A Fatal Fleece (20 page)

He’d caught everyone’s attention now and they moved closer. “The second will had several people in it. There was a sizable hunk for Cass and her family, a donation to the theater over in Rockport, another to Father Northcutt’s soup kitchen and some others. But the land—that went to Beverly.”

“Beverly,” Nell murmured.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Izzy said. “Even if they didn’t get along, she was his daughter.”

“But that’s not the final will,” Nell said.

“No. In fact, Finn took that second will and marked all over it, editing it like a madman, before he had the final will drawn up. It was almost as if he were taking his emotions out on a piece of paper. He crossed out every mention of Beverly—big black lines crossing out her name in a very definitive way. Angry strikes, Father Larry thought. A new one was drawn up, this one, which leaves everything to Cass.”

They were silent.

Finally Sam asked, “What’s the date on the final will?”

“A week before he died.”

“So what do you suppose happened?” Izzy asked, then answered her own question. “Beverly Walden must have done something really awful to make Finnegan that mad.”

“I’d guess you’re right. He also knew that Cass needed money for the company. And he also knew the cancer was getting a little worse. So instead of fiddling around with charitable donations, he gave it all to you, Cass, figuring you’d do whatever was right.”

“Does Beverly know?” Izzy asked.

“There’s no way she could. Father Larry is the executor and this is the first look he’s had of it. She may, however, have known she was in the second will. Angus wasn’t sure, but he thought there might have been some communication back then. She definitely didn’t know about him being sick.”

They all thought about that. Knowing he was ill would give one patience. Thinking Finn might live for another twenty years would not.

“This won’t sit well with her. She’s counting on that money,” Izzy said. “Making plans for it, in fact, according to Merry Jackson. She’s already confiscated Finn’s boat.”

Ben frowned. “She did what?”

“It had her mother’s name on it. Tommy Porter somehow got it off the property for her.”

“Not a smart move on Tommy’s part,” Ben said.

“I think he felt sorry for her. And he probably thought, like the rest of us did, that she’d inherit whatever Finnegan owned. What would it hurt to let her have the boat early?”

Ben didn’t seem convinced. He reached for a water pitcher and the martini shaker, refilling drinks, while Nell passed around little plates of tuna and cheese, encouraging people to eat.

“I have a favor to ask.” Cass looked over at Ben, then around the group. “Do you suppose we could not talk about Finnegan’s will with anyone—I mean, except for here? With just us? At least for right now?”

Ben nodded. “It’s usually best to file wills as soon as you can,” he said. “Sometimes there are taxes that need to be paid—that kind of thing. But once filed, they’re public property and everyone will have access to it. We can hold off a bit, though, until things settle down. And for sure until we find out what other surprises Finnegan might—”

A vibration in Cass’ pocket interrupted Ben. She pulled it out, read the name, and moved across the porch to take the call.

“It’s Danny,” Izzy said, reading her friend’s face.

“Are those two okay?” Nell asked as Cass walked off to take the call.

“I don’t know. Cass resents it when people want to help her. And Danny wants to help in the worst way. Her problems are eating him up. It’s different when it’s us, I think, though she doesn’t let us help, either. But at least she doesn’t resent us for it. Accepting help from Danny—in Cass’ crazy mind, anyway—signifies some kind of dependence or commitment, or whatever it is. Her reaction doesn’t always make sense, but I think it’s because she knows how much he cares for her. And it scares her half to death.”

Nell looked at her wise niece and agreed. But she’d go a step further. Deep down Cass cared deeply for Danny. And that scared her even more.

When Cass returned, she forced a smile to her face. “Danny’s back from Boston. He’s at my place, looking for me. Thinks I was swallowed by a lobster, I guess. I’m going to go fill him in. I owe him that. . . .”

“Owe him?” Izzy said with a frown. “That’s an odd way to put it, Cass. The guy’s crazy about you.” Her voice held a hint of irritation.

They all loved Danny Brandley, the tawny-haired, laid-back mystery writer who had given up an award-winning journalism career to write a novel in Sea Harbor. It’d been Cass who had pursued him, flirted with him, and pulled him into their circle. So they’d gotten to know him, become fond of him, liked his stories and his easygoing ways. And they were definitely against abandoning him, whatever might be going on between him and Cass.

