A Fatal Fleece (30 page)

They talked about the weather, the influx of vacationers, and the upcoming Garden Celebration before settling into their steak and salmon and the real reason they were there.

“A question for you,” Nell began. “Did you officiate at Moira Finnegan’s funeral?”

“Oh, sure, and I did. Moira was a wonderful lady. So generous to the church and she never missed a Sunday.”

“Where was she buried?” Birdie asked. “I vaguely remember the funeral. But I can’t remember much of what followed.”

“Old St. Mary’s Cemetery, out near the quarries. A beautiful place to put someone to rest. Lots of trees. I visit her grave now and again. It’s on a rise in the land beneath a huge hawthorn tree, a wee bit of ocean visible in the distance.”

Birdie agreed that Moira would love an ocean-view resting place. She dearly loved the water.

“Finn wasn’t as attentive as others,” Father Larry went on. “Some people aren’t, you know; the grave is simply a place to bury a body. Sure, and that’s fine, as long as they hold the loved one in their heart, I say. But no matter what, I like a well-tended grave, so I take fresh flowers out to Moira now and again.”

Although the gentle priest’s comments were not exactly what she and Birdie were expecting, they filed them away in their heads
to pull apart later. They’d come in expecting one answer, but would leave with another.

The chunks of rare salmon were flavored with a lemon tarragon dressing, and Nell tried to pick out the ingredients. It would make a perfect dish for the knitting group some night. She mentally recorded: lemon, wine, tarragon, and a tiny bit of good mayonnaise.

Father Larry was devouring his steak bite by bite, with obvious enjoyment. Nell waited until he’d finished a bite, then slipped in another question.

“Have you heard the rumors surrounding that body on Finn’s land? You don’t think he killed anyone, do you, Father?”

“Did our Finnegan have anything to do with that grave? It’s a mighty perplexing question.” Father Larry took another bite of steak and chewed it thoughtfully.

“I can imagine that an accident might have occurred back there,” Nell said. “A drifter, maybe, trespassing through unfamiliar land, and for whatever reason, he accidentally died. Maybe Finn left a rake in a bad spot, or a piece of rusty something-or-other. But what doesn’t fit into anything I know about Finnegan is covering it up by burying the man back there.”

Father Larry was nodding as Nell talked. He sliced off another bite of steak while listening carefully and thoughtfully.

“He couldn’t have lived with that kind of deception,” Birdie added. “And that’s the truth. He couldn’t have. And you know that, too, Father.” Her fork stabbed the air as she talked.

“So the question is this: who, in heaven’s name, was buried in that grave?” Nell’s words hung over the leather booth.

The theory that someone was seeking revenge on Finnegan for a long-ago crime was weak, Father Northcutt admitted. “I don’t think the police buy it, either, though nothing’s been ruled out. Why would someone come back all these years later? That body had been there for years. Doesn’t quite make good sense, now, does it?”

The waitress cleared their plates and returned with a dessert tray filled with sugary delights. Much to Nell’s surprise, Father Northcutt demurred, but his look of longing following the
disappearing tray was so intense, Birdie and Nell half expected the tray to be pulled back by sheer desire.

“Enough is enough. Right, Nell?” he said, his eyes still lusting after a piece of banana cream pie. “Of course, the fact that I have a meeting with your fine husband in ten minutes might have something to do with my sudden restraint.” Laughter filled the booth, offering a nice sorbet ending to the discussion—a gentle cleansing of the palate, washing away the unpleasant things they’d touched upon.

But as they walked past the bar, waved to the bartender, and walked into the sunshine, Birdie brought them back on topic once more.

“Just one more question. Something that’s been bothering me. Did Moira Finnegan have any health problems that you remember? Before she got cancer, I mean.”

Father Northcutt gave the question some thought, his white brows pulling together and his head leaning slightly to one side. “None that I can remember,” he said. “She was as sweet and pretty and delicate as an Irish rose. A blooming healthy lady, I believe she was.

“Except for the teeth, of course.”

Chapter 29

I
t was Father Northcutt’s final comment that triggered Birdie’s memory.

“It was like turning the lights on. There it was, all of a sudden, a perfect memory of that funny little dentist. “Suddenly I can see him as clearly as if he were right in front of me,” she told Nell as they drove through the streets of Sea Harbor. “And I can imagine him and Moira, too.”

