“But in the meantime, you’re aware how much your friends care about you. Don’t shut them out,” Cora said, with a soothing note in her voice.
“Oh, I won’t,” Linda said. “I need to work through this alone for some reason.”
“May I make a suggestion?” Cora said.
“Sure.”
“Do you knit? Crochet?”
“Well, I do now,” Linda said.
“Sit with your yarn and needles. Make something. I’ve seen it help time and time again,” Cora said.
Linda’s head tilted toward her and her brows knit. “You know, you may be on to something there.”
Cora finished her Bloody Mary. “I’ve got to go. But here’s my card. If you can remember anything that might help us find the killer, let me know. Text me. Call me. Whatever.”
“Sure thing,” Linda said, taking Cora’s card. “I’ll stay in touch.”
Chapter 45
Cora and Jane had agreed to meet for Ruby’s class on making beach sand candles. Even though Cora was not in the mood to sit in another class, she realized she had not attended any of Jane’s classes and only one of Ruby’s, and felt it was her obligation. But her mind was on Linda in her room mulling over the knots on that macramé bag, as well as on Adrian, who didn’t even appear to be up and out of bed yet at 11 A.M.
He always texted her when he arose. She wondered where Cashel was—poor guy had been drugged and was trying to find justice in this crazy situation.
Jane glanced at her. “This class should be fun. Making candles out of sand? Interesting.”
Cora nodded. It was an interesting idea, but she was feeling pulled elsewhere.
Mathilde slipped in at the last moment before class officially opened and sat next to Cora. She smiled and nodded a hello.
“Well, I’m glad to see so many of you here,” Ruby said. “This project is a lot of fun. If you like the appearance of sandy, gritty texture, you’re going to love these candles.”
She held up a tray with three cranberry-colored candles that appeared as if they were dipped in sand. Cora imagined the candles would suit a beach house or a home that had a beach theme. But she certainly didn’t want sandy candles in her home. First, would the sand start to peel away? It would end up being like the glitter she loved years ago and stopped using because it was so hard to control. It truth, she would still sometimes find glitter in her socks or towels. It was a mystery.
“The sand sticks well to the candles because it clings to wax and is sort of melted on it through the heating process,” Ruby said. “I used to make these candles right on the beach with my son Cashel. These candles make a fun family project. But we’re making them inside today. And you’ll see you each have small tubs of damp sand. It’s up to you what shape you want to make into the sand. This will be your candle mold. Just don’t make it too delicate.”
At the mention of Cashel’s name, Cora thought to text him, to see how he was. How horrible to be drugged like that.
How are you? she texted.
Chattering sounds filled the room as the women played in the sand.
“It’s been a few years since I played in the sand,” Cora heard someone say.
“I used to love making sand castles,” another voice said.
Fine, Cashel responded. Was that it? Cora bit her lip. Men!
Cora stuck her hands in the sand. A memory tickled her mind. A beach memory. Had she ever vacationed on the beach as a child? She didn’t think so. She hadn’t seen the ocean until she was twenty-one years old. But there was sand, the feeling of sand, deep in her memory.
“Remember Sandy Beach?” Jane said.
Just outside the city of Pittsburgh, there was a small river and a developer had brought sand in to fabricate an ocean scene.
“Yes,” Cora said. “I remember it.”
“I love the beach,” Mathilde chimed in, and she sunk her hands into the bucket. “I can’t imagine living anywhere without a beach.”
“Did you grow up here?” Jane asked.
Mathilde nodded. “Yes, we moved here when I was about ten. My daddy was a fisherman. We lived over near the area they call the swamp hoods these days. But not quite in the neighborhood. The place still stands over there.”
Cora watched Mathilde turning the tub around and leading with her left hand, which was awkward for her.
“Are you a lefty?” Cora asked.
“No,” Mathilde replied. “Well, I’m sort of both. I was born a lefty, but my parents forced me to be right-handed.”
“That’s awful,” Jane said. “My daughter is a lefty. I’d never do that to her.”
