Craft Circle Cozy Mystery Boxed Set Page 4

  "They were both forty, both single, both lived alone." I furrowed my brow. Those were similarities, sure, but nothing more than coincidental, really. I tapped the marker again and looked at the board. There had to be something else. Something that linked the two women.

  Casper whimpered a little. I raised my eyebrow at her. "I know, girl. Would be helpful if they both owned dogs, wouldn't it? But that's not the link here; there's got to be something else to it."

  Casper gazed at me with her big, bulging eyes. They looked a little watery, so I put my marker down and walked over to pet her until she snuggled back into her bed. She was probably missing her owner and wondering what on earth had happened, how she had wound up in my home instead of Amanda's.

  "Don't worry, girl," I said softly. "I'm going to find out what happened to Amanda, you have my word on that. You're safe here now."

  I stood on the edge of the main street of Pottsville—the only street, really—with my arms folded across my chest and my high heel tapping on the pavement. Dogs couldn't speak back; they don't have a knack for gossip. But I was pretty sure I knew someone in town who would know everything that went on in Pottsville, and have a pretty loose tongue as well.

  Brenda.

  I hadn't seen her since the night she'd almost blinded me with the beam of her flashlight. She'd been avoiding my store, which wasn't that surprising, but what I was surprised by was the fact she hadn't approached me to ask what I was doing that night.

  Either she hadn't seen me, or she had something to hide.

  Either way, she must have known something. She lived across the road from Amanda. Maybe she'd seen something suspicious the day she was killed. Maybe she'd seen someone enter the cottage and leave again, out the back, having just shoved Amanda down the stairs.

  But that actually wasn't what I wanted to talk to her about. She was a church-goer, I knew that, so I was waiting at the end of the main street where the small, white-painted church was, knowing that she would turn up for Sunday service at some point.

  "Brenda!" I said, giving her my best grin as she walked closer. It was too late for her to turn around and pretend she hadn't seen me.

  Her face looked like a prune as she stared back up at me. She was definitely a short woman, probably just five-foot tall and wearing flat shoes, and I, at five-foot-eight plus heels, seemed Amazonian compared to her.

  I showed her my wrist. "You like my latest addition to my collection?" I asked. The beads were strung along in alternating colors of white and hot pink. I thought they complimented my flowing white shirt nicely. White and pink are always a good combination.

  "No one is ever going to buy your junky jewelry," she said. Never too early in the morning for Brenda to attack my jewelry, was it? "People in this town have a bit of taste, you know." She tried to move past me but I stepped in front of her.

  "I haven't seen much of you around, Brenda, not since Amanda died," I said, raising my eyebrows at her.

  Her face reddened. She tried to hurry past me again, her face down.

  Again, I stepped in front of her to block her. "She was your neighbor, right?"

  "That's none of your business," she said quickly. Had she seen me that night with her flashlight or not?

  I wondered if I was wrong about Brenda enjoying the occasional piece of gossip. Or rather, far more than occasional.

  I decided to test her.

  "Hey, Brenda," I said, then I waved my hand. "Oh wait, you probably don't know anything about it. Never mind." I started to walk away. "I'll let you get to church."

  "Wait one second," she said, stopping and turning around. "What don't I know anything about?" She stood up straighter, which only added about half an inch to her diminutive stature. "Nothing goes on in this town without me knowing about it, thank you very much."

  Hmm. Maybe some things did. Anyway, I took a step toward her and brought up the topic I really wanted to talk about.

  "The woman, who lived in my house before me."

  There was an immediate flicker of interest in her eyes. A light lit up in there. "Yes, you've moved into the house with all the glass windows, the one that backs up onto the woods down on Hazlewood Avenue."

  I'd never told her where I lived, but that just confirmed it for me: nothing happened in Pottsville without Brenda's beady little eyes seeing it.

  "That's the one," I said.

  "I'm surprised you took that house," Brenda said snarkily. Then added, "No, actually, I'm not surprised." She looked me up and down. "A freaky woman like yourself probably likes living in a place like that."

