Death by Cashmere (19 page)

Nell slipped strands of loose, damp hair back over her ear. "I like your stories, Angus. A lot of us do."

He shook his head. "Thank you, Nell. Angie was my best audience, though, and I don't mean for you to take offense at that." He smiled, a sad, enigmatic smile. "She breathed in my stories, and then she remembered them, word for word. Sometimes she even wrote down things that I said. And she always asked questions. She liked me, you know. And I liked her very much."

Nell listened to the old man talk and remembered times she'd seen Angie with Angus, sitting on Pelican Pier, or out at the breakwater or here on Sandpiper Beach. Seeing them touched her somehow, the unlikely pair, with Angie hanging on Angus's words and making him feel important and relevant.

"You must miss her, Angus," Izzy said. "I do, too."

Angus looked out over the water and his face was long and sad. He frowned and squinted against the bright rising sun. "Sometimes my thoughts get mixed up, my head gets foggy," he said. "You have to excuse me. I'm an old man. Angie helped me focus. I miss that most of all. Indeed I do." He looked out over the ocean and smiled. "
Indeed
. She'd always say that.
Indeed,
as if she were British
. Indeed, Angus
, she'd say."

He smiled again, a small, sad acknowledgment. Nell could see the confusion in his eyes. It fell softly and peacefully over his face like morning fog.

"Good morning to you, ladies," Angus said again. "You be safe. Keep Angie safe." He paused, looking down at the tips of his wet, sand-coated boots. When he looked up, a tear was sliding slowly down his cheek.

"She loved me, you know," he said, his voice hoarse. "Anja loved me." Then he turned slowly and walked back toward the water, his broad, bent back casting odd shadows on the sand behind him.

"Anja?" Izzy said to Nell as they watched Angus lumber down the beach.

"Anja was his wife," Nell answered. "I wonder if Angie and Anja became confused in his mind. Two women who cared about him enough to listen."

Birdie called Nell at noon, telling her that she was bringing both wine and fruit, and Nell could skip dessert for the Thursday-night knitting group. Sweets would make them sleepy, Birdie said. And they had things to knit and serious topics to discuss.

Nell considered Birdie's logic while she unpacked her grocery sacks, but only for a moment. Wine, she knew, would never be considered a soporific in Birdie's mind; there'd be no convincing her. It was the stuff of living. Not sleeping.

Nell pulled mixed baby lettuce from her bag and put it in the sink. The day had turned warm, as Cape Ann weather could do without notice. The open windows brought a breeze, and her shaded yard and nearness to the ocean allowed Nell to keep the house open and the air-conditioning off, but it might still be warm in Izzy's shop tonight. So a light tuna and snap pea salad would fit the bill. She'd sear the fresh tuna that she'd picked up in Gloucester, then slice it in thin strips. Crisp wontons, a lime and ginger dressing, sliced avocado, and some early cherry tomatoes from her garden would make it a fine meal for a warm summer night. An enticement to knit. And heaven knew what else.

Birdie's phone call and hint of serious discussion had only added to the concern that lingered with Nell after her morning run, though life and summer plans in Sea Harbor were going forward--signs were up around town seeking volunteers for the Fourth of July fireworks, animated talk at Harry's Deli was all about the fancy Saturday-night benefit at Framingham Point, and the smell of wet beach towels and coconut oil lingered along the village streets.

But no matter what visitors and vacationers might see in the postcard-perfect town, the rhythm was off-kilter. Like the eerie, warm quiet she had felt as a child just before a Kansas tornado ripped across the plains. Or the tranquil lull, the sunny sky, before a perfect storm gathered its energy and rained down havoc on the lives of good and solid people.

Nell checked her watch. She'd run out of balsamic vinegar, the only thing missing for the salad. She had plenty of time before knitting club--hours in fact--an unusual respite in the busy week. She might even get a hot bath in before heading over to Izzy's.

Later, at the Thursday-night knitting club, she wouldn't be able to tell Cass, Izzy, and Birdie exactly why she had done it. It just happened, a sudden impulse as she left Shaw's parking lot with her balsamic vinegar in the grocery sack beside her. Maybe it was her unconscious, telling her that this was what she should do.

