The Wedding Shawl (26 page)

“Tiffany was murdered because she had something that someone wanted,” Izzy said.

“Or it was something incriminating. But incriminating to what?”

“Harmony Farrow’s death. It has to be,” Cass said.

“That would be the link. Tiffany knew something about what really happened to Harmony that night.”

Nell idled the car once again in Birdie’s driveway. “But why wouldn’t she have told anyone? The police, Claire …”

“If she knew the killer, she certainly would have,” Izzy insisted. “She couldn’t have lived with that. Harmony was her best friend.”

“But what if she thought it would have incriminated someone she cared about. And that maybe it was more of an accident. So she protected that person.”

Cass bit down on her bottom lip. She stared out the window. Birdie played with the strap on her backpack, and Nell’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel.

Izzy sighed. “Our brains are on overload. I find myself looking for clues in wedding invitations, being suspicious of people who are sending regrets. As if not coming to my wedding makes them murder suspects. This is crazy.”

That was exactly what it was. Crazy. Ridiculous. And the only way to sort it all out was to do what they did best. Get out their knitting, do some frogging to get rid of the dead ends, and begin to knit it all back together again. Weaving in loose ends. Filling in holes. And then they would know who killed Tiffany Ciccolo. Nell looked at Birdie, then turned and looked in the backseat at Izzy and Cass.

“I don’t know if our ‘surprise’ today will have us in a bar or a salon, in a movie or on a train ride, but bring your knitting and comfortable clothes. Prepare for any alternatives, because we’ve some work to do.”

Chapter 24

S
am and Ben did it up right, blindfolds and all. But the smell of the sea and the groaning wooden boards beneath their feet refused to be disguised.

They stood out on a pier, each of them gripping an arm of Ben’s or Sam’s, chins lifted into the salty air for balance.

“Be quiet for a minute and listen. Then the blinds come off,” Sam said sternly.

“This was Sam’s idea,” Ben began. “It came to him last night between muddling mojitos, grilling the haddock, and feeling the stress of the week emanating from your lovely bodies. So all the guys put their heads together and came up with this plan. Here’s the deal.”

Izzy fidgeted next to Sam and touched the cloth covering her eyes. Sam took her hand away, then kept it wrapped in his own.

“We’re crazy about the four of you,” Sam said. “That’s number one. And number two, we know you better than you know yourselves sometimes. Here’s what we know up front and is not subject to debate: You’re the damnedest, most stubborn women it has been our pleasure to meet. The only way you’ll relax is if we take you away from civilization for a few hours with nothing to do but enjoy each other and be pampered a little. And make my bride-to-be think of the amazing life ahead of her instead of all the worries rolling up and down Harbor Road.” He squeezed Izzy’s hand.

“Drumroll,” Ben said, and they slipped the folded scarves from each of the women’s eyes.

Docked in front of them, at the deepest end of the pier, was a fifty-foot schooner, its three sails already hoisted and silhouetted against the blue sky.

Their surprised yelps collided midair.

“A schooner! Sam, are you crazy?” Izzy said, her face bright with excitement.

“Maybe a little. Think of it as your bachelorette party.”

“Whose boat is this?” Cass was clearly in awe. “It’s a beauty. Pure luxury.”

“Hank Jackson knew a guy who knew a guy, wealthy frat brother, we think. He called him last night from Sam’s, pulled in some favors, and voilà—”

“But …” Nell looked dubious. “Ben, none of us has ever sailed a schooner… .”

“And that’s why the boat comes with a crew.” They walked closer and watched a fit man with a tan face and laugh lines fanning from his eyes climb up out of the cabin. Behind him, a woman in shorts and a blue denim shirt waved. “We’re all ready for you, ladies. All aboard?”

“We’re going sailing,” Birdie said. Her voice lifted along with her entire face. “How glorious. You are truly delightful men. We shall keep you. Now, if you’d be so kind as to gather our bags?” She walked over to the boat and accepted the broad flat hand that reached out to steady her. “My Sonny would be in his glory.”

“Wait up, Birdie,” Cass yelled, excitement dripping from her voice. “You’re not going without me.”

Nell turned to look up at Ben. She started to say something, but he pressed a finger against her lips. “Enjoy,” he whispered, and slipped a set of car keys into her hand. “We’ll leave your car in the parking lot for the return trip.”

