“Thanks,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“I was wondering if we could, um, maybe talk,” he said.
She wanted to tell him that she was on her way out, but as she studied his kind eyes, she found that she couldn’t.
“Sure,” she said. “Please come in.”
He walked into her apartment and scanned it. “This is cool.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’ve made a lot of the stuff myself, or other people made it and gave it to me.”
“I love that rug,” he said, pointing to her pom-pom rug.
“That’s new,” she said. “One of the women I used to work with made it for me. Isn’t it great? Please have a seat.”
The rug was made up of purple, pink, and brown two-inch pom-poms. Her friend’s grandmother had recently died and she inherited bins of yarn, and she decided to make pom-poms with it. Cora adored the rug, though she never walked over it.
Paul sat down on her sofa. It struck her then that he was probably the first guy who graced her place—other than the detective and Cashel. It was such a feminine place that most men seemed a little out of place.
Decorated in a sort of upscale Bohemian mode, the place made her feel creative and relaxed. She had just painted the old kitchen cabinets a light shade of pink. She planned to paint some of the trim black. She loved pink and black together, but she’d not gotten to it yet.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“Nah, I’m good,” he said, and dropped his arm onto one of the many pillows on her couch.
She sat down on the papasan chair next to the couch. The rattan creaked as she sunk into the floral pillow. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m just, ah, really, I don’t know, kind of freaking out,” he said. His hands went to his face and he took a deep breath. Was he going to cry?
“You’ve been through a lot. More than most people in a whole lifetime,” Cora said. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Be gentle with yourself.”
His hands fell on his lap. “I just don’t know what to think. How to feel. I just can’t believe that she’s with that jerk.”
Cora bit her lip.
“I refuse to believe it. She loves me. I know it.”
They sat in silence a few minutes. Cora reached out and touched his hand. She had no answers for him.
“Okay. Let’s say she does love you, not him,” Cora said. “Is there another reason she’d be off with him. I’m just saying, let’s play devil’s advocate here. But with logic.”
“What do you mean?” he said, his head tilted.
“Logically speaking, we know she loves you, right?”
He nodded.
“But all the evidence says she’s off with him.”
“Right,” he said.
“What would she be doing there?”
He appeared to think a moment. “Do you mean, maybe, she’s there against her will?”
“Maybe,” Cora said. “Maybe that’s it.”
He nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“It’s hard to think in such an emotional situation,” Cora said. “But we just need a little time. We’ll find out the answers soon.”
Oh, she wanted to tell him how strongly she felt that the woman in the cabin might not be Gracie. But she promised to keep her mouth shut. Besides, nobody knew anything for sure. It would be cruel to give him any kind hope at this point.
“That must be it,” he said. “She must be there against her will. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s all going to turn out okay, isn’t it? As soon as she’s back, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Everything is going to be okay.”
Oh no, she had just given him another kind of hope. “Wait,” she said. “It’s good to have hope, but we need to be realistic, right, Paul? I know this not knowing business is the worst. It’s hard to temper reality with hope. You’re in a bad spot. Let’s concentrate on being hopeful, but grounded in the reality of, of . . . we just don’t know. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so,” he said. He sat with his face uplifted, looking a little like a puppy with those big brown eyes circled in tones of brown and gray—and so innocent and hopeful. Or was it cluelessness?
The two of them sat quietly for a few moments.
“My parents will be here today,” he blurted. “That’s another ball of wax.” He rolled his eyes.
Chapter 31
After Paul left her apartment, Cora freshened up and headed downstairs to attend Ruby’s wildcrafting mixer class. Her visit with the professor’s wife would have to wait.
Ruby planned for this class to be a hodgepodge of several different craft projects—from making ornaments to bookmarks—all using the wildflowers and plants the women had collected on their hike.
Maddy and Liv were already in the craft hall when Cora arrived. A group of women who came together from Virginia Beach entered the room and sat at the long crafting table. Ruby followed them. She had already prepared the room with bins of crafting materials, and each woman had brought her own flowers and herbs gathered on the hike.
Cora smiled at them. “How is it going?” she said.
“I’m having so much fun,” one of them said. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve been away from home with just my friends. I’d forgotten how important this is. Plus, I’ve made some wonderful things. My basket is almost finished. I’ve got two charms done.”
“I had no idea how much I’d love painting rocks,” another woman said. “I don’t know. I just really have a feel for it.” She was carrying around a basket and she sat it on the table and tilted it so that Cora could see her rocks, which were incredibly brilliant in jewel-tone colors and detailed. They were covered in swirls, hearts, and flowers. The words Hope Love Cherish were painted on top of the designs. So charming.
Cora held one in her hand and examined it closely. “You must paint,” she said, and handed it back to the artist.
She nodded. “I used to. I used to think I would be an artist, but then the kids came along and I just didn’t have the time to keep up with it.”
“You obviously still have talent,” Cora said.
She sat a little straighter. “Thank you.”
