Trimmed With Murder (29 page)

And the house is magnificent, Esther said: four bedrooms and three baths. And an amazing deck that overlooks the mountains and is close to their favorite casino. Imagine that.

Imagine that
. Nell felt another piece of the puzzle slip into place. It landed with such an echoing thud she was sure Esther and Richard must have heard it.

The stitch was pulled tight. And without asking, though Esther called it out to them as they walked away, they knew who owned the magnificent home. “Friends of yours,” Esther said, who would be happy to have them as guests, even if they didn't like the casinos all that much.

Nell and Birdie bottled up the conversation and carried it across the room where the well-dressed elves were now passing out tiny sausage and shrimp puffs and champagne. Nell wasn't shocked or even completely surprised at Esther's revelation, nor was Birdie.

But they at least understood a “why” that had been floating around for days. Although Esther and Richard, Claire, and Alan Hamilton played poker for eighteen dollars and fifty-two cents, for others it could be a dangerous addiction. An addiction that could ruin people's lives—or make them do unsavory things to pay their gambling debts. It was something people sometimes died from—or even killed for.

While Birdie went off to greet an old neighbor, Nell stood alone, enjoying the quiet in the middle of a jovial, noisy crowd. Sometimes it was the best kind of quiet, being surrounded by noise and not being a part of it.

She noticed Barbara Cummings, her red tailored suit a nod to the season, standing beneath one of many sprigs of mistletoe that hung from the ceiling. Several women, including Mrs. Esther Gibson Claus, stood with her, talking. Nell noticed Garrett O'Neal seeking Barbara out, spotting her, then standing back against the wall close to the group of women. His red bow tie was perfectly tied, his hair carefully combed, rimmed glasses hiding thoughts and emotion. Finally he moved to Barbara's side, one arm grazing hers.

Barbara seemed not to notice his presence, her posture erect and still.

A convenient couple,
someone had called them. Perhaps that's what it was, at least for one of them.

But the thought made Nell enormously sad.

She looked beyond them and spotted Stu Cummings and Ben standing together, talking quietly. Stu looked worn, his congenial smile seeming to be an effort. When people crowded in, the two men moved away to a quieter spot behind the enormous Christmas tree.

In the next minute, as if somehow planned, Jerry Thompson joined them.

Birdie was back and handed Nell a glass of champagne. “Sam and Izzy are heating up the dance floor,” she said. “I think all the tensions of today are being exorcised effectively.”

Nell nodded. Exorcised but not gone. She nodded across the room to where Beatrice Scaglia, Barbara, and Helen Cummings stood with a group of council members. A waitress passed by, accepting their empty glasses and replacing them. Helen reached for another as Barbara looked over, spotted Nell, and nodded in a brief hello, then turned away.

A rebuff? Nell turned and followed Birdie across the room, her heart heavy, to where Father Northcutt sat alone on a couch, watching a toy train circle a small tree.

“You look like you could use this, Father,” Birdie said, handing him a glass of champagne.

“Now, how did you know I was sitting here thinking about a glass of bubbly?”

“I just knew,” Birdie said.

His smile was sad, but, as always, warm and welcoming.

“One of the nurses told me she met you lovely ladies today at Ocean View,” he said.

Nell nodded. “They think highly of you over there, Father.”

“Oh, my, highly can be overrated, Nellie.”

“Your presence to those patients means a great deal. Even those like Ellie Harper—”

“My sweet Ellie. She was a pleasure to be with, even though her life was not a real life, not lying in that bed for all those years.”

“Not a full life, surely,” Birdie said. “Not like ours. I can't quite imagine it.”

“It's hard to understand, isn't it?” His head nodded, his meaning not clear. But he went on. “Sometimes death is a release. Even when it's unexpected. I understand how people have trouble with that, a conflict between moral imperatives, now, isn't it? An ethical dilemma.”

Izzy and Cass had walked up as Father Northcutt was thinking out loud.

Ethical dilemma.

Birdie looked at the others. The words rang out as they listened and heard, not Father Larry's words, but Amber Harper's.

Amber's quandary the night she asked for Birdie's guidance. Exploring the right thing to do with the information she had.

Birdie gazed at the kindly priest. Finally he looked up and met her eyes. “Sure and we all know it, Birdie. This has to be reconciled. Too many people's lives are on hold because there is still a crime unsolved, justice unserved. And a motive that may not be honorable.” He looked around the room, then down at his hands, arthritis taking hold of his fingers as the lives of people he cared about took hold of his heart.

A group of parishioners moved in to share a word with their pastor, and the women moved away, taking the priest's words with them.

“It's very sad,” Birdie said. “But we're here tonight for other reasons, not to be sad. There will be time for that.” With forced brightness, she suggested to Cass that they take to the dance floor.

“Birdie Favazza, no one's asked me to be their dance partner since high school. But let's go—what's that crazy thing you say—cut a rug?”

But before they could move through the crowd, a familiar voice called out their names from the other direction. They turned around and looked into the smiling, excited face of Carly Schultz.

