Nell touched the older man's arm. "I think you do just fine, Father. And it's nice to know Gideon comes around your way. You can ask the powers that be to keep an eye on him for me. With you in charge, I'll be happy."
"And I'd be happy being invited to dinner," Father Northcutt said, eyeing her bag and leaning toward it. "I haven't smelled anything that good in weeks, Nellie."
Nell laughed. "If you practice up on your knitting and purling, we might consider having you join us."
Father Northcutt laughed, a deep, throaty sound, and sauntered on across the street and the short walk up Pine Avenue to the rectory. Nell could hear him, still chortling, as the elderly priest disappeared around the corner.
Nell hurried into the shop, later than ever now. She waved a hello to Mae, and headed directly toward the back room.
"I've just had the strangest conversation," Nell said, hurrying down the steps to the knitting room.
"I haven't had a decent meal in days, and you're having conversations, " Cass said, hurrying over to help Nell with the sacks. "The thought of you not showing up nearly sent me over the edge."
"I'd never abandon you, Cass, you know that."
"I hope to heaven it's true." She pulled open the thick paper sack and breathed in the smells.
"Your wine is poured and waiting, dearie," Birdie said, and smiled up at Nell. Purl sat curled in a calico ball on her lap. "I would get up, but as you can see, my lap is nicely occupied."
"I went to see Sal Scaglia today," Nell said. She set the wooden bowl on the table, then poured the lime, balsamic vinegar, and cilantro dressing on the fresh greens. The marinated tuna went on next, followed by slices of avocado and tomatoes. Next was a sprinkling of crisp wontons and goat cheese.
"Sal?" Izzy walked over and handed her the glass of wine. "Why did you go to see Sal?"
In minutes they'd all filled their plates and gathered around the low coffee table. Between forkfuls of salad and sips of wine, Nell poured out the story of her afternoon visit. "Nancy said Angie had spent hours over in that tiny deeds office. And Rachel Wooten confirmed it. She said that Angie'd had quite an impact on Sal. A good one, they all thought--he was animated and conversational when Angie was around. But when I mentioned Angie's name to Sal, it was as if I were talking about a total stranger. And he made it very clear that he had more important things to do than talk to me about Angie Archer."
Izzy munched on a sourdough roll, her forehead wrinkled in thought. She wiped the butter off her fingers and set her plate down. "Maybe Sal was just being his quiet self. He never talks, Nell."
"Because Beatrice, bless her, talks for him," Birdie said. "The oddest couple I've ever met, but they say opposites attract."
"I know Sal is shy," Nell said, "but there was more going on than shyness. He was nervous, I think. But I can't figure out why he wouldn't admit that he knew her."
Purl jumped from Birdie's slacks onto Nell's lap and eyed her salad.
"You're welcome to curl up, Purl," Nell said, "but that's the best I can do."
"I agree, Nell. This thing with Sal doesn't make sense. But I think we're at least making some headway."
"Do you think Beatrice's coming over to help us clean out the apartment has anything to do with it? That was odd, too. She's never set foot in my store before, and suddenly she's taking frogging classes and helping us clean out Angie's apartment." Izzy cleared her plate and took out a basket of knitting.
"Well, that's an interesting thing, too. According to Margarethe, Beatrice has never knitted anything. Yet she took a class in frogging."
"A little backwards," Birdie said. "Maybe she wants to be sure she can fix her mistakes before she makes them. That's a little how she approaches city problems at the council meetings."
Cass laughed. "Birdie, what would we do without you?"
"Well, you, young lady, have asked just the right question. Without me, you might spend the rest of your knitting career on scarves."
Cass frowned. She looked at Izzy, then Nell. "This doesn't sound good."
"It's all good, Cass. We've got lots to do tonight, and now that we're fed, we'll have a toast."
"You're getting kind of bossy, Birdie," Cass said, collecting the rest of the plates and putting them on the bookcase.
"Shush, Cass. Raise your glasses, everyone."
Four glasses of Birdie's Pinot were raised into the air in unison.
Birdie sat forward on the couch, her back straight and her eyes sparkling. "Here's to friendship," she said.
"To friendship," they chorused.
