Trimmed With Murder (27 page)

“T
here's a class in here at two,” Izzy said, collecting their sandwich wraps and coffee mugs. “We need to leave shortly or we'll be here for the rest of the afternoon teaching intarsia.”

“I don't know Intarsia,” Cass joked. “And I have no intention of spending my day off teaching her.”

The day was wide-open for all of them. They had tacitly canceled meetings and appointments, and Mae's nieces were there the rest of the day to help in the shop. There were no excuses to get off the moving sidewalk Cass mentioned, not until they encountered the “beast” at its end.

The sound of a text message came from Izzy's phone. She looked down, then smiled.

It was from Charlie, Nell knew. She could tell by the look on Izzy's face whenever she was reminded that she had a younger brother back in her life.

Izzy looked up. “I think some wise spiritual guide is in our lives today, helping us reclaim Sea Harbor. That was from Charlie. He's at work but suddenly remembered something he'd forgotten to tell us. He has a box of Ellie's things that Amber left with him. She gave him orders to keep it safe.”

Nell brightened up. “That's wonderful. Esther thought it might have gotten thrown out.”

“Charlie says he'll be back at your house soon. Do we want to meet him and take a look?”

“Did he say what's in it?” Cass asked.

“Esther wasn't sure.” Nell explained where the box had come from. “The nurse at Ocean View said it's mostly personal items, photos, jewelry. Esther didn't think it was important.”

Izzy tapped her phone absently, thinking. Then she said, “If Amber thought it needed to be kept safe, there must have been a reason. It's important.”

There was an immediate flurry of activity as they cleaned the table and gathered purses and keys.

Izzy went up to have a word with Mae while Cass headed for the coatrack, glancing over at Nell. “One thing. Do you have any of that apple crisp left in your fridge?” She pulled out her keys. “Brain food.” She smiled.

•   •   •

When they walked in a short while later, Charlie was standing at Nell's stove, frying an egg. A good-sized cardboard box sat on the island, its flaps closed.
ELLIE HARPER
was printed across the side in bold black magic marker. And below, Esther Gibson's name and address.

“Late lunch,” he said, pointing to the pan. “We were busy. I didn't have time to eat.”

Nell smiled.

Izzy looked at the box, then over at her brother. “You're okay with us going through this, Charlie?”

He nodded, sliding the egg onto a toasted bun. “Amber brought it into the cottage one night and we went through it together. She wasn't into ‘things' and I thought she'd tell me to throw it all out. But she went through it carefully, piece by piece. It seemed like it took forever. I kept saying ‘what?' when she would hold something up, examining it like it was gold. But she didn't say much. It was as if she was seeing her mother in every single piece.” He carried his plate to the counter.

“It somehow seems disrespectful to be looking at her mother's things. Ellie's things. Someone we'd never met, a stranger, really,” Birdie said.

“She doesn't seem like a stranger, though,” Nell said. “I've come to like her. And her daughter, too—” She smiled at Charlie. “I think whatever Amber did that last week she was doing for her mother. To make things right, somehow.” She pulled open the crisscrossed flaps on the box, and the others all gathered closer.

The top layer held pieces of clothing—a robe and nightgowns, clearly laundered, folded neatly, and packaged in sealed plastic bags. A sweater. Nell took them out one by one.

“I wonder who bought her clothes?” Cass asked.

Lydia, they guessed, or Ocean View itself with an allowance from Lydia?

“My money is on Esther Gibson,” Nell said, and they all agreed that was the most likely scenario. Kind, generous Esther Gibson.

When they came across a hat, soft as feathers and knit with yellow cashmere yarn, their guess was confirmed. Esther had worked the hat without seams for comfort, and used the softest cashmere Izzy sold. It was loose and lovely. A perfect head covering to ward off drafts—and to make one look pretty.

Nell felt a catch in her throat and set the hat aside.

The photo frames also had Esther's touch—brightly painted ones framing a small girl who got bigger with each new frame. Amber as a baby. As a toddler. As a preteen. Charlie looked at the pictures for a long time, then set them back beside the box.

Close to the bottom of the box was a pillow wrapped in tissue paper. It was just slightly smaller than a bed pillow but soft, with tiny folds—the perfect size for cushioning one's head. Birdie lifted it out and held it up to the light.

“Esther again,” she said, and touched the embroidered flowers that circled the cotton covering.

“It's lovely,” Nell said. She looked more closely at the white cotton fabric. “That's a shame. It's torn.” She pointed to the side where the fibers were pulled loose, exposing the lining beneath.

