Mathilde’s face reddened and splotchy patches surfaced. Cora felt for her. But she read between the lines and didn’t like the use of the word probably. Probably not in any danger. Probably.
So if the murder was personal . . . just what was Zooey involved in? And did Zooey know Marcy? thought Cora.
“Do you know if Zooey was acquainted with Marcy?” she asked Adrian.
“What?” Adrian said.
“Zooey, the woman who was killed. Was she familiar with Marcy?”
“Why are you asking?” Jane said.
“I’m wondering if the murders had anything to do with one another,” Cora said. “It’s odd, you know—two within the past few days, isn’t it?”
Adrian paled. “Uh.”
“What?”
“I think they did know each other,” he said. “I wanted to ask Zooey and I never got around to it.”
“What? What do you mean?” Cora said, the weight of her plate suddenly becoming too much. She sat it down on the edge of the nearest table.
“Well, the thing is,” Adrian said, “Zooey looked familiar to me, though her name didn’t ring a bell. But the other night I remembered that she reminded me of someone and wondered if it was her. I never got around to asking her.”
“Who was the person?” Jane said.
“Someone who used to work for Marcy. I think her name was Susan,” he said. “I feel like I should have recognized her right away and felt bad that I didn’t. But I’m pretty sure it was her.”
What? Zooey was a Susan? Cora felt her mouth drop open.
“What did she do for Marcy?” Jane asked.
Yes, Jane, ask questions. Cora stood with her mouth open trying to take this news in. Zooey, who had just been killed, had a secret identity. As she mulled that over, it sort of fit. But it was shocking to hear it.
“She was a research assistant,” he said. “Marcy, though a good writer, and a decent researcher, didn’t have time to do most of her own research. Her publishing schedule was so tight.”
“And so Zooey, the great macramé artist, was a researcher?” Jane said, smirking.
“Yeah, she was a struggling artist not so long ago,” Adrian said. “I mean, if it’s her.”
“What was her last name?” Cora asked. Her brain had finally caught up.
“I’m not sure I ever knew it,” he said.
“Of course,” Jane said, and rolled her eyes. “She will forever remain with no last name.”
“Of course,” Cora muttered. Her head was spinning—Zooey was Susan, who a few years ago had worked for Marcy Grimm. Now they were both dead. A stone cold dread came over her. Of course, their killings were connected. She surmised the only other person on the island who was familiar with this past was Adrian. Was he next on the killer’s list? She drew in air. Get a grip, Cora, she told herself. Adrian was here, next to her, and wasn’t going anywhere.
But Zooey or Susan or whoever the heck she was, was killed right here in this resort. So it didn’t matter that they stayed in. Cora wanted out of here. Out of the resort, off the island, and to Kildare House, Indigo Gap, and Luna, her cat. She wanted to be home.
Pangs of panic moved through her. First, her chest felt the pressure.
“I need to head back to my room,” she said.
“I’ll come with you,” Jane said.
“Me too,” Adrian said. “Are you okay?”
Suddenly, the room spun. Cora was not okay.
Adrian took one elbow, Jane the other, and they managed to escort her out of the room, past the retreaters, past the other teachers, past the group of police officers in the hallway, on to the elevator.
“Let’s relax, shall we?” Jane said as they entered the elevator.
“This is crazy,” Cora managed to say.
“What has got you so upset?” Adrian said.
“It doesn’t have to be any specific thing,” Jane said. “It’s just how she reacts to stress. Her body just takes over.”
Cold; Cora was so cold. They exited the elevator and made it to her room. She opened the door and fell into her bed.
Jane reached into Cora’s bag, found her pills, and handed her one, the way she had done so many times before.
Cora took it, with no argument.
“It will be a few minutes,” Jane said.
After some time, with Adrian and Jane sitting on either side of her on her bed, Cora’s mind stopped racing.
“I think it’s too strong of a coincidence. I think Marcy and Zooey were killed by the same person,” Cora said.
