“I think Jane needs to sit down and might need some water,” Cora said, leading Jane to a chair.
“I’ll get some water,” Mathilde said.
Jane watched as she asked a man behind the counter for water. He reached underneath and handed her a cold bottle of water. At that moment, Jane wanted nothing more than that water. She wanted to yell out to Mathilde to hurry, hurry, please!
Cora sat next to Jane on the love seat and said, “Take some deep breaths for me. I’ve never seen you pass out, girl.”
“I didn’t pass out,” Jane said. “I feel woozy.”
“You almost passed out,” Cora said.
“I did?” Jane said.
“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Cora said. “Everything that’s happened, and now Adrian is missing.” Her voice cracked.
“Hey, I’m supposed to be the strong one,” Jane said. “I can’t be passing out.”
Cora grinned. “Sometimes we don’t get a choice.”
Mathilde was there and handed Jane the bottle of water.
“Thank God,” Jane said. “I need this water. Maybe I’m dehydrated.” She opened the bottle and swigged.
“You’ve had quite a shock, dear,” Mathilde said.
“We all have,” Cora said. “How are you?”
Mathilde flung her arms around. “I give up,” she said. “I give up even trying to salvage this retreat. I think moving through it as best we can is the thing to do.”
Cora nodded. “It might not be as bad as you think. I mean from the guests’ perspective. We had an incident during our last retreat and the guests viewed it all in a different way than we did.”
Cashel and the police officer were joined by two plainclothes men, as Jane drank her water. Passing out was not in the program. No, indeed. She must find Adrian. That’s all there was to it. Poor guy. Came to this craft retreat to spend more time with Cora. How many men would attend a craft retreat to be close to their girlfriend?
“Well, I guess I can see that,” Mathilde said. “Oh God, I hope you’re right.”
* * *
Where could Adrian be?
Cora swallowed. She closed her eyes. Please, Adrian, be okay. She whispered a prayer to the universe and a thought poked at her.
“Let’s go see Rue. Just in case she can help us,” she said.
“Rue?” Jane said. “That psychic?”
“Yes, the woman who makes the spirit chimes.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in psychics,” Jane said.
Mathilde sighed loudly. “She’s been right too many times, I’m afraid. I’m suspicious of her.”
“I believe in psychics,” Cora said. “Or rather, I believe some people have a kind of a gift. But I also think there are those who want attention and money.”
“What about Rue?” Jane asked. “Which kind is she?”
Cora thought a moment. “I don’t know, but she has an impeccable record with helping the police. And she’s a gifted crafter.”
“I’d agree to that,” Mathilde said. “Oddly enough, she’ll have nothing to do with the retreat.”
“She thinks you charge too much money,” Cora said.
“Another reason to like her,” Jane said, and grinned.
Mathilde’s face fell. “Do I? Do I charge too much money?”
“How would I know?” Cora said. “You’re paying me well. Better than any other retreat, and that’s a plus.”
“Yeah, I’ve found in order to attract the best teachers you’ve got to pay them well,” she said.
“Ladies,” Cashel said, walking up to them, “I hate to break up this little circle, but the police have asked that we go into a conference room, where we can chat a little more.” The two detectives were on his heels.
“I’d rather go and see Rue,” Jane said.
“Rue?” one of the detectives said.
Jane nodded. “Maybe she can help us find Adrian. We’re not getting anywhere. We’ve searched high and low.”
“Please,” Cashel said. “Let’s do what the officers are asking.”
“Actually we recognize Rue. It’s not a bad idea to visit her,” the sandy-haired detective at the computer said, standing. “I’ll go with you.”
“Okay, Mr. O’Malley, you come with me, and you”—the other detecive said and pointed toward Mathilde—“let’s go into the conference room.”
“I’m Detective Andrews,” he said, and reached his hand out to Cora. She took it. His hands were large and strong and now that she saw him closer his hair was more gray than sandy.
She’d seen him before. He was the man who talked with Mathilde about the first murder when they were having breakfast.
“Cora,” she said.
“Jane,” Jane said as she shook his hand.
“Well, shall we go? I don’t place a lot of stock in psychics, but you never know,” he said. “She’s got a pretty accurate record of working with the police. It won’t hurt to stop in and check with her, while the crews are out searching for Mr. Brisbane.”
“You have crews out?” Cora’s heart skipped a few beats. This meant they considered him a missing person.
“Sure,” Detective Andrews said. “At this point, he’s an escapee.”
“Escapee?” Jane said. “He’d never do that.”
He opened his car door to Jane. “So you say,” he said, and tilted his head as a motion for her to enter the car.
“I don’t think I like you,” Jane said, sliding into the car.
“I’m not here to be your friend,” he replied, and shut the car door.
He opened the other door for Cora, smiling at her. “Madam,” he said, with a sarcastic note.
Cora laughed and slid into the car.
No matter how she tried to sit still during the car ride, Cora found herself twisting her hair, then her skirt, and wriggling around in the seat until Jane placed her hand on her leg. “Chill,” she mouthed.
* * *
When they entered Rue’s house, something appeared to be off. Whereas the energy had been all fuzzy and warm when Cora was here the day before, it felt entirely different now.
