No Charm Intended

by Mollie Cox Bryan

  “I think that’s what Gladys said,” Jane responded.

  “Do you think he’d talk with us?”

  “Oh no,” Jane said. “I’m not going to talk with him, even if he’d talk with us. He might be a murderer.”

  “But he’s been gone this whole time. He could not have killed Henry. He’s been off in a love nest in the mountains,” Cora said.

  Jane folded her arms. “Still,” she said. “He doesn’t sound like a man I want to be anywhere around.”

  “Look, we can talk to him together and try to suss him out, try to find out if he ever had Gracie with him. Nobody else is telling us anything,” Cora said. “We may as well go straight to the source.”

  Jane wavered. “Well, that’s true. I don’t know why the cops are being so secretive. If it’s not Gracie, they should tell us.”

  Cora opened the picket fence gate and Jane walked through, reluctantly. The gate creaked and a white-haired woman appeared on the porch. “Can I help you?”

  Cora cleared her throat. “Well, um, you see—”

  “May we see one of your guests?” Jane interrupted.

  “Are you expected?”

  “No,” Jane said, as Cora stood with her mouth slightly ajar. “We just wanted to talk with Professor Rawlings, if we could.”

  “Oh, you must be students,” she said. “Hold on, I’ll call up to his room. I know he’s there. He just went up with a bunch of books in his arms.”

  Jane and Cora followed her into the B and B, decorated unexpectedly in soft dark blue hues and jazzy posters. A shiny baby grand piano stood in the corner of the large living room. Purple orchids sat in an elegant crystal vase on top on the piano.

  “By the way, I’m Zora. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Why don’t you two have a seat? I’ll give him a call. What are your names?”

  “Cora Chevalier and Jane Starr,” Jane said.

  She nodded and went into another room to call.

  Jane and Cora sat in the room with the baby grand piano and waited.

  “It looks so quaint from the outside, so jazzy inside,” Cora said.

  Jane nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” Zora said as she walked back into the room. “He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Cora stood. “Well, that’s too bad. We’re not students by the way.”

  “No?” she said.

  “No, we live at Kildare House,” Cora said.

  “Oh dear!” she said. “I remember your names now. I am so sorry. I’ve been so busy that I’ve neglected to stop by and introduce myself.”

  She was sweet-faced and plump and sported purple glasses. She fingered her dress as she nodded her head in the direction of the stairs.

  “If you don’t know him . . .”

  “We were under the impression that Gracie might be with him. You know, the young woman who’s missing?” Jane said.

  “Oh no,” she replied. “That’s not Gracie with him. I know Gracie.”

  “You do?” Jane said, relieved, yet worried, to hear Gracie was not with him.

  “Not well,” she said. “But she used to clean for me before she got the babysitting gig.”

  “She used to babysit for me,” Jane said. “My daughter adored her.”

  “I bet,” Zora said. “Listen, ladies, a word to the wise,” she said as she led them back to the door.

  Cora and Jane stood and leaned in toward her.

  “This professor. He’s very odd and he’s a bit of a cad,” she said. “I’d stay as far away from him as possible if I were you.”

  “We can handle cads, I assure you,” Cora said. “But thanks for the warning.”

  “What do you mean by odd?” Jane asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s just a weird vibe,” Zora said with drama.

  Jane shivered. Cora’s arm went around her. “I think we should be going,” Cora said, then handed Zora her card. “Call me anytime. Or stop by. Thanks so much for seeing us.”

  “No trouble at all. I just wish I could help more.”

  Cora stopped. “You’ve already helped by letting us know that’s not Gracie with him. But the trouble is, well, if she’s not with him . . .”

  Zora nodded. “I know,” she said, as her gaze fell to the ground.

  Jane and Cora moved along and began walking down the street.

  “Where is she?” Jane said, tangled with worry. “I’m glad Gracie is not with him; as we heard from Zora, the professor is very odd and the woman at the party said he was a psychopath.”

