Cora stood to leave. “I need to get to bed. And no, Brodsky hasn’t gotten back to me. I’ll call him tomorrow with the information we found, just in case he doesn’t know anything about it.”
“Let’s hope he has some good news,” Jane said.
Ruby grunted her skepticism.
Chapter 38
Morning came much too soon. Many of the crafters had been up too late, including Cora, who tossed and turned through the night with images of Gracie and Henry taunting her. Not to mention she now seemed to have a boarder.
Kildare House creaked and moaned as Cora made her way downstairs, as if she were waking the old place up with each footstep.
Her own body was creaking this morning and desperately needed coffee. As she made her way to the kitchen, the scent of coffee beckoned. Ah, someone was already up and coffee was made. Bless them.
No one was in the kitchen, but Cora poured herself a cup and started toward the living room, but laughter from the paper-craft room beckoned her.
She poked her head inside to find Sheila, Maddy, Donna, and Marianne ensconced at a table covered in pressed flowers and leaves.
“Good morning,” Sheila said.
Cora drank from her coffee cup and muttered, “Good morning.”
“We planned to work on this yesterday. Just a few of us were interested in scrapbooking with some of these pretty flowers and plants,” Donna said as Cora joined them at the table.
“Ruby’s class doesn’t start for another few hours and Jane’s isn’t in until this afternoon, so I thought what the heck, right?” Sheila said. She was bright and cheery this morning and for some reason Cora found it annoying. Perhaps she just needed more coffee. She took another sip.
“Mom is a morning person,” Donna said, and smiled at Cora. “She’s been up since five, went for a run, showered, and boom, she’s ready to go. In the meantime, I need more coffee.”
She rose from the table as her mother giggled.
“I’m guilty of that,” Sheila said. “Can’t help it.”
“I love this,” Maddy said. She held up a four-by-six handmade book, made of brown crafting paper and tied with a stick and yarn. She flipped through the pages. “It turned out better than what I thought.”
“Can I see it?” Cora asked.
“Sure,” she said.
Cora loved the feel of craft paper in her hands. It was smooth and weighty. She flipped through the pages gingerly. Maddy chose craft tape to attach her flowers and herbs to the brown pages. Cora stopped flipping when she reached a page displaying a delicate fern leaf. Maddy had taped it with purple craft tape. The purple and the green set off by brown was eye-catching.
“You have pretty handwriting,” Cora said.
“Thanks,” she said. “You know, I usually type any journaling I do. But Sheila talked me into this.”
“I think we get too hung up on perfection,” Sheila said. “Some scrapbooks might call for it. But this is a personal reflection. Your own handwriting adds so much to it.”
“It really does,” Cora said. “Besides, I am like the Cherokee in that regard. I find perfection suspicious.”
Marianne laughed. “I hear ya.” She was sliding tiny herbs into plastic sleeves.
“No matter how we try, nothing is ever perfect,” Sheila said. “It can be a vicious cycle for some of us.”
“Yeah, I’m still working on it,” Maddy said. “I think I drive myself a bit crazy with my ideas of perfection.”
“We all do,” Marianne said. “I had a hard time as a young basket maker with that. I am still a bit of a perfectionist. I take pride in my work, of course, and give it my best. But there’s a big difference between wanting to be perfect in your work and wanting to be perfect in your life.”
Maddy nodded.
“There,” Marianne said, after a few minutes. Cora perused the pages of Maddy’s pressed plant and flowers scrapbook and sipped coffee. The world was becoming friendlier by the minute.
Cora glanced at Marianne’s creation. She designed a page full of plastic sleeves that included pressed flowers and herbs, with handwriting in between.
“That’s an interesting method,” Cora said.
“Thanks,” Marianne replied. “You know, I like the way you run this retreat. Many of the retreats I’ve gone to don’t allow the teachers to take other classes while they are there. I love that I’ve made paper dolls, clay jewelry, and now a scrapbook of plants. Thanks, Cora.”
Cora warmed. She’d been to retreats like that, too. You never knew what to expect as a guest teacher. But respecting and complying with the rules of the person who hired you was paramount, of course. “You are very welcome,” she said.
“I’ve not been to any other craft retreats,” Maddy said. “But this has been fun. I’ve learned a lot. Not just about crafting—about myself. My life. It’s been weird. I never think about this stuff at home. I guess I’m too busy.”
“I have a group of friends back in Cumberland Creek,” Sheila said. “We get together once a week to scrapbook. It really helps to give yourself space and time with friends and alone. Maybe you should start a group.”
Cora was thrilled to hear all this. This retreat had made a difference for Maddy, a mother, a wife, and a career woman who didn’t have time to reflect, let alone craft, until this weekend. And Sheila? It was as if the gods created her, and everything she stood for, just for Kildare House and Cora’s retreats.
“One of the classes Mom teaches is a class about scrapbooking about yourself,” Donna said as she entered the room with a full cup of coffee. “It’s amazing.”
Maddy blinked. “I think I might like that class.”
Cora sat up straighter. “I’d love to have you back, Sheila. That class sounds amazing.”
“It’s a deal,” Sheila said. “Have your people call my people.” She laughed and gestured to Donna, who raised her hand and smiled.