“Well, back then they thought it would be easier for me,” Mathilde said. “But not all parents were like that. Hank is left-handed. He’s only a few years younger than me. His parents—and teachers—were fine with it.”
“The wax is almost melted.” Ruby’s voice rang over the chatter. “It’s plain white, but I have some dyes here if you want to color yours.”
“I want sky-blue,” Jane said. “For some reason, I think it should be blue.”
“Also I have some objects here, seashells, tiny pieces of driftwood, and so on,” Ruby said. “If you want to embed them into your sand, theoretically, they should come out as part of your candle,” Ruby said. “It works most of the time.”
Several crafters laughed over that.
Katy walked over to Cora and Jane. “Hey, ladies,” she said. “Did you go and see Linda?”
“Yes, I did,” Cora said. “I think she’s going to be fine.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Mathilde said.
“She’s the person who discovered Zooey,” Cora said, with a lowered voice. “She’s having a bit of a rough time.”
“No doubt,” Mathilde said. “I’m sure anybody would. Poor thing. Well, if she’s not going to make it to the rest of the retreat, we’ll refund part of her registration.”
“I’m sure she’d appreciate it,” Katy said. “I’m worried that she’ll never heal from this.”
“I think she will,” Cora said. “It’s going to take some time. You don’t forget something like that easily. You just don’t.”
“You sound like an expert,” Mathilde said.
Cora started to respond but Jane interrupted.
“She used to be a counselor. She’s seen everything. Believe me,” Jane said.
“Oh, that’s right. I remember that being part of your story. You used crafts as part of your practice, launched your blog and, voilà, here you are,” Mathilde said, wiping her hands on a paper towel.
Cora wanted to say that helping others was one thing, but trying to forget stumbling on a murder victim yourself was quite another thing. But Jane clearly did not want Cora to mention it to Mathilde. Maybe she was right. Jane did have a better “PR” sense than Cora. It was better not to mention the murders in Indigo Gap—nor that Cora was involved with them in any way. Jane had her back. Cora warmed.
She waited until the lines trickled down, then she wandered over to the stoves where the melted wax was on the burners. What a great classroom, complete with stoves and so on. And Jane’s room offered its own kiln. This part of the resort was built for crafting.
But Cora preferred her own retreat house. Victorian and homey. And soon they’d have a new kitchen—just as soon as she could figure out how to pay for it.
Her heart sank. She couldn’t believe how homesick she was.
She poured wax into her cup, dropped some pink dye into it, and took it over to her sand mold. She poured the wax in. A pink, sandy candle. Thoughts of a lit pink candle on a gorgeous laid-out table, Adrian sitting on the other side, holding her hand, played in her mind.
A ping went off, alerting her to a text message.
I can’t find Adrian. Is he with you? Cashel wrote.
Her heart nearly jumped from her chest.
No, she texted back, her hands slightly trembling. I’ll check out the restaurant.
That’s where I am,
he wrote. I’ve looked everywhere.
Cora dropped her phone, gathered her things, and took off for the restaurant.
“Cora!” Jane said, following.
“What’s going on?” Mathilde said, following Jane.
“It’s Adrian,” Cora managed to say, while moving for the restaurant. “He’s missing.”
Chapter 46
Several minutes later, Cora and Jane found Cashel in the crowded resort restaurant.
“Missing?” Jane said.
“I’m not saying he’s missing. I’m saying I can’t find him,” Cashel clarified.
Cora’s chest felt as if one thousand elephants were pressing on it.
Jane’s arm went around her. “Do you have your medicine?”
Cora nodded, as Jane led her to a chair.
“Can I get you something?” A server came up to them.
“Water,” Jane said.
Cora closed her eyes, tried to breathe, but the pressing sensation in her chest was too much.
Cashel, across the table from her, shot Jane a quizzical glance.
“She’s having a panic attack,” Jane said. “She’ll be fine. Just give us a moment.”