“I’d like to take some photos of your rocks for my blog. I’ll feature them,” Cora said. The woman’s eyes filled with water and her face reddened.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’d be honored.”
How many times had Cora witnessed this phenomena? Women giving up their art for their families? So many times she couldn’t possibility count. Still, she supposed one only had enough time in the day to take care of things. At least this woman was finding her way back. So many of the abused women she worked with never did. It was all they could do to survive. All their energy went for that. And you couldn’t blame them for it.
Cora lifted her gaze from the basket of rocks and saw the room was full. Ruby stood at the head of the room and cleared her throat. “Welcome to my mixer,” she said. “This is one of the most fun classes I ever get to teach. You can just make whatever calls to you. I have several examples here and enough materials for everybody.”
Ruby held up a bookmark. It was plastic, see-through, and several flowers were pressed between the layers. “We have everything you need to make these bookmarks, including the laminating machine. It’s so simple you won’t believe it.”
“I’m afraid of machines,” Maddy said. “I steer clear of them.”
“I can help you,” Liv said.
“We also have two different kinds of ornaments,” Ruby continued.
Jane walked into the room holding a cup of coffee and sat down next to Cora. The woman drank coffee all day long and still slept as sound as a baby. Cora admired that. If she drank coffee after 3 PM, she’d never get to sleep.
Ruby held up a clear round glass circle that held one single daisy. “Some people do this with resin, but we’ve given you glass to press your flower into. Isn’t this sweet?” Ruby said.<
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Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.
“We also have these simple clay pressed ornaments. You just press your flower into the clay and bake it and voilà,” Ruby said. “You don’t use it as an impression, like in Jane’s class. You are actually baking the plant or flower into it.”
“I love those,” Jane said. “But then again, I love to play in my clay. Anybody else?”
Several women, including Liv, raised their hands.
“How adorable!” Cora said, holding up a small, ball-shaped resin charm with a delicate tiny leaf inside.
“We have the stuff to make those charms as well. So let’s get busy, shall we?” Ruby said, looking up in the direction of the door and beaming. “Hello, Cashel,” Ruby said. “This is my son, Cashel.”
He strode across the floor and kissed Ruby on the cheek. “Hello, ladies—what are you making?”
Cora tried not to look at him in those jeans that brought out his blue, blue, blue eyes, not to mention fit him very well. They were friends. It was not cool to have indecent thoughts about your friends. Her face warmed.
Maddy caught her eye and jiggled her eyebrows. Cora couldn’t help but laugh.
“We’re making bookmarks and ornaments,” Ruby said, steering her son to the opposite end of the table.
Cora scanned the room. It was as if there was a pause in time and space as the women watched Cashel O’Malley take a seat next to his mother. He examined the craft materials in front of him, then lifted his chin in Cora’s direction and winked.
Chapter 32
As soon as the class was over and the crafters scattered, oohing and aahing over one another’s crafts, Cora slipped out of the room and into the kitchen, where she found a tin filled with cookies. She slid it into a gift bag. She set off for the professor’s house, waving to Jane and Sheila, who were sitting on the front porch with several of the crafters. Some were working on their projects—baskets, ornaments, charms, and so on.
She tried not to make eye contact with Jane and kept moving. She could handle this herself. But Jane bolted toward her and the next thing she knew she was walking alongside her.
“Are you going to visit the professor’s wife?” Jane asked quietly.
Honestly, was she that easily read?
“You are, aren’t you? You have treats,” Jane said. “I know your techniques. I’m coming with you.”
“Why? I don’t want her to think we are ganging up on her,” Cora said. “She’s probably in a fragile state right now.”
“She could also be in a dangerous state of mind. I think it’s better if you have someone with you. Me,” she said. “I’m going.” She said it with a finality that Cora knew better than to argue with.
“Okay,” Cora said. “Whatever.”
“Where are we going?” Jane asked.
“Cobalt Lane,” Cora said, pointing off to the left. As they crossed the street and turned a corner, they were assaulted with color.
“Wow,” Jane said. “I’ve not been down this street recently.”
The street was lined with pink and white dogwoods, in full bloom.
Cora’s nose tickled. “Gorgeous,” she said.
They walked along the sidewalk taking in the view. This street was lined with smaller but colorful Victorians. A blue house with crimson shutters and trim. A pink house, edged in brown. A peach house, trimmed in blue. Flower boxes and blooms were tastefully placed in an orderly manner.
Cora felt as if she’d just walked into Victorian-era neighborhood Disneyland—it was that perfect. She clutched her gift bag, thinking maybe the bag wasn’t pretty enough for someone who lived on this quaint street.
“I think that’s the house right there.” Cora pointed to a yellow house trimmed in coral. Tulips circled two budding cherry trees in the front yard.
The two of them walked up the sidewalk and onto the front porch. Music was coming from the house. Sounds of laughter. Jane and Cora exchanged glances, how odd, the woman’s husband was out in the wilds, off the grid, and it sounded like there was a party in full force.
Cora rang the doorbell. Nothing happened; nobody came.