Lunch was followed by a trip to the post office to mail some letters and a stop at the library to return a stack of books before heading over to M.J.’s salon. While they drove, Birdie shared her suspicions about the dentist.

“But they’re only suspicions,” she reminded Nell, after going through her parade of memories of Dr. Pulaski. “They need a day or two to percolate.”

“But I think we’re on to something.” Nell made a mental note to ask Ben that evening about the body that had been exhumed. Perhaps he would have the key that would turn the lock. It would be nice to be able to excuse one more person from the lineup.

They pulled up in front of the hair salon and parked. Nell picked up some shampoo, and Birdie had a scheduled appointment with M.J.’s new masseuse.

Cass and Izzy had teased her about it, but Birdie insisted the woman was marvelous and her gentle manipulations were lowering
her blood pressure. “And she says I have good bone structure,” Birdie added proudly.

The door of the salon opened as they approached, and Beverly Walden walked out, squinting as she adjusted to the bright sunlight.

At first Nell and Birdie weren’t absolutely sure who it was.

Beverly’s hair was lightened considerably, with dramatic highlights woven in. Her shoulder-length style had been cut in a layered, feathery way, with a loose fringe of bangs swinging across her forehead. It was a dramatic departure from the simple, more conservative hairdo that had been hers since she moved to Sea Harbor.

“Goodness,” Birdie said. “Imagine running into you twice today. You look lovely, Beverly.”

“I needed a change.”

“Well, it’s quite a nice one. M.J. does a wonderful job.”

Beverly touched her hair lightly, as if making sure it was still there. She started to walk away when Nell touched her arm, stopping her.

“I meant to ask Father Northcutt about your father’s funeral, but perhaps you would have the details. Are there any plans?”

Beverly paused, as if trying to recollect who her father was. But her answer was cordial. “Yes, actually. I think it will be soon. Things are finally moving to closure, thank God. I just received a call, in fact. Apparently, the priest received the final packet of Finnegan’s papers this afternoon and wants to go over them with me immediately. I have plans, but he was insistent and said it wouldn’t take long. My lawyer is coming, too. Actually, it’s perfect timing. It will be good for everyone to have this mess over with. It’s time.” Her parting words were unemotional—and definite.

They watched her walk down the street, a new confidence in her stride.

“I must say, I don’t like her calling Father Larry
the priest
,” Birdie said. “She can be . . . rather unlikable.”

“I think she only lets us see a tiny bit of who she is.” Nell watched Beverly cross the street. “I wonder what the meeting she mentioned is really about.”

“She could be right. Maybe something’s happened that will put the ball—and Finn’s property—in her court.”

Nell looked down and read a message from Ben. “Could be. Ben is going to be there, too, he says. Perhaps Beverly’s right and the additional documents have changed everything. Poor Cass. This has been such a roller-coaster ride for her.”

Birdie was worried, too. Beverly was so confident. Too confident. “I don’t mean to be unkind, but she unnerves me,” she said to Nell. “She doesn’t make it terribly easy to be around her.”

An understatement,
Nell thought. Both she and Birdie knew exactly why she unnerved them and why it was uneasy to be around her.

A father dead. A child alive. And very greedy
.

Birdie insisted on bringing Ella’s prized empanadas to knitting that night. The recipe was from her Argentine friend, Sophia Santos. “Ella loves making them, and we will love eating them—and you have no time today to cook, dear friend.”

Nell was grateful for the offer and didn’t put up a fuss. She had plenty of vegetables in her home garden to make a salad. Arugula and escarole, red pepper, cucumber, and mushrooms, a handful of chopped-up hearts of palm and some sugared pecans. A little lemon basil dressing to bind it all together. Someone would bring dessert. And if they didn’t, it would serve all their waistlines well.

She left Ben a note in case he forgot what day it was, and headed to Izzy’s shop. Her head felt too full, as if she’d eaten too much and was having trouble digesting it all. Perhaps that was their problem. They were all too full, too close to a hundred things running through their minds.

Izzy and Cass had put out plates and glasses, opened the windows, and had an old Martin Taylor piece humming in the background when she walked in.

Birdie was close behind, carrying a heavy glass dish.