“That makes sense,” Adrian said. “But why? I mean, what were those two into?”
“The other thing I was thinking about, Adrian,” Cora said, “is that you are one of the few people, if not the only one, who knew that Zooey was Susan, right?”
He nodded. “Probably. Though I’m not sure it’s a secret or anything.”
“But it is,” Jane added. “Zooey was very well known in the crafting world. And I’ve never read anything about a name change or anything, even about her past.”
“You’re missing my point,” Cora said. “Adrian might be in danger.”
“What? Me?”
“Why not you? You knew them both. Knew of their past connection.”
“Yeah, but nothing sordid or seedy about the connection existed,” Adrian said. “I could see if they were hiding something that I might know about. But, nah, that’s the stuff of fiction.”
“Yes, I agree,” Jane said. “Cora’s imagination takes over sometimes. The only secret past is Zooey’s and it was a name change. Who wouldn’t rather be a Zooey than a Susan? She carefully constructed it all.”
Cora mulled that over a minute. “Well, maybe you’re both right. Maybe I need to let this all go, get through this weekend, and go home.”
“If they let us,” Jane said.
“If, indeed,” Adrian said, holding up his arm, with his tracking bracelet still clasped on his wrist.
Chapter 27
Adrian and Jane left Cora’s room, insisting she rest. But she was too keyed up. Relaxed from her pill, yes, but not sleepy. So she picked up a book. It was Marcy’s The Mermaid of Sea Glass Island. It was a beautiful book, with gorgeous illustrations and type throughout.
It told the story of a mermaid captured by a fisherman, who became enamored by her and kissed her, after he untangled her from the net. Even though a mermaid’s kiss is usually deadly, she spared him because she had fallen in love with him—and because he saved her life. It was this mermaid who blessed the island with the sea glass and shells it became so famous for.
What a lovely story, Cora thought. In the back of the book it explained that the geography of the island and the tides and currents of the sea was the geological reason for the sea glass on this island. But Cora closed her eyes and decided she’d rather think about mermaids than riptides.
But she did love the shiny sea glass and the way it sparkled in mobiles, mosaics, and tiaras. Using the glass in crafts and jewelry was a gorgeous way to up-cycle, which was a practice that Cora believed in wholeheartedly.
As she drifted off, a pounding came at her door and she was brutally snapped back awake.
“Cora! Cora, let me in, please,” the voice said. A male voice. She kind of recognized it.
She struggled to emerge from the bed. She felt as if she were swimming—her legs and arms were heavy with slumber.
She made her way to the door and peered through the peephole.
“Cashel!” she said, and opened the door.
He fell into the room and onto the floor.
“What are you doing? Where have you been?” she asked as she helped him to his feet. He didn’t look himself at all.
He stood, wobbling on his feet.
“Are you drunk?” Cora said. The straight-laced Cashel drunk in the middle of the day?
“I swear, I only had one drink,” he said, but he smelled of alcohol.
“What? You can hardly walk,” Cora said, and led
him to her bed. “You better lie down.”
“No, wait. I had two drinks. Yes,” he said.
“Cashel! You can’t be this drunk on two drinks!”
“Shhhh!” he said. “I know. Listen. I’m being followed. Nice cabbie brought me here. But, I’m being . . . followed.”
“What?” she said, leaving him to sit on the bed alone as she walked back over to the door, opened it, and looked both ways down the long corridor. “Nobody is out here. Honestly, Cashel!”
She turned back around and walked over to her bed. “Cashel?”
He was out.
So strange. Cashel drinking in the middle of the day? Two drinks made him this drunk? He must be lying. But why would he lie to Cora? More importantly, why had he come to her room, instead of his own? And where had he been all this time?
Her phone beeped, alerting her to a text message.
Late afternoon classes will resume. Thank you,
Mathilde Mayhue.