After a moment, Birdie raised her glass again. "And take a big gulp this next time." She paused, then said dramatically, "Here's to Cass's shawl."
Three glasses were lifted. One remained on the coffee table.
"Shawl?" Cass said. Her dark eyebrows shot directly into her bangs. "Birdie, sometimes I think you're truly batty."
"Shame on you, Cass. Respect your elders and lift your glass. To Cass's shawl," Birdie repeated.
Izzy nudged Cass's elbow. "Come on, Cass. Be a sport."
Cass frowned and lifted her glass a few inches off the table.
When the toast was completed, Birdie picked up a sack from beside the couch and pulled out a ball of yarn. "Izzy helped me pick this out, Cass. It's a lovely silk and wool blend--"
"Silk?" Cass yelped. She glared at Izzy. "Izzy, I catch lobsters. I don't knit with silk. I can't afford it, for one thing. And I don't wear shawls." Cass walked over to the table and refilled her empty plate.
"Don't fuss so, Catherine. The shawl is for your mother. Mary will love it. And it's time. Scarves alone do not a knitter make."
"It's beautiful yarn, Cass," Izzy said. "And you can do it. It's a little Faroese shoulder shawl, something to keep Mary warm without it getting in her way. The shoulders are shaped so it won't fall off, even for an arm waver like Mary. She'll love it. And this yarn is so soft and scrumptious, you'll want to eat it."
"The tuna will do fine. But thanks," Cass said. She wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin and watched Birdie pass the skeins of yarn to Nell, who fingered it as if it were a tiny kitten, like Purl.
"I've picked the pattern and the needles," Birdie said. She handed them to Cass along with the pattern.
Nell leaned over and looked at the picture. The shawl hit midarm, shaped nicely at the shoulders, and had a lovely, lacy design running along the back. The pattern might be a little difficult for Cass, she thought, but she'd have plenty of help.
"It's perfect for Mary," Nell said aloud. "The beginning is easy. Just cast on, Cass--you like to do that."
"And while you're doing that, Cass dear, Izzy will pour us another glass of wine," Birdie said.
Izzy disappeared into the studio's galley kitchen for a chilled bottle, taking the empty plates with her.
Cass picked up the needle and began to cast on stitches. The silky yarn sat in a heap on her lap, and her forehead was knit as tightly as her cast ons.
Birdie leaned forward and looked down through her glasses at Cass's stitches. She touched her hand and whispered, "Make these looser, dear. Casting on is your one chance to be a loose woman."
A thump from above stopped Cass midstitch. The room was silent as the three women stared at the ceiling.
Izzy came back into the room. "Don't worry. It's a good thump. Sam Perry doesn't wear boots, but he weighs more than Angie did. He's thinking about renting the place for a month or so. At the least, Aunt Nell can stop worrying when I'm here after closing and get some sleep."
"Well, now," Birdie said, "that's good news, Izzy. I approve."
"Coming from you, Birdie, that's a real coup for me. But back to business. Now that Cass's shawl is underway, I want to go back to Sal. And Angie. I think we are just an inch away from figuring this out." She sat down next to Birdie and pulled her sweater from the basket beside the couch. "Who would want to hurt Angie and, more important, why? A lot of gossip accompanies lost stitches and baby booties, and things said about Angie that I didn't know, even though she lived a floor away."
Nell nodded. "I've heard things, too. People see different things. People saw Tony Framingham with Angie at the museum, for one thing." She looked at Cass. "Did Pete say anything about that, Cass?"
Cass finished her cast-on row and began the garter stitch. She shook her head. "Pete knew Angie didn't like Tony. He wasn't sure why Tony showed up sometimes, but Angie insisted she couldn't stand Tony Framingham."
"That fits what we saw the night she died," Izzy said. "They had a shouting match in the bookstore. And Tony threatened Angie, according to Archie. I don't think he liked her either."
"If we're making a list," Cass said, "don't forget the old man of the sea. I like Angus well enough, but he should be on the list."
"Angus?" Birdie lifted her head. "That gentle old man? He couldn't kill a mosquito."