Cass was silent. She took a deep breath and straightened up her shoulders. “You’re right. I
want
to see him, to tell him what’s going on.”

Nell walked her to the door and hugged her tight. “This is a good thing, Cass. Finn loved you. We all do. He wanted to make your life easier.”

“Then why do I feel as if I’ve robbed someone’s grave?”

“Because you have such a difficult time accepting things from people who love you. You haven’t robbed anyone, dear. Other people don’t factor into this right now. Accept that, and rejoice that Finn loved you.”

Nell watched her walk toward the truck, her dark hair tangled in the wind. She’d pulled herself up, straightened her back, and climbed into the truck with resolve.

What Finnegan had done
was
a good thing. Deep down Cass must know that and be relieved at what it could mean to the Hallorans. A dream come true for most people. And it wasn’t the old man’s fault that the dream was coated with enough complications to make the wonderful part almost invisible. It was someone else’s. Someone who had ended Finn’s life tragically. Someone Nell felt desperate to find.

Chapter 19

N
ell waited until a decent hour to call Birdie. She hadn’t heard a thing from her the night before and realized, suddenly, that there was no update on when Nick and Gabby were leaving Sea Harbor. Surely Birdie would insist they have time to plan a suitable farewell. Nick wouldn’t—couldn’t—just disappear with her into the night.

When Birdie’s voice mail clicked in, Nell left a message to call her back. “Soon, please,” she added before hanging up. She checked her calendar for the day, scribbled some notes on a to-do pad, and then walked around the kitchen, undirected. Where was her focus?

There were too many uncertainties in their lives. Perhaps that accounted for the restless night and tangled sheets.

She moved to the kitchen table, a breakfast nook that jutted out on the back of the house with windows on three sides. The tree house, Ben called it, and a perfect spot to begin a day. It was a sunny day, just as predicted. Early-morning rays filtered through the trees, falling on the small guesthouse tucked in the far corner, partially hidden now by the thick hedge of rugosa roses they’d planted for Izzy’s wedding the year before. The winding path through the woods was already trampled in place by neighborhood children taking a shortcut to the beach. The pathway to heaven, Izzy used to call it.

The beauty just outside the breakfast windows sometimes gripped Nell so tightly that she found it difficult to breathe. And it almost always helped her put things into perspective.

Today, the magic tonic eluded her. She felt discombobulated, muddled in thoughts that didn’t link together easily.

At first she thought the noise was from the backyard, a new group of giggling swimmers off for a day at the beach.

But the rattling of the front door said differently.

“The door was stuck,” Birdie said, walking across the family room. “For a minute I thought you had locked it, and then I would truly have worried.” She took a mug from the shelf and poured herself coffee, then walked to the kitchen table, her step missing its usual bounce.

Nell frowned, sensing her slowness. Her heart sank. “Gabby and Nick have left, haven’t they?”

“No. And they’re not going anywhere. Not for a while, anyway.”

“That makes you sad?” Nell got up and put two slices of bread in the toaster, then sat across from Birdie. “Tell me.”

“The police have labeled Nick a person of interest in Finnegan’s murder.”

Nell was silent.

“They’ve picked up things here and there, enough connections between the two men to want to talk to him. Sal Scaglia—probably trying to take the spotlight off his wife—mentioned that Nick had been in his office, looking for information on Finnegan’s land.”

Nell frowned, then remembered. Although just a few days ago, it seemed somehow longer, something she had to dig out of the shadows of her memory. Nick had just come back from Italy. Birdie had thought he was working at the B and B that morning, but someone had seen him going up the courthouse steps. That must have been where he was going.

“So the police went to the courthouse, and sure enough, there was his name, signed in to look at deeds. And to make it worse, Nick had talked to people at Coffee’s that day, asking about the land, questions about the owner, the building on the land, the offices people rented—those sorts of things.”

“But that’s not a crime.”