Great, Cora thought. And I have a drunk man in my bed. Not just any man. Ruby’s son. And Adrian’s lawyer.
Momentarily torn between wanting to take care of Cashel and needing to meet Jane and Ruby, she stood for a moment. After watching Cashel slumber, she determined that he wasn’t going anywhere. She better get going.
The walk over to where her friends were had never seemed so long.
* * *
“Ruby, I need to talk to you,” Cora said, as she entered the hallway and saw Ruby and Jane standing with a few other women. It was Katy and a few of her crew.
“What is it? We need to go,” Ruby said.
Cora pulled her aside. “It’s Cashel,” she said.
Ruby leaned in.
“He’s drunk and in my bed,” she said.
“What?”
“He’s drunk and in my bed,” Cora repeated.
“Cashel? My Cashel drunk on a Saturday afternoon?” Her eyes widened as she clutched her chest.
Cora held back a laugh. “He came to my room, pounding on the door, and I let him in. The next thing I know, he’s passed out on my bed.”
“Did he say anything? Like about why he’d been drinking? That’s not like him,” she said. “He’s always been straight as an arrow.”
“He said someone had been following him.”
Ruby lurched back. “Maybe he was getting too close.”
“Too close to what?”
“Too close to figuring out who actually killed Marcy Grimm,” she said. “And someone followed him.”
“For what purpose? To harm him? To scare him?” Cora mulled it all over. If the developers were behind these murders, they were nobody to mess with. They’d killed two women. They’d not flinch at killing another person.
Ruby nodded. “Probably both. If they were on to him.”
Cora dug in her crocheted back and fetched her room key card. “I doubt that. He’d only been researching for a few hours. How would they realize it so quickly? Here’s an extra key to my room.”
“Why would I need that?”
“I thought you might want to check on your son,” Cora said.
“Nope,” Ruby said, and smacked her lips together. “He’s a grown man. He’ll be okay in your bed.”
Cora felt her face heat. “Would you like to escort him out of my room and tend to him?”
Ruby shook her head. “When he wakes up, he’ll leave on his own accord. I can’t pick him up and carry him like I did when he was a boy.”
Cora imagined Ruby twenty years younger carrying her son around on her hip. She liked the image. But for now, she wanted him out of her room.
“He’ll be gone by the time you’re back,” Ruby said. “He’ll wake up and figure out where he is and hightail it to his own room. Mark my word.”
Cora sighed. Ruby was probably right. She’d go to the afternoon classes, concentrate on the craft in front of her, return to her room to prepare for dinner, and he’d be gone. As far as she was concerned, they’d never have to speak of it again.
“What’s going on?” Jane said, sidling up to them.
Cora filled her in.
Jane’s face reddened as she burst into laughter, which made Cora start to laugh, and the next thing she knew they were all laughing.
“I can’t imagine him drunk!” Jane said.
“Elevator’s here,” Katy called.
“Oh, okay,” Ruby said, and they all filed into the elevator.
Cora wished she had gotten some sleep. Ten minutes would have helped. She loved her ten-minute naps with Luna. She’d counted on having an interesting weekend, but not quite this interesting, and she hadn’t counted on missing Indigo Gap so much. They’d only been living in the quaint, historic town about eight months. Funny, she was missing it and not her home before that, in Pittsburgh. Oh, she loved the city and would always hold it special in her heart. But too much pain was attached to the place. The women she could not help. The ones she lost. The years she lost. No—she took a deep breath—she would not dwell on it.
Indigo Gap, however, was a fresh place, a place of comfort, mostly. Oh, there’d been a few . . . unfortunate glitches. She’d not allow herself to dwell on those, either. She was certain the murders and kidnappings were flukes. Stuff like that didn’t happen in places like Indigo Gap. And they didn’t usually happen on secluded islands, either.
What was going on here? Did the killing of Marcy and Zooey have a connection? If so, what was it? Did it have anything to do with the big development deal? It seemed as if it were the only thing happening on the island of any newsworthiness.
