Death by Cashmere (25 page)

Nell looked over at Sal. He was shifting from one shiny black shoe to the next. Small beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. He looked at Nell with a pleading look--almost childish, Nell thought--and she could read his thoughts as clearly as if he'd spoken them aloud.
Don't mention our conversation. Don't ask me any questions. Please.

Nell stood still for a moment, feeling Sal Scaglia's pain. At that moment she knew that what Rachel Wooten said was true. Sal Scaglia had loved Angie Archer. But, she thought, looking at Sal's long, sad face, love was sometimes the most potent motive of all for murder.

A group of people walked down from the house then, and Beatrice latched on to them, urging Sal to join her.

He looked back at Nell briefly, then hurried along after his wife.

Nell moved on. It wasn't the Scaglias she'd been looking for. And it wasn't the time or place to talk with Sal. Not tonight, anyway.

She looked across the patio and deck, and finally, her gaze extending to the water, she spotted Izzy down on the dock, her blue dress highlighted by rotating spots. The ocean breeze made the folds swell and settle around her body like billowy sails. Small lights along the dock turned the dress silver, then deep blue, and against the black night, there was an ethereal look about her. Next to her, Tony Framingham was an imposing figure in his black tuxedo.

As Nell moved closer to the dock, she noticed that Izzy's head was held in place tightly, her back and shoulders tense. In front of her, Tony Framingham leaned toward her, his eyebrows pinched together. The closer Nell got, the more defined Tony's features became--his wide brow creased and hard angry lines outlining his jaw and cheeks. He was pointing a finger at Izzy as if she had done him an irreparable wrong. As Nell stepped onto the dock, he lifted his other arm, his hand open, his palm wide.

"Tony!" Nell shouted, the single word shooting out over the water like a dart.

Tony's hand dropped, and he and Izzy turned as one, staring at the woman moving along the pier toward them.

"Aunt Nell," Izzy said, her word a warning to Nell to stop. She forced a smile to her face. "It's okay."

Tony stepped back, his eyes boring into Nell. "What did you think, Nell? That I was going to push Izzy off the dock? The summer's favorite activity, right?" He snapped his fingers. "First she's here, then, poof! Gone."

Nell stared at him. "Of course not, Tony," she said. But for that instant, that's exactly what she had thought--that Tony Framingham was about to harm Izzy in some terrible way.

"We were having a discussion, that's all, Nell," Izzy said. "There's no need to worry."

"From outward appearances, not a pleasant one," Nell said.

"And not a secretive one, either," Tony said. "We were talking about Gideon. He was a bad guy. A lady's man, a crook, and who knows what else. He was probably out there that night, stealing Cass's lobster on a lousy night when there'd be no one else around. And when he saw Angie--well, you can fill in the blanks."

"You figure it out, Tony," Izzy said. "Why on earth would Angie be out there alone? Certainly not to meet someone like Gideon." Izzy tried to ease the moment with a teasing tone. "Tony, you're too smart to believe that. Angie wouldn't have wandered out there alone, for starters. And do you suppose Gideon carried drugs around in his wet suit, just waiting for some innocent woman on a pier to give them to? The person who killed Angie did it because Angie knew something or had something they wanted. And once we discover what that is, we'll know who the killer is."

"Izzy, you're just stirring up trouble," Tony said. "You can't mess around with people's lives. Gideon was a mess, everyone knows that."

"I think Tony's right about one thing," Nell said.

"Throwing me a crumb? That's more than your niece will do, Nell. What am I right about?"

Tony had calmed down some, and his manners seemed to be slipping back into place. But Nell still thought it odd that the conversation had elicited such emotion in Tony. He seemed to care too much. He
wanted
Gideon to be the murderer.

"I think you're right that Gideon was near the breakwater that night," Nell said. "It seems he reported for work every night, hung around the shops until they were all closed, then headed for the North Beach breakwater. I suspect it won't be long at all before people come forward who saw him there, or on his way, lumbering along with that black pack of his.

"The part that interests me more than identifying Gideon as the poacher, is that he was
there
that night, Tony, just as you suspect he was. And that means that if he didn't do it himself, he may have been the only person in Sea Harbor who knew who the real murderer is."

