“Why else would she even be involved with a bunch of amateurs? My sister is an incredible musician.”
“I think she was just having fun,” Cora said.
Lulu, usually as cool as her sister, was in a tizzy. She sat down at the desk.
“Lulu, can I get you something before I leave?” Cora said.
“I’ve got everything I need. I can handle these people,” she said brusquely.
Cora guessed that Lulu was operating on autopilot. “Why don’t you join us tonight at the opening reception for our retreat?”
“I want to see my sister,” she said.
“Maybe she’ll be out by then and we’ll all see her,” Cora said. “Do you want me to call and cancel the reservations for the guests this weekend?”
“I’ve already taken care of that. Thank you.”
Whew! One less thing for Cora to concern herself with. “Please try to come tonight.”
Lulu’s mouth puckered to the side.
“There will be wine,” Cora said, and wriggled her eyebrows.
“Please, there’s plenty of that here, my dear.” Lulu grinned. “See you later.”
Cora left, feeling rushed to get home. She expected a houseful of guests within a matter of hours.
She ambled along a shortcut through one of the cobblestone alleys. She loved the stones. She loved this little town. So tidy and cheerful. As she turned the corner and walked farther, her attention zoomed in on a bag of overflowing trash. Flies buzzed around it. Odd. Nobody lived along these streets. Why would trash be there? A dark oozing substance surrounded the bag. Oil? Syrup? As she examined it closer, she realized it was neither of those substances. It was blood. She shoved her hand into her bag, frantically searching for her cell phone. She needed to call Detective Brodsky. As the scent of stale blood filled her nose and traveled through her, her stomach convulsed and heaved—and she lost her brunch on the lovely cobblestone street.
She pressed his name in her contact list on her phone.
Please be there.
“Brodsky,” he said, the sound of his voice immediately calming her.
“It’s Cora,” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m over in the alley between Azure and Lapis,” she managed to say, and then inhaled deeply.
“And? Are you okay?”
“There’s a trash bag here and it seems to be sitting in a pool of blood,” she said, turning from the sight.
“What?”
“Yes,” she said, then groaned. “Right beside my thrown-up brunch, unfortunately.”
“We’ll be right there. And Cora, don’t touch anything.”
“What? Why would I?”
“Just don’t. We don’t think Stan was stabbed at the theater. We’ve been looking for the site of the murder. You may have stumbled on it,” he said.
Cora’s head started to spin. Stan was stabbed, then. She walked away from the bloody bag, away from the sickening metallic stench.
“Hurry,” she said to him, leaning against the wall, and her knees buckled. She sat down on the street, propped up by the wall. She put her head between her legs, taking in oxygen. She would not pass out. She would not pass out.
Better that than a panic attack. She slumped back against the wall and let go.
“Cora!” Someone’s voice rang in her ear. “I brought smelling salts. Do you need a pill?”
Someone’s hands patted her face gently. She opened her eyes. “Jane?”
“Brodsky called and said he’d be too busy to take care of you. So here I am,” she said with a crooked grin.
Cora blinked until the sight of Jane’s face became clearer. “I just need to get out of here,” she mumbled.
“Everything is under control,” Jane said. “Ruby, Lena, and Roni are greeting the guests and having a high old time together.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Cora said.
“You don’t have much choice. Just so you know, everything is going very well. The caterers were just getting in when I was leaving.”
Cora sucked in air. She braced herself as she tried to stand.
“So what’s going on?” Jane said.
“I think I stumbled on a murder site.” As she said the words, her stomach heaved again. Was she remembering the stench vividly or was she still actually smelling it?
“What’s wrong?” Jane said, helping her to her feet.
“The smell,” she managed to say.
“I don’t smell anything,” Jane said. They were far enough away from the bag that Cora shouldn’t smell it either.
“I keep smelling it,” she said, breathy. “I need to go home and take a shower.” It was probably a scent memory. She probably wasn’t actually smelling it, but it would soothe her to take a scalding hot shower.
Jane nodded, just as Detective Brodsky walked over to them.
“Do you have a minute?” he said. “I need to get a statement from you.”
“I just was walking and found it. I don’t have much to say,” she said. “I have guests arriving.”
“It will just take a minute,” he said in a tone that said not to argue.
Cora knew this was Brodsky’s business and he was a pro. Still, couldn’t he just this once let her go her own way?
Chapter 9
After Cora gave Brodsky her statement, she and Jane walked the rest of the way to Kildare House, arm and arm, in silence.
Cora stopped before the turn toward Kildare House, built on the top hill of the town. “I better go through the back door,” Cora said.
“Why? You look beautiful,” Jane said.
“I don’t feel like it. I’m in no condition to greet my guests. I feel like I need a shower, you know?”
“Okay. I get it,” Jane said. “I’m sure we can sneak you through the back.”
As they walked along, Cora thought about what she had just learned. Stan was definitely stabbed, but not at the theater. Was he killed in the alley? If he was stabbed in the alley and then moved, surely they’d have to let Zee go. There was no way, physically, Zee could have moved Stan’s limp body. He was a big guy. So even though it was a rather unpleasant experience, Cora was glad she had found more evidence.