Behind her was Andy Risso, lifting his shoulders and palms as if to wonder how this had all happened. How did all these people who were important to him know one another?

Carly looked beautiful, her short blond hair bouncy, a bright green and red dress short and saucy. She hugged all four of them as if they'd been friends for a long time.

“Andy's my boyfriend,” she said proudly, tilting her head toward him.

“This is the boyfriend?” Nell asked. “Our Andy?”

“Of course. The one who visited Ellie with you sometimes.” Birdie clapped her hands, delighted with the connection.

“We met at Ocean View. All the older patients love Andy, so I said to myself, ‘Hmm, I think those ladies have good taste. Maybe I should give him a look. So I did. And sure enough, they were right.” She laughed, a full and happy sound.

“Well, we like him, too. You have absolutely wonderful taste, Carly,” Nell said.

“Don't get too full of yourself, Risso,” Cass warned. “I could tell Carly stories, you know.”

Carly giggled. “I couldn't believe it when I saw all of you across the room.” She looked at Nell. “I was going to have Andy take me to your house on our way home.”

“Oh?” Nell said, but somehow she knew exactly what Carly was going to say.

Carly opened her purse and pulled out a single sheet of paper, folded twice into a small, neat square. “I think it might smell like my perfume,” she said.

Nell assured her that the perfume would only make it sweeter. She took the folded paper and slipped it into her purse.
Thank you, Priscilla,
she said silently. She patted the purse gently as if pushing a final puzzle piece in place.

Cass watched the couple as they walked away, Andy's arm holding her tight. “Who knew? Do you think our magic brings these things about?”

“No,” Izzy said. “If it did, you and Danny would be married.” She pointed to the lobby and suggested they find a quiet spot.

“What did she give you?” Cass asked.

“The visitors' log from Ocean View the day Ellie died.”

“She must have sensed our disappointment earlier today and talked a security guard into letting her into the office,” Birdie said. “She's a lovely girl. Andy is fortunate.”

Nell took a deep breath and pulled the paper from her purse, then slowly, carefully unfolded it, smoothing out the wrinkles. Izzy took out her cell phone and clicked on the flashlight, carefully scanning the names.

Ellie had had a banner day for visitors the day she died, just as they had been told. Beginning with her doctor in the morning, her priest. And her friends.

And then a final visitor that night. The one who had ended Ellie Harper's well-tended life with one swift movement.

A plump pillow with tiny embroidered roses placed carefully over her mouth.

F
ather Northcutt got the call a second before Cass's phone pinged. And then Birdie's.

Mary Halloran had covered several bases, hoping someone at the party would answer.

“Come,” she said.

They all got the call, and no one asked “Come where?” It was December novena week and Our Lady of Safe Seas Church stayed open long hours. Mary Halloran would be there picking up stray bulletins, filling the holy-water fonts, and making sure people were orderly and didn't fall off the prie-dieux. A December novena always brought in some homeless folks, which was why Mary insisted that Father Northcutt hold it in December—a nice reason to give people a warm place to go. And who knows, maybe they'd even light a candle or two while they were there.

The church was just a few blocks from the historical museum, but Birdie suggested she find Father Northcutt a ride and the others run on ahead as fast as they could.

Cass's mother needed them.

Their breaths plumed up into the frosty air as they raced through the small park and around the corner to the church. They pushed the heavy carved doors open and stepped into the stillness of the ornate church, its enormous ceiling rimmed in gold, the rows of old wooden pews polished to a high sheen.

Before them was the long center aisle, which led to the solemn sanctuary at the front.

They stood eerily still, not sure whether they were alone. The pews were empty, the low lights along the walls casting shadows onto the side aisles.

A sound in the distance drew their attention toward the front of the church, where they spotted Mary Halloran standing alone on the top sanctuary step, talking out loud.

“Who's my ma talking to? God?” Cass whispered.

They walked tentatively down the aisle, knowing instinctively that quiet was the best way. With one hand beckoning to them and no words, Mary Halloran urged them forth. Her eyes were focused elsewhere.

As they approached the steps, they followed Mary's look to the right, into a small recessed grotto where a life-sized statue stood on a small rise, her arms outstretched. Also standing on the platform and holding one of the statue's hands was Helen Cummings.

In her other hand she held a knife.

She wobbled slightly, her eyes nearly shut. “Don't come near me,” she pleaded, her head turning just enough to know there were several other people besides Mary Halloran watching her. She recognized Nell, and her face contorted.

“A security guard told me what you were all up to,” she said, this time looking back at Mary. “I found out they got the sign-in sheets from Ocean View, the smarty-pants. Snoopy, like the daughter was. Amber should have left it alone, Mary. She should have. I told her that, that night at the Harbor. That's all I wanted—to meet with her, to talk for just a few minutes. To explain. That's all.” Her head began to move back and forth with the rhythm of her words.

“The past is always best left alone, I told her. She was quiet, but for a minute, I thought she was listening. I thought she understood that her mother was better off. Her mother had no life in that bed. But I had a life. A life with Stuart.

