A Fatal Fleece (27 page)

Nell stood a couple of feet away, her eyes following several boats heading out beyond the breakwater for an evening sail. “So either he—”

“Or she,” Izzy said.

Nell nodded. “Either he or she came down that side path and around the fence.”

“A way familiar to Nick Marietti—” Cass said.

“Anyone who knows their way around Canary Cove would know that route,” Nell said, feeling a sudden need to defend Gabby’s uncle. And it was true. Anyone who took a boat along the shoreline knew which buildings were where—and the access path alongside Finnegan’s property wasn’t a secret to townsfolk.

“Who knows? They could have come in on water skis. But all we’ve proven is that it’d be easy to get onto the property without going through the gate,” Izzy said. She leaned her elbows on a tall rock and waved at a seafaring couple coming in to moor their boat.

“Finnegan was so protective of his land,” Cass said. “So private. Do you think he could have had something in there that someone wanted?”

It was a new thought and a worthwhile one. But pursuing it would lead easily to someone they were reluctant to point to: Nick Marietti. Nick wanted something from Finnegan; that was clear. And Finn didn’t want him there.

“Merry said the newest restaurant rumor is that Finn was growing pot.”

Cass laughed. “That’s an old rumor. I asked Finn once if he had pot on his property. He said,
Sure,
and pointed to an old outhouse that sat down near the dock.”

Maybe he wasn’t growing anything illegal, but the idea of Finn hiding something made sense. Was it the grave that had been recently dug up, or something else?

Cass pulled herself up from the boulder and followed the others back down the narrow road toward their parking spot. They walked slowly, enjoying the sights and looking down the small alleys that led to the wharves and harbor, each filled with one or two more tiny shops. Everywhere colorful signs for ice cream and lobsters and Tshirts flapped in the breeze.

Suddenly Cass stopped. Next to her, Nell stopped, too. They
both stared down the street at a woman emerging from one of the shops. She wore a yellow sundress, her hair windblown around a face flushed from the sun, her smile bright. She looked lovely. And slightly tipsy.

“Beverly,” Nell called out.

The woman stopped, turned toward them, her smile fading away. “Hi,” she said, then turned away, walking toward the water.

“Are you enjoying the shops?” Nell asked, ignoring Beverly’s attempt to flee.

Beverly turned back and managed to put a smile in place. “I was looking for . . . well, for a place to buy a bottle of champagne.”

Birdie laughed lightly. “Rockport doesn’t have liquor stores. But we just had a lovely margarita down the street in a restaurant—”

“Oh, no, no.” Beverly said quickly. She looked nervously toward the harbor, then mumbled that she was in a little bit of a hurry. Would they please excuse her? And she rushed off in the direction of Tuna Wharf.

They watched her until she disappeared behind a building.

“What was that about?” Cass said.

Izzy shrugged. “We’re here. I suppose Beverly can be, too. For dinner, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Nell said, and they continued toward the parking lot, climbing back into the car.

Nell pulled out of the narrow spot and drove around the harbor bend and down Mt. Pleasant Street. At the entrance to the harbor, she paused at a stop sign and they all looked once more toward the water.

“There,” Cass said. Heading out toward the breakwater was a familiar boat, the purple letters of Finnegan’s wife’s name catching the last rays of sunlight.

Beverly Walden was in a hurry.

And she wasn’t alone.

Chapter 26

B
en had pulled into the drive just a short while before Nell got home. He met her at the door when her car pulled into the drive.

Suddenly Nell was inordinately happy to see him. She moved into his arms.

“I’ve missed you, Ben Endicott.”

“Hmmm. I like this.” He breathed in the salty scent of her hair. “I should go away more often.”

Ben had already made a sandwich for himself, and the television evening news hummed in the background. A cold beer sat on the coffee table. He pointed to both. “M’lady?”

Nell shook her head. “Stuffed.”

“Why do I think a lot has gone on while I was off in Boston, being bored?” He pulled her down beside him on the couch.

“Ladies’ night out. Wild and raucous as always.” She took a sip of his beer and launched into their trip to Rockport, complete with the Beverly Walden siting.

