A Fatal Fleece (19 page)

Father Northcutt was silent, his balding head bent low for a moment, as if he were saying a prayer. Finally he looked up. “Yes, there is something else. He’d asked me to keep it private, but it will come out. It’s not important to keep it a secret any longer. Here’s the thing. Our dear Finn thought himself invincible—and he wanted everyone else to think of him that way, too. But he wasn’t. Several months ago, he came to me and asked me to pray for him.”

Father Larry chuckled, remembering. “
You’re talking prayer with me?
I said to him.
Well, that calls for a drink.
So I got out a pint of Irish whiskey, and the two of us sat on the rectory porch for a long time, talking about life, pulling up memories of his lovely Moira, things he held close to his heart. Not so much about prayer, though, so I was beginning to think it was the whiskey he wanted.

“But finally he came out with it, and he told me he had cancer. A bad kind. He’d decided not to fool around with the hospitals and mess of medicine they offered.
All poison,
he said. He’d joked that he’d just live his life, then go out in his boat one day when it was time, and that’d be it.
Like some Native Americans did,
he said. Only they went into the forest and found a good final resting bed of pine needles to cushion them. For a fisherman, though, didn’t I agree that a boat would be best? Just to drift off into the great blue beyond?

“He had months to live, though, as best the doctors could figure out. Maybe a year. He made me promise to keep it between the two of us. He didn’t want people looking at him different, he said, as if he had two heads. Or be coming around his place, looking sad.”

Father Larry took a drink of water, put the glass down, and sat back in the leather chair, his plump fingers folded over the rise in his middle.

“He told me not to get any highfalutin ideas about him starting to go to church, but maybe we could meet now and then down at the water, have a Guinness. Talk a bit. So we started doing exactly that.
Two old Irishmen sharing a pint. We’d go out to Angus’ place sometimes. The old Scot would join us if he felt like it, sit out there on the rocks, watch the boats go by the island. We had good days. Even talked about the afterlife now and again, wondering how his Moira would welcome him.”

Nell felt her eyes fill. Dear Finn. So he
did
know things would be okay for Cass. He knew that after he died—and that it would probably be soon—the Halloran Lobster Company would once again have what it needed to thrive. He’d made sure of it.

Father Larry and Ben fingered through the pile of documents, allowing Nell some time to process a dear man being murdered—a man who was dying before the knife was ever wielded. And now a tangle of details to sort out, like the mess Purl made of skeins of wool, creating so many loose ends, they didn’t think they’d ever get it together again.

Nell started another row on Gabby’s sweater. She fingered the ribbing at the end of the sweater sleeve and imagined Gabby in the loose, swingy cardigan. Racing across a dock or flying down Harbor Road on Birdie’s bike. Climbing aboard the
Lady Lobster
or going out with Cass to see how real fishermen spent their day.

Her mind spun.
A lobster boat that can now get all the repairs it needs.
Or be replaced completely. A company that could repay its loans. Cass’ problems solved in an instant with a death . . . and an inheritance.

She looked up at the two men. They had fallen silent, still leafing through the papers but not seeming to pay much attention to the words. Every now and then they exchanged looks of concern.

Nell frowned at them. “What are you thinking? Surely it’s not that Cass had any idea this money would come her way when Finnegan died.”

They looked over at her for a moment without answering, as if they hadn’t heard the question. Ben picked up another stack of papers and leafed through them.

Nell answered her own question. “She didn’t know about this. She had absolutely no idea.” It was an answer that wouldn’t tolerate contradictions.

She knew it was true, and Ben did. Probably Father Larry did, too.

But it wouldn’t matter when the police looked at Finnegan’s will.

As they had all agreed the night before, the will was important. Money was a prime motive for murder. The will, they’d said, might change the whole investigation.

To make it worse, everyone knew Cass needed money desperately, probably more than any of the other money-hungry people waiting in the wings for the distribution of Finnegan’s possessions.

Ben stared at the stack of papers. “Because of the murder, they wanted to get the will here as soon as possible, but perhaps we’ll learn more when we go through the rest of Finnegan’s papers. They’ll be here in a few days.”

“What could they be?”

