Death by Cashmere (32 page)

"Margarethe thought he looked a little pale at the restaurant," Nell said.

"That young chef loves Angus," Izzy said. "He watches out for him--Angie used to tell me that--and I don't think he even charges Angus half the time."

"Well, they are still probing, trying to figure it out. For now, I think we need a diversion," Ben said. "How about a Sam Perry showing?"

"Yes," said Izzy. "That's a good idea. You'll love the shots we got today."

While Ben, Nell, and Izzy rinsed the plates and got out the ice cream, Sam hooked his camera up to the television screen. "Those quarries are magnificent," he said. "I thought of this summer as kind of a hiatus--a little break from my work with some teaching tossed in for fun. But I'm finding that everywhere I look there's something that draws out my camera."

They settled on the couches and leather chairs near the television, and Sam clicked onto the first digital image. It was on the trail, leading into the quarry. Wild flowers, sweet fern and bay bushes hugged the path and in the distance was a blue opening, clear and beckoning. But the spectacular images were of the quarries themselves, dropped down in the middle of the land, clear round bowls of water with jagged granite rock in oranges and pinks and grays forming the sides. On the outcroppings of rock, flowers and bushes grew, masking some of the stone beneath. The water was so clear that it mimicked the scene above, reflecting the flowers, granite slabs, and bushes so that it was difficult in some photos to tell what was real and what was a mirrored image.

"These are wonderful, Sam," Nell said as the images played across the television screen.

"The first two quarries we came to were pristine like this. But there was one--we should come to some photos of it in a minute--that still had tools around, as if the men had just stopped for lunch and might be back soon. It was fascinating--not visually as appealing, but really interesting."

Sam clicked to the next photo, and they could see the metal tracks in the ground that once carried rail cars in and out. An old chipping tub rested against a tree, filled now with weeds and spindly ferns. The path was wide and firm enough to carry cars.

"Izzy decided next time we would drive in," Sam joked.

"Except there probably won't be a next time," Izzy reminded him. "Unless you can charm Margarethe into letting us come back."

"Would you please go back a photo, Sam?" Nell asked.

Sam clicked back. It was the same quarry, but the water-filled bowl was more in focus, and a narrow path ran along the side. Granite outcroppings coated with brown pine needles poked through the vegetation. "What's that?" Nell asked, pointing to a flash of light up in the left corner of the picture.

"That was me not minding the sunlight carefully enough," Sam said. "There was an old truck nestled near the trees, and the sun bounced off the front of it, making a flash."

"But it has an interesting effect."

"That quarry was especially interesting, though. I'd like to go back to it. On one side there were polished steps, almost like you'd find in a grand old house. It was an interesting sight."

Sam clicked through the rest of the slides, then moved on to a few he had taken of Izzy, her hair blown about her face by gusts of ocean air. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright.

"I think I want this whole last set," Nell said, loving the smile on Izzy's face. "Would you mind putting them on my computer before you leave?"

"Sam's photos are worth lots of money, Aunt Nell," Izzy said, rubbing her fingers together. "Better watch out or you'll get a whopping bill."

"Anyone who feeds me like the Endicotts do can have as many of my photographs as they want," Sam said. "Don't pay any attention to your saucy niece, Nell." Sam turned off his cameraand followed Ben into the den to transfer the photos to Nell's computer.

"Nell, I've been thinking a lot about why Angie came here to work. And the fact that she didn't plan on staying long. I think we are definitely missing something."

Nell nodded.

"And there's something else I was reminded about today at the quarries. One day when Angus came into the shop for coffee he told me how smart Angie was and that she knew all about land. She even knew about his own father, he said. I thought that was kind of odd."

"Well, Angus's father was a quarryman, just like he was, and Angie was working on that exhibit for the museum. So maybe she came across something about the McPherrons. That might explain why she spent so much time with him, too."

By the time the dishes were done and photos downloaded, Izzy declared it a day. "Playing hooky has its consequences," she said. "I need to go back to the studio and finish some paperwork while I'm still awake."

