The Wedding Shawl (27 page)

“Add to that the fact that plenty of people saw them at the Palate that night, arguing,” Birdie added.

“And at least one person heard Tiffany say something about a baby,” Cass said.

“The autopsy report will be available soon,” Nell said. “That will put an end to any speculation.”

“Even if she wasn’t pregnant, maybe she wanted Andy to think she was? It’s a ploy as old as Methuselah,” Birdie said.

The thought wasn’t a new one, but no one wanted to dwell on it. The one thing they didn’t need was yet another motive for Andy to want Tiffany Ciccolo out of his life.

“Anyone hungry?” Ellie Hanson’s cheerful voice preceded her as she climbed up from the galley carrying a tray.

Nell and Izzy scurried to make room for it, collecting sunglasses and tubes of lotion from the teak table fastened to the deck.

“What luxury,” Nell said.

George appeared behind his wife carrying a pitcher of iced tea and a bottle of chilled wine.

“Our son is dropping anchor. The wind isn’t going to allow much of a sail, so we’re going to park out here for a while and just let you be. The swim ladder is ready to go if anyone wants to take a dip. Plenty of suits down below. Dinner at sunset.”

The long, elegant schooner bobbed and rolled gently, its white sails bright against the blue sky. It was as if they were alone in the world, and all around them, nature sang, holding them fast and firm and safe. Nell could feel the beginning of saneness seep slowly back into her body. “This could be habit forming,” she murmured.

Cass removed a linen cloth covering the tray. Fresh sushi, strawberries with yogurt and mint, lobster spring rolls with a spicy mustard sauce. Small bowls held almonds and dried cranberries.

“I’m in heaven,” Birdie said.

Ellie and George chuckled, clearly enjoying their guests’ pleasure, and disappeared below.

Cass filled a small plate and settled back. “I think we need more information from Andy. If there was someone else in Harmony’s life, it’s important.”

“Okay. That’s number one. Talk to Andy again,” Izzy said.

“Birdie and I also have several boxes of Tiffany’s things from her salon office that maybe we can go through if Sheila says it’s okay. The police have been through it once, but who knows?”

“Number two,” Birdie said.

“And maybe talk to Esther?” Izzy suggested. “She was Andy’s godmother, his mom’s good friend. Maybe she remembers something from that night.”

“Esther never forgets anything. Good idea,” Cass said. “She still remembers every single one of your speeding tickets.”

They laughed because it was true. Izzy had stacked up a few in her youth.

“Andy—Esther—the boxes from the salon office,” Birdie noted, as if writing a to-do list on a blackboard. “And Claire?”

Nell sighed. “It’s hard to know if this is simply too intrusive. She’s been through so much. But so has Andy, I guess. I’ll talk to her. See if she can remember anything from those weeks before Harmony died.”

“Especially if there was another man in her life.”

Nell nodded.

“And if there was more to the look she gave Tiffany than we think. From what we saw, Aunt Nell, she had strong, awful feelings about Tiffany.”

That was true enough. Nell remembered the look with utmost clarity. But the thought of Claire doing anything to Tiffany was beyond what her imagination could handle. Unless Claire thought Tiffany had had something to do with Harmony’s death.

“And we saw her headed toward the salon the night Tiff died,” Birdie added.

They were right, both Birdie and Iz. And they all knew that liking someone didn’t always mean a lot. Not when someone had been murdered.

“Moving forward, in time anyway,” Cass said, “we think Tiff was in love with Andy, and upset about something.”

“And shortly after a fight with Andy, she was dead.”

“In her office,” Nell said.

“Probably by someone she knew.”

“A motive. We desperately need a motive. What did she know? Who was threatened by her?” Birdie slid back on the cushioned bench until her head rested against the cushions.

The questions hung in the sea air like gulls waiting to dip into the water for a snack.

They refilled plates and sipped their wine, their thoughts and questions finally fading beneath the magic of the sun and sea. Nell looked over at Birdie, her feet up on the bench, her hat covering her closed eyes.

Cass and Izzy followed her look and laughed softly at their sleeping friend. They uncurled themselves from the benches and went below to see if there were swimming suits that fit.