They looked at Izzy and Sam, arms wound around each other.

“It’s a calm day,” Sam said to her. “I ordered that, too. Didn’t want to take any chances. Can’t lose you now with all these people coming to town expecting a wedding.”

“This is … it’s …”

Sam looked over the top of her head. “Ben, could you video this with your iPhone? Izzy is at a loss for words.”

Izzy wiped a tear away, kissed Sam soundly on the lips, and hurried after Nell.

“You know they just wanted to keep us from snooping around, don’t you?” she said to Nell’s back, her voice still thick with emotion.

Nell nodded. She knew.

On board, George Hanson introduced himself and his wife, Ellie. “Ellie’s the best cook on the Atlantic, bar none,” he bragged. “Everything fresh, wholesome, incredible.”

“Food? We get food, too?” Cass said.

In minutes they were happily settled on the comfortable aft deck while George guided the schooner along the harbor and out to the open sea. “Won’t be too exciting today with this low wind,” he shouted back to them. Ellie passed out big floppy hats.

“And that is just dandy with me,” Birdie said, tugging on her hat. “A gentle sail will suit this sailor just fine.”

“Look,” Cass said, pointing to the shore as they passed the banks of the Canary Cove Art Colony.

Merry Jackson stood waving wildly on the rocky strip of land below the Artist’s Palate. Then she picked up a hand-lettered sign that read: AHOY, MATIES. HAVE FUN!

“It looks like this wasn’t a secret to anyone but us,” Izzy laughed. “Sneaky friends.”

“We’re usually booked up this time of year,” Ellie told them. “But right before Hank called last night, our charter for today canceled. Karma. So settle back, enjoy yourselves, and nibbles will be ready shortly.”

“Amazing,” Izzy said. She pulled her bare legs up on the cushioned bench, wrapped her arms around them, and leaned her head back, her hair flying in the breeze. “Heavenly.”

“Ben and Sam are as transparent as glass. This is their subtle way of keeping us out of trouble,” Nell said. “Izzy’s right.”

“Works for me,” Cass said.

“But instead, what they’ve given us is what we’ve desperately needed,” Birdie said, pulling her nearly finished sweater from her bag. It was coming along nicely. Mary could wear it in the fall on Coffee’s patio when the weather turned chilly. The rich caramel color would look wonderful on her. “They’ve given us this amazing together-time away from phones and customers and computers, from errands and lobster boats, meetings and cooking. Time away from Sea Harbor. It’s deliciously perfect.” Caught up in the drama of her monologue, Birdie waved her knitting needles in the air and went on.

“We need to look back on our town from a distance so we can see the whole forest. We’re outside the box, my dear friends. And I think that being away from Sea Harbor and our daily lives will give us fresh perspective on why a young woman was murdered in our town. And her best friend died suspiciously nearly fifteen years before. We’ve a week to do it.”

“A week?” Cass’ head appeared in the cabin opening, where she’d been examining George’s elaborate computer setup. She climbed up the steep steps and settled in next to Izzy. “Why a week?”

“Izzy and Sam get married in two weeks.
Two
weeks,” Birdie said. “We have to bring some closure to this before we move into her wedding week. That gives us one week to bury all this.” She tried to soften her demand with a smile at Izzy. “I don’t want a distracted drummer playing at your reception, dear.”

Izzy took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “It’s not just the wedding, though. It’s the town, the heavy cloud that hangs over it. All the people who are affected by this—that’s what I worry about.”

“And that’s what I mean, sweetie. Lots of people’s lives have been disturbed; you’re right.”

“Birdie’s right,” Nell said. “And we can figure this out in a week if we put our heads together.”

Birdie took the lead. “It’s a mess. There are more dangling ends to this than in that first sweater we forced Cass to make for her mother.

“So let’s agree on something before we start: There
is
a connection between Harmony’s and Tiffany’s deaths.”

They all nodded, although running beneath their conviction was the police report that Ben had seen. It said no facts had been found linking the two deaths. In fact, while Tiffany’s death was clearly intentional, no concrete facts indicated that Harmony’s death was more than an accident.
Suspicions
were all the police had. And that was only because a neighbor saw two people going into the woods that night—and no one came forward to report her drowning.

