A Fatal Fleece (6 page)

Nell watched Cass’ blunt fingers weaving in the stray yellow ends. Her eyes remained on the strands of sunshine gold, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. The dock? Her traps? Or on her accounting books and the equipment she needed to find money to buy?

Or with a very nice mystery writer who, in Nell’s opinion, didn’t deserve to be pushed aside as abruptly as Cass seemed to be doing.

The evening passed in a flash, as it did every Thursday evening when Izzy, Nell, Birdie, and Cass blocked out the world and surrounded themselves with the dreamy lusciousness of cotton, linen, bamboo, and soft skeins of cashmere.

A tangle of Izzy’s thick multicolored hair fell across her face, and she brushed it back so she could see the pool of lavender spilling over her jeans. She was half finished with the hoodie—a soft alpaca yarn that begged to be touched.

“That will look wonderful on you, Iz,” Nell said.

Izzy picked up a knit edge. As the light caught the strands of the plied yarn, different colors emerged from the lavender—a hint of blue and green, a touch of gold. “It makes me think of the sunset. The colors changing. I love it. Sam does, too. So, how’s yours coming, Aunt Nell?”

Nell frowned for a moment, scanning the sheet of paper she’d set on the table. She looked at Izzy. “I know in the end I’ll be happy that you talked me into designing something, but it’s keeping me up at night right now. And I don’t even know who this should be for.”

“Gabby,” the other three said in unison.

Gabby
. Of course. A sweater was the perfect welcome for anyone new who happened into the knitters’ lives—like Willow Adams or the Santos baby. Or Sam Perry and Danny Brandley, when they’d innocently come to Sea Harbor to teach a photo class and to write a book, and been caught up in the magic of the town and its people, never to leave. They’d all been welcomed, not just with lifelong friendships, but with sweaters or hats or wraps—not to mention Nell’s amazing Friday-night dinners.

“Gabby?” Birdie said again, this time with a question at the end of it, as if exploring this sudden change in her life.

“You’re a grandmother,” Nell said. “And I will celebrate the amazing occasion by knitting your granddaughter a sweater. It’s an honor. What fun.”

“Instant nonna.” Izzy leaned over and gave Birdie a quick hug. “And I know the exact yarn we’ll use for this cardigan.” She flew up the three steps to the cotton room—a cozy room with a rocking
chair and colored photos of grazing sheep on the wall. In the next instant, she was back, her hands holding skeins of bright purple yarn, soft as clouds and as delicious-looking as a grape Popsicle.

“We did a survey. Purple is the favorite color for ten-year-olds. And with her hair? It’s perfect.” She placed the armful of yarn in Nell’s lap.

Instantly the skeins were passed around, fingers touching the strands of cotton.

“It’s summery, light. Just perfect, Iz.” Nell said. “Perfect for our first grandchild,” she added.

Birdie sat quietly and soaked it all in. Then she said, “And each of you is now one of Gabby’s newfound aunts. But names can’t possibly say what you really are.”

The phone rang, scattering the emotion of the moment, and hands immediately went into pockets and bags.

“We need to change our ring tones,” Cass muttered, then looked at Birdie. “It’s coming from your backpack.”

Birdie fished out her phone, checked the name that appeared, and pressed Talk.

Ella talked loudly, probably because Harold refused to get the hearing aid he sorely needed. But her words were clear and reached each one of the knitters.

“It’s the little one. She’s gone.”

Chapter 5

I
t felt like déjà vu.

Nell, Izzy, Birdie, and Cass knew the routine well. Without a word, they folded up their knitting, locked up the shop, and piled into the Endicott CRV.

At least it wasn’t raining, like the knitting night several years ago when they’d driven all over town looking for the gallery owner, Billy Sobel. Or the night, just one year ago, when Ella herself had disappeared, driving off in Birdie’s Lincoln Town Car without a single driving lesson to her name. In the first instance, the missing person had ended up dead; in the second, Ella had ended up in the hospital, badly injured in a car accident.

Hopes for a better outcome silently filled the car as they drove at a snail’s pace down Harbor Road, their eyes peeled for a slender-limbed girl with flying black hair.

Most of the retail shops were closed for the night, but all along the gaslit street, sounds of music and laughter floated through the open doors of cafés, restaurants, and bars. Nell idled the engine in front of Scoopers. The ice-cream shop was packed with people.