There was someone else here.
It was Rue’s son—the grieving widower. He sat in a chair in the living room, brooding, staring off, as the others entered the room.
“I’m sorry,” Rue said. “This is my son. He lost his wife.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Cora said.
His eyes met hers. They were nearly vacant. He blinked. “Thanks,” he said.
Did he recognize her? Realize that she was the one who’d defended herself and Adrian from him at the Drunken Mermaid? It didn’t appear so.
“Unfortunately we’re here today on police business, again,” Detective Andrews said.
“Oh dear,” Rue said. “What can I help you with?”
Rue was distracted by her son—as any mother would be. He was obviously bereft. But Cora suspected it was more than that. He was disturbed. He’d probably been imbalanced before his new wife was killed.
“Adrian Brisbane is missing,” the detective said.
“The suspect?” Rue asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “The very man.”
“I don’t think the man had anything to do with anybody’s murder, but don’t you have him under surveillance?” Rue said with an accusing tone.
“Yes, ma’am, we did,” he replied. “But his bracelet has been removed.”
Her hand clutched at her chest. Her eyes searched around the room, as if she didn’t know where to begin.
“We wondered if you’ve seen him,” Jane said.
“Or maybe if you can tell us . . . something. You know, with your psychic abilities,” Cora said.
Rue guffawed. “Yes, my blessing and my curse, believe me.”
Interesting. A blessing and a curse. Could she be the real thing? Could Cora allow herself a sliver of hope? Could Rue tell them where Adrian was?
“Do you need something personal of his? To ge
t his vibes? Or something?” Cora asked.
“No. I don’t work like that,” Rue said.
“Mother, you aren’t going to help Marcy’s killer, are you?” Josh said.
“He’s not a killer,” Cora said. “Whatever Adrian Brisbane is, he’s not someone who could have killed Marcy. He loved her at one point. She broke his heart. But he did not kill her.”
“The text message. The needles,” Josh said. He was grasping, trying to make sense.
His mother interrupted. “I don’t think he killed Marcy either, but someone did. The police still have him listed as a suspect, so it’s in our best interest to find him.” She turned toward her son. “Please drink some more water. You need it.”
He smiled a twitchy smile and lifted the glass to his lips.
Rue sat quietly, closed her eyes. “I’m trying to feel him, feel something about Adrian Brisbane.”
They all sat quietly. And Cora’s phone beeped.
Embarrassed, she reached for it quickly, noting that Rue’s meditative stance had not changed. It was a text message from Linda:
I realize what was odd about that bag. It was almost completely backward, as if it were crafted by someone who was, I don’t know, either joking, disturbed, or maybe, left-handed.
Left-handed? Cora sifted through the several people she’d met this weekend who were left-handed. Mathilde was ambidextrous. Hank was left-handed. Mathilde didn’t kill anybody—that was for sure. Hank? Could Hank have been the person who made the bag, killed Zooey, and stuffed her inside? What possible motive could he have?
He had been fired. But that was after this incident.
Had he wanted to destroy Mathilde and the retreat all along? Even before their argument?
This was her best working theory. And if Hank was the killer, he might have Adrian. He would have approached him, and Adrian, in his innocence, would have thought nothing of it. Cora’s heart raced and a bead of sweat formed on her forehead.
It must be Hank. Hank must have killed both Marcy and Zooey and tried to frame Adrian. He must have Adrian.
“I’m sorry. I can’t get a handle on it,” Rue said. “I think I’m distracted. Sorry.”
“Me too,” Cora said, standing. “Well, it’s time to go.”
“Wait, there is one thing you should know,” Rue said, following Cora’s lead and standing.
“What’s that?”
“Adrian must still be alive,” she said. “If he was dead, I’m sure I’d be aware.”
“Good to know,” Jane said wryly.
“And you are sure you haven’t seen him?” Detective Andrews asked, as he stood.
“No” she said. “I’ve not see him.”
“Me either,” said Josh, and lifted his water to his mouth. With his left hand.
Chapter 48
Cora could not ignore the fact that Josh was left-handed. So she pieced her theory together in the backseat of the detective’s car.
“Sorry that didn’t work out,” he said as he drove away. “I know you were hoping for answers.”
“Well, if you believe that kind of stuff, she did say that he is alive. And that’s a good thing,” Jane said.
“Yes, I thought the same thing,” Cora said. She thought about the man sitting in his mother’s living room. So disturbed. Was it the loss of his new wife? Or was it, as she had first thought, that he had problems anyway? Could he have killed his wife and Zooey? Why?
What would prompt a newly married man to kill his wife? Or Zooey? Cora mulled over that possibility. Since Zooey was Susan, who had at one point worked for Marcy, and was her cousin, Josh and Zooey probably knew one another. But what would the motive for killing be?
But if Hank was the killer, Cora could see in a twisted way why he’d want to ruin Mathilde and how Zooey’s murder resulted. But what about Marcy?
Maybe the two killings had nothing to do with one another and there were two killers on the island. Cora shuddered.
“What’s wrong?” Jane said. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Cora said. “But Linda texted me this.” She showed the text to Jane.
