games.”
“Games?”
“Yes, that’s how he made his living. Writing and selling computer games,” he said. “He knew computers really well. So does Gracie.”
Just then Cora remembered the conversation they had all had the night the two young men had visited Jane’s place. Mention of a computer game. What was it?
Cora watched Paul scarf down more food. She wondered if he’d eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours.
“I’ve never played a computer game,” she said, and bit into the last bit of cubed watermelon.
“It’s wild. It can be a lot of fun,” he said. He sat his fork down. “I think I may have eaten too much.” All the blood seemed to drain from his face. He rubbed his face.
“Take some deep breaths,” Cora said. She stood up and placed her hands on his shoulders and rubbed them.
“I can’t,” he said. “I feel like I can’t breathe.”
He gasped for air.
Was he having a heart attack? A panic attack?
“Listen,” Cora said. “Listen to me, Paul. You can take some deep breaths. You can and you will.”
She moved his hands away from his face. “Look at me. Let’s breathe together.”
“You don’t understand!” he said.
“Yes, yes, I do. I’ve had panic attacks for years and I think that’s what you’re having. Please. Just breathe with me.”
After she got him through the worst of it, more deep breaths, more soothing words, and more gentle pats on his back, he excused himself and went back to his room.
“Give yourself some space and time,” Cora said. “This is a lot for you. For anybody.”
His phone beeped and he pulled it out of his pocket.
“It’s my parents,” he said. He still appeared pale and woozy. “I can’t deal with them right now. I’ll call them tomorrow. Like, I have about a million texts and messages to sort through.”
“If you want, I can talk with them. They must be worried,” she said.
He handed her the phone. “That would be awesome.” It was still ringing as he slowly walked up the stairs.
“Hello,” Cora said into the phone.
“This is Susan Garrett. I’m looking for my son, Paul Eugene.” Her voice was edged in panic. Paul Eugene? Cora was momentarily confused, then figured she’d meant Paul.
Cora explained who she was and why she had answered Paul’s phone.
“I appreciate all your help,” Susan said. “But I really wish he’d come home.”
“I don’t think he wants to leave until they’ve found Gracie,” Cora said.
There was an exasperated sigh on the other end of the phone.
“But I may be wrong. He might be better to speak with you tomorrow. He’s been given something to help him sleep and I really don’t think he’s up to making any decisions now. But rest assured, Paul is safe here,” Cora said.
“Thank God for that,” his mother said. “At least he’s safe. But I must insist our Paul Eugene come home. He needs to be with family.”
“Believe me, I understand your concern, but he is very safe here at Kildare House with my crafters,” she replied.
“What is your address?” his mother demanded.
“There’s really no need for you to come here—”
“Please. It would just make me feel better to see him,” she said.
Cora reluctantly gave her the address.
When Cora clicked off the phone, she found herself hoping that she had not lied to his mother. Was Paul indeed safe in Kildare House? After all, who besides the police even knew he was there?
Chapter 16
“How did it go today with Louise?” Jane asked London as she tucked her in.
“It went okay,” London said. “I like Gracie better.” Jane felt a wave of sickness roll through her.
“I like Gracie a lot, too,” she said.
“I hope they find her, Mommy,” London said.
Jane’s daughter’s eyes held terror in them. It was a difficult concept for a five-year-old to comprehend. Sometimes Jane hated the world for all its “stranger-danger” talks. But times like this made it easier to speak with London about it.
“I hope so, too,” Jane said, brushing away a strand of hair from her daughter’s face. Such innocence. The world could be such a cold place. How she wanted to keep and hold her daughter, protect her, forever, even though she knew it was impossible.
“I didn’t know that grown-ups get stolen, too,” London said, rubbing her eyes, then yawning.
To London, a twenty-four-year-old was a grown-up. Jane supposed most people would agree. But she shuddered to think of considering herself an adult at that age—she still had a lot of maturing to do, unfortunately. Young women were too quick to trust. She was one of them herself—but no more. Unfortunately, most people had to learn lessons the hard way, by making mistakes over and over again.
She hoped London would somehow avoid that.
If Gracie had trusted the wrong man, and gone off with him, could she still be alive?
But Gracie didn’t seem the sort to trust a stranger. Not at all. Whoever got her off alone had to be someone she knew. If that is indeed what happened.
“I hope she comes back soon,” London said.
Of course, maybe Gracie hadn’t trusted whoever her abductor was. Perhaps he just attacked and dragged her off somewhere. Jane felt sick again.
“Let’s read,” she said to London, hoping it would get them both to think about something else.
Soon the two of them were lost in the world of Harry Potter. London drifted off to her mother’s voice and Jane placed the book quietly down on the bedside table.
London’s teacher was surprised to learn that they were reading Harry Potter each night. But London was such a good reader and had grown out of so many of the regular books you’d read to a five-year-old—and Jane was judicious about the “scary” parts. Sometimes she’d skip right over them and other times she’s editorialize in her own words.
Jane sat for a few moments listening to London’s breathing, a habit she picked up when London was a baby. When you were a tired, beleaguered mom pulled in countless directions, this was a moment to savor, a good reminder of the importance of being a mom.
Jane stood and reached over to turn off the light, taking one last glimpse of her girl and her tangled dark hair on the white pillow.
When she got back to her own room, Jane sat down at her computer and pulled up the day’s news.
Henry’s death was on the front Web page of the local paper. She read about him and was surprised to find he was a much sought-after gaming developer. Interesting. Hadn’t he and Paul mentioned a game when they visited? A Wizard of Oz game?
Jane found the gaming subculture fascinating, but not enough to explore it. She knew there were several designers and artists she went to school with who found lucrative work in the field.
She scrolled through the article. Henry was from the town of Cherokee, son of a single mom, with no brothers or sisters. As she skimmed the article, something caught her eye: His body was found at the abandoned Oz World theme park. Closed a few years back because of a fire that it had neve
r recovered from, the place had provided twelve years of happy memories for countless families.
Her heart pounded in her chest. What? Was this a weird coincidence? Gracie had been reading that book and they had talked about a Wizard of Oz game. What was going on here?
She suddenly felt like she was in an episode of The Twilight Zone.
She Googled “Wizard of Oz Game” and clicked on the first link that appeared.
The site was brightly colored and the rules of the game were simplistic. It was definitely designed for kids. So why were Gracie, Henry, and Paul playing this game so avidly? And what had upset them about it?
She dialed Cora.
When she finally answered, she sounded groggy. Had she been sleeping?
“Have you read this article about Henry’s death?” Jane asked.
“Article? What article? I finished another blog post and have been kind of busy over here with the retreat.”
“I’m sorry if I woke you, but this is kind of freaky,” Jane said.
She explained to Cora what the article said.
“I didn’t even know about this theme park!” Cora said. “And Henry was found there? This is wild!”
“Could it just be an odd coincidence that Gracie was reading the book and they were playing this game and he turns up at a Wizard of Oz theme park?” Jane said.
“I don’t know.”
“The game is for kids. It doesn’t make sense that three adults would even care about it.”
“You’re reaching for answers. I get that. But sometimes there are no answers,” Cora said.
Jane thought a moment. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. All this Wizard of Oz stuff is just a distraction. It probably has nothing to do with what really happened to Gracie and Henry.”
“And who knows if Henry’s death is even linked to Gracie’s disappearance,” Cora pointed out.
“True. Except, of course, for their shared connection to Paul. How is he doing?”
Cora paused. “He’s far from fine. I’m worried about him. But I think his parents are on their way. They want to take him home, but I have a feeling he’s not going anywhere, not without knowing what’s happened to Gracie.”
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