She turned her car in the opposite direction of her home and headed a few blocks west on Stanley Avenue, then pulled into the packed parking lot of the county offices building.

Nell looked up at the big stone facade, then walked inside. She couldn't remember ever being in the building before, though she knew Ben had been there many times, getting property deeds and copies of family papers. It was an old building with narrow hallways and a musty smell that reminded Nell of the old library in Kansas City where she'd spent half her life. She paused inside the entrance, looking for the office in which Angie Archer had reportedly spent so many of the last hours of her life.

Registrar of Deeds,
she read on the wall directory. Room 114. That would have to be the place.

"Nell Endicott," a voice behind her called out, and Nell turned to the smiling face of Rachel Wooten.

Rachel and her husband had moved into Nell's neighborhood a few years before and sometimes ended up on the Endicott deck for Friday martinis. Nell had forgotten that Rachel worked in the county building. "We've missed you on the deck, Rachel," Nell said. "You and Don need to come over soon."

Rachel smiled. "Thanks, Nell. The days slip by way too fast. We'll come by soon. In the meantime, though, can I help you find something here?"

"Maybe you can. I think I want the property deeds office. Angie Archer was working on a project for the Historical Museum, and Nancy Hughes said she got a lot of information here."

"Yes, she did. Angie was here often. I'd see her breezing down the hallway, that beautiful head of red hair flying in the breeze. It's all so awful. I sure hope they find the guy soon."

"I do, too, Rachel."

"Come." Rachel looped her arm through Nell's. "The Registrar of Deeds' office is right next to mine. I'll walk you there." They started down the hall and Rachel's voice grew quiet. "It hit us hard when we found out Angie was murdered. Someone you see often, you know. It was especially hard on our registrar, who rarely says a word. But somehow Angie worked her magic on him. He'd light up like the sun when she came in--and when Angie was here, he'd talk a blue streak."

A coworker of Rachel's walked up then, smiled at Nell, and reminded Rachel of a meeting.

"Oops, I'm sorry, Nell. I need to go. But it's that next office, right there." She pointed to a frosted glass door.

Nell thanked her and walked on in. She stood for a moment, looking around at the computers, the long tables, and banks of filing cabinets. And then she turned toward the quiet man sitting behind a wooden desk.

"Nell Endicott," the registrar said, looking up from his computer. "Well, hello."

Nell's eyes widened in surprise. "Sal Scaglia. Well, of course it's you. It hadn't dawned on me that if I visited the deeds office, it would be your office. How silly of me. My mind is too full of things these days, but this is a happy coincidence."

Sal leaned over his cluttered desk and shook Nell's hand. "Do you need help finding a deed?" He gestured for her to sit down.

Nell sat on the chair in front of his desk. She took in Sal's short-sleeved shirt and glasses, the pens in his pocket, his navy blue pressed pants. He wore brown-rimmed glasses today and looked like a shy professor. "No, Sal," Nell said. "I don't need a deed. I need information. And I think you are just the person to help me. I'm glad you're here."

"What kind of information?"

"That's what I'm not sure of, Sal. It's about Angie Archer."

Sal took off his glasses and pressed his back against the chair. He blinked several times, and Nell thought for a minute that a piece of dust had landed in his eye.

"Are you all right, Sal?"

"Yes." Sal put his glasses back on. "What about Angie Archer?"

"I understand she spent a lot of time over here," Nell began.

"A lot of time?"

"In your office."

"Why?" Sal looked down at some papers on his desk and frowned. He pressed his fingers against his temples as if Nell's questions had given him a headache.

Nell was puzzled. "I think she came to look up some old deeds for a project she was working on for the museum exhibit."

Sal's chest moved as he released some air. "Oh, yes, I remember now. She was working on a project. She worked over there." He pointed to the table with the computers.

"Did she ever talk about her work?"

"No, no. She worked hard while she was in here. She came in to work."

"I was just wondering if she might have come across some information that someone else might not want her to know about. Something that might put her in danger."

"What would that be?" Sal pushed his chair back a foot, as if putting distance between himself and Nell.

"I don't know. I was hoping you might know, Sal."

"Many people come in here, Nell. Angie Archer was just one person. Lots of people come in to research old deeds. Lots of people. I didn't really know Angie all that well."

