Chapter 17
Cora roused herself out of her quilt-covered bed. She glanced at the alarm clock: 5:30 AM, too early for anything productive but a shower and coffee. But, she needed to get downstairs to set out the bagels, fruit, and donuts for her guests. They were going on an early-morning hike to pick flowers, rocks, sticks, and whatever else they could find to use for their crafts.
By the time she entered the dining room downstairs, Ruby had already laid out the spread.
“Thanks,” she said. “You’re up early.”
“Just couldn’t sleep,” Ruby said, shrugging her shoulders.
Cora had tossed and turned a good bit herself last night. But when she finally did fall asleep, she slept deeply and hadn’t wanted to leave her bed.
The group gathered in the dining room and filled up on coffee and goodies, and then headed to the craft room, where Ruby explained the ground rules for the day.
A loud knock sounded at the front door and Cora excused herself. She opened the door to find Detective Brodsky. It was getting to be commonplace to find the police at her door—commonplace and tiresome.
“Good morning,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“Good morning, Cora,” Brodsky said, and smiled. “Sorry to trouble you, but is Paul around?”
“Yes,” she said. “We talked him into going with us on our hike this morning.”
“Where’s that?” he asked.
“We’ve gotten special permission to take a nature walk through Blue Falls Park.”
“Why did you need permission?” he asked as he walked through the door.
“Because we’re taking things—flowers, rocks, twigs, stones, you know, stuff we can craft with. They’ll catalog everything we take,” she told him. “Come on in. Paul is in the craft wing with the others.”
She led him through the dining room into the craft wing of the Victorian home. It was an open, yet comfortable space. Many of the crafters were drinking one last cup of coffee before hitting the trails. It quieted when the detective walked into the room.
He nodded. “Paul, why don’t you come into the kitchen with me? I have a few questions for you.”
“Did you find her?” he said as he stood up, nearly knocking over his chair.
“No,” he replied. “But we have a new lead we need to run by you.”
A new lead? thought Cora. That was wonderful. This meant that the river search, which might still be going on for all Cora knew, hadn’t dredged up anything.
“Okay, yeah, sure.” Paul followed the detective into the kitchen.
Cora gathered up the empty cups in the craft room and also followed the men into her kitchen. She busied herself at the sink while they talked. She wondered if they minded or even noticed her presence.
“Did you know Professor Gerald Rawlings?” Detective Brodsky asked.
“Yes,” Paul said. “I remember him.”
“His wife has stepped forward. She thinks Gracie and Gerald ran off together.”
Cora dropped one of the cups into the sink. Well, if they didn’t know she was here before, they certainly did now.
“That’s absurd,” Paul said. “Gracie and I were together. She loved me.”
The air in the room seemed to vibrate with an uncomfortable energy.
“She was loyal. I know she was,” Paul said.
The detective slid some photos in front of Paul. “She had a detective follow Gerald around last year.”
“Last year? What does this have to do with right now?” Paul said, studying the photo. “Yeah, sure, they were together a lot. They were working on a paper together. They did have a brief fling. I knew about it. We’ve gotten past it. This doesn’t prove anything.”
“He’s missing, too,” the detective said. “Any idea about where he could be? Or maybe where they could have gone together?”
“Seriously?” Paul flung his arms out.
Could it be? Could sweet, solid Gracie, by all accounts, have fallen for a professor and taken off with him without letting anybody know? Is that something Gracie would have done?
“I don’t believe it,” Paul said. “I don’t care what you say. Gracie would not have left like that, with no notice. She had a job here. People here.”
“But what if she were madly in love with this man?” the detective said. “Is that possible?”
“She loved me,” Paul insisted.
“Not to be crass, but you wouldn’t be the first young man lied to by a young woman,” Detective Brodsky said.
Cora rinsed off another cup and dried it. That was true. People could surprise you. It wasn’t just men who lied to women and had secret affairs. She knew several cases of just the opposite.