“Amber noticed that, too. She looked at that pillow for a long time,” Charlie said. He took it from Birdie and turned it in his large hands, then set it on the island. “It seemed to upset her, but she wouldn't say why. She was becoming a little unglued those last couple days, as if things were unraveling for her. And looking through this box seemed to make it worse, though she insisted it was what she needed to be doing. She stayed with me that night and she had horrible dreams. She sat up once, still asleep, and threw the bed pillow on the floor, screaming. I woke her up, held her. And then she cried, hard. And she didn't stop.”

He picked up the pillow again and stared at it. “But this pillow here, she couldn't stop looking at it.”

“Esther did a beautiful job,” Birdie said.

Charlie nodded. “But I don't think that's why she was looking at it. Not that she was unappreciative, but it was something else.” He turned it over and touched a soiled spot on the back with his finger. A three-year-old smudge.

“She asked me what the dirt was. ‘It's three years old,' I told her. How would I know? And she calmed down a little then.

“She had a bunch of articles explaining how people died—they're stuck in one of those books I gave you, Aunt Nell. She was trying so hard to understand her mom's last hours, I think. Amber was so smart and things were a little easier for her if she could completely understand them. She wondered if I'd ever seen anyone die in nursing school, what it looked like.”

Charlie took a deep breath, then continued. “I had seen one person, an elderly lady, die in her bed. There was some edema fluid on the sheet—I think I was trying to impress her a little, mentioning terms I knew.”

They looked at the pillow for a long time, and then Birdie took it carefully from Charlie's hands and set it back in the tissue folds.

It was only then that Izzy noticed the last remaining item in the cardboard box. A square tapestry jewelry box.

She took it out and opened the lid, then set it on the counter so they could all look inside.

Nell lifted out a women's wristwatch, silver and dainty. A watch that had long ago stopped telling time, perhaps rescued from the accident and never worn again, moving along with its owner from a hospital to a nursing home. Tiny diamond earrings were enclosed in a small plastic bag.

“Patrick,” Izzy guessed, imagining the story as it might have unfolded. “He couldn't give her a ring—not yet—so he bought her these beautiful earrings.”

Earrings her daughter should be wearing right now. Cherishing the gift to her mother from her father.

Birdie took out the last piece, a sealed plastic container holding a beautiful oval pin. The size of a silver dollar piece, the edges solid gold, the center a circle of ivory.

“It's elegant,” she said, holding it in the palm of her hand and looking at it carefully. “And valuable, though the pin is bent.”

She passed it around for all of them to see as they tried to fit it into Izzy's romantic story.

“Maybe it was something she had on the night of the accident,” Nell said, but without much conviction. The stories they'd gathered about Ellie Harper held images of a freshly scrubbed, beautiful woman, comfortable in jeans and shorts and flannel shirts. Not unlike her daughter.

Nell rubbed the oval with the pad of her finger. And then she frowned and put on her glasses, peering at the worn letters on the back of the brooch. She held it up to the light. And then her frown deepened as she passed the pin around, from Izzy to Charlie to Cass to Birdie.

They couldn't fit it into the story. It didn't make sense to them.

But perhaps it might to someone else. Birdie slipped the pin back into the plastic wrap and pulled out her phone.

B
irdie's karma or good omen or whatever it was had not forsaken them. Izzy claimed it was the spiritual guide she had called upon.

Nell said that
whoever
it was who stepped in to help them along the way, she was grateful.

And grateful to Carly Schultz, too.

Carly answered her phone immediately when Birdie called. Mondays were always slow and she had a break coming up. She'd like nothing better than to visit with her new friends.

Charlie watched them head for coats and scarves. He gulped down the last of his milk and looked at Nell. “I'd like to go along,” he said.

Nell stopped short, then walked over and gave her nephew a hug. “Of course you should be with us,” she said. “Don't forget your hat.”

•   •   •

The route was now familiar to them, up the winding road to the iron gate. Carly had sent word that she had visitors coming; it wouldn't be a problem getting in.

But Nell held her breath anyway, and didn't completely relax until the gates had silently rolled open and they found themselves inside. And then they shut behind them.

Carly was waiting inside the lobby and greeted them with hugs as if they'd known each other for a long time. She included Charlie and Cass in her hugs, too, not even acknowledging that they hadn't met before. She was thinking about moving to Sea Harbor from Danvers, she told them as she led them off to the lunchroom. And meeting all of them was adding significant weight to the “pros” side of her pros-and-cons decision chart. They were right up there next to her Sea Harbor boyfriend, she said.