Fine? Who was going to be fine? Thoughts rushed through Cora’s mind. She downed a whole pill. Adrian missing. Zooey/Susan dead. Poor Marcy, also dead. Newly married. Dead. And an ex-girlfriend of Adrian’s. Mathilde and Hank and all their fighting. Cashel drugged. What the heck was going on here?
“He can’t be missing,” Jane said in a soothing voice. “Let’s think about this. He has one of those bands on, right? If we can’t find him, we call the police and they will tell us where he is. They can track him.”
Cora’s chest lightened. She opened her eyes and looked at Jane’s soulful eyes, nodding. “You’re right.”
These damn panic attacks. They were not nearly as bad as when she lived in Pittsburgh. Then, it was almost every day. It had gotten so bad it damaged her heart. It left her with a weakness. Cora felt this attack slipping off. This one was quickly dealt with. Once she had had an attack that lasted two hours.
“I hate to call the cops,” Cashel said. “But we might have to.”
“Why don’t you want to call them?” Jane asked.
“I don’t want them to think he’s tried to escape,” Cashel said. “I don’t think he’d do that. And yet . . . I can’t find him.”
“Looks to me like he’s gone,” Mathilde said. She’d been standing there quietly, looking about as uncomfortable as a penguin in the jungle.
“How long should we wait?” Jane said. “I think it’s more likely that he’s in trouble than he escaped, given what happened to you.”
“What happened to you?” Mathilde said.
“I was drugged yesterday,” Cashel said. “After I had been doing some research into Adrian’s case.”
“Surely not,” Mathilde said, and paled.
“Yep,” Cashel said. “I’ve deduced that someone at the Drunken Mermaid slipped me a Mickey, as they say.”
“Mathilde, I realize you have a reputation to protect and a craft retreat to run, but if you know anything about who could have harmed Cashel or who might have Adrian, now is the time,” Jane said.
“Me? Why would I know anything? Believe me, the retreat has been a nightmare, yes, but it’s kept me incredibly busy. I don’t know anything,” Mathilde said.
“I saw that you are on the board of Adair,” Cashel said.
“Yes, that’s true,” she said. “But what does that have to do with anything? I’m for the new resort. It will bring hundreds of jobs to this island. I’ve made no bones about where I stand.”
She stood tall, shoulders slightly back, but her chin quivered. Her pink lipstick was fading. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead.
“I’d appreciate it if you sat down and told us what’s going on,” Cashel said. “We’ve got several lives hanging in the balance. Two women are dead. We need to find some justice here.”
She heaved a deep sigh and sat down. “What do you want to learn? Besides the tension on the island about the resort, I don’t know of anything I can add.”
“And it’s been decided it won’t go forward, correct?” Cashel said, his piercing blue eyes lit up.
“That’s not been made public yet,” Mathilde said.
“Why not?” Jane asked.
“I asked that they wait until after the retreat to make the announcement. I didn’t want anything to take away from the retreat,” she said, and guffawed. “I wasn’t expecting not just one but two murders.”
Cora chilled. What would she do if this happened at one of her retreats? She felt for Mathilde. Even though she didn’t understand a lot of her attitude about things, she understood how the woman was trying to protect the successful retreat she had built from the ground up.
“This retreat is my whole life,” Mathilde said. “I’ve been accused of being a money-hungry monster on more than one occasion. But this retreat makes the island thousands in revenue. I love the island. I love the retreat. And money is central to its success. As is crafting. I see women leave here feeling empowered through crafting. Rested. More energized. It’s a win-win situation for everybody.”
On Cora’s imaginary checklist of suspects, she crossed Mathilde off. She was trying to make tough decisions. Cora could relate. Though she was not as brash as Mathilde and preferred to manage in a different way, Cora realized they ultimately wanted the same thing.
“Who would have tried to drug Cashel, if not you, for finding out about this?” Jane leveled.
“Oh, my dear,” Mathilde said, flashing her eyes. “I could come up with a list of about a million people. But the question is, who knew what Cashel was doing that day? Who knew he was at the courthouse and library and knew what he was researching?”