Cass ran in. Had anyone seen a young girl with wild black hair? Maybe on a skateboard?

No luck,
her face told those waiting in the car.

Birdie was quiet. Nell glanced over and saw the worry filling her face. Gabby had been in her care less than a day. She barely knew the young girl.

And now she was gone.

Nell reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “It’ll be fine. She probably just needed some fresh air.”

Birdie kept her eyes focused on the road straight ahead, as if looking away would make Gabby disappear forever. Her voice was strained and lacked the calming warmth they depended on from their oldest friend. “Ella said they’d had a good time at dinner,” she said. “Gabby never stopped talking, and made Harold laugh so hard Ella was worried about his pacemaker. After dinner, he took her on a tour of the estate, showing off his gardens, the flagstone paths, and the rope hammock he’d just replaced. She was riding her skateboard around the driveway later when he went in to get a jacket. When he came out, she was gone. They searched the grounds, the woods between our house and Alphonso Santos’ place. Alphonso said he saw her turning onto Ravenswood Road, headed toward town.”

Nell pulled into the circle drive in front of the Ocean’s Edge. The wide white porch that wrapped around the restaurant was filled with people. Surely someone would have seen the skateboarder.

Izzy hopped out and headed for the restaurant steps, but before she reached the entrance, Willow Adams and Pete came out, arms looped around each other. They nearly collided with Izzy’s fast-moving body.

“Whoa.” Pete reached out one hand to steady Izzy. “You must be awfully hungry, wild woman.”

“We’re looking for Gabby,” she said breathlessly. “Have you seen her?”

“Who’s Gabby?” Willow asked.

Izzy shook her head. “Silly. Of course you haven’t met her yet. She’s almost ten, dark hair. She might be lost.”

“Was she skinny and about this tall?” Pete asked, lifting his hand to Izzy’s shoulder.

Izzy nodded.

“With lotsa hair?” Willow asked. “And cruising like crazy on a skateboard?”

“That’s her.” Nell called from the car.

Beside her, Birdie released the air trapped in her lungs, her small body sinking back into the seat.

“I passed her riding along Canary Cove Road when I went to pick up Willow. She was hell on wheels speeding along that narrow strip. Not so safe with all the vacationers cruising the streets. I would have stopped, but I was late.”

“But she was still there when we headed back that way. Remember?” Willow said.

“Where, exactly?” Izzy asked.

“Near the community garden. She was near the fence where we planted the sunflowers.”

Birdie leaned through the passenger’s window. “Finnegan’s fence?”

Willow nodded. “She didn’t act like she was lost. She didn’t seem to be looking for help.”

“But then she disappeared,” Pete added.

“Disappeared?” Worry crept back into Birdie’s voice.

Pete shrugged. “I checked in the mirror before we turned off Canary Cove Road—just to be sure she wasn’t out in the road on that board. But she was gone.”

“Maybe she went on toward the Canary Cove shops,” Willow offered. “Jane and Ham’s gallery was still open.”

“No,” Birdie said suddenly.

Nell looked over at her. “No?”

“No. I think I know where she is.”

“Finnegan,” Cass and Izzy said in unison.

“Her new friend,” Nell said softly.

Willow frowned. “You mean she might have gone down to his place? Why would she do that?”

“That’s a good question,” Birdie said, more to herself than to anyone listening.

They waved good-bye and turned the CRV back down Harbor Road.

Nell drove slowly, careful of groups of vacationers who
wandered back and forth across the main Sea Harbor street, seemingly unaware that the town had cars.

Once on Canary Cove Road, they peered into the shifting shadows that fell along the edges of the road. On either side of the winding strip, wavy sea grass turned ominous and the pounding of the surf filled their heads and hearts with impending danger.

Nell brought the car to a crawl as they approached the beginning of the rusty wire fence that surrounded Finnegan’s property.

There were no streetlights here, but finally, just as the wind whipped up and threw an empty soda can beneath the wheels of the car, its bright beams caught two figures walking slowly along the side of the road toward Canary Cove.

“Thank the lord,” Birdie murmured.

Finnegan turned around and shielded his eyes from the bright lights. He stepped to the easement, pulling the other figure along with him.

Gabby Marietti clutched a small blue-and-white cooler.

Nell pulled the car off the road and turned off the engine, leaving the lights on. They lit up the path of gravel and weeds, the rusty fence.

