A Fatal Fleece (25 page)

Nell was quiet, thinking about the innuendos in what Laura had said.

Laura nodded. “Yes, isn’t that crazy? But back then, people didn’t think much of his disappearance. He had told my mom he hated the winters up here and might move to Florida, so she assumed that’s what he did.”

“But now that there’s a body . . .”

“Right. Now that there’s a body, some who remember back to Moira’s kindness to the man are saying, ‘Aha!’” Laura’s body language showed her lack of patience for the rumors. “A
body
. A missing dentist. Finnegan must have been jealous and killed the guy, then buried him in the yard.” She looked at Nell sadly. “It’s a crazy world.”

“With some damn crazy people in it.” Ben’s feeling about the rumors matched Laura’s exactly. “Don’t people have better things to do?”

It was a brief moment together before Ben was off to Boston for a couple of days.

Nell watched him pack his suitcase, checking for reading glasses, his phone, something to read that night when the Endicott company board members finally called it a day. Ben didn’t like hotels, and the long, into-the-night meetings were not his favorites. For a short time after they moved to Sea Harbor, he and Nell kept their Beacon Hill townhouse in Boston. Once they moved permanently to Cape Ann, it became a place to stay when they went into the city for musical performances, dinners, or board meetings for the Endicott family business.

But the upkeep and sporadic use finally convinced them to sell it, and now when family business called him into the city, Ben spent nights in a hotel. But he didn’t like it, nor did Nell. The bed in the home on Sandswept Lane seemed to triple in size and was always cold without Ben’s long body warming her own.

“Don’t forget your phone charger,” she said, picking it up and dropping it in the bag.

Ben leaned across the bed and kissed her. “I’ll be back late tomorrow,” he said. “Before you’ve even had a chance to miss me.”

“We’ll see about that.” She folded a knit shirt and handed it to him. “By the way, did Father Northcutt ever get those remaining papers of Finnegan’s?”

Ben tossed a paperback in his case. “I don’t think so. I’d almost forgotten about it with everything else going on. Maybe I’ll pick them up while I’m in the city. I don’t suppose they say much, though there was supposed to be a note in there for Beverly. Maybe Finn explained why he’d cut her out of his will.”

“Don’t you suppose she knows?”

“Apparently not. She’s quite serious about wrestling the inheritance away from Cass.”

“More of a mess for Cass.”

“That’s right. She’s got enough on her mind without having to go to court for a will.” Ben lifted his bag onto the floor. “Speaking of that,
what did the yarn-shop gossipers say about the guy being held?”

“Not much. People want him to be the murderer. What do the police think?”

“They want the same thing as everyone else: for him to be the guy. But right now there’s not enough to pin it on him. There weren’t any fingerprints on Finn, for starters, yet there were plenty in the house. So why would he protect himself performing one crime and then rummage through the house as if he were a guest?”

Nell thought about that. It didn’t make sense. “But that doesn’t really prove anything. He could have done it, even though it doesn’t make sense.”

“The guy also said he hitchhiked out of town that night. A local guy was headed to the airport in Boston. He saw the fellow’s picture in the paper later and came into the station, verifying he’d picked the guy up, so that part of the story is true. He remembered him because the guy insisted on giving him a tip, not a common thing. It probably came from Finnegan’s wallet. But the most important thing might be that the hitchhiker was muddy and wet and had lost a boot—climbing over a fence, he told the driver. But there wasn’t a sign of blood on him anywhere, and the condition Finnegan was left in wouldn’t have allowed anyone to get away clean.”

“How can they hold him, then?” Izzy asked.

“They’re holding him on another charge. He stole from Finnegan. And from some of the shopkeepers, too. Gus McClucken says he’s the same guy who took off with a case of camcorders being delivered to the back of his store a couple weeks ago.”

“So they’re holding him because he’s a thief. But they don’t think he murdered Finnegan?” Izzy said.

“The chief won’t say that. They’re examining the guy with a fine-tooth comb—and in the meantime, his arrest has calmed down the town.”

“But . . .” Nell said.