In minutes they were down the back ladder and after a quick swim climbed into the plump inner tubes Ellie had thrown overboard. Nell watched them, their lean bodies growing limp in the bright yellow floats.

She stood at the top of the ladder and snapped a few pictures, then reclined in the seat, enjoying the moment. It was perfect, and no matter that their conversation wasn’t about weddings as Sam had hoped, their spirits were revived and the week’s frustration was drifting away on the gentle sea.
Hope.
In addition to everything else, the day had instilled them with hope.
This, too, would pass.

By the time Izzy and Cass had climbed back on board, showered, and dressed, Ellie was fussing around, setting the table for a sunset dinner, and the schooner was gently heeling as their son began a wide turn toward the setting sun.

True to George’s word, Ellie’s dinner was amazing—Swiss chard drizzled with a champagne balsamic vinegar dressing, crunchy coconut crab cake appetizers, grilled asparagus spears—and the most amazing chutney-glazed snapper Nell had ever eaten.

Stuffed and sleepy, they sat on the deck with Ellie, extolling the trip, the food, a day that had brought life to their lives.

George wandered back and forth along the roped side, helping his son and basking in the compliments.

“It was a perfect day,” Nell said. “Thanks, George.”

“It’s what we do, me and Ellie—and Bart, when we can get him. Another son helps out, too. We’re following a dream.”

“Quite a nice one. Hank has nice friends. How do you two know each other?”

“Our families knew each other. But we became friends in college. We both had dreams—we were into proving things, I guess. We both wanted to build something of our own. Neither of us fit into the corporate lives our fathers lived. I grew up on these waters in the summertime, sailing. I wanted to see if I could make a living at it. I never really imagined doing anything else. Hank wanted a bar and grill, a place people liked to come to. We both got what we wanted.”

“And I’d guess, as idyllic as this is, you work harder than you ever imagined.” Nell thought about Gracie Santos, working so hard to open her little café. And Willow, taking over her father’s gallery and proving to herself that she could make him proud. And her own niece, following her dream of owning a yarn shop, working day and night to make it happen. Hank and his friend George. So many strong, determined people following their dreams.

Ellie confirmed Nell’s words. “Even when you’re living a dream, it can be grueling work sometimes.”

“Shore ahead,” Bart bellowed from the bow.

Slowly, as they made their way into the harbor, the sun slipped soundlessly behind the inward edge of Cape Ann.

Reluctant to leave, they followed one another slowly onto the pier, lugging their bags and walking silently side by side toward shore. Above, the moon was bright, the stars blinking like tiny white Christmas lights across the sky.

It couldn’t have been more perfect, they all agreed.

“Ben left the car on the far side of the parking lot, over near the park,” Nell said, pulling her keys from her purse. The parking lot light near the SUV was out, but they found the car easily by the light of the moon, and Nell unlocked the back for their bags.

Cass dropped hers in first, then stepped back to make room for Izzy and Birdie. She looked at the car from a distance and frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Nell said, looking back. The look on Cass’ face was strange.

“I don’t know. But something is.” She walked around the side of the car and stared down at the cement.

“Damn.”

The single word punctuated the night, slicing through the fragile peace they’d carried back to shore.

They all hurried around to where she stood, following the stare that led them to the bottom of the car, now perilously close to the concrete surface of the parking lot.

Every tire on Nell’s car was completely and utterly flat.

Chapter 25

S
am and Ben arrived in minutes. They’d been next door at the Ocean’s Edge, having a drink and catching up with some friends, when Nell called.

“Don’t worry,” Nell said. “The car is okay. It’s just a flat… . Well, four flats, I suppose.” Her voice was steady.
Call AAA and we’ll be fine,
it said.

Sam walked around the car, poking at the wheels, tapping the hubcaps. Ben followed him with a flashlight.

Danny Brandley had been at the Edge with them, too. He stayed and paid the tab, then came down to the pier, arriving minutes later. He stood now with the huddled group of women, listening to the part of the day that had been untouched by flat tires. A memorable day, they told him. The kind you tuck away in a corner of your mind and pull out on a cold, windy winter day to make you warm all over again. Perfect.