“How are things at the Blue Note?” Jane asked.
“Fine. Lulu’s taken over.”
“Oh, good. That’s one less thing you have to worry about,” Jane said.
They stood on the corner as a car went by, then they crossed to Kildare House. Already a few cars were parked around the side of the house, which was a temporary parking area. It was built there to keep the local historical society people happy, especially Edgar Thorncraft, the chair of the historical commission. They were concerned that Cora and Jane’s guests’ cars would be an eyesore parked in front of the town’s most historic home.
They opened the creaky gate and walked along the side of the house and up a few stairs to the back porch.
Jane stuck her head in first. “The coast is clear,” she said.
Jane and Cora hurried up the stairs to Cora’s apartment without a soul spotting them.
“I’m so frustrated,” Cora said, as she opened the door. “This is not how the welcome is supposed to go.”
“I know,” Jane said in a soothing voice. “It will be fine from here out. Right?”
“I hope so,” Cora said. “Hey, thanks for helping me out.”
“Whatever,” Jane said, and rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t get along without me, could you?”
A smile spread across her face.
“I wouldn’t want to even try,” Cora said, and hugged her.
After Jane left, with instructions about checking on the guests and the caterer, Cora peeled off her clothes and showered, letting the water get as hot as possible. She lathered up with Ruby’s homemade rosemary mint soap, the scent of which she preferred over the smell of old blood. She shivered.
Rosemary mint. Concentrate on that.
Rosemary calmed and so
othed, and mint provided clarity and an energy boost. She would be calm and energetic. How could she argue with that combination?
She dressed quickly and glanced at herself in the mirror. Gah. Was she paler than usual? She swept her unruly red curls into a sloppy bun, then applied lipstick. Orange, matching the color of her vintage 1973 baby doll dress. She wore it with leggings and sneakers. She took another look at herself. Maybe she needed blush. She found her blush and swept it over her cheeks. Okay, better.
“Less is more” was her theory on fashion and makeup. She sometimes felt a slight embarrassment when women wore too much makeup. What did they think they were hiding? Was that why Lena wore so much makeup? Was it a face she painted on for business?
Luna rubbed against her leg and meowed. Cora scooped her up in her arms and took a few minutes to give the cat some attention.
Her phone dinged. She picked it up and spotted two text messages. One from Adrian and the other from Jane.
From Adrian: I can’t make it tonight. Sorry. Work is crazy.
She texted him back. Okay. See you soon. Xo.
She next read the text from Jane. Just warning you. There’s a problem with the caterer.
What? This caterer was fantastic. They’d used them before and they worked out beautifully—much better than the first one.
I don’t understand. They’re fabulous, Cora texted back. What’s going on?
She sat her phone down, walked into her kitchen, and opened a can of cat food. Luna meowed.
She plopped it into the bowl. The fishy scent filled the room. Considering the day she’d had, Cora didn’t mind the smell. Not this time.
She went back to her phone, picked it up, and read Jane’s text. That couldn’t be right.
They’ve got something majorly confused. It looks like we are having a luau-themed party tonight.
Jane! This is no time for jokes, Cora texted back. How could they confuse a luau theme and her upscale North Carolina–themed welcome to her guests? Absurd! Jane must just be trying to get her mind off today’s earlier incident. That must be it.
NOT JOKING, the text message said.
Swirls of panic moved through her. What the hell?
Calm down, Jane texted her. Cora plopped into her kitchen chair. It’s actually going to be lovely. Nobody needs to know this wasn’t part of the plan.
Cora slid the phone away. She didn’t want to read anymore.
This retreat was not off to a good start. First, the murder and poor Zee being accused, then Cora happening on a bloody trash bag, now this. She took a deep breath. Okay, so maybe nothing else would go wrong, right? Maybe the rest of the weekend would be a breeze.
Chapter 10
Jane examined the scene before her. The dining room table overflowed with gorgeous slices of pineapple, thick slices of fresh coconut, tropical flowers, golden hibiscus, striking purple and orange bird of paradise, and roped leis consisting of plump off-white jasmine. A small roasted pig, complete with an apple in its mouth, lay in the center of the table.
“This is unacceptable,” Jane said, trying not to sound shrill. “Get this pig out of here.”
“But it’s a luau fixture,” a young server said. “Are you certain?”
Jane stared at her. “We have several vegetarians and vegans coming to this event. We didn’t order a luau and we certainly don’t want a dead pig on our table.”
“What should I do with it?”
Jane took a deep breath and looked away momentarily. Do you really want me to tell you what you can do with it? She was not normally a woman who lost her temper quickly or over small things. But this was a pig. On the table.
When she turned her attention back to the young server, Jane noticed the fear and confusion on her face. Jane glanced at her name tag. “Susan, I think it would be best for us if you put it back in the van.”
Susan nodded nervously, her ponytail bobbing as she did so.
Jane lifted one end of the pig and Susan the other. The pig’s face stared right at Jane. She tried not to even as much as glimpse in its direction. Poor pig.
The two of them heaved the pig through the kitchen, with people scattering out of their way and out the back door, to the van where they lifted the pig inside.