  Boy, Brenda really didn't like me much, did she? I had to try not to laugh at what she clearly thought was an insult. 'Freaky woman.' I rather took it as a compliment.

  "I don't really have a problem with it," I said plainly. "It sort of adds character to the place."

  Brenda scoffed. "Ha! I'm sure you didn't know about the incident before you moved in, though. You do seem like the gullible type," she said. "Didn't you wonder why the house was so cheap?"

  I stood up straight so that I was towering over her even higher. I didn't like the suggestion that I was gullible. "In fact, Brenda, I knew exactly what took place in that house, before I moved in," I said firmly. "I just don't let things like that scare me out of a good deal."

  Brenda shook her head. "Well, I wouldn't be caught dead in that home."

  I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying that was just as well, because there was very little chance I'd ever be inviting her over.

  "Julia," Brenda said quietly, looking furtively at the church to her left. "That was her name."

  I frowned a little. "You knew her?" I asked casually, knowing very well that Brenda would have known her, the same way she knew everybody in this town.

  "Of course I did," she snapped back. "She was a crafter."

  I suddenly felt my blood run cold. That was the link. "She was a crafter?" I asked, just to be sure.

  Brenda nodded. "She was a big fan of paper mache, just like I am," she said, a strange tone to her voice. "It's a shame. We actually got a long quite well. We were friends."

  She must have been the first and last friend of Brenda's.

  I was having trouble forming coherent thoughts at that point, though, let alone any speech. I found myself gazing off into the distance, trying to make sense of this, while Brenda stood and waited to hear if I had anything left to say.

  "Boy, you really are a space cadet, aren't you, Georgina Holt?" I heard her say, before she shook her head and hurried up the path to the church steps.

  "Thanks for your time, Brenda," I called out softly.

  Well, I'd gotten the information I thought I’d wanted. That's the problem with snooping and asking around about stuff though, isn't it? Sometimes you hear something you really don't want to hear.

  The walk back to my house passed all too quickly. I realized that I was not in a hurry to return to it. Things had changed. If it wasn't for the two dogs inside, waiting to be fed and walked, I would have really taken my time returning.

  I wondered if I would have actually purchased the house if I'd known a woman was killed there. I've lived in dangerous situations before, sure, and had my fair share of adventures, but I've never lived in a house where someone was killed. I shook my head. Surely I could handle it when I'd handled so many other things in my life.

  I nodded as I turned onto Hazelwood Avenue, firm in my decision now, deciding that I would have taken it anyway, even if the real estate agent had been entirely up front with me. It was no big deal after all, right?

  But when I entered the house again that evening, a chill ran down my spine. Casper ran over to me, jumping up and licking at my face as I knelt down to pick her up while Jasper jumped on me for attention as well. But even the company of two boisterous dogs couldn't warm me.

  I put Casper back on the floor and walked over, slowly, to the whiteboard where I'd scribbled a giant question mark between the two women.

  I knew what the link w
as now. Single, forty-something women who were crafters.

  I fit the bill exactly.

  Chapter 5

  I glanced out the window and sighed as sleet started to come down. "Do you think I should just cancel, Jasper? I doubt anyone is even going to show up this time. And I don't blame them."

  I'd decided to switch things up for this week's meeting of the craft circle. First, I'd pushed it to the end of the week, to Friday evening, and second, I'd decided to hold it at my house. There was more room than inside the shop, and I thought it might be more conducive to a relaxed atmosphere.

  Jasper jumped out of his bed and ran to the window, barking and wagging his tail. I sat up and looked at what he was barking at. Did I actually have a visitor? No one had RSVP’d. I'd been about to pack up the wine and cheese and call it an evening.

  Jasper barked loudly in excitement. It was clearly someone he was happy to see. Not Brenda, then, I thought with a giggle as I headed to the door to open it.

  "Billy!" I said brightly, standing up straight. "I'm surprised to see you back again."

  He was holding a bottle of red. My favorite. "Good surprised, I hope."