Ben checked his watch, then snapped the case closed. He looked at Nell, a sudden seriousness shadowing his face, as if leaving her
was a dangerous thing. “Lots of
but
s—I know. Jerry’s men will figure it all out, Nell. They’re doing a good job.”

But it was his eyes that spoke the loudest.

Don’t get involved,
they said.

Be safe.

I love you.

Chapter 24

A
luncheon talk at the arts association kept Nell’s musings in check, but a quick drive to the post office brought her thoughts back to Cass. She looked thinner. Losing a friend and then shouldering the awful suspicion of his death would make anyone shrink. Cass was healthier, just as they all were, when she could do something about the unwanted things that messed with her life.

They needed to put some order to things, to think logically about Finn’s murder. Perhaps together they’d catch something seemingly insignificant. Little details, conversations overheard. What was it Angus had said?
There’re lots of clues. They’re right there staring us in the face.”

But by the time she reached the post office and parked the car, no answers stared her in the face, only a list of questions as long as Harbor Road.

Nell gathered the packages she was sending off to her sister and climbed the wide stone steps, her mind still cluttered but a new determination adding direction to her questions.

The serpentine line inside the post office was long but moving quickly. Nell spotted Mary Halloran at the front. Her silvery head of hair, pulled back in a neat bun, bobbed as she spoke with the postal worker and emptied a cloth bag filled with mail. Church business, Nell surmised. Bills, thank-yous, and notes to the sick. She was Father Northcutt’s right-hand woman and, most parishioners thought,
was the one who really ran things at Our Lady of Safe Seas. Father Northcutt agreed.

Mary turned, nodded to people in line as she headed toward the door, then spotted Nell.

“Nell, darlin’,” she said, a look of relief flushing her round, pale face. She gave Nell a quick hug.

“Come, dear,” she said, tugging Nell free of her coveted spot in line. “We need to talk.” A small, kindhearted woman, Mary Halloran’s size belied her determination and strength; requests were rarely protested.

Nell followed her into the post office foyer.

Her usual smiling eyes were clouded with worry. “It’s Catherine. We need to help her,” Mary said.

“She’s strong, Mary. Just like her mother.”

Mary brushed away the words with her hand. “There’re the business worries—she takes those all on herself, just like Patrick did. But now Finnegan’s murder on top of it. The suspicions, the police? Good lord.”

“It’s routine business with the police. No one thinks Cass could possibly have had anything to do with his death.”

“Of course she didn’t. She loved Finn. But it will never be better until we find the man who killed him. And if anything could make it worse, it has. Now they’re saying our Finn killed someone and buried him back there in that mess of a yard. It’s a double nightmare, Nell.”

Nell’s concern over Cass had blurred the added burden the rumors about Finn brought to those who loved him. Mary would be devastated by her friend’s memory being sullied in so scurrilous a way.

“It’s an awful sin to say those things about Finn,” Mary said, her head nodding and her eyes demanding help. “He won’t rest in peace until we stop the terrible talk.”

Nell nodded, feeling suddenly helpless. Mary was right, at least about the stigma on Finn’s memory. “Hopefully we’ll find out who
was buried back there soon—and that there’s a logical reason for it—and the rumors will disappear in a flash.”

Mary’s attention seemed to flag, her eyes filling again with concern. She looked out the post office window at the cars going by, people walking by.

“Finnegan must have loved the Hallorans dearly to hand everything he owned over to Cass,” Nell said softly. “He was giving it to all of you.”

Mary’s eyes filled. “Now, isn’t that just like our dear Finn? That crazy man. He knew the troubles we had, that one. Always trying to help. Always, always, always.”

“Some think it was your Irish stew,” Nell said, trying to coax a smile from her friend’s face.

Mary chuckled at that. “I don’t understand him leaving that daughter of his out in the cold the way he did, but he must have had a reason. Finn didn’t have a mean bone in his body. She did something that disturbed him greatly.”

“Did he talk to you about Beverly?”

“Never. Nor did Moira. Not since the day Beverly ran away with a fistful of their money and broke her mother’s heart right in half. Father Larry tells me she’s contesting the will, wanting her fair share. Well, whatever the good lord wants.”

She paused, then with the old sparkle returning to her eyes, added, “And I am fairly sure he wants the Halloran company to be healthy and strong again.”