“It was the oddest thing I ever saw—and I’m a nurse,” Linda said. “The way Zooey’s body was folded and fit into that macramé bag. At first it was the odd knots that attracted me. I’ve never seen macramé knots like that. Then the body . . .”
“How awful,” Ruby said.
“I had no idea what was inside,” Linda went on. “I thought it was someone’s bag left behind. But the closer I got to it . . . I saw her hair and then her cold, unblinking eyes.”
“Okay,” Cora said. “I think that’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more.”
The elevators hushed and came to a halt. The women filed out.
“Good for you,” Jane said. “I was beginning to feel a little sick.”
“Nobody needs to be aware of the gruesome details. I’m sorry,” Cora whispered.
“Gruesome is the right word,” Jane said. “Now, which class are we off to?”
Chapter 28
Cora’s heart wasn’t in it. None of the classes interested her. She wanted to walk on the sand, smell the salty air, and listen to the waves.
“I’m tired of being inside,” she muttered to Jane. Ruby was off to the seashell wreath-making class.
“You know, I was thinking the same thing. Let’s go outside. We’re allowed on the resort beach, right?”
Cora nodded. “I think so. Security will stop us if we’re not.”
Jane sighed as they walked in the other direction down the long hallway to the lobby. “It’s just, well, we are at the beach. I’d hoped for more downtime.”
“Nobody could’ve predicted the way things have turned out,” Cora said.
“That’s for sure, and it’s not over yet,” she said.
When they walked outside, the fresh sea air filled Cora. “I love the scent of the beach,” she said.
“Ah, yes, I know what you mean,” Jane said.
“Look, there’s two empty chairs,” Cora said.
The resort’s cushioned lounge chairs sat in strategic places along its quiet section of the beach. Cora supposed most of the visitors this weekend were the retreaters and they were mostly inside.
“I read the legend of the Sea Glass Island Mermaid,” Cora said, after situating herself in the chair. “It was interesting.”
“I’ve been examining my book, too,” Jane said.
A server arrived with a flourish. “May I bring you ladies drinks?”
“Oh
yes, that would be lovely. I’ll have a piña colada,” Jane said.
“Oh, that’s sounds good. I’ll have one, too,” Cora said. The sun was warming her skin and she allowed herself to relax—a bit. She slipped her sweater off.
She despised the air-conditioning. It could be one hundred degrees outside and she’d be freezing indoors. Seemed unnatural.
Jane slipped her sunglasses on, as did Cora.
“You won’t be able to be out here long,” Jane said. “You’re getting pink.”
“Sucks,” Cora said.
“Yes, but when you’re old and gray you will be glad,” Jane said. “The rest of us will be wrinkled prunes and you will still have your peaches and cream skin.”
“So they tell me,” Cora said, looking over her shoulder for the server. She was thirsty and the piña colada sounded refreshing.
“So Cashel is upstairs in your room, drunk?”
“Yep,” Cora said.
“I wonder if we should check on him.”
“He’s passed out cold,” Cora said.
“We need to sober him up,” Jane said, as their drinks came.
Gorgeous, fluffy white drinks with pink umbrellas and jewel-toned fresh fruit. Now, they were living the life. Sitting on the beach, watching the waves ebb and flow, listening to its rushing rhythm.
Cora leaned back into her chair after sipping from her large glass. “Mmmmm,” she said. “Good.”
“Yep.” Jane nodded with her lips still on the straw.
“Why do we need to sober up Cashel?” Cora asked.
“We need to find out what he knows,” Jane said.
“Yes, but if he’s still drunk it won’t do us any good,” Cora said. “The whole Adair Development thing is interesting. The Grimm family is against the development. And there were some others, some sort of conservationists, wanting to save what wild lands are left.”
“You know what was beautiful?” Jane said. “The swamp area. I never thought swamps and marshes could be pretty. I’d like to see that area saved, too.”
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