Until now.

When Sam finally straightened up and walked to the back of the car, the expression on his face was grave. Ben stood beside him, his cell phone in his hand.

“Who are you calling?” Nell asked. AAA was the answer she hoped for, but she knew before he punched in the number that it wouldn’t be his first call. The tires had been balanced less than a month before. They were in good shape, good condition.

“I’m calling the police. The tires have been slashed, every single one of them,” he said.

For the second time in a single day, Tommy Porter found himself in the thick of petty crime, or so he described it. “First a messedup room with nothing stolen, far’s we can tell. And now some goofball has screwed your tires. I hate vandalism. No reason, just ornery kids.”

“But it’s not a petty crime, Tom,” Ben said. “Neither of these events is petty, not if they’re connected to a murder.”

Tommy was silent.

Nell suspected those were Tommy’s thoughts, too. But he knew protocol, knew not to alarm innocent bystanders.

He forked his fingers through a swath of thick hair, pushing it back off his forehead.

“You could use a haircut, Tommy,” Birdie suggested, trying to ease his discomfort.

“Sure could, Miz Birdie.” He pulled a dog-eared notebook from his pocket and looked around at the circle of faces.

And even though Nell was like an aunt to him and he’d known Birdie all his life and had been half in love with Izzy for a lot of those years, he was a good officer who played by the rules. He’d ask all the questions. He’d dot his i’s and cross his t’s and, in the end, write a report that would cover everything, even the things that made no difference.

“Now, where did you say you’ve been today?” He pulled out a stubby pencil and started scribbling on the spiral pad. Nell and Birdie dutifully filled him in while the others stood off to the side talking quietly. They knew that where they’d been or where they were going or who owned the schooner didn’t make a whit of difference. But Tommy asked for the information, so they would give it to him. And at the end of it all, they would tell Tommy what they firmly believed to have happened in the harbor parking lot.

Someone wanted to send a message to Izzy and Cass, to Birdie and Nell, and that person wanted them to hear it loud and clear.

Mind your own business,
the slashed tires said. The words roared around the parking lot as if shouted from the steeple of Our Lady of the Seas.

Mind your own business … or else.

They were tired and sunburned, but not ready to leave one another, so they gathered at the Ocean’s Edge restaurant for a nightcap. The hostess led them through the dining room to the cozy lounge, filled with leather couches around low tables and a skylight that brought the moon inside. Open windows all along the back framed the harbor, lit now with the lights of boats bobbing in the black water. In the background, music played and occasional hoots of laughter pierced the air from Saturday night revelers. Cheers from the bar broke out at every Sox pitch replayed on the huge flat television screen.

Tommy had told them that they’d question people—but on a Saturday the park area next to the lot was always packed. Dogs, Frisbees, families and kids, tourists watching the parade of boats. And all day long people would be driving in and out of that lot, pulling picnic baskets and kites and bikes out of the backs of SUVs. Who would notice someone bending down near the side of a car?

“A needle-in-a-haystack kind of search,” Tommy had said. “But we’ll sure give it our all. You can bet on that.”

Ben ordered drinks for everyone and a pot of ginger tea for Nell, who couldn’t rid herself of a slight chill.

Ben’s face was grim. “It’s gotten serious; you all know that.” He looked around at them. “You’ve been noticeably involved in all this—from discovering the body, the break-in at Tiffany’s house, cleaning out her office. People talk. People know those things.”

“But who knew my car would be in the lot today? We didn’t even know that until you gave me the keys, Ben.”

The silence was ominous. Filled with each of them searching through the day, the party at Sam’s. Finally Cass said, “It doesn’t make any difference. We can make a list of people who knew the four of us were on the schooner today. But Nell’s car is noticeable. She still has bumper stickers from the last presidential election on her car.”

“And from last year’s Save the Arts campaign,” Izzy added.

It was true. People in Sea Harbor knew one another’s cars, for better or worse. And ones with distinctive markings especially.

“So … the person who did this, the person who murdered Tiffany, is someone who knows us,” Cass said. “Someone who knows the kind of car Nell drives. That’s personal.” She took a long drink of the beer Ben had ordered for her and sat back.