  I smiled at him. "Of course." I took the wine from him and nodded, impressed at the brand and year. "We'll have to open this one, far better than the one I had planned," I said, heading to the drawer for the corkscrew.

  Billy looked around the foyer. “Your house is beautiful. I always wondered what this house looked like inside.”

  “I really like it,” I said, proudly looking around. “I have a lot of ideas. Sometimes at night, my mind goes crazy coming up with different paint colors and artwork to hang on the walls.”

  Billy laughed. “I bet it does! You’re a creative person. I bet this place won’t even look the same in a few months.”

  I kept the conversation light and breezy, hopelessly aware that I had never replied to his text message. It was the elephant in the room, though, and once the cork was popped, I felt like I had to address it.

  "I think you sent me a text during the week?" I asked, handing him a wine glass. I waved my other hand. "I'm hopeless with all that...texting...phones..." I took a quick gulp of wine. It really was a good vintage.

  "Don't worry about it, there's no need to apologize," Billy said kindly, taking a seat on one of my kitchen stools.

  I hadn't been aware I was apologizing. More like trying to wriggle my way out of the whole situation. Still, I did feel a little guilty for not replying.

  "There's been a lot going on this week," Billy said. "So I can understand you're not getting back to me right away. Are you going to the funeral tomorrow?" he asked quietly.

  I took another sip of wine and placed the glass back down a little too loudly. "I will be," I said, taking a deep breath. "Though I'm afraid I won't know anyone. I might feel like a bit of an outsider."

  "You'll know me," Billy said, brightening up a little. "We could go there together, if you like. Maybe we could grab a coffee afterward or something."

  "Umm, let me think about that, Billy, and get back to you," I said, flashing him my brightest smile. "Meanwhile, why don't I pop into the wine cellar and find us another bottle; we are going through this one at record speed!"

  Jasper followed me into the cellar, his claws clicking on the hardwood floors as he hurried to keep up with me. I heaved a little sigh of relief to be away from the conversation with Billy.

  I suppose I felt a little sorry for him, though. There was nothing wrong with the guy. Actually, it was just the opposite—he was entirely appropriate for me. Maybe that was the problem

  Jasper shot me a look while I rummaged around the wine cellar, like he knew what I was thinking. "Don't judge me," I whispered sharply. "It's just that he's a little older than what I usually go for, okay?"

  Jasper was still staring at me with what I took to be very judgmental eyes.

  "Okay, okay," I said. "So he's about my age. Maybe even a year or two younger. That's still older than what I usually go for, Jasper." I picked up a random bottle of wine. "I need someone a bit younger and spritelier...someone who can keep me on my toes."

  Jasper gave me a knowing look.

  "Yes," I whispered with a sigh. "Someone like Ryan." I shook my head. "But that's not important right now."

  I heard a knocking coming from upstairs. Jasper's ears pricked up as well. Footsteps sounded overhead and I heard what must have been Billy walking over to the door and pulling it open. "Hello there," he said.

  I looked at Jasper. "Don't tell me that's Brenda," I said with a little groan. It wasn’t that I wanted to exclude her from the craft circle, I really didn't. That would be mean and childish for one thing, and for another, I couldn't really afford to be choosy about members at the moment. It was just that after the week I had, Brenda was really the last person I wanted to see.

  At least she'll provide a barrier between Billy and I, I thought, trying to look on the bright side. Maybe I wouldn't even have to answer his question about him accompanying me to the funeral tomorrow. Maybe I could avoid the subject entirely now that Brenda was there. Putting up with her sour prune face would just be the price I'd have to pay. "Come on, Jasper," I called out. "Let's go back upstairs!"

  Right before I reached the top, I took a deep breath. "Be still, be calm, be loving. Be light and breezy!" I told myself, preparing myself to see Brenda, shaking off any negativity with a wild shake my shoulders, causing my homemade bangles to clatter. Brenda was going to love that.