“Nothing vital, the law clerk said. A few notes addressed to people. A couple of legal documents, but nothing to do with the will. That’s all right here.”

Notes to people
. Nell tucked that aside. Cass’ note was already here. But Finnegan had written someone else.

“But no matter how you look at it, we’ve our work cut out for us.”

“Yes, there’s work to be done,” Father Larry said. “But before we do anything, we need to talk to our Irish lass and let her know her life is about to change.”

“What’s up?” Cass showed up a few hours later, dressed for work in rolled-up jeans and an old T-shirt. She stood in the middle of the family room. “Pete and I are dropping some traps out near the island today. He’s got a crew of new kids working for him, and I said I’d help train them.”

“Do they absolutely need you?” Ben asked.

Cass pulled her brows together, instantly on alert. “Why?”

“We have some things we need to talk about. It might take a while.”

Father Northcutt appeared in the den doorway, and Cass’ face went pale.

“Jeez,” she said. “What is this? The last rites?”

They laughed, but nervously, and Cass fished her phone out of her jeans pocket to call Pete. “This better be good,” she mumbled as she punched in her brother’s number.

Hours later, Cass was still sitting next to Nell on the love seat, a sheet of white paper wobbling on her knees. The only difference in her position from two hours before was the glass of water Ben had put into her hand.

“Finnegan was sick?” Cass repeated once again, as if multiple repetitions would make it clearer. The soppy tissue in her hand did little to catch a fresh river of tears.

Nell felt the same sadness. It was a strange emotion, to be grieving over a friend’s dire diagnosis days after that friend’s murder.

“Somehow, if only I had known . . .” Cass said.

But there wasn’t an end to that sentence. Finnegan didn’t want any of them to know. And if they had, what could they have done?

“He told me things would be all right,” Cass said. “I was miffed at him for being a Pollyanna and not the straight shooter he usually was. He had no idea if things would be all right for the Halloran company, I told him. But he did . . . he’d made sure of it . . .” Then she looked down at the tear-stained piece of paper again and said for the fiftieth time, “This doesn’t make sense. Why would he do this?”

“It’s all legal. We spent hours checking things out. The witnesses, the dates. The only things we haven’t had a chance to establish are the monetary amounts in savings accounts and, of course, the value of the house and land. But we know it’s worth a lot.”

“But why me?” She took a long drink. And then her eyes watered up again and she wiped them with a fresh tissue Nell put in her hand. She rested her head back against the couch and looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, Finn. What were you thinking, you crazy old man, you?”

It wasn’t clear to any of them exactly how Cass felt about the windfall. Her money problems, her father’s business, her boat and
truck problems could suddenly be a thing of the past, but as they all sensed in undefined ways, windfalls sometimes carried their own secret storms.

Cass was relieved. Profoundly worried. Happy. Sad. And puzzled by an old man for whom she had made a yellow fleece. “Do you suppose it was the fleece vest?” she asked now, trying to lighten things. “I know he really liked it, but this is some thank-you.”

“Maybe he explained it in that note,” Nell said, pointing to another piece of paper, this one a note card envelope with flowers embroidered across the top; something that must have belonged to Moira. It had been attached to the copies of the will and was addressed to Cass.

Cass tore it opened, and then, when her eyes grew watery, handed it to Nell.

Nell put on her glasses and began reading the list of things Finn had written to Cass in his distinctive scrawl:
“Here’s why I’m doing this, kid. You are kind and just (and a little ornery like me—I like that), you know right from wrong, you will make sure the money and land are handled fairly, and you will not hurt people. Patrick and Mary Halloran raised you right, Cassoulet.”

Nell looked up. “Maybe the most important reason is what he says so clearly at the end of this—he loved your father, Patrick, he loved the Halloran Lobster Company, he loved your family. They became his family when he had none, and he trusted all of you. The Hallorans treated him right.”

“That’s it—he trusted you, Cass,” Ben said. “Trust was important to Finn, and he knows you’ll do the right thing with this inheritance.”

“Does my mother know?” She looked over at Father Northcutt. He was packing up a briefcase, getting ready to leave.

Mary Halloran was at the church every day. If it wasn’t to light vigil lights for her children, it was to work in the office, handling the programs Our Lady of Safe Seas sponsored, paying bills, and forcing good eating habits on the pastor. A part-time job she took as seriously as if she were president of the Sea Harbor bank.