In the front of the store, Jillian and Rose busied themselves
stocking a new shipment of cotton fleece that had come in. Over the music, a male voice joined the teenage laughter.

“Rose’s new boyfriend,” Izzy explained. “At least for today. Oliver Porter, Tommy’s cousin.”

“Oliver? Wasn’t he with the group that watched the intruder going through Finn’s house?” Birdie asked. “The intruder who was probably one Nicholas Marietti?”

Without waiting for an answer, she climbed the steps and disappeared into the front of the store. Her voice trailed back as she questioned the embarrassed teenager about fishing off Finn’s dock.

The words came back down the stairs in pieces. “Flashlight. Yah, Miss Birdie. Nah, he wasn’t upstairs. The light was coming through the windows downstairs. We thought about telling him Finn’s place was on top, but then, you know, that woulda been so dumb. We’d a been caught.” He laughed nervously.

Minutes later, after assuring Oliver he wasn’t in trouble and had been a big help, Birdie reappeared in the back room. “So,” she said, her eyebrows lifting quizzically, “was Nick lost? Did he think Finn lived on the first floor?”

“Or not,” Nell said, reading Birdie’s thoughts and recording the new information in her head. Perhaps Nick knew exactly where he was. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in Finnegan’s apartment at all.

“We’ll just have to see, now, won’t we?” Birdie said, determination backing up her words. She looked at Izzy. “And, by the way, Rose and Jillian have emptied all the boxes.”

“Those teenyboppers are a step ahead of me. Pretty soon I’m not going to be needed around here.”

Cass dropped her backpack next to a chair. “Want to come to work on a lobster boat? One with leaky nets, a scratched hull, and numerous mysterious ailments?”

Nell set down the salad bowl and started shaking the dressing jar. She waited a moment, gauging Cass’ mood.
Frustrated
seemed to fit it best.

“Have you heard anything about the will?” Nell asked.

Cass nodded. “From the horse’s mouth. Though I think I’d use
another animal if the twins weren’t listening to everything we’re saying.” She peeked up the stairs just as Jillian scurried out of sight.

“Beverly informed me earlier today that her lawyer is speeding things up for all sorts of reasons. One, there was an earlier will in which she got the land; two, because she is Finn’s daughter; and three, because I am, basically, nothing. And for all those reasons she will make sure she wins the dispute. Soon. Any minute. She was on her way to meet with him.”

She pulled the foil off the heavy glass baking dish Birdie had brought. It was filled with empanadas. “So you told Ella we were having the whole fishing fleet for dinner?”

“You know how Ella is. It’s important to her that Gabby becomes an expert at making empanadas before she has to leave. It’s as if without that recipe, she’ll forget us. She’s even reluctantly agreed to let Gabby make some with spinach and cheese to suit her vegetarian tastes. So, as best I can tell, we have a little of everything here.” The tantalizing odors of garlic and parsley, sautéed onions and butter surrounded neat rows of crisp pastry pockets, perfectly browned. “We have potato and beef, shrimp and hearts of palm, spicy chicken and cheese. Marinated beef with caramelized onion. Shall I go on?”

Cass opened two bowls of sauces and closed her eyes. “Chimichurri and one of unknown origin.”

“Brilliant, Professor Halloran.”

In minutes they were sitting around the coffee table, plates filled with salad and empanadas, a bottle of chilled white wine and water glasses nearby.

“We do know how to live, don’t we?” Izzy said, piercing an empanada with her fork and releasing a river of white oozing cheese.

A moment of bliss. Friendship and food. And the rest of the world faded away for brief, blessed moments.

Then Birdie broke the spell. “I have something to say,” she said, deciding on the spot that there wouldn’t be time for eating, quiet time, wine, knitting, solving Finn’s murder, and small talk. The small talk and quiet time would have to go.

Forks paused in midair.

She waited for Cass to take a drink of her wine and settle back in her chair, then continued. “I’m worried about you, Cass, and about all of us.” Her arms lifted to circle them all. “It’s as if an insidious layer of air is blanketing us, getting into the nooks and crannies of our gentle town—and we’re having trouble stopping it.”

“We have dozens of little pieces of the puzzle,” Nell said. “I know we do. And we’re getting close—I can feel it.”