"He used to follow Angie. I'd see them, down at the harbor where she'd go running. The old man would be nearby, watching her, just biding his time."
"They were friends, Cass," Nell said. "That's all." But she thought of the old man's reaction the other day on the beach. It was odd, not quite right, somehow.
"He thought Angie was his best friend," Izzy said. "And she did spend a lot of time with him. I'd see them together around the Ocean's Edge. In fact, the night Angie died, I had drinks with some friends at the Edge, and they mentioned that Angie and Angus had been talking outside earlier that night. They were laughing about it because Angie was dressed up for a date."
"Which we know was Pete."
"So Angie had a date with Pete that night, left him because she got a phone call. But Angus was across the street, and he stopped her when she left the bar," Cass said.
"Do you know that, Cass?" Nell asked.
She nodded. "Pete told the police as much, though they said there was no use talking to Angus because you never knew what you'd get. I guess we all know that's probably true, but when Angus was clear-minded, he knew so much about this area. He was helping Angie on a project she was working on."
"It makes sense," Nell said. "Angie was collecting information on the land around here, and who would know more about that than Angus?"
"And we know Angie ended up in Archie's bookstore with Tony that night," Izzy said. "They came in together. Archie said he saw them meet right outside his door--Tony seemed to be looking for Angie. They had a few words, then walked upstairs in the shop to continue the conversation in a more private place. At least that's what Archie assumed."
"But we don't know what happened between the bookstore and the breakwater," Birdie concluded. She leaned over and picked up a pen and the yellow pad and began to make her list.
"Right." Izzy put down the alpaca shawl she was making for her mother. "So we have Angus--who might have had an irrational love for Angie. We have Tony who threatened her."
"And though we know our sweet Pete could never harm a fly," Birdie said, "we need to put his name with the others if we are making a complete list." She added notes to the paper in her distinctive handwriting.
Cass looked up. "That's fair. And you're right--Pete is about as confrontational as a butterfly. Sometimes I think he'd be better off if he were a little less trusting."
"What about George Gideon?" Birdie asked, looking over the rim of her glasses. "He's always hanging out in that alley."
Izzy walked back to her chair and settled into the cushions, her plate balanced on her lap. "Gideon, absolutely. Except we hired him to hang out around here, Birdie."
"I know, I know," Birdie said. "A foolish decision if ever I heard one, Izzy. The man is a womanizer, and he drinks on the job. He never worked an honest day in his life. And my guess is that all he's protecting around here is himself."
Nell looked over to the open window, suddenly wondering if their words were traveling farther than the room. And those windows seemed to be a favorite spot of Gideon's these days.
"Angie didn't like him," Izzy said. "She thought he was creepy."
"Archie thought he spent more time watching Angie's windowsthan checking doors. He thinks Gideon was infatuated with Angie," Birdie said. "I think I'll talk to Gideon."
Nell frowned.
Birdie looked at her. "Murder's a serious matter, Nell, and no matter what you're thinking, I'm not a foolish old woman. I don't put myself in danger."
Nell smiled. "Can't a person think in private around here anymore?" she asked.
Birdie refilled Nell's wineglass and looked up into her face. "No," she said. "That's what friends are all about."
Nell thought about Gideon and her encounters with him over the past couple weeks. He'd been quite adamant in telling her that the murderer had moved on. Too adamant, perhaps. How could he possibly know that? Could he have approached Angie that night? Tried something, maybe. The thought made her shudder.
"And don't forget your conversation with Sal," Birdie said. "He's on the list. And maybe Beatrice, too."
"Where was Gideon the night Angie was killed?" Cass asked.
"He should have been right out there behind the shops." Izzy took a sip of her wine.
"I think we're missing something important. Something about Angie herself. She was worried those last days, yet Nancy said her work at the museum was going well. She'd done a great job."
"She was angry, too," Izzy said. "She stopped in here one day just before she died, just to talk. We sat and had coffee together. I had the feeling something had happened to her. She talked about people lying. She hated it when people lied, she said."
"That's an odd thing to say," Birdie said. "Did she explain herself, Izzy?"
"No, but she looked genuinely sad. As if she truly wanted the world to be different--but couldn't do a thing about it."