“Izzy and Cass said it was a man in the boat with her, though I don’t know how they could tell. All I saw was a blur and the purple letters spelling out
Moira
.” She slipped one leg up beneath her and leaned back against the couch. “But she was nervous when we ran into her. Definitely not happy to see us.”

Ben finished up his sandwich and washed it down with beer.

“Well, if Merry’s right, maybe that means nothing more than she wants to keep her friend a secret.”

“Would being in a relationship affect her contesting this will in any way?”

“I don’t think so. But that reminds me. I had a message from Father Northcutt. The papers to contest the will are being filed tomorrow.”

“So Beverly wasn’t issuing idle threats. How does Father Larry feel about it?”

“He thinks that as Finn’s daughter, she probably has every right to do it. But he also knows that it’s not what Finn wanted.”

“Will that matter in court?”

“It depends on the judge. Beverly’s best defense is to give some kind of proof that Finnegan’s judgment was impaired when he made out the will. And there’s that second will that clearly mentioned her—Beverly knew about that will. Finnegan could come off sounding fickle. And then there’s the harsh way he crossed her name out of everything. Those of us who know him can easily imagine him doing it. But a lawyer could make it out to be erratic behavior. Being his daughter may influence the judge emotionally, since most people leave something to their children.”

Nell remembered Beverly’s shouts at Cass, asking if she’d put something in Finn’s food. She thought Beverly was spouting nonsense because she was upset. Maybe she actually believed it, though Nell couldn’t imagine anyone going along with it. Finnegan was as sane as she was. “I wonder if her recent romance has anything to do with her wanting so desperately to get her hands on Finnegan’s property. People do desperate things for love.”

Ben took a swig of his beer. “Could be. Maybe the guy is pushing her to do this. Maybe he wants the land for his own use.” He rested one arm on the back of the couch.

“Will you be there tomorrow, representing the original will?”

“No. This is a simple filing. All Beverly has to do is sign a document identifying the case. She won’t need a lawyer to do it, though Father Larry said she’s contacted a guy in Boston who is very good at this sort of thing. And they’re pushing the court to speed up the process.”

Nell sighed. A murder to solve. A body to identify. And now a court case contesting a will.

“One thing I forgot to mention,” Ben said, pulling his eyes away from the television. “I had a message from Jerry Thompson. Weirdest thing. First off, they didn’t find any dental X-rays in Dr. Pulaski’s office. Lots of unpaid bills and a few old patient files is all. But that’s not the strangest thing.” Ben took a drink of beer. “The really strange thing is that it wouldn’t have mattered if they had found any records.”

“Wrong dentist?”

“Nope. The corpse didn’t have teeth.”

Nell turned and stared at him. “No teeth?”

“That’s right. None.”

“How strange.”

“Not unheard of, but strange. Sometimes people are buried with dentures if they had them, but it’s completely up to the family.”

Ben looked over at the television screen, where a weatherman was reporting sunny skies for the rest of the week. He looked back, his eyes sleepy.

“Nellie . . .” He began.

Nell’s sigh turned into a smile, one that began with her lips but spread to her eyes. “I know that look,” she said, shifting on the couch until they faced each other, her knees pressing against his thigh.

Ben tugged lightly on a strand of her hair. “Well, here’s the thing. You had a ladies’-night-out night. I had a Ben-in-the car-alone night.”

“So maybe we need another kind of night?” she asked. She brushed his cheek with the back of her fingers.

Ben picked up the remote and switched off the TV.

“Any ideas?” Nell’s brows lifted.

“I have a few.” He pulled her up from the couch and switched off the lights. With the moon guiding their way, they headed toward the back staircase and a promising Endicott night together, one that would prove to Ben exactly how much Nell missed him.

Just as the weatherman predicted, the day held abundant sunshine.

Ben was off for an early meeting at the bank. Then a call to Finn’s
Boston firm to see where the rest of his files were. Father Northcutt was anxious to put it all to rest.

Nell watched him leave, his words lingering long after he’d pulled out of the drive and headed toward Harbor Road.