  “I don’t know about that. Everybody thinks they know what a psychopath is, and well, actually, there are several types and—”

  Jane held up her hand. “Let’s not talk about this now, okay?” Jane had heard Cora talking about all of this before.

  “Sure,” Cora said.

  They walked down the street away from the Blue Note B & B and toward the florist shop. A group of guests from the retreat came around the corner.

  “Well, hello,” Cora said. “Where’s everybody off to?”

  “Dinner,” Maddy said. “Would you like to join us?”

  “Sorry, I wish I could go, but I’ve got some prep work to do for tomorrow,” Jane said.

  “Me too. We’ll catch you later, okay?” Cora said.

  The group wandered off in another direction. Kildare House came into view. A silver Mercedes sat in front of the house.

  Cora shot a look of consternation toward Jane.

  “I hope Edgar doesn’t see the car parked in front of the house,” Jane said, and giggled.

  “Who could it be? Everybody knows to park around the side and back of the house.”

  A man came out of the front door, walked down the sidewalk, and popped the trunk open. He lifted a box out of it and proceeded to carry it up the sidewalk. A woman opened the door and seemed to be giving him directions. Who was she? Who was he? Why were they delivering a box to Kildare House?

  Jane reached for Cora’s hand. “What’s going on?”

  Cora shrugged. “We’re about to find out.”

  They approached the gate, opened it—it still squeaked, Jane mused. Would Cora ever get that fixed?

  The man came out of the door again. “Oh, hello there,” he said. British accent. “I’m Gene Garrett, Paul Eugene’s father. You must be Jane and Cora?”

  “Yes,” Cora said, reaching her hand out to him, shaking it. “Nice to meet you.”

  Jane did the same. But, what was going on here?

  “I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a dilemma,” he explained. “Paul Eugene has been evicted from his apartment.”

  “Oh?” Jane said. He was turning out to be a real pain. And Jane wasn’t sure she quite trusted him. Cora did. Cora had taken more than one misfit under her wing. But this was different. His girlfriend was missing. His best friend killed. It seemed like he may have known more about all these circumstances than what he was letting on.

  “I am terribly sorry,” he said. “But we had to move his and Henry’s things to his room here until we can find a storage facility. There doesn’t seem to be anything locally. And we’ve not had the time to find him another apartment. It’s a mess.”

  “Welcome to Indigo Gap,” Cora said, smiling. It was a stiff smile. Jane knew she was painting it on. “If you’ve finished unloading, please park your car around the side, over there,” she gestured. “And please come into Kildare House for a drink. We’ll get this all sorted.”

  “Thank you. I’ll join you inside momentarily. My wife is already inside.”

  He walked off, got into the car, and started it up.

  Cora turned to Jane. “This is turning into a nightmare,” Jane said.

  “But what can I do now?” Cora asked. “I can’t throw him out.”

  Jane’s mouth puckered. “No, I wouldn’t want you to. He’s a good guy, going through a hard time. But—look, Cora,” Jane said. “We’ve got a business to run here. We can’t be taking in every sob story that comes along, especially during a retreat.
What must our guests be thinking?”

  Cora sighed. “I don’t know. Let’s find out, shall we?”

  Cora opened the door to Paul standing there with his mother, Jane surmised, along with Sheila, Donna, and Marianne, who were carrying boxes up the stairs.

  Paul glanced sheepishly at Cora.

  “I’m so sorry. I’ve a bit of explaining to do,” he said to her.

  “I just spoke to your father,” Cora said. “No worries, Paul. You’re welcome here. This must be your mother?”

  She smiled at Cora and Jane. When she studied them, Jane found the resemblance between her and her son to be striking, especially the sad puppy-dog eyes. She was certain the eyes were sucking Cora in like a dog to a bone.

  Jane didn’t like any of this. Not one bit.

  She held out her hand and shook Cora’s, then Jane’s. “I’m Susan. This is embarrassing, but we are in dire straits. I’ll make certain you are paid handsomely for your hospitality.”

