Death by Cashmere (26 page)

When Izzy had loaned the sweater to Angie--good advertising or not--Nell had had to bite back her disapproval. But Izzy had promised it was just a short-term loan and it would come back soon.

But it hadn't come back. It had been looped in a soft knot around Angie's shoulders the night she died.

There was only one explanation, Nell told Ben. Someone invited to the Framingham arts benefit had murdered Angie. Or if not, knew who did. Nell was sure of it. And Izzy's saffron-colored cashmere sweater was the key.

Sunday's skies were cloudy over Sea Harbor, with a gusty, warm wind tossing the waves and luring sailboats out into the waters. Ben suggested they get out in the fresh air and have a taste of Sweet Petunia's Sunday special.

Though they had eaten enough the night before to last several days, Nell was determined to talk to Stella Palazola. And Annabelle's restaurant was the one sure place of finding her on a Sunday morning. She didn't want to embarrass Stella by letting on that she'd seen her trying on guests' clothing--she would have to go about it delicately--but she had to find out more about the sweater--Izzy's sweater--that had grabbed the teenager's fancy.

On their way over to Annabelle's, Izzy called. "Sam and I are coming, too," she said.

Sam and I
. Nell snapped her cell phone closed. That had a nice ring to it.

Izzy and Sam had already claimed a table in a far corner of the deck when Ben and Nell arrived at Annabelle's. The smell of fresh herbs and rich coffee greeted them as Izzy waved them over.

"I thought the whole town--including you two--would be sleeping in this morning," Nell said, sitting down next to Izzy. "Did you stay late?"

"Way too late," Sam said. "I felt like an old fogy when I collapsed around two. I didn't think I'd ever get Izzy out of there-- she's a dancing fool."

"I think it was the dress," Izzy said. "Kind of like Dorothy's red slippers in
The Wizard of Oz
. I couldn't stop. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. But it seemed all of five minutes later--though it was actually more like nine this morning--when Cass called and woke me up."

"Is everything okay?"

"Fine. Cass goes to Coffee's early on Sundays--she's afraid she won't get a good seat. And she ran into Birdie . . . And Birdie told her about the sweater." Izzy shifted in her chair and tilted her head to one side. "
And
the earphones they found in Gideon's pack--a double whammy. So we know Gideon ravaged Angie's apartment. Tell me
everything,
Aunt Nell. I can't believe the sweater is somehow still around."

"And here I thought it was our company that brought you to brunch," Ben said.

"That, too, Ben, but I can't believe my sweater is still alive. I haven't talked about it because it seemed so selfish. A lost sweater--even
that
sweater--is nothing compared to Angie's murder."

Nell nodded, understanding Izzy's conflicted emotions. She repeated her jarring encounter in the coat room the night before, explaining the history of the sweater to Sam, and looking up now and then to be sure Stella wasn't close by. She hadn't seen the young waitress yet, but Stella had a habit of appearing out of thin air if she sniffed news or gossip. Nell needed to talk to her, and
soon,
but she didn't want to frighten her, either. The fear of Stella clamming up and denying there ever was a sweater was real if the teenager thought she'd get in trouble.

"Could the sweater have been left on the breakwater and found by someone the next day?" Sam asked. "Maybe they realized its value--or just liked it--and decided to keep it?"

Nell had considered that same scenario, then dismissed it. "That seems logical, Sam. It certainly could have slipped off her shoulders. Or Angie could have set it down while talking. Or, if she fought off someone, it could have slipped off." She took a drink of her coffee and then continued. "All those things are possibilities. Except that the sweater would never have survived the night."

Ben looked up from the
Times
and took off his reading glasses. "Why not, Nell?" He looked down at the lightweight cotton sweater that Nell had knit for him when they still lived in Boston. "This one has lasted a long time."

Izzy was about to repeat Ben's question, when her eyes suddenly widened and she slapped the tabletop with one hand. Coffee sloshed against the sides of the mug. "Of course it wouldn't have survived. It rained that night, that's why," she said. She turned sideways to look at Nell. "Nell, you're brilliant."

"Not only did it rain, we had high winds that night," Ben added. "You're right, Nell."

"And if by some miracle the sweater hadn't been blown out to sea," Nell continued, "it would have been drenched with salty sea water and muddy debris. It would have been destroyed. The sweater I saw last night was in beautiful shape. It was perfect."

"But why would someone wear the sweater to an event where it could be recognized?" Sam asked.

"That's puzzling," Nell admitted. "Unless it had been a gift-- whoever murdered Angie gave it to someone. Maybe someone who isn't from Sea Harbor. There were people from all around the Cape, from Boston, too, invited to the party."

"Like all of Tony's friends," Izzy said softly.

From across the room, Ben spotted Stella and waved her over to take their orders. "I think Stella is avoiding us. Do you think she knows you saw her last night, Nell?"

Before Nell could answer, Stella walked over to the table, her glasses fogged from the steam in the kitchen.

Noticing her glasses, Nell realized that Stella hadn't had them on last night. It would have been a miracle if she had recognized her in the softly lit room.

"Hi, guys," Stella said with a wide grin. "Cool party, huh?" Stella wore a skimpy T-shirt today, and over it, a small tank top that ended just above her waist. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. "I had, like, such a cool time."

"You and your friends work hard at those affairs," Nell said.

"Oh, geesh, that's not work. Work was, like, getting up this morning," Stella said. She looked at them through her tinted glasses, her lips turned up in a mysterious smile.

"How about some more coffee, Stella," Ben asked, holding up his cup. "And I think we're ready to order."