“Sure and she doesn’t, Catherine. This is your business. Yours to own, yours to tell.” The kindly priest walked over to Cass and laid one hand on her shoulder. “As Francis Finnegan so wisely said,
You’ll do what is right.
And you will.”

Izzy and Sam showed up unexpectedly a short while after Father Northcutt left.

A whim, Izzy said.

Coupled with the fact that Nell hadn’t answered her last three text messages, and Pete told Sam that Cass had deserted him earlier in the day.

“So what gives? Why are you three gathered here like this? You look funny—”

By then Ben, Nell, and Cass had moved out to the deck to watch dusk settle over the ocean—lacy strands of violet and purple and crimson floating across the sky, deepening into night. Ben had replaced the water goblets with thin-stemmed martini glasses and stood at the bar, carefully dropping an olive in each.

“What are we missing? What’s going on? Where is everyone? Talk to me.”

Cass looked away from the sky. The tears had dried up, but the shock was just beginning to ebb and surprise still filled her face.

“Cass, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Sam said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m rich,” she said softly.

Izzy looked at her and smiled. “Sure, you are. We all are. Look at that sky.”

“No, Izzy. Rich as in paying off the Halloran company loan and still being able to eat. Rich as in buying a toaster . . . or a truck.”

“We read Finnegan’s will today.” Ben handed Cass a glass and then returned to the bar to add more drink and ice to his shaker.

“He left everything to Cass,” Nell finished.

Izzy’s mouth fell open. She snapped it shut and walked over to Cass, prying the martini glass from her fingers. After a swallow, she returned it and sat down next to her friend. “I think you’re serious.”

“Deadly.” Cass dropped her head in dismay at the bad choice of words.

“That’s great. Amazing.” Sam took a glass from Ben and handed it to Izzy. “You’re gentry, Cass—a landowner.”

While Ben filled them in on the details, Nell went inside and rummaged around in the refrigerator. She returned with a tray of manchego and Havarti cheese, a basket of toast rounds, and small chunks of marinated tuna with a small pot of mustard. A pitcher of ice water.

“There.” She set it down with a pile of napkins on a low table near the chairs. None of them had eaten much all day, she suspected, and although Ben’s martinis would take the edge off this surprising day, the drinks were best handled with something in the stomach.

Izzy was putting perspective to the news—the fact that not only would this make the Halloran company healthy, but Cass could finally help her mother get an air conditioner. And her dear friend might laugh more—like she used to.

“I can’t really think about any of that yet,” Cass said. “I can’t. Not until this is all settled. Officially settled. It doesn’t seem real, and we may wake up tomorrow and find out it was all a joke.”

“It’s not a joke, but you’re right about taking it slow,” Ben said. “Settling an estate takes a little time, though, as best I could tell, Finnegan’s will was pretty cut-and-dried as to what he wanted. Things like that move faster here than in the big cities. Father Larry is executor, and though Finn never mentioned it to me, apparently I’m the Sea Harbor attorney on record to help see this through the court.”

“So you’re in the best of hands,” Nell said.

“God and the martini maker,” Cass said. Then she stood and wrapped her arms around Ben in a tight squeeze. “Thank you,” she said in a husky voice.

They watched the wave of emotions sweep over Cass. To go from almost losing her father’s business to owning a valued piece of land in minutes. But it wouldn’t be without its bumpy road, not with a murder investigation in full swing, an unknown body buried on the land Cass had just inherited, and a relative waiting in the wings.
It gave Nell a headache to think of what the rumor mill might do with this.

Izzy speared a piece of tuna with a toothpick and dipped it in mustard. She plunged into the topic that had been lurking in the background, a part of the conversation without ever being spoken aloud. “What about Finn’s daughter?”

Ben cleared his throat. “Well, that’s a bit of a mystery,” he said. He chose his words carefully, letting them know there was more to come, things they might be interested in. “Over the years, Finn actually made out three wills. One when he married Moira that left everything to his wife, as you’d expect. And then he finally got around to making a new one—a second one—last year. Old man Angus witnessed it.”