“I’m her people,” she said.
* * *
Jane and London finished breakfast and headed down to her studio to clean up and make the final preparations for the clay-charm class. Today’s class would be a finishing class where the crafters would prettify their charms—choose beads, glass, crystals, and chains or silk strings to hang their charms from. Jane couldn’t wait to have a full-on pottery retreat, but in the meantime, this kind of class was perfect to introduce the concepts of working with clay.
She and London dusted the studio and swept the floor with a special broom made by Jude Sawyer, the famous broom maker who taught a class at their last retreat, just for her. Eggplant-colored straw set off by a multicolored weave at the top, the broom was not only beautiful, but incredibly sturdy. It was so sweet of him to give it to her.
“Mommy, these are so pretty,” London exclaimed, and she preened over the rows and rows of clay charms.
Jane nodded. “I agree.”
“Some circles, some squares, and even some triangles!”
“Which one do you like best?”
“I like the heart-shaped ones,” London said.
Jane scrutinized them. Yes, they were extraordinarily beautiful and delicate. Three different colored glazes had been washed over—a slate blue, an olive green, and a tan. The imprints were teeny tiny stems with leaves on them.
And on the other end of the spectrum, someone created large, almost two-inch rectangles with imprinted leaves in purple. Very little glaze, which gave the pieces an earthier tone.
And then there was the more finished variety. Circles and squares, not imprinted, but with actual designs etched in.
All were so lovely in their own way. Jane felt a sense of deep satisfaction. Knowing these women had come here, given themselves space and time to connect with each other and themselves—and make beautiful things.
“Can you cut some of those for me, London?” Jane asked, handing her daughter a roll of black silk strings.
“Sure, Mommy. What sizes?”
“Different ones. Some long, some short.
It’ll just save us a bit of time so the ladies can relax and enjoy creating,” Jane said.
Jane started to sort beads according to color—once again, the more she prepared in advance, the better the experience would be for the crafters. That’s what it’s all about.
“Mommy, who did this one?” London pointed to a Venus de Milo–shaped clay charm with a spiral etched into the center.
“I’m not sure,” Jane said. “It could be Liv. She likes the spirals.”
“Liv is nice. Liv is pretty,” London said. “Almost as pretty as Gracie.”
Jane’s stomach fluttered a bit. “London, do we need to talk about Gracie?”
“Where is she, Mommy? Did they find her?”
“No,” Jane said, dumping a batch of green beads in a tin. She wanted to have the beads sorted by color before the crafters came.
“Do you think they will?”
“It’s hard to say, London,” Jane said. “But the police are trying hard to find her.”
She nodded. “That’s good, Mommy. I hope they find her. I miss her.”
“Me too,” Jane said.
As her daughter cut and she sorted, Jane mulled over what they learned last night. Honestly, if she was aware of Gracie’s problems, she probably wouldn’t have hired her. She made a mental note to talk with Chelsea about her own awareness. Seems if you were going to hire a live-in, you’d do a bit more research. Maybe Jane would call her tomorrow, after the retreat.
She then thought of Liv and the way she took over last night. The woman really knew her computers—she supposed that was a given with today’s students. But she was able to find a definite few links among Gracie, Henry, and the professor. What was the connection? Jane figured it was more involved than the fact that they shared a doctor.
Liv had felt like that, too. She was a pretty extraordinary young woman.
As the sounds of the beads filled the tin cup, the thought occurred to Jane that the doctor was the common denominator, right? If she were investigating this, she believed she’d start there. Of course, with all the privacy rules in place, she wasn’t certain how much the doctor could legally tell her. But maybe there was some other way.
If she talked with Chelsea and with the doctor tomorrow, after sending London off to school, she might be able to start to piece together the mystery of Henry’s death and Gracie’s disappearance. Perhaps she could get some answers for everybody—most importantly London, and a few other kids in Indigo Gap who loved Gracie.
Chapter 39
The group at Kildare House was sitting peacefully, reveling in their morning coffee and their own thoughts when Liv came tumbling into the room, eyes wide, and circled, looking as if she were on some kind of extra batteries this morning—and at the same time held the guise of being completely and utterly wasted.
“Liv?” Donna said. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she said. “Not at all.”
She placed her phone on the table with a thud. “Look at these messages I’m getting! What the hell?”
Cora’s heart lurched. “Messages? On your phone?”
“Yeah, from the Wizard game, I guess. What a bunch of asses. Who are these guys?”
Cora peeked at the messages, as did Sheila, Maddy, Donna, and Marianne. They exchanged glances of concern and horror.
“Okay,” Marianne said. “You need to call the police. We’ve got to get to the bottom of this.”
“The police? Why?” Maddy said. “What can they do? She’s getting messages? So just ignore them. Change your number. Whatever.”
“No, listen, you don’t know,” Donna said. “Those are the same kind of messages Gracie was getting before she disappeared.”
Silence as the women regarded one another.
“Well, I’m not putting up with this,” Liv said. “I’m not sure what the police can do, though.”