Put it all to rest
. How nice that would be. It matched the day, certainly, with the waves rolling in, cleaning the beaches and rocky banks. The sun baking off grime and debris from piers and sidewalks.
If only weather could solve murders,
she thought as she slipped into a pair of capris and white T-shirt.

She checked the time, picked up her one garden glove without holes and her straw hat, and headed out to put time in at the community garden. A cup of coffee and a quick stop at McClucken’s for new gloves and she’d be ready to weed.

Traffic was light as Nell drove through her neighborhood and toward the village shops, her mind flitting from wills to gardens, then back to a man murdered in his own backyard. She waved at a neighbor, then stopped to let a group of teenagers cross the street. Thick towels hung around their necks, and colorful bags swung from tan shoulders as they headed to the beach.

They didn’t even notice I’ve stopped,
Nell thought, watching the girls, arms swinging, heads held back to catch the sun’s rays. The world was theirs to do their bidding. When did that confidence in the world’s largesse disappear?

It disappeared when a friend was murdered. But it would be back. Soon.

When Nell walked into the hardware store, Gus was behind the counter, helping a customer. Nell waved to him and walked to the back corner of the store, where Gus kept his gardening supplies. A few aisles over, one could find televisions or watches or toys. And the whole north end of the store was devoted to small boat motors, sailing supplies, life vests, and other seagoing equipment. A full-service hardware store, Gus advertised. It was that and more.

Nell picked out several pairs of gloves, a couple of trowels, and a new spray head for the hose, then circled back around to the front desk. Next to the counter was a fancy display of new knives—
RIGGING KNIVES
, the painted cardboard sign announced. They looked oddly elegant, packaged in bright orange-striped boxes.

A killing knife.
Nell looked at the display model carefully, the curved back and microserrated blade, the wrapped handle grip. She shivered.

“In the market for a knife, Nell?” Gus asked, coming around the counter. He pointed to one of the knives. “These are the best—they’ll cut through a synthetic rope in a flash. Skin a trout in a heartbeat. Got them in about a month ago and they’re flying out of here like Annabelle’s hotcakes.”

He laughed, his belly shaking beneath a red knit shirt.

“These are good knives?”

“Best boating knife there is.”

“You’ve sold a lot lately?”

“You betcha. Look at that display—not a whole lot left.” He rubbed his chin. “My usual customers—the guys on fishing crews—they don’t wait around so long. They get all their equipment and doodads in the spring before the amateurs—as Finn, rest his soul, used to call them—come and spend money on things they don’t need.”

Nell chuckled. She could hear Finn casting aspersions on the summer folk, as he called them. “So who’s been depleting your supply? Vacationers going fishing for a day?”

He laughed as he walked back behind the counter and punched in the numbers for Nell’s purchases. “Not so much. The tourist boats provide what they need. But Finn’s daughter came in a few weeks back, bought one of these.”

“Beverly?”
Beverly wouldn’t have a rigging knife
. Cass’ words echoed in Nell’s head.

“
Says she’s learning about boats,” Gus went on. “
More power to you,
I told her.
Your father was one of the best.
You try throwing a line in, too. It’d make him wicked proud
.”

Clearly Gus avoided the gossip traveling around town. Good for him. And Beverly had a new boat in her possession, at least for the near future. It probably made sense that she was buying a boat knife.

“Anyone else?”

“Well, now that you ask, there was one customer that tickled the life out of me when she came in asking for one of these rigging knives. It was just as the weather was turning nice. She wanted the best, she insisted, and I teased her about it until she blushed, told her they could be dangerous.

“
It doesn’t quite fit your fine image, now, does it councilwoman?
I said.”

He handed Nell her credit card and bag.

A customer with a question about fishing lines came up, and Nell turned away, his words sinking in as she walked toward the door. Behind her, Gus’ robust voice expounded on the unique qualities of superline, fluorocarbon, monofilament, and trawling lines. “All depending on what kind of fish you’re after,” he said.

Birdie was already at the garden, her floppy hat finished and shielding her face from the bright sunlight.

“Your hat looks great, Birdie.”

“I look quite au courant. Don’t you suppose?” She straightened up from the small kneeling pad and struck a pose.