“Well,” Paul finally said. “I almost hope that she did lie to me. That she did take off with this man. At least I’d know she was . . . alive.”
Cora turned around and caught the eye of Detective Brodsky, who was looking at the young man with sympathy. He was not enjoying this line of questioning. Whether or not Gracie left with the professor, or indeed loved Paul, it was clear how Paul felt about her.
“So, you never suspected an affair?” Detective Brodsky prompted.
“No,” he replied. “We were getting along fine. Better than ever.”
But Cora remembered that Jane said they’d recently had a spat.
“No fighting?”
“Well, just like everybody else, we had our moments,” Paul said.
“What did you fight about?”
Paul sighed. “Well, mostly it was about me being too overprotective or calling too much. But she’d complain, I’d back off, and then she’d be okay. She’s just very independent—most of the time. But then there were other times . . . times she was vulnerable and wanted nothing more than to be with me. So, well, I just tried my best to make her happy. What can I say?” His voice cracked. Was he crying? Cora wondered, but didn’t want to gape.
“Okay,” Detective Brodsky said. “Thanks for talking with us. Once we find the professor we’ll let you know. Okay?”
Cora could see him nodding and heard a slight sob. Oh no. He was crying again. She had hoped this would be a better day for him.
“The van is here.” Jane poked her head into the kitchen. “Are you two ready?”
“I am,” Cora said. “Are you finished?” she asked the detective.
Brodsky nodded. “I’ll show myself out.”
“Wait,” Paul said. “What about Henry? How does he fit in to all this?”
“Fit in?” Brodsky said. “Not at all. Two separate cases, as far as we can tell. Just a coincidence that they knew each other.”
Paul looked befuddled.
“We still don’t know enough about the circumstances of Henry’s death,” the detective said. “The ME doesn’t have results we need yet.”
It was Friday and Cora knew that it was tough to get results over the weekend.
“How hard can it be?” Paul blurted.
“Sometimes it’s harder than you think,” the detective said with a wary note in his voice.
Chapter 18
Walking through the forest on a spring day outside of Indigo Gap was like walking through heaven. A bright blue sky with cottony-white clouds, shades of new green everywhere, a spot of white or purple or pink, sometimes yellow, dotted the landscape. Every once in a while a light conversation or laughter would begin among the group of crafters. But mostly the women and Paul were quiet, mesmerized by the pristine beauty that surrounded them.
Ruby stopped the group and pointed out some of the wild herbs growing along the rocky path.
“Bloodroot,” she said, and pointed to a group of flowers that resembled daisies on steroids, with long white petals and a yellow center reaching out.
“Ah, yes,” Marianne said. “I grow my own. It’s one of the plants I use for dye for the baskets I make.”
“I heard that most people are growing their own, rather than just plucking them,” Ruby said. “It’s such a good ide
a. We don’t want to deplete the forest.”
Marianne nodded. Her long black hair was pulled into a sloppy bun, showing off her strong chin line and high cheekbones. “We have many stories about bloodroot. It’s also used for medicinal purposes. It has antiseptic qualities.”
“Oh, this is lovely,” Jane said, reaching down to pluck a wand-like flower stalk with tiny white buds. “What is this?”
“Black cohosh,” Ruby replied.
“It will make a gorgeous clay impression,” Jane said. Clay-charm class offered several variations for the crafters. Jane planned experiments with plant imprints “baked” into them.
“They’re also good for snake bites,” Ruby explained.
“I think our elders used it for cramps, too,” Marianne said.
“I’ve seen it used for that as well,” Ruby said.
“Oh, look at those gorgeous purple flowers,” Sheila exclaimed.
“Bird’s-foot violet,” Ruby said. “They are lovely. I’ve heard it called the queen of the violets. You see the beautiful color variations, from the deep purple to almost white.”
“Of course the leaves are shaped like bird’s feet,” Marianne said. “You see?”