  Perhaps Jane had jumped to conclusions. If they were willing to pay, that would be fantastic. They could certainly use the money. They were barely squeaking by with this retreat.

  “Absolutely not,” Cora said. “Paul has helped me out a bit around here. If he’d like to continue to do so, that would be sufficient. I will not take money from a man who obviously just needs a safe place to stay for a few days.”

  Susan’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t know what to say. “Well, I, ah—”

  Cora held up her hand. “Really,” she said. “I insist.”

  Jane refrained from rolling her eyes. Cora! She could be so maddening! Why wouldn’t she take money when they so desperately needed it?

  Chapter 34

  Cora knew the type. Susan Garrett was a society broad and if Cora took one penny from her, it would never have stopped. She would give her so much money until she felt obligated to the woman. Once that type hooked its claws into you, soon you’d be road kill—of one sort or another.

  As it was, Paul’s room was taking on its own home-life. It was growing in comfort and things. Not only his things, so it seemed, but also Henry’s things. She and Jane helped drag up the last few suitcases and surveyed the room. He was staying on the third floor in what was deemed to be a guest teacher room, meaning it was large, with a sitting area, which turned out to be just what he needed.

  “I want you to know I’m out of here just as soon as I find a place,” he told them, as his mother entered the room behind them.

  The spacious room was filled with disorganized boxes, trunks, and garbage bags filled with clothes on hangers.

  “I need to go through Henry’s things,” he said, his voice cracking. “I just don’t have the heart to do it.”

  “Does he have any family?” Jane asked.

  “None,” he said.

  “None?” Cora asked.

  “None that I know of,” he said. “He was raised by a single mom. There was only him and his mom, and she died last year.”

  “So you have to go through all this stuff?” Donna said, standing next to Sheila.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Oh, Paul Eugene!” his mother said. “This is going to be hard for you. Shall I help?”

  “Good idea,” Sheila said. “I’ll help, too.”

  “I’ll stay and help, Paul Eugene,” Donna said, emphasizing Eugene.

  “I think that should do,” Paul said. “By the way, you can still call me Paul. It’s just my parents who call me Paul Eugene, even though I’ve asked them not to.”

  “It’s a lovely old name,” his mother said. “It was my grandfather’s name.”

  “Glad you have some help,” Cora said, ignoring the name conversation. She’d had several conversations about her own full name Coralie—she much preferred Cora, and she respected anybody’s wishes when it came to their own names. “I have some work to do and so does Jane. We’ll check back with you later. I’d be happy to take whatever you don’t need to the Goodwill.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Why were you guys evicted?” Donna suddenly asked.

  “Evidently, there’s a clause in their contract that if they get into any trouble with the law, they are out,” Susan replied with an edge to her voice.

  “Yeah, I guess if you get murdered, you get evicted,” Paul said under his breath.

  “Or if your girlfriend is missing,” Donna said.

  “Right,” Paul said, and began flinging T-shirts into a box. “I can’t wear any of these. Henry was much smaller than me. If anybody wants them . . . if not, off to the Goodwill.”

  Cora took one last look at the room and the crew of people in it before she left. Two of her teachers, two of her retreaters, and Paul and his family. This was not something she could have planned for. Once again, some strange law in her universe was rearing its ugly head. She and Ruby and Jane had thought they had prepared for every possibility. Once again, they had not. Here she was, housing a bereft young man who might be in danger, along with all his stuff, plus his dead friend’s belongings, which were being sorted right at this very moment.

  “Whoa, there’s a box of his notebooks,” Paul said. “I don’t think I can part with those.”

  Jane grabbed Cora’s hand and led her through the door.

  They walked down the stairs into what felt like another dimension. Brigid gazed over them from the stained-glass window, and a group of women were gathered in their own thoughts in the living room. Music played softly. The women chatted quietly among themselves. A few women were knitting. A few were working on their baskets. Marianne was helping to weave flowers into a basket.

