Authors: Sally Goldenbaum
Izzy continued with Cass’s thought, with a fact none of them wanted to say out loud. “Someone who knows Maeve doesn’t lock her door. And someone who knows what a mess the back of the Ridge Road house was and that they could easily go up through the bushes without anyone seeing them. Someone who . . .”
“Lives in Sea Harbor,” Cass finished.
“Or . . .” Birdie said slowly, bringing a reality check to the discussion, “the break-in and Jeffrey’s murder behind the Ridge Road house might not be related it all. We need to be very careful that what we are knitting together is tight and even and doesn’t fall apart with a slight tug.”
The room fell silent, save for the sweet sound of a saxophone cushioning their thoughts.
Minutes later the silence was disrupted by tires on the gravel alleyway between Izzy’s shop and the bookstore, followed by the banging of a tailgate and the sound of voices. Izzy and Cass stood up and looked out the window; then Cass walked over and fiddled with the sound system while Izzy stepped outside.
“It’s just Danny and Sam,” Cass said to the others.
Nell and Birdie looked at each other. Then back to Cass, who was forcing a smile to her sad face. “Did Danny come to pick you up? I could have taken you home,” Nell said. The spacious house Cass had inherited recently wasn’t on anyone’s direct route home, but it was a drive they all loved. It sat beyond Canary Cove, up a winding road in a quiet neighborhood overlooking the water. The house was airy and bright, and Cass had put in new windows in a second-story den so that on a clear day, she said, Danny could see to the end of the ocean while penning his popular mysteries.
“Ride?” Cass shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I . . . ah, I’ll drive my truck back when they’re through emptying it. I had talked all this over with Izzy earlier and should have said something to both of you. I meant to. But . . . well, it didn’t seem to fit into a conversation about murder very easily.” She forced a laugh and absently pulled the band from her hair, shaking it loose. She looked from Nell to Birdie. She smiled again. Then frowned. And finally finished her thought.
“Okay, here’s what’s happening. Danny’s moving out. He’s going to stay in that little efficiency above his parents’ store, at least for a while. It’s not such a bad place. He can write there, too, and come over here to drink Izzy’s awful coffee. That’s it. That’s my news.”
C
ass’s words thudded to the floor, ponderous and unpleasant.
Birdie and Nell got up and looked out the side window. Izzy was standing in the alley, talking to Sam. Danny was lifting cardboard boxes out of the truck bed.
“Hey,” Cass said, pulling their attention back to her. “Danny didn’t die. I didn’t, either. It’ll all be fine. He’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”
Fine
was Danny and Cass together. That’s what fine was.
Birdie managed a smile that said it was Danny’s and Cass’s lives, not theirs, and that of course they were always here for her, no matter what decisions she made about her life.
Nell said nothing, although questions were forming in her head, along with warnings to herself to give Cass some room. She was a private person in many ways, and even dear friends might need to keep some distance.
Cass frowned. “I’ve never known you two to be at a loss for words. Come on, what are those faces?”
“It’s a surprise, that’s all,” Nell said. “I suppose Jules Ainsley—not to mention her very recent purchase of Izzy’s old house—has something to do with all this. And her friendship with Danny.”
Cass chewed on her bottom lip and seemed to be giving Nell’s words more attention than they deserved. Finally she said, “I don’t know. Jules and Danny are friends, and that’s about all I know. He doesn’t talk about her, except to say that’s all it is, and that he doesn’t even know her all that well. She asked him for some help, he gave it, he thinks she’s a nice person, he thinks I’m overreacting. That’s it. And I get it. Sam and I are friends, Andy Risso and I are friends, Ben and I are friends, I have lots of male friends. So why shouldn’t she and Danny be friends?”
“That’s a thoughtful question,” Birdie said.
Izzy walked in, bringing with her a fresh breeze and strains of music from some distant place. It eased the uncomfortable moment slightly. She tossed Cass the keys to her truck. “All done. He said he’ll see you later.”
“See?” Cass said. She twisted the key chain around her finger. “This isn’t Armageddon. Danny and I are friends. He’s maybe the best friend I’ve ever had—well, except for you guys. And of course there was that goofy kid I hung out with in third grade.” She looked around for smiles. Nell managed a weak one and Birdie chuckled.
It was clear Cass and Izzy had talked this through—Izzy was showing no surprise at anything that was being said. Nell was relieved that Cass hadn’t kept her feelings all bottled up inside her until her Irish temper finally got the best of her and she made a rash move or decision. Like bolting out of a relationship.
Birdie leaned forward. “There must be a ‘but’ on the end of that sentence, dear. It’s just hanging there, without much meaning.”