As they said their good-byes on the driveway, Nell's thoughts turned back to Sam's photographs. There was something odd, something that seemed a bit incongruous in the beauty that graced the Framingham quarries. But she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. Perhaps she'd look again tomorrow when she was fresh.

When Nell got back inside, Ben was sitting on the couch. In front of him, on the floor, were two cardboard boxes. He looked up as Nell walked into the room.

"Gideon's things?" she asked.

Ben nodded. "I've gone through them all. Mostly old clothes that I don't think anyone would want. Here's a whole stack of travel folders. Seems he was planning a trip." Ben picked up a folder and handed it to Nell. "Tahiti, Grand Cayman. Gideon had some dreams."

"With the money they found in his apartment, he could easily have gone to any of those places several times."

Ben nodded. "Father Northcutt said the money was in small bills--twenties, fifties, some hundreds. Someone was paying Gideon for something, and it wasn't his lobsters. He couldn't have made this much as a poacher."

"That's exactly what I think, Ben. Gideon was blackmailing Angie's murderer. He was there that night, and he saw someone kill Angie. I feel sure of it."

"And it was someone who apparently could afford to pay the blackmail money." Someone like Tony Framingham, Nell thought, but she kept the thought to herself. She could come up with no reason that Tony would do anything like that. He didn't like Angie, and she certainly didn't like him. But murder? And yet she couldn't shake the thought that Tony knew more about Angie's death than he was letting on. And he had been at the restaurant last night when Angus was poisoned, too. So many coincidences. So little motive.

Ben picked through the rest of the box, but besides the clothes, all Ben found were a few raggedy old paperbacks and girlie magazines, some cracked coffee mugs, and dirty fish line. The box didn't reveal much about Gideon. And it certainly wouldn't help out any of the shelters, either.

Ben leaned back against the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. "Tell me Nellie, what are we missing here? We have a dead young woman."

"Who started out on a date that night with a lovely young man and ended up at the breakwater. She went there for a reason--and it must have been important to her, or she wouldn't have left Pete the way she did."

"She was meeting someone. Someone who had a bone to pick with her, maybe."

"Josie said Angie was on a mission--she was in Sea Harbor for a reason," Nell said. "A 'project.' Josie assumed it was the job at the museum, but I don't think so. Angie had another agenda."

"Next, Gideon is killed, but not before he received a fistful of cash."

"And not before he ransacked Angie's apartment. Looking for what?"

"I would guess it was the computer," Ben said. "If someone killed Angie because she had something on them, or knew something, or found something, a computer could easily have clues. E-mails, scanned documents, even Web sites. Computers reveal more about ourselves than we know."

"Or it could have nothing. But whether it was true or not, the murderer probably wanted that computer--just to be safe."

"And Gideon was the kind of guy who could have been easily manipulated. Someone may have told him to go to the apartment and get it. But Sal got there first."

"Maybe Gideon asked for more money. He never struck me as being prudent," Nell said. "And the murderer decided to just end it all. And in a horrible, grisly way."

"The police say he was hit by a truck," Ben said. "They found some traces of fender near the road and were able to identify that much."

Nell winced. "Imagine, hitting someone that hard. Someone clearly wanted Gideon dead."

"And someone who knew where he went at night. It was a well-chosen location."

They fell silent then, both of them thinking of Angus. How did this sweet man fit into such an awful series of events?

When the phone rang, Nell jumped, startled at the intrusion into her thoughts.

Ben reached for the phone and Nell watched his face carefully. Good news or bad, she'd know in an instant--Ben's feelings appeared on his face sometimes before he had acknowledged them himself.

A slow smile appeared, then the shake of his head. He ran one hand through his hair. "Well, I'll be," he said. Then, "Thanks."

"Well?" Nell said when he hung up.

"It was Birdie. She said Angus woke up while she was there. He asked her to bring him a Sam Adams. Then asked if he had any mail."

Nell got up early the next morning and headed for the beach. Ben had a breakfast meeting, he said, and he'd see her later at home. They could tackle Gideon's other boxes then.