“So you can see that there are a number of possibilities here. Let your imaginations run wild,” Cora said. “Look at the flowers, plants, grasses, rocks. What can we do with them in class? But remember not to take too much. We’ll be going to the ranger station and they will check out everything we’re taking to make sure it’s okay.”
“Try to stay in this general area,” Ruby said. “But let’s meet back here in an hour. Don’t do anything stupid like get lost or get bit by a snake.”
The group laughed as they dispersed into the forest, over the banks, into the wooded glens.
Cora breathed in the air and decided to move forward, even farther up the mountain. Jane followed close behind. They found a huge boulder and sat down, looking over a valley and the mountains in the distance.
“We’ve come up in the world,” Jane smiled. “You don’t get views like this on Sunny Street.”
“So true,” Cora said, breathing in the cool mountain air. The mountains in the distance rippled into one another. Blue-hued, they were like a still ocean against the horizon. It was so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at it.
Cora thought about the Sunny Street Women’s Shelter less and less these days, though she still did think about it. She’d spent a large chunk of her life there, which gave her a skewed view of life—one that she was working on reshaping every day. Sometimes the system made it difficult to have hope, when time after time, women and children were sent back into horrible situations, no matter how hard police and social workers tried.
Last night, Adrian called from New Jersey informing her he’d be back on Sunday. She found herself a jumble of emotions. She was on the edge of excitement. She really liked him. Lusted for him, even. But . . . she just couldn’t make the leap. Not yet. Even though there was nothing to not like about him. In fact, everything pointed to him being a decent guy. Heck, he’d just spent several weeks with his sick mother. He seemed like a keeper.
But the Sunny Street Women’s Shelter cynic in her emphasized the “seemed like” part. And it niggled at her to try to find something wrong with him; anything that would be a good excuse to back off a relationship.
Which was ridiculous. Because, ultimately she wanted one, didn’t she? Didn’t everybody?
“I’d like to see you soon,” Adrian had said to her on the phone. “Would that be okay?”
“Of course,” she said. “How about next weekend? This weekend is the retreat.”
“Can I stop by sometime Sunday?” he asked.
She hesitated.
“Never mind,” he said. “I don’t mean to push.”
“Call me Sunday and we can come up with a good time for you to stop by,” she said. “I like to leave a lot of space and time during the retreats for flexibility.”
“Oh,” he said. “Okay. I get that. I’ll call you then.”
His voice hinted at disappointment. But he knew that this was her job. She couldn’t drop everything for him. That would set up a bad precedent. She needed to let him know that she wasn’t going to build her life around him. Not completely.
She thought of Gracie and Paul. It seemed like she had been drawing her boundaries clearly for him. And he was trying to navigate them. At least, that’s what Cora had surmised—but who knew what really went on in any relationship but the two people involved in it?
When the van pulled into Kildare House, Brodsky was sitting on the porch. He stood up and walked over to Paul. “I’m sorry, son,” he said.
“Do you have word about Gracie?”
Brodsky shook his head. “I need to take you in.”
“For what?” Cora said.
Brodsky breathed a deep, heavy sigh. “Calm down. We just have some questions for him about Henry.”
“What do you mean?” Cora asked.
“We need to talk with Paul about Henry’s murder. He’s under arrest.”
“What? That’s ridiculous!” Cora said.
Paul paled.
“Don’t worry, Paul. My son, Cashel, will meet you at the station. He’s a lawyer. He’ll get to the bottom of this absurdity,” Ruby said, emphatically, pulling out her cell phone from her back pocket.
Jane and Cora exchanged worried glances. But Cora got the feeling that Jane was relieved to see Paul go.
* * *
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Ruby told the group at the brunch. “My son is a good lawyer. He’ll take care of Paul.”
The crafters were clustered together in groups while eating; they had worked up an appetite during the hike that morning.