Cass smiled sadly. “You’re right, Birdie. Sure, there’s more going on. But it’s hard to talk about it. I promise I will, but not tonight, not with all this funeral and suspicion and awful murder stuff going on. But please know this: it has to do with me, not Danny, not really Jules, even—though I could have lived a long, long time without her barging into our lives. Enough said. More than enough, in fact. Birdie, do you have any more pinot?”
There wasn’t any more wine. And there didn’t seem to be enough air in the back room, either. It had become still and stifling in the last hour.
Nell folded up Abby’s sweater and put her knitting back in the basket. It was still early by Thursday-night knitting standards, but no one made a move to return to their balls of yarn and patterns. Although knitting had taken the four friends through deaths and births, sorrow and pure joy, weddings and anniversaries, tonight they needed something else. Their bodies needed to move; minds needed to be refreshed.
Sam walked in through the side door. “The night is young. There’s lots of life out there on Harbor Road. And great music, too. Pete and the Fractured Fish have set up shop in the park across from the museum. Ben said he’d walk down and meet us there if anyone wants to mosey over that way.”
Of course they did. Music, a big golden moon. And being together.
Izzy went up and kissed him full on the lips.
It took minutes to put things away and turn out the lights. Grabbing sweaters and bags, they moved out the side door, up the short alley, and onto the sidewalk.
It seemed it was what the whole town needed. Laughter. Talk.
And everyone in groups of at least two or three. Safety in numbers.
Across the street, the line outside Scooper’s Ice Cream Parlor stretched down Harbor Road toward the Gull and the Ocean’s Edge. In the other direction, Gus McClucken stood outside his store, greeting and gossiping. And a half a block farther up, in the tiny patch of green across from the historical museum, Pete Halloran’s voice belted out sing-along songs that pleased the gathering crowd.
“And he’s not even getting paid for this,” Cass said. “Let’s make sure that’s really Pete.”
Willow Adams, Pete’s girlfriend, stood on the fringe of the growing crowd and assured them it really was Pete. And Merry on the keyboard, and Andy Risso on the drums. And no one was paying anyone. “Goodwill,” she said. “And it’s working. Look at the smiles.”
The patches of green between the crisscrossing pathways were filled with people sitting on benches or grass, or standing together, mouthing the words and leaning into each other as the music took hold and somehow made things seem better.
“The universal language,” Birdie said, her small body swaying as the whole crowd joined Pete and Merry in a robust rendition of “Sweet Caroline,” as loud and raucous as if they were standing in Fenway Park during an eighth inning.
Nell looked around for Ben, and spotted him just as he stopped to talk to someone hidden from her view by a lamppost. Ben looked over and saw her. He waved for her to join him.
She circled the back of the crowd to where Ben was standing, talking with Jerry Thompson.
Nell gave Jerry a hug. “You need some sleep,” she said. In her opinion, he also needed someone special in his life. Someone with whom to share the burdens of his job—and the good things in life, too. Tonight he seemed especially alone.
“Sleep?” Jerry said with a laugh. “What’s that?”
Ben wrapped an arm around Nell’s shoulders. The night air was chilly and his arms brought immediate warmth. She leaned into his side. “This is tough, isn’t it, Jerry? Do you have any leads?”
“Oh, sure. Lots of them. But they’re about as thin as Harry’s angel- hair pasta. But we’ll find the person who did this. There’s not a doubt in my mind.”
“It must be difficult probing into Jeffrey’s life—someone we all liked.”
“Well, not everybody liked him. And that’s coming out in spades. Lots of disgruntled employees at the Edge.”
And owners, too,
Nell thought. But she kept the thought where it belonged. In her head. She knew nothing more than what she had overheard—a conversation that probably had layers to it that she didn’t understand.
“But mad enough to kill him?” Ben asked.
“I guess that remains to be seen.”
“And the break-in at Maeve’s house?” Nell asked, knowing full well that Jerry wouldn’t offer up any information. But the break-in had already been the subject of Mary Pisano’s morning “About Town” column, in which she took full liberty in chastising anyone who would dare trespass in a grieving widow’s home—her
private,
personal
space, as Mary put it. It was a despicable act.
Mary hadn’t connected the break-in to the murder of the man who had once lived in the house. The police hadn’t done that, and Mary showed great restraint in not coming to her own conclusions, as she so often did. Nell thought that Mary probably had another reason for not connecting the dots. She suspected that she—along with all the rest of the town—couldn’t bear the thought that a murderer was freely walking down their streets and could have gone into Maeve Meara’s home in broad daylight. Or could be here, tonight, on Harbor Road, listening to Pete and Merry singing.