By the time Nell and Izzy found their group again, the wind had whipped up along the shore, turning the night air chilly and sending strollers into the main house or back onto the dance floor.

Izzy pulled Nell aside as they walked into the living room. "Tony argues for argument's sake, Aunt Nell, that's all. He's always been opinionated, and he hates being wrong. I admit, he got a little carried away, but he'd had a few drinks. He seems to think that our nosing around in a case that the police are anxious to put to bed is going to disrupt life in Sea Harbor. Make people uncomfortable."

Nell nodded, but not because she bought Izzy's explanation. She simply didn't want it to ruin the rest of this lovely evening. Opinionated or not, that wasn't enough to explain the menace in Tony's voice or the look in his eyes.

"I think this is going to turn into a late-night affair," Ben said, pulling them into the conversation. He accepted several snifters of brandy from a passing cocktail server and handed them to Sam's, Ham's, and Birdie's outstretched hands.

"As long as you insisted on driving, Ben," Birdie said, "I might as well take advantage of it." The others settled for coffee and one last circling of the bid sheets.

"I see Ben's name at the bottom of quite a few slips of paper," Nell mused.

Jane glanced down at the names on the long white sheets of paper. "Ben, Margarethe, and Birdie are our hope for the future," she said. "You are generous folks."

"And while we're slinging praise," Ham said, "here's to you, Sam." He lifted a brandy snifter into the air. "The kids love your class. A lot of them have never viewed anything through a lens, and this is so good for them. They see things differently, themselves included."

"It's a good group--a mix of kids from all over town--and everyone helps out, even Izzy," Sam said. "The kids and I are going to invade her knitting studio one of these days--it's the perfect place to play with interior color and shadows and lighting."

"That's a terrific idea," Nell said.

"Once I saw that window with those dripping hanks of color, I knew I needed an excuse to get in there to photograph them. I figured Iz couldn't say no to the kids."

"He's absolutely right," Izzy said. "No way I'd let Sam in the studio without a covey of kids around him."

"Some of the kids' photographs might look nice in the shop," Nell said. "Maybe you could have a kids' art showing, Izzy."

Izzy's brows lifted. "Good idea. We might as well use Sam to the fullest while he's here."

Ben walked up, announcing that his bus was about to leave. "Call me what you will--but Cinderella and I are on the same schedule." He glanced at his watch. "And my chariot is about to turn into a pumpkin. Any riders?"

Nell touched Birdie on the arm. "Birdie, what do you say we leave the younger set to the final brandy toasts and head out?"

Birdie protested for effect, but took Ben's outstretched arm when offered.

Ham and Jane went off to thank Margarethe, and Nell watched the others heading for the tent and some late-night dancing. She watched them walk off, then followed Birdie and Ben out to the car.

It wasn't until Ben had sent for their car to be brought around that Nell and Birdie realized their wraps were still upstairs.

"I'll just be a minute, Ben," Nell said. "You and Birdie wait for the car and I'll pick up our wraps."

Birdie agreed, admitting, for once in her life, that her body was a bit weary and if saved that long flight of stairs, she'd be grateful.

Nell hurried up the outside steps and into the house, looking for Stella or one of the other young women who had taken their wraps hours before.

But the music in the tent had picked up its tempo, pumping a beat across the yard and into the house that Nell could feel inside her chest. There would be no hope of finding any of them now, Nell thought. She suspected the whole coterie of teenagers hired to help were now in the tent, enjoying the late-night crowd and the music.
Well, good for them,
she thought, and headed up the circle of steps to the second floor. After a decade or two of parties at the Framinghams', she could surely find her own wrap.

Nell peered into a large, open suite opposite the top of the staircase and spotted the pile of coats and shawls neatly positioned across the beds and divan. She spotted her own black shawl immediately, just inside the door and folded nicely on the back of a loveseat. Birdie's was next to it, the elegant red butterfly shawl draped over a mountain of silk pillows as if on display. Nell smiled, wondering how many youthful bodies had modeled it in the course of the evening.

She draped both shawls over her arm and turned to leave when a series of high-pitched giggles stopped her just inside the doorway.