And Finnegan and Gabby—deer in the headlights. The large white bandage on Finnegan’s face caught the light and bounced it back.

Finnegan began ranting before they were out of the car.

“If that damn . . .” he stopped short, looked down at Gabby, then started in again, choosing his words carefully. “If those dagnabbit cops had minded their own business, I’d be driving the kid home. Here, and she’s skinned her knees nearly raw. Phone out of batteries. And I’m having to walk the girl to a phone in Canary Cove. Wicked stupid.”

Gabby looked up at him. Her face was stern. “I told you, Finn, I’m fine.”

“Fine, my foot. Look at you.” He pointed one crooked finger toward Gabby’s legs. Two awkward-looking bandages covered her
knees—thick strips of gauze wrapped around her narrow leg several times and tied in a knot.

“Gabrielle,” Birdie began, the lines across her forehead turning into fissures.

“It’s nothing,” Gabby said. Her black hair flew around her head as she talked. “My dad says I’ll have scarred knees for the rest of my life. His wife says it’s unattractive.” She shrugged. “It’s part of the package. I’m a kid. I fall.”

“Where’s your board?” Cass asked.

“I threw it out,” Finnegan snapped. “Damn thing broke right in half.”

Gabby frowned but kept her thoughts to herself.

At least it wasn’t Gabby who broke in half,
Nell thought. Finnegan may have unintentionally done them all a huge favor—skateboards and summer traffic didn’t mix very well. The shopkeepers’ association finally had banned them from Harbor Road during busy hours. She looked again at Gabby’s skinned knees and Finn’s attempt at bandaging. He’d tried to help her, tried to treat the superficial wounds. The man was a conundrum, but a kind one.

“It’s okay, Finn. No problem. I’ve got another board back home,” Gabby said.

Finnegan didn’t look worried about the skateboard, but his concern over the young girl was written all over his wrinkled face. “So you’ll be okay, kid? These ladies’ll get you home safe. They’re good folks.”

Gabby nodded. She held up the small cooler and said to no one in particular, “We went fishing after I crashed. Three cod. Finn thought it’d make me feel better.”

“In the dark?” Birdie placed one hand on Gabby’s shoulder, as if to grab on tightly if she made any move to run. But it was Finnegan her eyes bore into.
What were you thinking, you crazy fool?
they said.

“Don’t get your innards in an uproar, Birdie Favazza. It was her choice. The girl’s never fished. Not once.” He looked at Cass. “Patrick Halloran woulda done the same thing, and you damn well know it. Can’t let a girl grow up without catching a cod. It ain’t right.”

“You’re right, Finn,” Cass said. “A right of passage, my dad called it.” She placed a calming hand on his arm. “I remember fishing off your dock myself when I was a kid. Probably at night.”

“We could see all the way across the harbor,” Gabby said. “There were boats out there, and that one cool yacht with the bright blue stripe. Right, Finn?”

“I s’pose. Now, you sure you’re okay, kid?” he said, looking down at her knees.

Gabby frowned, one hand on her hip. “Course I am. I’ll have mine off sooner than yours.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

Birdie looked at the bandage on the side of Finn’s head. “I hope you’re taking care of that wound, Finnegan.”

Cass said, “The other guy looks a lot worse, I hear. Broken nose, no less.”

“Damn right, Cassoulet.” He managed a smile. “Bums have no right to take over my place.”

He looked down at Gabby, then back at the women hovering around him. “Important thing is keeping kids like Gabby safe. I’ve no use for the riffraff that hangs around here.”

Gabby looked at all of them, and for the first time seemed to sense the worry that had blanketed the group. Her dark brows pulled together and her voice softened when she looked at Birdie. “Were you guys worried, Nonna? It’s not like Central Park or anything. I was okay. I know how to watch out for myself.”

Nonna
. The word was still startling. It was a new identity, one that was foreign to Birdie just days ago. Nell looked over at her friend.

Birdie took a deep breath. And then she wrapped Gabby in a tight hug. “You’re freezing, child,” she said. “It’s time to go home.”

“I told her as much. Said you’d be wicked worried.” Finnegan shifted from one foot to the other. His worn black boots shuffled gravel as they moved. He looked down at the young girl at his side, and his craggy face softened. “I’ll turn you into a fisherman yet, kid. You’ll be as good as Cassoulet in no time.”