Nell shivered.
“Cold?” Ben asked, tightening his hug.
“I need to move along,” Jerry was saying beside her. “I was taking a break and heard the music. It’s a good thing Pete’s band is doing here. People are smiling, even me.” He checked his watch. “Now, back to things that aren’t quite so pleasant.”
As if summoning him, his cell phone rang. He shrugged. “No rest for the wicked.” He took a step away to answer it. The lines in his forehead deepened as he listened. Although the words were muffled, Nell could hear the strain in his voice, the terse words, the listening with all his senses.
He silenced his phone and stood still for a moment, staring down into the shadows of the lamplight, his jaw set. Then he turned abruptly, and with an unreadable wave to Ben and Nell, he hurried across the park.
In the next minute, he was swallowed up by the night.
“J
erry Thompson didn’t show up today,” Sam announced the next morning, walking into the Endicotts’ kitchen with Abby in his arms. “We were going to go for an early sail. Maybe he slept in.”
“He could use sleep,” Ben said. “But I don’t think that’s what kept him away. He got a call last night that sounded important and clearly upset him.”
“A break in the case?” Sam asked.
Nell brightened at the sight of the baby, and immediately took her from Sam. “That would be our hope,” she said. “But his expression didn’t exactly say that.”
“Whatever it was, it was important and worth paying attention to. He took off in a hurry, hardly said good-bye, and that’s not like Jerry. I checked the morning paper and there wasn’t anything about the case, almost as if it were being swept under a rug.”
“Or was simply a terrible nightmare,” Nell said.
The ringing of a cell phone caused all three people in the room to rummage for phones.
Nell handed Abby back to her father and answered. Mary Pisano was upset. She was looking for Jules. “I don’t think she slept here last night,” Mary said.
Nell cringed. It was Danny’s first night alone in his new place. She hoped it had been exactly that.
Alone
.
Aloud she told Mary that she hadn’t seen Jules, but she’d ask Sam and Ben if they had.
“She has the keys to the house,” Sam said. “Stella handed them over yesterday. It’s all final. ‘Cash to keys,’ the Realtors call it. She’s probably checking things out over there. As anxious as she was to get into the place before she bought it, I can’t imagine she’d be holding back now. I told her we’d help her move anything that needed moving, but she doesn’t have much.”
Nell repeated the message to Mary, who seemed slightly relieved. But her voice still held concern.
“I’m sure she’s fine, Mary,” Nell said. “She’s a grown woman.” But as soon as she spoke, Nell realized how empty her words were. She was a grown woman, true, a grown woman wandering around a town with a murderer on the loose.
Mary didn’t buy Nell’s assurance, anyway. But her concern went in a different direction. “Nell . . .” she began, pausing. And then she proceeded to share the reason for her concern.
Nell listened carefully, then dropped her phone into her bag and turned to Sam and Ben. “It seems Mary isn’t the only one looking for Jules. Tommy Porter came by the bed-and-breakfast looking for her, too.”
“Oh.” Ben poured Sam a cup of coffee, then refreshed his own. “Did he say why?”
“No . . .”
“No, but . . . ?”
“Mary said he was in full uniform, shiny shoes, pressed pants . . . and he refused one of Mary’s cinnamon rolls. He meant business.”
• • •
It was another hour before Sam left. They took Abby out on the deck and drank coffee while they explored possible reasons for Tommy’s visit to Ravenswood by the Sea. And in the end, they convinced themselves that it was probably routine—Tommy had become a top-notch member of the police force who didn’t let details slide away from him. He probably had a few more questions for Jules about what she’d seen that awful day.
“My guess is that Jules is at the house,” Sam said. “She probably slept there, just to make sure no one snuck in somehow and bought it away from her. I’ve never seen anyone so determined to own something. I need to run anyway—I’ll drive by on my way home and have her call you. Or Mary. Or someone. Probably not Tommy Porter. I’m sure she’s had her fill of questions.”
Sam put down his coffee mug and packed up baby Abby. “My Abby and I are doing a photo shoot, aren’t we, darlin’ daughter?” His face lit up as he kissed her on the top of her head and then on the tip of her nose. Izzy’s nose. Then he held her at arm’s length and soaked in every inch of her with his eyes. “She’s really something, isn’t she?” he said, his words catching in his throat. Then he brought her to his chest and, with her tiny hand in his, waved to them good-bye.
• • •
Jules’s disappearance didn’t take long to solve.