“Don’t you think we should tell the detective?” Jane asked. “Maybe this would help to find Adrian.”
The detective pulled the car into the parking lot of the resort motel and turned around to look at Jane. “Tell the detective what?”
Cora explained what she found out.
He considered what she said. “That’s great detective work,” he said. “But both of the guys you’ve mentioned have rock solid alibis for both of the murders, unfortunately.”
Cora’s chest felt heavy. “Are there any other lefties on the island?”
The detective laughed a little. “We don’t keep a file of left-handed Sea Glass Island folks.”
“I realize that,” Cora said. “I didn’t know if you had any other suspects that were left-handed.”
“I’ll check into it,” he said. “It could be, of course, that the murderer didn’t make the bag. That someone else made the bag. Did that occur to you?”
“No,” Cora said, feeling a little foolish.
“Look, I realize you’re trying to help,” Detective Andrews said. “But we’re doing our best to find the killer and find Adrian.”
“Please contact me the moment you find Adrian,” Cora said, and offered him her card.
“In the meantime, what should we do? How can we help?” Jane said.
“I think the best thing for you two is to go about your daily life,” he said.
Well, that isn’t an option, Cora mused. Her boyfriend was missing. Two women had been killed—one of whom Adrian was still suspected of killing. Going about her daily life? Not going to happen. She wasn’t going to sit in craft class while poor Adrian was out there somewhere possibly hurt—or worse.
Jane and Cora exchanged glances, while the detective opened the car door for them.
They were back at the resort. Maybe there was news about Adrian. Cora’s eyes scanned the lobby hopefully. A typical day ensued around them. People moving around the expansive lobby. Desk clerks. The concierges. Smartly dressed managers. Bellhops. Luggage. It all looked normal on the surface.
But in a conference room somewhere Cashel and Mathilde were with the police talking about Adrian’s disappearance.
And within these fancy walls and marbled floors a dead body was found folded into a macramé bag crafted by a left-handed person. Detective Andrews could be correct. Maybe someone other than the killer made the bag.
But the killer would have at least had access to the bag. If Cora found out who made the bag, it could lead her to the killer—and possibly to Adrian. Time was of the essence.
She followed the detective into the conference-turned-situation room, Jane by her side.
“Do we have any news?” Detective Andrews asked.
“None,” the other answered. “We were hoping you had some.”
“None,” he said, and took a seat.
“Excuse me,” Cora said. “I have a working theory. You can help, Mathilde.”
Mathilde seemed shocked that Cora would think she could help. “Me? Well, certainly. I’m not sure what I can add. I know as much as you do.”
“I know a little more,” Cora said.
“Oh?”
Cora explained what Linda told them and what she surmised about the bag.
“That’s interesting,” the other detective said. “It might lead us somewhere. Great work.”
Cora beamed.
“So, Mathilde, do you have any ideas about the bag? Who could have made it?”
“I’d have to examine the bag. I don’t think I checked it out at all. I mean, I was so horrified,” she said.
“We’ll have someone bring the bag here,” Detective Andrews said. “Johnson?” He said to a uniformed officer.
“On it, sir,” he said, and left the room.
“So let me understand this,” Cashel said. “You think the person who made the bag is a lefty, ba
sed on the way it was constructed?”
Cora nodded. “Well, it’s not me. It’s Linda’s theory. She’s more acquainted. She’s the person who discovered the body. She’s taking it hard and has been holed up in her room. I went to talk with her and she mentioned the macramé knots—that something was disturbing about them, but she couldn’t figure out what.”
“And then Cora got this text while we were at Rue’s,” Jane said.
“We know Hank is a lefty and we know Josh is a lefty,” Cora said. “But what we don’t know is if the person who crafted the bag is the actual killer.”
“You act as though there’s only one killer,” Mathilde said. “Zooey’s killer could have been a different person.”
“Highly unlikely,” one of the detectives said.
“What about Adrian in all this?” Jane piped up. “If the killer has him, time is of the essence. What are we doing to find him?”
The group had searched everywhere on the resort.
“We have search crews out, but so far, I have to say, it looks like he left the island,” Detective Andrews replied. “They’re searching for him on the coast, now, as well.”
Cora felt her heart drop to her feet.
“He wouldn’t have left the island without Cora,” Jane said, after a few moments. “At least not willingly.”
The room silenced.
“I have to agree,” Cashel said softly. “The man is crazy about her.”
Something about Cashel’s tone reached out to Cora. He understood and recognized Adrian was crazy about her—but he wasn’t happy about it.
Chapter 49
Where the hell is everybody? Ruby texted to Cora. Cora grimaced. Did they want to involve her? Ruby was doing what she came here to do. Teach. Mingle. Retreat. Did Cora want to inform her about Adrian?
“What?” Cashel said, catching her grimace.
“Your mom. Should I tell her what’s going on? I mean, she’s out there, probably having a fabulous time,” Cora said.
“I understand your hesitation,” Cashel said. “But she will be pissed if she finds out and thinks we’ve kept it from her. Mark my word.”
“You’re right,” Jane said. “I’d want to know.”
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