  “Isn’t that lovely?” Cora said, and sat down on the empty chair. She needed to take a look around the kitchen to see if it needed cleaning, and she was certain the caterer left her some notes. But she thought she’d just take a while and work on her own project with the other crafters. Jane took her cue—and Cora knew Jane needed to catch up on preparation for her last class tomorrow, which was basically a finishing class. The crafters would make their necklaces, bracelets, and earrings tomorrow.

  “My grandmother used to do this,” Marianne said. “It reminds me of simple days when I had nothing better to do than sit next to her and learn how to make my fingers work.”

  Cora nodded, picking up her basket of embroidery work. She didn’t know if she’d ever get this sampler done. She wasn’t certain that was the point. A sampler book. She was learning and practicing different stitches.

  “My grandmother and I would spend countless hours in the kitchen,” Cora said. “We just reveled in that space and time. Trying different spices, different fruit. It was glorious!”

  “Grandparents are so important,” Lily, one of the crafters, said. “It’s like they have a whole different view on time.”

  “They do,” Marianne said. “Their time is shorter, so they know it’s more important to sit with a child or cook with a child than it is to get the laundry done or whatever,” she said. “I’m going to be a grandmother soon.”

  “What?” Jane said. “You are so young.”

  “I am,” Marianne replied emphatically. “That’s what I told my daughter. And she’s too young to have a baby—eighteen years old—but she is going to be a decent mother, I think. Here,” she said to Lily, “pull the stem through here.”

  “I’m curious,” Jane said, “what you said to me the other day.”

  “About your hands?”

  “No, about my being of the people,” Jane said.

  “Well, I just assumed you were part Cherokee,” Marianne said. “You look so much like a woman I used to know.”

  Cora’s heart skipped a beat. Jane always had a feeling she might be Native American. But there was just no way to tell, with the sealed adoption.

  “That’s interesting,” Jane said. “I was adopted. It was a closed adoption, so I have no idea who my biological parents were.”

  “Oh, I see,” Marianne said. She shrugged her shoulders. “Cherokee rarely give
up their children for adoption. How long have you been a potter?”

  “Forever,” Jane said.

  It was true, mused Cora. Jane loved digging in the mud as a girl and forming balls, bowls, and rolls she used to call snakes. When she found pottery in art class in junior high, Jane never turned back to the mud puddles and creeks of their youth.

  “Intriguing,” Marianne said. “It’s your calling.”

  “Indeed,” Jane said.

  “I wish I had a calling,” Maddy said, exasperated as she tried to shove her flower just so within the weave of the basket. “My hands won’t do what my brain tells them to do.”

  “It just takes practice,” Marianne said. “Like every skill in this life. We may be born with a calling, but we have to work at becoming skilled.”

  Chapter 35

  Later, Jane and Cora tidied up the kitchen a bit and read over the notes the caterer left. Then they sat down to a meal of leftovers.

  Jane took a long sip of her wine. In fact, it was almost a gulp. “What do you really think of everything that’s going on?”

  “I can’t make sense of it,” Cora said. “If Brodsky would return my call, maybe we’d at least know if Henry’s killer has been caught. I’ve called him twice.”

  “I’m more curious about Gracie’s disappearance.”

  “The question is, do they have anything to do with one another at all?” Cora asked.

  “Of course they do,” Jane replied, then took a bite of pasta salad. “Law of averages says they do. Two weird things like that don’t happen to people who are so close to one another and not be related. I mean, c’mon.”

  Cora mulled it over a minute or two. “I don’t know. The universe is pretty random. Many things don’t make sense.”

  They were interrupted by Cora’s cell phone ringing. It was Detective Brodsky.

  “Cora, I’m sorry I’ve not returned your call until now, but all hell’s breaking loose here.”

  “Did you find Henry’s killer?”

  “Not exactly. The DNA evidence is, well, confusing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ll talk about it later, okay?” His voice was weary. Cora didn’t want to push it. She knew he dealt with an anxiety condition similar to hers.