First, Sam texted that her car was at the Ridge Road house, parked in the drive, but she wasn’t around. Garrett Barros was standing out front and said she’d gone for a run. All’s well. Mary Pisano needn’t worry that she was lost at sea.
Jane Brewster called next to ask whether she could bring coleslaw to Friday-night dinner. And then, in passing, she mentioned that she’d just had a nice talk with Jules Ainsley, who was enormously interested in the gallery and some of the artists she and Ham represented. “She’s an interesting person,” Jane said. “And knows a lot about art.”
“So she came to the gallery?” Nell asked.
“Actually she was meeting Rebecca Early for coffee on the deck at the Artist’s Palate. I ran over for a quick bite and they invited me to join them. She came back to the gallery with me afterward to see a new exhibit I had told her about. She mentioned you had invited her to dinner tonight and she was looking forward to it. Then she left to jog back home.”
“Home?”
“Izzy’s house—well,
her
house, I guess. She’s moving what little she has into the new place. I think she wants to stop paying for that expensive room at the B and B as soon as possible.”
“I see,” Nell said, processing the information as Jane talked.
“So, about the coleslaw? It’s a new recipe I want to try.”
“Absolutely. That’s great, Jane. As far as I know right now, your coleslaw and Ben’s martinis may be all we have. By the way, how does Jules know Rebecca?”
“Hmm. I think it was when she first got to town and she was exploring Canary Cove. She fell in love with Rebecca’s lampwork beads and they’ve become good friends. But then”—Jane laughed—“is there anyone in Sea Harbor Jules Ainsley hasn’t met?”
A point well taken. Maybe they weren’t all friends exactly, but Jules certainly knew a good portion of Sea Harbor residents.
Nell hung up and grabbed her bag. A late start to a busy day. She called Mary Pisano on her way out the door to the market. “Jules is safe,” was the message she left on her phone. “She’s at her new house. Safe and sound.” Or as safe as any of them were these days.
• • •
Cass came over early for Friday night on the deck. She had called an hour before, offering to pick up cheese and crackers on the way, and anything else Nell needed.
Nell was in the kitchen slicing zucchini and orange peppers for the grill when Cass walked in. Ben was still at the boat slip doing some minor repairs on the
Dream Weaver
, but Sam and Izzy were on their way, she told Cass.
“People seem a bit at loose ends these days, don’t they.” Nell took the paper bag from Cass. “Did you take the day off?”
“No, I fiddled around in the office, paying bills, ordering new buoys, hired a new guy. But my head wasn’t really there, so I left and went home. But that was a mistake. The house seemed way too big. Too empty. So here I am.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a diet soda.
“It was probably an empty night for Danny, too,” Nell said. “Change is hard.”
Cass focused on her soda, taking a long drink. She found a tray in the cupboard and began arranging rounds of Brie and Camembert.
“It wasn’t working, Nell,” she finally said.
The sound of footsteps put a halt to the conversation and Cass looked visibly relieved.
Birdie’s words preceded her into the family room, as they often did. “Maybe it’s just me,” she said, “but the awful pallor over this town is slowing down thinking, walking, talking, living. Pretty soon we’ll be at a dead standstill. Just a bunch of people looking sideways at their neighbors, wondering if the sacker at the Market Basket is a bad person, or the waiter at the Ocean’s Edge, or the baker or grocer.”
She walked across the family room and put a freshly baked apple pie on the island. “Stan Hanson was in the bakery when Harold and I stopped in for the pie. He was picking up five dozen cookies that Karen had ordered for yet another campaign event. He looked very preoccupied but managed a weak hello. It can’t be easy being mayor of a town where a murderer lurks.”
Nell agreed. “It’s a double burden for him—trying to keep the town safe, help people with their fears, while grieving for someone he’s known for a long time.”
“His emotion at the funeral was a surprise, now, wasn’t it?” Birdie said. “He’s a dear man but usually holds his feelings in check.”
“I think his wife was embarrassed,” Cass said. “She holds everything together—including Stan.”
Ben came through the back door, struggling with a case of beer. He set it down beside the refrigerator. “I heard Stan’s name. I ran by the library on my way home and Karen was there, standing in the foyer, fuming. Stan was supposed to speak to a group of seniors but apparently didn’t show up. It’s been a miserable week for him. Jerry Thompson mentioned to me that Beatrice Scaglia is spreading the word that Stan should drop out of the race and take a long vacation. He’s been a great mayor, she said, but his time is over.”
Nell shook her head, putting the beer in the refrigerator. “Beatrice better watch what she says. Her words could turn on her. People like Stan.”