“So maybe the same person killed both?” Izzy pulled out a silky lace-weight yarn in cobalt blue and squeezed it gently.

“That’s a hypothesis we could work with,” Nell said. “Although maybe we should say the same person is connected to both.”

“What do you mean?” Cass looked at Izzy’s yarn, then rummaged around in her own pack and pulled out a ball of soft wool. A mannish color—tweedy gray with flecks of black.

Perfect for Danny, Nell thought. A hat maybe, or gloves. Who would have thought that a man—a knitter, no less—would be the incentive they’d needed to make a more enthusiastic knitter out of Cass.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Harmony’s death—and I talked to Danny about it since he’d done a little research,” Birdie said. “They never proved that it was a murder—we need to keep reminding ourselves of that. I think that’s why it became a cold case so quickly. There were scratches on her body, but the police think it was from the fall down the side of the quarry. There were signs that someone else was there, but she wasn’t choked or hit with anything. That quarry was steeper than some, and the sides have shrubs and branches sticking out from the sides. She tried to grab on to them, they think.”

“But she could have been pushed.”

“That’s true. And that’s unanswered. But she also could have accidentally fallen off the edge,” Nell said.

Birdie frowned. “But if she wasn’t alone, and it was an accident, then why …”

“Didn’t the person with her save her?” Cass finished.

“Exactly,” Birdie said. “Jump in after her.”

“That’s why it’s suspicious, I suppose. Someone was with her. She died, and no one ever came forward with information. If it was a pure accident, why?”

Nell thought of Claire having to deal with the knowledge that someone had been with her daughter that night—and let her die. Why? Did Claire think that person was Andy Risso? Or … The thought came to her with a jolt—Tiffany Ciccolo? Could that explain her feelings about her daughter’s best friend?

“Tiffany told the police that after Andy and Harmony disappeared, she left the party, too. She went home to an empty house, walking the three miles in new heels and crying the entire way,” Nell said.

“A first fact, then—Andy was with Harmony that night,” Cass said, pulling their thoughts together. “No one disputes that. People saw them together.”

“At the party,” Izzy said. She began casting on the soft blue yarn with the authority of one who sees the exactness of the stitch through the play of her fingers on the needles. “I asked Andy about that last night. He followed her across the parking lot, like people said. And he was angry. But that was it, the last time he ever saw her.”

“So why was she leaving alone? He was her boyfriend, right?”

“He said they’d been having some problems for a while. He really loved her, I think. But he’s sure she was meeting someone else that night. She’d been distracted most of the spring, he said. She wouldn’t show up at his house to study when she said she would, that kind of thing. That night, she climbed in her mother’s car, locked the door so he couldn’t stop her, and drove away.”

“Where did Andy go then?” Cass asked.

“He tried to find her. He drove all over town. Her house, Tiffany’s place. He spent all night looking for her,” Izzy said.

“Which leaves him without an alibi that night.” Birdie frowned.

“But if we can figure out who was with Harmony, Andy might not need an alibi.”

“I wonder if Tiffany suspected there was someone else in Harmony’s life,” Izzy murmured, her fingers counting the cast-on stitches.

“She said she knew all of Harmony’s secrets.”

The boat rocked gently as they played with their thoughts. The sun beat down on the deck, warm and relaxing. The wind was light and cool, the salty spray refreshing.

Cass leaned her head over the side, her eyes closed, letting the wind whip her hair back. “I think Tiffany really thought Andy was with Harmony that night, no matter what he said. If she was watching them from the gym entrance, she couldn’t have seen what was happening out in the parking lot. She probably thought they got in the car together and drove off.”

“That’s what she told Sheila,” Nell said. “I think Cass is right. Tiffany would have no reason to lie to her sister.”

“So the secret, the one Tiffany said she’d take to her grave, had to be something else,” Izzy concluded.

“I think when we find that out, we will be a lot closer to knowing why Harmony died. And maybe why Tiffany did, as well.”

When we find out …
Birdie’s words echoed in Nell’s head. Not if, but when. A commitment.

“Andy has no alibi for the night Tiffany was killed, either. He was walking around trying to get his head on straight, he said,” Izzy said.