They settled at a quiet table near the window with Cokes and hot tea.

Birdie mentioned seeing Doc Alan the day before and the nice things he had said about Carly.

“He's the absolute best,” she said. “Everyone loves him.”

“He thought one of the reasons Amber had come over that week was that she was grateful to everyone who had helped her mother and wanted to thank them.”

None of them had completely bought Alan Hamilton's kind explanation for Amber's unannounced visit to Ocean View, if it could be called a visit. The last week of Amber's life was not one she wanted to spend on pleasantries and being grateful, they felt sure of that. And the further along they got in following her footsteps, the more certain they were that nearly every move Amber made that last week was to reach a goal.

And that goal was finally becoming clear to the determined friends. Perhaps—if the good omen or guide or whoever she was stuck around—she could help them reach it.

Soon.

Carly listened and nodded now as they drank their tea and talked about Amber's gratitude. “She thanked me that day. And Doc Alan. The priest. And I suppose that's why she wanted to know anyone who had been with her mother that day. To thank them.”

She looked up then and spotted another nurse across the lunchroom. “Oh, wait, there's someone who knew Ellie. You might want to meet her.”

She waved her hand and called to an older woman examining the sandwiches displayed in the glass case, “Georgia, over here.”

The genial-looking woman waved back and lumbered across the room, then shook hands as Carly introduced her to her new friends.

“What can I do for you?” Georgia asked.

“They're here because they knew Ellie Harper. Or her daughter, actually. Charlie here and Amber were good friends.”

“Ah, our Ellie, she was a darling. Carly and I loved her. There was something about her, something that reached out to us.”

“Georgia mostly worked nights while Ellie was here.”

Georgia nodded. “And sometimes nights are long around here. Very quiet, usually. So often I sat with Ellie, knitting hats and scarves and what have you.”

“I suppose you enjoyed Ellie's beautiful flower arrangements, then,” Birdie said. “For the life of us, we can't find anyone who owns up to having sent them.”

Georgia laughed. “They were beautiful. We miss them. Came like clockwork, every week. I have my suspicions, but no proof, mind you.”

“The mysterious night visitor,” Carly said knowingly.

“A night visitor?” Nell asked.

“Carly has a bit of drama in her,” Georgia said. “But it's true that occasionally Ellie had an evening visitor. As crazy as it sounds, though, I never saw the person to talk to.”

“But security here is so tight,” Cass said. “Surely someone did.”

“It's different at night, but of course there would have been security guys around. No one like Priscilla, though, who would definitely have known,” Carly said. “But visitors at night are fine, no rule against it, though they have to sign in.”

“Carly's right,” Georgia said. “But this was kind of mysterious. There was an older nurse who no longer lives around here who confirmed that someone came in and sat by her bed occasionally. She suspected that the security guards were a bit richer after those visits, if you get my drift.”

Georgia paused, looking as though she had something more to say, but then seemed to think better of it and excused herself to grab a sandwich before her shift ended.

“Now, what were we talking about?” Carly asked.

“I think we were talking about Amber wanting to be sure everyone who helped her mother was thanked.”

“That's it,” Carly said with a snap of her fingers, her eyes lighting up. “That must be why she wanted those files—so she wouldn't miss anyone.”

“What files?” Nell said. “Didn't you tell us Amber was bothering the nurses about medical files, her mother's medical records?”

“Oh, no. She asked a lot of questions along those lines. But what Amber wanted to look at were the
visiting
records for that week. The log-in books. No one ever looks at those things, no one, but sweet Priscilla is dutiful about keeping them. Apparently she has been for years and years. Some poor volunteer spent a whole summer inputting them. And to this day, Priscilla insists every guest sign in.

“But I don't know why the nurses were skittish about giving them to Amber that day. Maybe they were busy and just didn't want to take the time. Or maybe . . . well—” Carly looked embarrassed.

She smiled and shrugged. “I think Amber was a little demanding with some of them. But she only wanted to thank people who had cared about her mom, and that's all good, right? Maybe find out a little more about how peaceful her mother was that day. She had every right to do that. They should have helped her.”

Carly took a drink of her Coke, then looked up and said with conviction, “And that's why I said yes.”

“You were going to get her the visitors' log-in?”

“No. I mean yes. I printed them out for her.”

And then they realized what Carly was saying.

“But never had the chance to give them to her,” Birdie said gently.

Carly nodded, sadness clouding her eyes.

“Do you still have them, dear?” Birdie asked.