“On the other hand, he does deserve a vacation,” Birdie said. “Maybe Beatrice has a point—a mayor needs to handle business even if it is personal. I can’t imagine wanting to keep that job a second longer than he has to.”
“I’m not sure Karen would let him quit,” Ben said. “And he is a damn good mayor, in my opinion. Karen wouldn’t take his resignation sitting down.” He pulled out his phone to check his messages. “I forgot to turn it on when I got out of the library.”
Jane and Ham Brewster walked in with a bouquet of gerber daisies, and a hand-painted bowl, filled to the brim with Jane’s new recipe for coleslaw.
“The secret is in the peanut butter,” she said. “Who would have thought?” She busied herself in the kitchen while Ham went through cupboards looking for a vase.
Nell suggested Cass put some music on since Izzy, their usual DJ, hadn’t arrived yet. She and Birdie got out iced tea glasses and Ham took over uncorking wine until Ben could replace him.
Nell looked over at her husband. He had moved to the den doorway and was scrolling through the messages slowly.
“Ben?” Nell saw the lines in his forehead deepen, his face still. He scrolled back through the messages, then began all over again. “Ben, what is it? Is it from Jules? She said she’d be here tonight—”
Just as he lifted his head to answer, the doorbell rang, a sudden, invasive sound. Nell started toward the door, but Ben held up his hand, stopping her, as if he knew who it would be, and that it would be for him.
He strode through the family room to the front door.
Tommy Porter stood on the steps, his face somber.
“I just got your message, Tommy. Jerry’s, too. So sorry I didn’t respond—my phone was off.” He clenched his jaw, anger at himself tightening his face.
“No, no, it’s okay. I hope it’s okay that I just came over.”
“Of course it is.”
Nell came up behind him. “Tommy? What is it? Is Janie all right?”
“It’s Jules Ainsley, ma’am,” he said, his manner professional but his eyes filled with apology. “I thought she might need company. And you folks are friends she mentioned.”
Nell’s confusion was softened by Ben’s assurance that Tommy had done the right thing. He seemed to somehow understand what that was and why he was standing on their doorstep. It must have been the barrage of texts he’d just looked at.
“Is she in the car?” Ben asked.
Tommy nodded and Nell looked out to the curb, where the policeman’s patrol car was parked. A woman sat in the backseat, her eyes straight ahead.
“She’s a tough lady,” Tommy said. “But she’s scared. And she didn’t have any way to get back home or here or anywhere.”
“Where is her car?”
Tommy sighed. “She’ll explain. Chief Thompson said she needs to talk to a lawyer. He gave her your phone number, said you’d know someone.”
“I got that text,” he said, and headed out to the car. “She needs to come inside.”
“Tommy, what’s going on?” Nell asked. She could feel bodies behind her, keeping a distance but straining to hear what was going on.
“I’m really sorry, Nell. We’re pulling you right into the middle of this. Izzy and Sam, too, it being their house and all. I shouldn’t get involved like this, I suppose, but Janie would shoot me if I just dropped Jules off at an empty house, her not being from here and all. And Janie likes her. ‘Innocent until proven guilty,’ she keeps saying to me, and it’s the truth. But it doesn’t look good. That’s why the chief gave her Ben’s cell number. He says even though Ben’s not practicing law, he gives the best advice on Cape Ann—and he thinks about the people getting the advice while he’s doing it.”
Ben walked up with Jules beside him, pale as a ghost, but holding herself in check. She wore slim jeans and a sweater, her hair loose and curling around her shoulders. She looked at Tommy and forced a smile, holding out her hand. “Thanks, Tom. It’s your job—I know that.”
Tommy shook her hand, then walked as quickly as appropriate back to his car without appearing to run from the scene. His shoulders were slightly slumped and his tires screeched as he made a U-turn and headed back to the station.
It was the first time Nell had ever seen Sergeant Tommy Porter look anything but proud of his profession.
Sam and Izzy drove into the driveway just as Ben was ushering people inside. Danny Brandley sat in the back next to Abby in her car seat. They got out and walked up to the door, puzzled expressions on their faces, but one look at Ben held their questions in check.
He held the door open for everyone to come inside.
Ben eased the initial awkwardness by suggesting Sam open a couple of bottles of the wine. The martinis could wait. “And you and I can talk in here if you’d like,” he said to Jules, motioning toward the den. His voice was kind.
Jules forked her fingers through her hair, pushing it back over her ear. She nodded. “But could we . . . could I talk to everyone first?” She looked around at the people standing in the family room, trying to be welcoming and nonchalant, while all the while wondering what their Friday night was turning into.