“But Amber just stared at me. A hard stare. It was painful to watch, so cold, and then she turned away from me, shunning me. And I knew she hadn't heard. Or understood. She started to walk away from me, down the path. To walk away and ruin all our lives—”

Her voice grew husky, deeper, and from where they stood, it looked as though tears were streaming down her face.

“I couldn't let her go off like that, you know. She had her mother's things. The pillow. My beautiful brooch. It must have stuck to the pillow that night. But when I couldn't find it, I remembered where it must be. Ellie had no one here; it would surely get thrown out. Then her daughter came back to ruin my life—all our lives.”

She looked out at Nell now, and her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I didn't want to hurt Amber—I only wanted to make her understand. But I could see in her eyes that she didn't.”

A banging of doors and a ruckus in the back of the church shattered the silence and for a moment, Helen lost her balance, her head leaning forward and one foot flying awkwardly in the air. But her hand held tight to the statue's, and she managed to regain her footing.

Birdie followed Father Northcutt down the aisle. But it was Stu Cummings who created the commotion, his heavy footsteps taking him to the front of the church in seconds. He stood near Nell.

“Helen, get down from there,” he ordered. “You'll hurt yourself.”

Nell looked over at him. His words were strong, his stance firm, and in his eyes was a pain so deep that she looked away.

“Why did you come, Stuart?” Helen said. Her voice shook as she looked at her husband. “Please go away. I did it for you. It was all for you. It was the only way you would stop visiting her, a dead woman! But you kept going. Your mother told me it would stop. But it didn't. Some nights I followed you, Stu. I knew from early on, from those nights in the Gull when she'd serve you beer. I saw how you looked at her when she was with Patrick. And then a miracle happened—the accident—and it solved everything.”

She shook her head. “But it didn't. She was still there, in that room filled with your flowers. Where you sat at her side.” Her head dropped. Finally, with great effort, she lifted it and focused on Stu. “You cared for me, Stu. All these years, you cared for me. But you loved her.”

“Helen,” Stu tried again. But his voice was choked and the word fell to the floor.

As if suddenly waking up, Helen's voice grew stronger. “Watch me, Stu.” She waved the knife in the air. “Soon you'll have two dead women. Will you love me then?”

Nell looked away, just in time to miss seeing Helen Cummings fall to the floor, the knife slipping away as her head hit the marble, where she fell into a sound, unconscious sleep.

One she wouldn't wake up from until safely behind bars.

•   •   •

Jerry Thompson showed up with Ben and the others at the same time as an ambulance and police car. No one knew for sure what was happening in Father Northcutt's sanctuary.

Stu slumped down in one of the pews, his head in his hands. Nell sat down beside him. She had decided not to tell him she had seen him at Ellie's grave. He'd had enough sadness in one day to last the next one hundred.

But she understood now the mixture of sounds that carried his emotions earlier. Love and guilt, sadness and pain.

Suddenly she felt enormous sadness for Stu Cummings. She leaned over and wished him peace. Then silently followed the others out of the church.

•   •   •

They left the church as solemnly as if leaving a requiem Mass. And without an actual plan, they straggled into the Endicott kitchen a short while later.

Charlie put on coffee while Sam pulled several beers out of the refrigerator and uncorked the wine.

Ben brought out a bottle of scotch.

“It's over,” Birdie said. “This time it really is.”

But there was no joy. Lives were wounded, upended, and an unstable woman would never live in her comfortable world again.

“Amber was so sure her mother didn't die naturally,” Ben said.

Nell shared with them the call she'd gotten from Georgia, the night nurse. “That little bit of encouragement might have been all she needed. No one else would listen.”

“Don't you think her doctor, or Father Northcutt, maybe, wondered, too? But because Ellie's life was so limited, it wasn't something that would be looked into. The only one who might was a daughter who regretted not being here when her mother died.” Birdie looked out the window into the night. “There's nothing happy about any of it. It's all so sad.”

“I think we were right that Amber probably suspected Barbara, at first, thinking she did it for the money,” Cass said. “Amber knew so much from the Cummingses' financials. It was like reading a diary for her. She knew how much money they'd save if they didn't have to pay for her mother's care; she knew about Barbara's gambling debts, her need for money; she knew about the bonuses Barbara paid Garrett to continue his doctoring of the books—”

“I think Garrett would have done it for love, if Barbara would have given him that,” Nell said.

Ben poured the scotch. “Well, I think the gambling and embezzlement issues are going to be taken care of outside the law,” he said. “Garrett did it for Barbara, not himself, not really. And the truth is that it's the family itself that would bring charges. Stu won't do that, not if Barbara gets treatment and Garrett shapes up. They're damn lucky.”

Cass puffed up. “Yes, they are.”

Danny patted her on the back. “Good job, Sherlock.”

They laughed, tired, weary laughs that sent them to finishing drinks, rummaging around for gloves and keys and coats, and heading into the night for well-deserved long winter's naps.