“That narrows it down from a million, I’m sure,” Cashel said wryly.
“Let’s give that some thought,” Mathilde said.
“In the meantime, where is Adrian? Can we please give that some thought, as well?” Cora said.
Chapter 47
They spread out to search for Adrian. If they didn’t find him soon, they’d have to call the police. The good news was if he had gone far, the alarms would have gone off and the cops would also be searching for him. Which meant he was here, somewhere on the resort—maybe on the beach.
Jane said she’d searched the restaurants and cafés. Mathilde decided to search the beach, Cashel the gym and spa, and Cora was going into the classrooms. The plan was to meet in twenty minutes and regroup.
Jane entered the first café, which was nearly empty. It was easy enough to see that Adrian was not there. The place had taken on a menacing quality. Was it the lighting? Her mood? She suddenly hated it there and wanted to escape from this restaurant, this resort, and island.
“Excuse me,” she said to the cashier. “I’m searching for a friend of mine. Was he here?”
She showed him a photo of Adrian on her phone.
“I saw him in here yesterday, I think. Was it yesterday? Hmmm. Either yesterday or the day before. Definitely not today,” she said. “I’d remember him. Those eyes! And he’s such a great tipper.”
That didn’t surprise Jane. Adrian was a class act. Which was one reason she got Cora and him together and was thrilled they’d gotten along so well.
Jane smiled. “Well, thanks.” Off to the next restaurant, which was jam-packed with people getting up and eating the brunch buffet. The scent of eggs, bacon, biscuits, and coffee wafted as Jane searched for Adrian. Nothing.
“Can I help you?” A server came toward her.
“I’m looking for this guy,” Jane said.
“Hmmm. I don’t think I’ve seen him. It’s been crazy this morning, though. He could’ve been here,” she said. “Do you want to take a seat and eat?”
“No,” Jane said. “I ate breakfast hours ago. But thanks.”
She walked out of the restaurant into the hallway and turned the corner toward the merm
aid fountain. One more restaurant to visit, since the others weren’t open until later.
But as she got closer to the fountain, Cora and Cashel came into view. And they were speaking to a police officer. Uh-oh, what was going on? Cora’s face was pale and her blue eyes were as wide as saucers.
“Jane,” she said, reaching for her. Jane’s arm went around Cora.
“What’s going on?”
“We’ve been searching for Adrian,” the officer told her. “The signal on his bracelet weakened, which alerted us.” He held up a mangled bracelet. “This is what’s left of the bracelet.”
Jane stood, dumbfounded. “So, someone has him? Someone destroyed his bracelet?”
“That’s what I think,” Cora said.
“That’s what I know,” Cashel said. Cool, calm, collected. Cashel the attorney was taking over. “My client would not have removed that. He’s a law-abiding citizen—a librarian, for God’s sake. He’s innocent of all the charges. I suggest you drop them and you find him immediately.”
“You realize it doesn’t work like that?” the officer said. “But I assure you we’re doing everything we can to find him.”
Adrian was missing. He was in trouble. He never would have escaped. He was an upstanding guy. Waves of panic surged through Jane. Cora was calm—she had just taken a pill. But Jane’s knees wobbled. Whoa, that had never happened to her before. Where was she standing? The floor rippled.
“Jane?” Cora said, trying to hold her up.
“Furthermore,” Cashel continued, “I’d like to know what is going on on this island. I was drugged the other day, Cora and Adrian were attacked at the Drunken Mermaid, and so on. It seems like we’ve stepped into a quagmire. Unless you’d like a few lawsuits and the publicity that goes with it, I suggest you and your cohorts tell us what’s going on here.”
Jane blinked. Cora was still trying to keep her awake. But her legs felt like mush and she wanted to close her eyes.
“Jane!” Cora said, and smacked her face—not hard, but hard enough.
“Hey!” Jane squealed.
“What’s going on?” Mathilde said as she entered their circle. Cora explained what had happened.
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