“Maybe. Oh, no, I don't. I shoved them in my locker. It was a holy mess, and I finally cleaned it out a couple days ago and threw everything away. I'm so sorry. Was it something you'd want to see?”

“We might,” Nell said. “Would it be too much trouble to print out another?”

Carly checked her watch, then shook her head. “Not now. The business office is locked up tighter than a drum.”

Nell hid her disappointment beneath a new topic. “There's another thing we wanted to talk to you about, Carly.” She explained that they had gone through the box of Ellie's belongings that Amber had left with Charlie.

Carly remembered the box. “Yes, I was the one who took care of that.”

“The box was packed with such care, Carly. We knew it was probably you.”

Carly blushed. “I think I even remember what was in it,” she said. She thought for a minute and then said, “There were clothes, but I don't remember them really, except that Esther Gibson had bought her some nice things. I just wanted her daughter to know that. That's why I put them in the box. Esther wanted Ellie to feel pretty every single day. But what I remember most are the diamond earrings. Esther had told me the story about Patrick and Ellie—and I knew they must have been given to her by him, by Amber's father. When I packed them away that day, I imagined Ellie's daughter wearing them. The thought made me happy.”

“There was a pillow, too,” Charlie said.

“I remember. That beautiful pillow that Esther gave her. We kept it on her bed, tucked it in with her at night. It was always with her, kind of like a child's blanket, you know?”

“And this? Do you remember packing this?” Nell pulled the plastic bag from her purse.

Carly looked through the clear plastic, frowning uncertainly at the jewelry. “No, I don't think—”

Then suddenly her eyes lit up and she pulled the brooch from the bag, running her finger over the mother-of-pearl. She turned it over. “Oh, sure, I remember it now. At first I thought this was a design on the back, and then one of the other nurses said they were initials. But they weren't Ellie's initials, so we figured they were her mother's maybe,” she said. “So I put it in the box. But let me tell you where I found it. It was the strangest thing.”

And then Carly Schultz leaned forward, and, as if telling good friends about a movie she'd recently seen, she told Izzy, Nell, and Birdie why it was the strangest thing.

Another piece. But not a
ka-chunk
. Not yet. Not until they saw the list.

•   •   •

When they finally walked out the door of Ocean View, Nell's head was spinning. It felt like midnight, though her watch said just a little after five. The winter sky was unusually dark at the early hour, with only a sliver of moonlight lighting the trees. Lamplights in the parking lot guided them to Nell's car, where they piled in, turning up the heat immediately.

Nell maneuvered the car toward the guardhouse and stopped, waiting for the iron gate to open.

While they waited, Charlie took in the manicured surroundings of Ocean View, then leaned toward Nell and pointed to a painted sign just outside the entrance.

Ocean View Cemetery.

“Amber will be there, next to her mother, right?”

Nell nodded. She checked her watch again. All each of them needed was a quick shower and time to dress before the eight o'clock caroling. It would work.

“It's a short detour. Should we drive past?” Although Charlie had been there once before, she suspected he needed to see it now, knowing it would be where Amber would lie.

The others were fine with it, as long as Nell kept the heat on high.

The gate opened, and once again Nell made her way down the narrow, winding road that led back to the carefully tended Ocean View Cemetery.

The wind whistled through the trees as she pulled the car slightly off the road. A lamplight nearby offered little light, but Nell remembered exactly where Ellie's grave was—beneath the old hawthorn tree.

“Come,” she said. “Let me show you.”

They left the car running and the others talking quietly in the backseat, processing the day. “It's close, just around that curve,” Nell said.

She thought she heard an animal howling, the sound of a wolf perhaps, and stopped for a minute, peering into the darkness. She simply wasn't used to being in a cemetery in the dark, she thought, and began walking again, this time nearly colliding with Charlie's back.

He had stopped dead still in the middle of the path.

“Charlie?” she said, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. “What's wrong?”

He turned partially toward her. “Shh,” he whispered, a finger to his lips. Then he wrapped an arm around his aunt and brought her to his side, one hand pointing ahead of them.

If it hadn't been for the shiny down jacket reflecting the single beam of moonlight, they might have stumbled directly on top of the man. But Charlie had heard the noise, too, and had stopped on the path.

A short distance ahead, unaware that he wasn't alone, a broad figure crouched down on one knee on the unforgiving ground beside Ellie Harper's grave. His body rocked back and forth, arms wrapped around his chest, holding himself together. His head was low, cradled in his hands, and his body leaning toward the raised mound beside him.

And pouring out of the shaking form, rolling across the gravestones and up to the night sky, was the unbearable keening of a man in the deepest depths of sadness.