“No. But there was more, some of which we’d seen ourselves.
We weren’t the only ones who saw him arguing with Finn. It was broad daylight. There was traffic on Canary Cove Road and lots of people around. There’s a reward out for information leading to Finn’s murderer, and you know how that can bring people out of the woodwork. I don’t think anyone in Canary Cove who’s met Nick would think him guilty of anything other than gallantry and loving his niece, but when asked whom they saw going in and out of Finnegan’s place, they would tell the truth. So would you or I. We would presume Nick had a good reason to be where he was, so in the long run it wouldn’t make any difference.”

“So did he? Have a good reason, I mean?”

Birdie paused for a moment. “He told the police what he told us. He wanted to meet the man who had taken his niece fishing.”

“The arguing?”

“Finnegan was simply cantankerous that day, he told the police. The old man didn’t want to be bothered with a stranger questioning what he did or didn’t do. He wanted to see the property, to see where Gabby fished, and Finn refused.”

Before Nell could say anything, Birdie answered her look. “No, I don’t buy it, either. Finn was often grouchy, but the dear man always had a reason—maybe not one you or I would have, but in his mind he had a legitimate right to be angry. And he’d never be mad about a caring uncle doing his job.”

“What about the looking up the deed?”

“Lots of people had done that and it didn’t mean much. It was a flimsy way to tie someone to a murder. People wanted to buy Finn’s valuable land, plain and simple. Nick said he was curious about it. That was all.”

Nell got up and emptied her cold coffee into the sink. She poured a fresh one and brought it back with toast, butter, and a pot of fresh blueberry jam. “How is Nick handling all this?”

“He’s remarkably calm. After spending a considerable amount of time at the police station, he came by the house and took Gabby for a walk, filling her in. Then he came inside and told me the whole story. He was clearly sorry to be dragging Gabby and me through
this mess. But, as he said, there was definitely a bright side to the whole thing. The police had ‘suggested’ he not leave the area for a few days. So he and Gabby would be staying in Sea Harbor longer. And that news, he said, thrilled his niece far more than the fancy skateboard he’d sent her last Christmas.”

“It’s strange, maybe, but hearing his reaction somehow rids me of worry. Nick is innocent—I feel sure of it.”

Nell’s response drew a smile from Birdie. “Of course he is. He’s lied to both of us—we can’t forget that—but he didn’t have anything to do with Finn’s murder. And that’s what matters now.” Birdie slipped off the bench and walked around the table. She gave Nell a sudden hug.

“That’s for being you, my dear Nell. And as for the lie, we’ll certainly get to the bottom of that now, won’t we?”

And then she was gone. Birdie’s pain-free good-byes, they called them. No awkward time spent chatting at the door, no need for reasons; just a quick hug and the small woman with the white cap of hair was across the room and out the door, disappearing into her day.

But this one had been so quick, she hadn’t had time to talk to her about yesterday’s reading of Finn’s will. She checked her watch. Not enough time to catch her, and she knew Birdie’s Thursdays were full. But she’d see her tonight, and they would lay everything out on the table right along with their knitting needles and yarn. Things always made more sense with Purl on one’s lap, knitting nearby, and a glass of Birdie’s pinot gris in hand.

It seemed like a lifetime ago since they’d gathered in Izzy’s shop for a Thursday-night knitting session. “The week that was,” Birdie said, sitting next to Cass in the yarn studio’s back room. She patted her on the knee.

Cass had given Birdie a ride to the shop, and used the drive time to fill her in on the latest events that had turned her life on its head.

“But it could be the best thing for this sweet head,” Birdie had
told her, tapping the top of Cass’ Sox hat. “Finnegan was wiser than we knew. Money can destroy people or it can improve many lives. You will make sure it does the latter, and he knew that, my dear.”

Then Birdie gave an abbreviated account of the Mariettis’ day, although much of the story had already begun drifting down the windy roads and beaches of the town. “Nick can’t leave town. He’s telling Gabby everything—except, of course, what he hasn’t told us.”

“Meaning?” Izzy was puzzled.

“What he really argued with Finn about and what his interest is in that land. It didn’t lead him to murder Finn, but he isn’t telling the whole truth.” The resolve in Birdie’s voice was steely.

Izzy pulled open the casement windows and a cool evening breeze swept through the room. “Well, he’s done one good thing that excuses a lot: he’s brought Gabby into our lives.”