“They have a new cybercrimes investigation unit over there,” Cora volunteered. “I had gotten this weird text message about a kidnapping and told them about it. They still don’t know what it meant.” She picked up her phone. Brodsky still hadn’t returned her call. Odd. But then again, he was in the middle of a messy investigation. What made her think he could stop and check in with her? She dialed him again.
When he answered, it was obvious he was just waking up or had been up all night. He almost growled into the phone. “Cora! This better be good.”
He was usually so polite. She felt horrible, intruding on him like this.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you. I’ve tried calling several times—”
“I know, I know. It’s been crazy. I planned to get back to you today.”
“It’s just that this morning one of my guests has been getting text messages and weird notifications. You know, like the ones that Gracie Wyke was getting before she disappeared?”
Cora heard shuffling in the background. “We’ll be right over.”
“We? Wait? I thought just you—” he clicked off, leaving Cora staring at her cell phone blankly.
“Hang up on you?” Sheila said with a grin. “We’ve got a cop like that in Cumberland Creek. Sarcastic SOB.”
“I don’t understand,” Cora said, shrugging. “Usually he’s so polite and friendly.”
“Bad day, maybe,” Marianne said. “We all have them.” She rubbed her fingers over her newest pressed plant page, with a satisfying look in her eyes.
Ruby poked her head into the room. “A bunch of us are going to the diner to get some breakfast. Anybody else want to come along?”
“Breakfast?” Donna said. “We’ve been up for hours.”
The group laughed.
“Oh well, suit yourself,” Ruby said, and walked out of the room.
“You’ve not been up for hours. Are you hungry?” Cora said.
“I’ve been up and down all night and finally just decided to get up,” Liv said. “I think I’ll have some toast or something.”
“We have bagels and we also have freshly made banana bread. There’s cream cheese. Oh, I think there are rosemary biscuits as well,” Cora said.
Liv grinned up at her. “No plain white toast?”
“Not around here,” Marianne said, and laughed.
“Okay, I’m going foraging into the kitchen. I’m sure I’ll find something,” she said, grinning.
Cora followed her into the kitchen. “Why were you up all night? Is there anything I could do for you?”
Liv waved her off. “I should have known better. I got involved in playing the game and my brain would not shut off. I beat Gracie’s high score last night. The graphics were just compelling and I just wanted more, you know? It’s not good. I know that. They say you shouldn’t even use electronics at least an hour before bed. There I was, all night long.”
She slipped bagels in the toaster, then reached into the fridge for cream cheese.
Cora watched her buzz around the kitchen. Was this the wave of the future standing before her? A young, talented, bright artist, up and down all night playing a game? She didn’t know what to think of it, what to say, but she knew how she felt.
“Is this gaming good for you as a student? An artist? What do you think about this?” Cora said.
“Ha! No, it’s not good. I don’t think it is anyway. I hardly ever do it. I just don’t have time for it. And every time I do it, I scold myself and say I’ll not do it again. But, hey,” she said, as her bagel popped up in the toaster. “This is a retreat, right? I’m on a bit of a break.”
“True, I suppose everybody’s idea of a retreat is different,” Cora said, smiling, then wondered about some advice she’d gotten when she first opened the retreat.
“No Wi-Fi,” the friend had told her. “No devices. People would complain and moan at first, then would thank her. It was magic—this world of no communication,” is what her friend had told her. Cora considered it strongly now as she watched Liv.
“But these messages are not my idea of fun or a retreat,” Liv said, licking a bit of cream chee
se from her fingers. “So violent and misogynistic.”
“I’ll say,” Cora said, making a new pot of coffee. This group was full of hardcore coffee drinkers.
Paul entered the room in a slump. “Morning,” he said. Obviously this was not his best time of the day.
“Coffee will be ready soon,” Cora said. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
He sat down at the kitchen table, still half asleep. “I’m sorry about everything yesterday. My parents. My stuff.” He rubbed his eyes. “I swear I’m going to get out of your hair as soon as I can.”
“Paul, you are no trouble,” Cora said. “I told your parents you can stay here. And you can. I’ll come up with some work for you to do. When it’s time for you to go, we’ll know it.”
He looked at her as if she’d just walked off a spaceship.
“The rest of us have to go by tomorrow,” Liv quipped. “Aren’t you the lucky one?”
He grunted and smiled.
“So, how are you?” Cora said after he took his first few sips of coffee.
He shrugged. “She’s still gone. Nothing helps.”
Cora felt chilled. She didn’t know what to say.
“She may still be alive,” he said. “But I know that with each day . . . statistics say she probably won’t be.”
“Oh, Paul,” she said. “Let’s not give up hope.”
“No,” he said. “I’m not ready to give up hope.”
Chapter 40
“So, what’s going on with the crafters this morning?” Detective Brodsky said, after he introduced his colleague Adam Cervantes from the digital crimes task force.
“Should I start from yesterday and fill you in, or just what’s gone on this morning?” Cora asked.
“Let’s talk about the cyber stuff first. Cervantes doesn’t have much time this morning. So”—he turned toward Liv—“are you the one with the messages?”
She nodded. “Yes, I started playing that game a few days ago and last night I scored higher than anybody and it kept pinging me. Then I started getting these notifications, then text messages.”
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