Nell nodded. She was making Sal nervous, but she wasn't sure how to put him at ease. Perhaps a change in conversation. "It was so nice of you and Beatrice to help us with the packing the other day."

Sal's face hardened. "We shouldn't have messed with those private things. Beatrice shouldn't have done that."

"I think she was just trying to help, Sal."

Sal was silent. He took off his glasses again and looked at Nell. "I'm sorry I haven't been more of a help. But I'm afraid I have to get back to work now." He pointed to a stack of papers on his desk. "As you can see, I have a lot of things to do, a lot of responsibility."

Nell nodded. She stood and reached for her purse. "Well, if you think of anything, Sal, just let me know. I thought, well, when we met at Annabelle's, I thought you wanted to say something to me about Angie."

But Salvatore Scaglia had moved on to other things, and Nell's comment went without a response.

She'd been dismissed.

Nell was rarely the last person to arrive for Thursday-night knitting, but her confusing conversation with Sal Scaglia and a rash of last-minute phone calls had put her behind schedule. She parked her car on Harbor Road and hurried across the street, her basket of food in tow.

Ahead, she saw Gideon lumbering along the sidewalk. She quickened her step, thinking she'd say hello. Perhaps familiarity or knowing Gideon better would somehow ease her mind about the man, though she doubted it. Ben had taken her fears seriously when she had shared them with him the night before on the phone. Her instincts had always been keen, worth heeding, he said. But this time he thought she needed to back off. Izzy didn't spend much time at the store after hours, so she wasn't around the guy. Now Sam would be moving in. And if Nell had heard the man right, he was about to win the lottery or get a better job or take off on a fool ship--so he'd likely be moving on anyway. "Let it go, Nell," he had said. "Izzy will be okay."

When he reached the knitting store, instead of heading down the alley as he usually did, Gideon headed across the street.

That explains it,
Nell thought. Gideon wasn't reporting for security duty early after all; he was heading toward the Gull, fortifications for his night of duty.

Nell watched him walk down the street until he disappeared into Jake Risso's bar. "I hope he limits his intake," she murmured. The shops on Harbor Road needed his full attention, not one blurred with alcohol.

"Nell Endicott, what is this? Are you talking to yourself now?" Father Northcutt stood in front of her, a heavy sack from Brandley Bookstore in one hand. He wore his usual summer attire--a knit shirt and long walking shorts. He saved his collar and black suit for official visits, and claimed a knobby-kneed clergy with summer duds was much easier to approach, should anyone need a priestly ear.

Nell smiled at the priest. He'd been pastor at Our Lady of the Seas for as long as she'd been coming to the Cape with Ben--back when the elder Endicotts entertained the Sea Harbor church hierarchy on a regular basis--and he knew everyone in town, whether they came to his church or not. He was a bit preachy sometimes, Nell thought, but she supposed there were some who liked that. But no matter, underneath it all he was a teddy bear--a kind and gentle man.

"I was just hoping that Gideon was heading to Jake's for a hamburger or two," she said.

Father Northcutt looked down the street as Gideon disappeared into the tavern. "Jake tries to keep an eye on him, Nell. He knows that Izzy, Archie, and the others along this street depend on him, but . . ."

"But?"

"I don't know, Nell, it's not for me to say, of course. But Gideon may be better suited for other work."

"You're always the diplomat, Father. But I agree."

"I think he could be easily distracted, you know? Responsibility, diligence, and Gideon aren't three words your little knitting group could weave together easily. And he's a little too interested in the ladies, for one thing."

Nell thought of Angie alone in that apartment all those weeks. Did Gideon find her interesting? He had said as much.

"You know what I mean, Nell," the priest went on. "He's not a bad sort. And he comes to the eleven o'clock on Sunday semiregularly. He brings his mother, a strong, rather domineering little woman, if you'll excuse my brass assessment, but nevertheless, she's a faithful parishioner. But I'm thinking Gideon might be coming to watch the young summer ladies with their tans and little sundresses more than to hear the homily." He shrugged and his chins wobbled slightly above the open collar of his knit shirt. "Perhaps I'm not bombastic enough from the pulpit. What do you think, Nell?"