Jane stretched her arms and rubbed her muscles. “I can’t believe how heavy that little pig is.”
She glanced up at Susan, who shut the van door and turned back to Jane. Susan’s eye twitched, as her lip quivered.
“Hey,” Jane said. “Not your fault. And thanks for helping.”
Susan sniffed. “I don’t understand what happened. As far as I know, this has never happened before. It’s bizarre. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, it is bizarre. We’ve been so happy with you until now,” Jane said. “I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it later, but for now, we’ve got a luau to roll.”
Susan’s face cracked a smile and her ponytail swayed.
The two of them wandered back in the kitchen, where there was a flurry of activity. Someone stood at the oven, sliding out a cake. Another catering staff member sliced bread so dark it almost looked black. The person who captured Jane’s eye stood over a punch bowl stirring a creamy liquid.
She moved toward him just when Cora walked into the kitchen, looking fresh and calm and gorgeous. Nobody could wear orange like Cora. Even though her waiflike friend was small, her presence filled the room.
Roni trailed in behind her. “This is fabulous!”
“What?” Cora said.
“A bit of Hawaii in Indigo Gap! What a great idea!”
Cora grinned. “I’m glad you like it.”
Cora and Jane had discovered that often their guests didn’t view things as they did. Nobody was aware of the mistake. Nobody knew but them and Ruby.
“What are you making?” Jane said, turning to the young man stirring the frothy punch.
“Piña colada punch,” he said. “There will be a nonalcoholic version as well.”
“So my wine order went to the place our order went to in the mix-up,” Cora said, deflated.
Cora aimed to showcase local products. It was a shame. There was nothing tropical about Indigo Gap.
“I’m afraid so,” he said, looking sheepish. “Sorry.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with a piña colada,” Jane said, and grinned.
“Nothing at all,” Cora said.
Cora tugged at Jane’s arm. “Come into the craft wing with me,” she said.
“Okay, but why? We’ve checked those baskets out a million times.”
“You have to see the French beaded flowers that Lena put in each basket. They are absolutely stunning,” Cora said.
Once in the room, Cora flicked on the light. “I just wanted to check everything over again. It seems to be one of the few things we have control over.”
“The flowers are exquisite,” Jane said. Each basket held a beaded tulip. “How lovely of her. I don’t think we need to check over these baskets again.”
“Humor me, will you?” Cora said, lifting little bags of beads, wire, and clay. “I just want to make sure. Can you please start over there?”
Jane nodded. There was no point in arguing with her.
She took in the baskets all sitting in a row on the long wood crafting table. She loved the sight of them and their raw, earthy smell. Local baskets, all handmade.
“I hate that there’s no fresh flowers in the foyer,” Cora went on. “Unfortunately, Zee was detained.”
“I’m sure she’s out by now. Don’t you think?” Jane said.
Cora nodded. “There’s no way she could have moved his body. That alone should tell them she is innocent.”
“I wonder why they suspected her to begin with,” Jane said, holding up a bag of tiny shredded paper they used for making paper beads. She tucked it back into one of the baskets.
“Maybe just because she happened to be there at the theater,” Cora said. “Look how gorgeous this color is.” She held up a bag of tin
y fabric scraps in shades of aqua.
“Love it,” Jane said. “Maybe there’s more to Zee than we know.”
“I’m sure there is. I’m also sure it has to do with music and men, not murder.”
“One would hope,” Jane said. “But you never know. Look at me.”
Jane had been accused of attempted murder. It seemed a lifetime ago. She was almost a different person then. When she looked back at that time, it was still hard to see herself with clarity. The will to live sometimes resulted in killing. Even though she despised her ex-husband, she was glad she didn’t succeed in killing him—even though her life would be a lot less messy without him in it. He was back in prison, but his presence loomed, as if any moment he could come out of the woodwork to terrorize her and London.
Now she willed his image out of her mind and focused on the task at hand, mingling with the guests, and making certain the event went off without another mishap.
Chapter 11
When Cora and Jane walked out of the craft room and into the dining room, the energy shifted. Cora barely recognized Kildare House, as it was full of tropical flowers and plants, luscious-looking fruit, as well as tempting Hawaiian desserts, which were thoughtfully labeled. There were milky-white haupia squares. Hibiscus mini-tarts. Deep-fried mochi balls. Guava cupcakes. Cora loaded up a plate and nearly swooned at the creamy, sweet coconut haupia squares, so delicious that she had almost forgiven the caterer their error. Almost.
The caterers had outdone themselves with the rented decorations and the Hawaiian theme, all of which seemed authentic. Strains of Hawaiian music blared from the living room, which was kind of pleasant. She ruefully hoped hula dancers would not pop out from somewhere.
She and Jane split up, as they often did at these welcome parties. Afterward they would circle back around at the end of the evening, sharing observations—usually over a glass of wine. Or two.
“Oh my God, this is unbelievable,” Cora heard a voice say. She turned to see three women sipping their drinks out of coconut shells.
“Hi there,” Cora said. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Cora.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Vera,” she said. She was a beauty who carried herself with a certain elegance. “I’m a friend of Beatrice’s,” she said.
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