Nell looked back. The two rooms of the suite were connected by a short hallway, lined on either side by mirrored closet doors. In the mirrors' reflection, Nell spotted Stella Palazola and two friends, each one twirling like models, their shoulders covered in guests' lacy shawls and silk brocade jackets.

The teenagers hadn't seen Nell. Their full attention was given to the whirling, elegant images looking back at them from the mirrors.

Nell smiled, remembering Birdie's story. She'd have to tell Birdie they thought hers was the prettiest. As she turned to leave, not wanting to disturb their fun, a bright flash of color in the mirror caught Nell's eye. She paused, then took a step back into the room. And in the next moment, Nell's body froze. She took a slow breath and focused on the image in the mirror.

Stella was draped in a lacy cashmere sweater, her reflection a flash of brilliant color. It wasn't an ordinary sweater or shawl, but one Nell would have recognized from miles away.

Before Nell could collect her thoughts, Nancy Hughes and several other friends from the Historical Society board walked into the room, chatting and laughing.

"Nell, I haven't seen you all evening," Nancy said effusively, hugging Nell. "And here we all are, the older generation, heading for our coats and off to bed."

"You don't exactly fit the description of older generation, Nancy," Nell said, pushing a calmness into her voice that her body failed to absorb. Her back was to the closets, but she could feel the movement behind her.

"Well, older than the generation still tearing up the dance floor," Nancy said. "Alex claims we haven't danced this much since our wedding. He's collapsed at the front door, waiting to take his weary wife home."

Nell nodded politely as they chatted about the party, the food, and the piles of money raised for Canary Cove and the Arts Academy, while searching for their wraps in the neatly arranged piles.

When they finally left, Nell turned toward the closets. The hall was empty, just as she knew it would be. The voices would have sent the teenagers scurrying out the other side of the suite. She walked through to the small sitting room at the other end. It was empty as well, except for more coats and wraps arranged neatly on the back of the chairs and couches.

Nell walked over and began picking through the piles of garments. They wouldn't have left with the sweater, surely, but there was no sign of the brilliant cashmere wrap.

"May I help you, Mrs. Endicott?"

Nell turned and looked into the smiling face of one of Mae Anderson's nieces.

"Hello, Rose," Nell said, standing straight. "I think I'm fine. I thought maybe I had picked up the wrong wrap, but I must have been mistaken."

"Okay. Sure. Some of us are going swimming, if you want to come," Rose said. Her eyes twinkled, and she held up a tiny swim-suit. "Miz Framingham said we could use the pool before we go home. She doesn't need us to help anymore."

"Well, good. You have fun, Rose. Would you believe I forgot my suit?" Nell forced a smile and left Rose her privacy to change.

Nell's heart fluttered as she hurried down the steps and out to the waiting car. Ben reached across the seat, opened the door, and Nell slid in beside him, handing Birdie her shawl and snapping her seat belt in place. She looked straight ahead, collecting her thoughts as Ben maneuvered the car around the circle and out onto the road.

"Nell," Birdie said, leaning forward from the backseat and tapping her on the shoulder, "What's the matter with you? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Nell took another slow breath, forcing her heartbeat back to normal. She looked over at Ben, then twisted her shoulders to look back at Birdie.

"Birdie, that's exactly what I've seen," she said. "I've seen a ghost."

It was hours later that Nell finally turned out the light and fell into a light sleep, one punctuated by dreams of mirrors and falling skeins of yarn, and glistening golden threads tangled and misshapen.

"It was the sweater Angie was wearing the night she died. I would stake my life on it," she told Ben as they lay side by side, unable to sleep. "The Chinese yarn in that sweater was unique and the saffron shade exquisite. And Izzy had designed it herself, so it couldn't be a copy. It was a work of art," Nell said.

"You're sure the mirror didn't distort it, Nell?" Ben asked.

"I don't think so, Ben." Nell knew Ben wanted to understand, but it was hard to explain to him that she
knew
that sweater intimately. It wasn't like any other sweater. During those days and nights when they fixed up the shop, she and Izzy would take timeouts to knit and talk and plan. She had watched the spun cashmere fibers turn into a soft luxurious wrap beneath Izzy's expert fingers. The sweater became a part of those special months when aunt and niece renewed their relationship, shared intimate thoughts, and together looked ahead to Izzy's new life in Sea Harbor.