“Hmmm,” she said, and rang it again. She took a deep breath. She wanted to know all about Dr. Rawlings, and she was here to see what she could find out to possibly help Gracie—if indeed it was not her in that far-off mountain cabin. But her intuition was kicking in. She didn’t feel right being here. Just as she turned to go, Jane following her lead, a woman opened the door.
She was dressed in jeans and a tunic—earthy, with Native American patterns on it. Her hair was shoulder length and curly. Her big brown eyes held a quizzical expression. “Can I help you?” she said, her word slurring just a bit. She swayed and then leaned against the doorframe.
The woman was drunk.
“Hi,” Cora finally said. “I’m Cora Chevalier and this is my associate, Jane Starr.”
“Ah!” the woman gasped. “Jane Starr! I have so many of your pieces. Please come in. I’m so sorry for the mess.” She waved her arms around a bit as they followed her through the foyer into the living room, where a group of women were splayed about the room engaged in conversation and eating and drinking. Plates of food and bottles of wine were strewn about. If this was a party, nobody was a bit concerned about picking up after themselves.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” Cora said. “I didn’t realize you were having a party.”
“Oh, honey,” she said. “This is a party I shoulda had years ago.”
“What do you mean?” Jane said.
She waved her hand around. “It’s an upcoming divorce celebration.”
“Oh,” Jane said.
“Please come in. And check this out.” She pointed to a wall of pottery on shelves—all designed by Jane.
Jane beamed. They had wandered into a fan’s house. A fan who was holding a divorce party, Cora reminded herself.
“Wonderful,” Jane said with a note of humility in her voice, and actually blushed.
“You are so talented,” she said. “I loved to stand in front of this wall and just feel the energy. You know I feel the wisdom in her pieces. Goddess wisdom.”
“That’s, um, remarkable,” Jane said.
“But what can I help you with?” she said.
Cora handed her the gift bag. She was completely unprepared for the joviality she felt in this room. She thought she might be wandering into a bad situation.
“I, ah,” she said, and cleared her throat. “We came by to give you some cookies we made and, well—”
“Look, this is probably none of our business,” Jane said. “But I’m going to put it out there. Paul, Gracie’s boyfriend, is staying with us. If you know anything about the situation that would help—”
“Help?” one woman said, coming up from behind her. “Gladys, who are these people?”
Cora felt her throat constrict. This woman was more drunk than Gladys.
“Please calm down,” Cora said. “We think there’s a possibility that the woman with your husband is not Gracie.”
The room silenced. Even the music stopped. All the women were now gathered around them.
Cora took a deep breath.
“Which means that Gracie could still be missing. So time is of the essence,” Jane said. “The police, of course, have called off the search. We need to know if you know anything.”
Gladys’s face reddened; tears formed in her eyes as this other woman circled her arm around her.
“Ladies,” the woman said. “You have no idea what a bloody psychopath this man is. Let’s hope your friend is not with him.”
Gladys sobbed. “I hated her. I hated Gracie. But she was the tip of the iceberg. The more I looked into it... there were . . . others. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid. I wasted my life on him.”
“Him who is now living in the Blue Note,” her friend said. “Don’t let him come back. I’m telling you.”
Gladys responded with a sniff.
Cora’s heart flipped around in her chest. She ached for her.
But she made a mental note: Rawlings was in town and staying at the Blue Note B & B, which she and Jane had passed on their walk here—and would be passing on their way back to Kildare House.
“You’ve got a lot of life left in you, honey,” one of the women said.
“Indeed,” the woman said. Her arm still wrapped around Gladys.
“How did you know the woman who was with him is Gracie?” Jane asked.
“How would I know who she was?” Gladys appeared as if she suddenly heard what they said.
“Well, what led you to think it was her?” Jane asked again.
“I didn’t know who it was,” she said. “I just told the police he’d left with a woman. I gave them a list of names of women that I knew about. Most of them students.”
“Aha,” Cora said. “And she fit Gracie’s description.”
The woman shot them a wry glance. “They all do, honey. Every one of them.”
Chapter 33
“Well, this is an interesting twist,” Jane said as she and Cora walked toward Kildare House.
“It’s not even dinnertime and those women are drunk,” Cora said, almost to herself.
“If anybody deserves to be drunk, it’s her,” Jane said. “Sounds like the professor is a nut job.”
They continued to walk along the streets of Indigo Gap, and cut through a cobblestone road, which led up to Kildare House. The stone road was cut off to traffic, but walkers used it frequently. Flower boxes lined the street and were filled with spring flowers. They started to walk by the Blue Note B & B.
“Could the professor have killed Henry?” Cora asked, and stopped walking.
“I don’t know, but if they found Henry’s killer, it could lead us to Gracie,” Jane said. To her, the two mysterious happenings—Gracie’s disappearance and Henry’s murder—were related. Things like that didn’t just happen so close in space and time to one another and not have a connection.
Cora nodded her head toward the B and B. “Isn’t this where he’s staying?”
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