  "Hello, B…" I started to say as I walked back into the living room. I stopped. That was not Brenda standing there in my doorway. It was an older woman, maybe fifty-five, with hair that was well styled, still more blonde looking than gray, and wearing a pink dress suit that was clearly expensive.

  "Oh, hello there," I said, shaking my head a little as I tried to readjust.

  She offered me a bright, polite smile. "You must be Georgina," she said, extending a hand for me to shake. "My name is Prue."

  I took her hand. She had a rather weak handshake. "Everyone just calls me George," I said. "So please feel free to use it as well."

  She looked a little unsure about whether she should use a man's name on a woman, but I could tell she was far too polite to question a woman's preference for what she liked to be called.

  "Okay, then, George," she said a little nervously. "Where would you like me to sit?"

  I glanced around at the wide circle of chairs I'd laid out. I'd been optimistic, despite fearing that no one would show up. Very me. "Anywhere you like is fine. So tell me, what kind of crafting do you do, Prue?"

  Maybe I shouldn't have judged, but she just didn't look like a crafter to me. Of course, all kinds of women—and people—craft, but there was just something about her uptight manner, and her expensive clothes, and the way she sat straight in her chair that made me wonder.

  I shook my head and offered Prue a glass of wine. You're just being overly suspicious lately, George.

  She took the glass and started drinking from it quite quickly. I shot a look at Billy and he gave me a little shrug. "Do you know her?" I mouthed covertly, trying not to let her see me. He shook his head “no” very lightly, so that she didn't see, then gave me a second little shrug.

  Interesting. I could have some fun with this.

  "So, Prue," I asked, settling in to my own chair. "What sort of crafting tickles your fancy?"

  She looked a little unsure as she played with the string of pearls around her neck. "I really enjoy paper mache," she said.

  I narrowed my eyes. That was funny—the third paper mache fanatic I'd heard about in the space of a week. I hadn't realized it was such a popular hobby.

  In fact, I was fairly sure it wasn't.

  "Right," I said, bringing my glass to my lips. "And what kind of things do you enjoy making out of paper mache, Prue?" I let the question sit for a moment while I watched her eyes dart back and forth, trying to think up a response.

  "Elephants," she finally blurted out.


  I leaned forward a little. "Elephants?"

  She nodded and squeezed her wine glass. "Yes, elephants."

  I leaned back again and pursed my lips. "Seems like they would be rather large to wrap the paper around."

  I caught the look of shock on her face so I laughed to let her know I was only kidding. "It was a joke, Prue. I'm sure you find very small elephants to paper mache." I shot a look at Billy, who was also trying to contain his laughter.

  Prue sat her wine glass down on the rug at her feet and cleared her throat. She was just about to say something when there was a scratching noise at the window. "Oh, Casper!" I said, jumping up. "She was having so much fun out there I didn't want to bring her in," I explained to the others before quickly moving to the sliding doors. "But she clearly wants to come in and join the party!" Haha, some party, I thought, hoping that Casper might actually liven the event up a bit. She was certainly in the best mood she'd been in since I'd gotten her from the shelter.

  Expecting her to want to jump into my arms, I leaned down ready to scoop her up, but instead she bypassed me completely and made a beeline straight toward Prue—or rather, straight toward her feet, knocking the wine glass over and spilling blood red wine onto the rug.

  "Casper!" I yelled in dismay, watching while the rug soaked up every last ounce of wine. I shook my head and walked over, not registering that Casper was clawing at Prue, tying desperately to get up onto her lap, scratching and licking at her like her whole body was made of dog treats.

  Prue squealed. "Get that dog off me!"

  Too late, Casper managed to jump right onto her lap and started licking at her face. Prue only squealed louder and pushed at poor Casper, almost knocking her right off! I jumped over and picked Casper up before she fell to the ground.

  I glared at Prue. "She was only excited to see you," I said, my mouth in a stern line. Though for what reason Casper was excited to see this woman, heaven knew. "There was no reason to try and hurt her."

  Prue stood up, her mouth set in an even straighter, firmer line than mine was and returned my glare. "You ought to learn how to control your animals."