Running helped clear Nell's head, and today she desperately needed a head clearing. She ran north along the beach, passed vacation homes and cottages, then over the smooth beach of the yacht club. In the distance was the breakwater, the sun lighting up the huge slabs of granite that formed the barrier.

The breakwater was a beautiful structure in the morning, Nell thought, not treacherous, not a scene of something awful. Sunlight reflected off the smooth planes, pulling out the colors of the stone. Fishermen were already on its back, silhouetted against the morning sky as they cast their lines into the sea. On the near side, in the protected cove, lobster buoys vied with sailboats, their naked masts waving like trees in winter, stripped of leaves.

Nell slowed her pace to a walk, looking back at the yacht club, then out to the breakwater. In a small area on the edge of the club property, across a short span of beach from the breakwater, two stone benches and a table sat in shadows. A perfect meeting place for someone who didn't want to be seen by anyone inside, Nell thought. A private place to have a drink maybe, then walk out on the breakwater. Is that what Angie did that night? Meet someone for a drink, a talk. Then walk out along the stone where no one could hear the conversation. Where only the gulls and the lobsters would be their witnesses? Or was she becoming paranoid, jumping at thin straws that would break under scrutiny?

Nell walked from the table to the breakwater and out onto its wide expanse. She smiled at the fishermen, then stopped near the end and sat with her legs hanging over the side, the stone cool against her thighs. She looked down at the outcroppings leading down to the water and a narrow ledge, visible at low tide. If she were thirty-eight, like Gideon, she'd have no trouble climbing up or down. And none of the fishermen sitting at the top would even know she was down there. She sat for a while, thinking of Angie. Trying to think her thoughts. Did she sit out here, in this same spot, having a drink, talking, arguing maybe? And then the drug began to do its deadly work. Did she feel it, notice that her arms didn't work, her legs, her voice? Was the push gentle? A silent slide into a noisy sea?

Nell pulled herself up and walked slowly back toward the beach. She looked north, across the public beach and the small parking area. She could see the dead-end road from here, the one that ran up to the shamble of old cars, the road no one used. But Gideon had used it, headed that way with his sack of lobsters, toward his car. Probably happy. His life was good. And maybe it was going to get better, he'd be thinking.

Nell turned and began to jog back the way she came, along the clubhouse beach. Just on the edge of the yacht club property, she saw a familiar figure coming toward her. She picked up speed. She'd give a quick wave, a polite, "sorry, can't stop" kind of wave, and that would pass for politeness.

But Tony Framingham, in running shorts and his T-shirt stained with perspiration, came to a full stop several feet before Nell reached him. "Nell, we need to talk," he said.

Nell slowed, then came to a stop, her breath coming in jagged spurts. Sometimes the urge to be polite, no matter what, was a curse, she thought. Birdie would have been fine moving right past him, and she wouldn't have given it a second thought. Maybe she should take lessons.

"Good morning, Tony," she finally managed to say.

Tony's voice was even, unaffected by his fast-paced run. "We need to talk about Angie Archer," he began. He looked at the ground as if planning his words carefully. When he looked back at Nell his brows were pulled together, his voice unfamiliar, forced, as if he were negotiating a tough business deal. "You have to stop this crazy Sherlock Holmes bit. You and Izzy and the others have been asking questions all over town, making people uncomfortable, creating a bad vibe. It's over, Nell. The police know what happened. Mrs. Archer has accepted her daughter's death. Don't make it worse. Let it be."

"But I don't know what happened, Tony."

"Read the police report. I have. It makes sense."

"We all want it to be over, Tony. The police, all of us. Not knowing the ending is the worst thing of all. We can try to go on, but we won't really be able to do that. Not until we know for sure who killed her. And there are still too many missing parts. Things that don't add up. What happened to Angus, for example." Nell took a quick glance at the groups of children and moms unfolding their blankets on the sand and a smattering of runners soundlessly running along the shore. She could say what she liked here. She was completely safe.