Mary reached into her purse and rummaged through it until she found what she was looking for: a folded roll of bills, secured with a rubber band. She pressed it into Nell’s hand.

“What’s this?” Nell stared at the money.

“It’s to take Catherine out for an evening and make her forget about her worries, about Finn’s death, the police questioning her, the inheritance, Beverly Walden—every single bit of it. She won’t let me help, stubborn girl. She doesn’t want anyone’s help. Even pushes that sweet Danny boy away.”

“Cass has an awful time accepting help. It seems to frighten her,
as if it will make her weak or dependent, especially with Danny. But if there’s anything good coming out of this mess, it might be with the two of them. I think she’s letting Danny back in, at least a crack. Cass might be admitting she needs him.”

Mary brightened. “He’s a good boy and wants what’s best for Cass. What’s best is
him
, I told him.”

Nell held the money up in the air. “Now, about this . . .”

Mary put one hand on Nell’s arm and looked directly into her eyes, insisting Nell listen. “I know for a fact that Cass listens to you—and to the girls. She tells you things she thinks will worry her mother. She’s not eating. A good meal, a glass of wine. Please . . . take care of my girl, Nell.” She dropped her gaze and sighed. “They say that they cut the umbilical cord at birth, but they don’t. Not really.”

“You’re absolutely right, Mary. Cass needs an evening out, away from lobsters, boats, and the rest of this mess.” She hugged her tightly. “It will happen.”

As Mary turned away, Nell slipped the money back into her friend’s purse.

Chapter 25

I
t took Nell little time to make it happen—a few text messages, a call to Birdie. And calendars were immediately cleared for the next night.

“Ladies’ night out—yes!” was Izzy’s immediate response. They all needed it, not just Cass, and not just to relax. They needed to be together to put order into the chaos that was becoming their summer, and time to figure out what to do about it. So far, their efforts had yielded few results and way too many questions.

It was Birdie’s idea to leave Sea Harbor, so they did, heading out in Nell’s CRV, leaving drifters, gossip, and ominous graves behind them. Exploring them from a distance might help them think outside the box, they all agreed.

“It’s getting more difficult to simply up and leave,” Birdie remarked from the passenger’s seat.

“Grandchildren will do that to you,” Cass said.

“And husbands. I practically had to turn my passport over to Sam,” Izzy said. “You’d think we were going to Sin City instead of Rockport.”

They laughed. The sleepy town on the farthest tip of Cape Ann was not known for its wild night life. But it was not Sea Harbor, and that’s what they needed. A big, wide deck where they could pull out their knitting, order dinner, and not run into their next-door neighbors. On a quiet weeknight, their chances were good of finding such a place.

And they did, at the end of Bearskin Neck, the rocky piece of land filled with tiny shops that jutted out into the water. White market umbrellas, roomy tables, and the feeling that they were floating out to sea suited their mood, and in minutes they were settled in with a plate of tiny lobster tacos in front of them, a pitcher of margaritas and iced tea nearby.

Nell filled them in quickly on Ned Smith—and Ben’s opinion of his guilt.

“So he probably didn’t do it,” Birdie said. “But someone did.”

“It’s someone with a face. And, mostly likely, a face we know,” Nell said.

Izzy pulled the soft pastel yarn out of her purse and, without looking, began knitting the ankle of her sock, the lacy ribbon pattern taking shape beneath her quick-moving fingers. Her thoughts seemed to parallel the rhythm of her needles. “So we think about faces, about people. Anyone who might have had suspicious connections to Finn.” She looked over at Birdie. “This is hard, because I know you like Nick a lot. I do, too. But . . .”

Birdie nodded. “I like him very much. But he’s not been honest; that much I know. I talked to him about it again today. He’d had another ‘meeting,’ as he called it, with the police.
They don’t call people in for their entertainment,
I said.
No, they don’t,
he said. And then there was that look, the one that told me not to worry.” She sighed. “I hate the lie, but I trust the man.
Don’t worry,
he said.
It’s fine
.”

“Yet it isn’t fine, not until he can explain it. He argued with Finn. He was on his property. And he refuses to tell you why,” Nell said.