Cora’s stomach was a mess and though she tried to rouse an appetite, she failed. The food smelled good. The scent of vegetable soup and cornbread taunted her one moment, and the next made her want to vomit. She reached for some lightly salted crackers.
A group of students encircled Marianne. Her basket class was next on the schedule. The group seemed excited about it, especially after she pointed out some of the reeds they would use for their basket making.
“Why aren’t you eating? Are you worried?” Jane said.
Cora nodded. “I suppose I am. I feel bad for Paul.”
Jane took a bite of cornbread. “If he’s innocent, he has nothing to worry about, right?”
Cora grimaced. “You’d think.”
“But maybe he’s not quite innocent. Maybe that’s what’s upsetting you. Maybe you’re worried about that.”
“I don’t know. It’s absurd to think he would kill Henry.”
“What if Henry and Gracie were having an affair?” Jane said.
Cora wanted to laugh. That would be straight out of a movie or a book, wouldn’t it?
“Well, you know Gracie better than me,” Cora said. “So far, we have the possibility of her running off with her professor, or, I don’t know, having an affair with her boyfriend’s best friend. Do either one of those possibilities strike a chord?”
“First of all, I didn’t know her that well,” Jane said, after a few seconds of consideration. “And secondly, what I know of her was that she was responsible, driven, and caring. She was so good with London.”
“You can be all those things and still be having an affair. At her age, life and love can be confusing,” Cora said. Her stomach raged. Talking this over wasn’t doing her any good.
“Don’t I know it,” Jane said. “It’s still pretty confusing even at our age, isn’t it?”
Cora knew that Jane had broken it off with the man she met and spent the weekend with a few months back. It had turned out that he was a recovering addict. Jane’s ex-husband was a raging recovering alcoholic and drug addict. Just the whisper of the word made her turn tail and question why she was attracted to the same type of man all the time—which wasn’t quite fair for the new guy. Not all alcoholics were the asshole kind that was her
ex-husband, Neil. Still, after everything she knew Neil put Jane through, Cora couldn’t blame her for being gun-shy when it came to relationships. She just wasn’t ready.
“I’m not confused,” Cora finally said. “I’m just cautious.”
“Hear, hear,” Jane said, and held up her orange juice. “Let’s hear it for caution!”
“But still,” she said after a few moments. “Didn’t I tell you that Adrian is your type?” Her eyebrows moved up and down.
“Oh yes,” Cora said. “You did tell me that. He’s a good guy.”
“But?”
“No buts,” Cora said. “I really like him.” She shrugged. “We’ve only had one date. Let’s not have me walking down the aisle yet.”
Jane laughed and dug into her soup.
Sheila walked over to them. “It’s been such a lovely couple of days. What a great place this is.”
“Thanks,” Cora said. “Your paper doll class went really well.”
“Yes, I think so. Tomorrow, a few people want us to get together to press flowers and try some things with paper. I hope that’s okay,” Sheila said. “I know it’s not on the schedule.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic. That’s just the kind of thing we like to hear,” Cora said. “That’s why I like leaving plenty of downtime in the schedule. I want people to feel free to explore.”
“So,” Sheila said with a lowered voice. “Do you think Paul killed that young man?”
Cora nearly choked on her cracker.
“No,” Jane said. “Absolutely not. The police are just questioning him. You know, it’s just procedure, you know?”
“Oh boy, do I,” Sheila said. “Unfortunately, a lot of murders and strange things have happened in the town I live in, Cumberland Creek. I’ve been involved way more than I want to be. BeatBrice told you about some of it, I take it.”
Cora nodded. Sheila and her new great-aunt BeatBrice both lived in the small Virginia town of Cumberland Creek. BeatBrice told her all about the unfortunate incidents.
“One thing I’ve learned over the years is that people often surprise you. I’ve been shocked to learn who is capable of murder. Men and women from all walks of life. Believe me,” Sheila said.
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