Stella poured coffee all around, then pulled a pad and pencil from the pocket of her shorts. She turned to Sam. "My mom's Sunday frittata special is, like, awesome. Today she put salmon in it. Cheese, mushrooms. Potatoes. Sour cream."

"Then that's what I'll have," Sam said.

Stella grinned again, this time only at Sam, and disappeared.

"I think she missed your orders," Sam said.

Ben laughed. "Sometimes Stella asks, sometimes not. Fortunately, Annabelle doesn't cook an egg we don't like."

When Ben and Sam began talking about the Sox-Yankee game, Nell turned toward Izzy, but her niece's attention was somewhere else. She was looking beyond the deck railing, over the treetops and galleries, to the robust waves lapping against the rocky shore in the distance. Izzy seemed intent on something that Nell couldn't see. She looked younger than her years today, Nell thought. And worried.

Izzy turned back and took another drink of her coffee, playing with the toast on her plate. "I really had a good time last night. I think it's the first time since Angie died that I was able to put it all aside for a few hours. And I'm glad I didn't know all this then. The sweater. Gideon breaking in." She paused, and looked up into Nell's face. "I want so badly for all this to end, Aunt Nell. It's too close, you know? It's
touching
us." She pressed a finger into her arm.

Nell wanted to reach out and wrap her niece in a hug like she used to do when Izzy was a little girl and would beg Nell to make the world fair and right. "Just do it, Auntie Nell," she'd plead when a friend's parents were divorcing or her dog got sick or a baby bird fell out of a tree.
Just do it
. She wanted to promise Izzy that she would, that the suspicions and cloud hanging heavy over her shop would go away--poof!--as easy as erasing a headache with an aspirin. Instead, she touched Izzy's hand where it rested on the tabletop and said, "Me, too, Izzy."

Stella returned with heaping platters of frittatas and placed them down in front of them, poured more coffee, and hurried off. Nell watched her go, wondering when she'd be able to get her alone. The restaurant was packed and Stella hadn't stood still since they arrived.

"Was there any more talk of Gideon last night?" Ben asked.

"Some," Izzy said. She picked up a piece of toast from her plate and smothered it with blueberry jam. "It came up a few times, but no one liked Gideon very much, so news of his death wasn't as jarring as it might have been. Some people thought he got what he deserved. He was a poacher. But still . . ." Izzy paused.

"Still . . . ?" Ben asked.

"Well, it was a horrible way to die, no matter what people thought of him. And I can't imagine how someone could have hit him so forcefully and not stopped to see if they could help. People in Sea Harbor aren't like that. Besides, that road is a dead end. Why would anyone have been on it?"

Ben had proposed the same inconsistency the night before, and Nell wondered how the police explained it. "I suppose someone who'd been drinking might have made a wrong turn, but with all the debris and rusted trucks at the end of that road, it seems they would have hit other things in addition to George Gideon."

"It's a little too coincidental," Ben said.

Nell sipped her coffee.
Coincidental or intentional
? she wondered.

Ben directed the conversation on to other things--sailboat races and explaining to Sam the upcoming Fourth of July party held on Pelican Green, the park that stretched down to the harbor. "Lobster rolls, fried clams, plenty of beer--and the best fireworks on Cape Ann. It's a good time for all," he said.

"And this year they'll unveil the statue Margarethe has commissioned of her father-in-law," Nell said.

"I think she's trying to compete with the Fisherman Statue over in Gloucester," Izzy said. "Jane said it's huge."

"What did the grandfather do?"

"The family ran quarries," Ben said. "The Framingham quarry wasn't the biggest, but it was productive, very lucrative. At one time the family employed hundreds of men to work their motions. That's how the Framingham fortune was made, but it was good for the town, too."

"So the monument will honor Tony's grandfather?"

Ben nodded. "Margarethe really admired the old man. He was tough to work for, but at least he provided jobs."

"Working in the quarries was hard, grueling work," Nell said. "I was looking at some of the photographs at the Historical Society Museum. Imagine the wear on a body--smashed hands, splinters of fine granite that could pierce an eye."

Izzy grimaced at the thought. "Maybe the statue should honor the workers. Angus came from a family of quarry workers, Angie said. And his father worked the Framingham motions."

Nell nodded. "That's right. Angus has quite a history--some happy times, but tragedy, too. I remember Ben's parents talking about the family."

"I think Angus is one of the most fascinating people around here," Sam said. "He let me follow him around the other day, and I took enough photos to fill a book. His face is a map--filled with stories and emotion and a long life well lived."

"I'd like to see those photos sometime," Ben said. "Angus's father-in-law used to own a Cape Ann quarry around here somewhere. "

Nell set down her fork, realizing she had finished nearly the whole plate of frittata. "That part of Angus's life is a sad one. Angus's wife, Anja, was very close to her father. One day, not long after the wedding, Anja and her father were out at the quarry when a dynamite blast went bad. Both Anja and her father were killed. It was a very difficult time, and people say Angus was never the same after that. I think his mental lapses are his protection. When he starts to remember, he escapes into his own world."

"That somehow fits the man I've gotten to know through his face," Sam said. "There's definitely tragedy in those deep lines."

"You guys ready for me to take your plates?" Stella asked, appearing at Ben's elbow.

"Stella, you are ever vigilant," Ben said.

"While you take care of that, I'm off to the ladies' room," Nell said. She didn't want to talk to Stella at the table, but she might be able to catch her on her way back to the kitchen.

Izzy excused herself, too, and followed Nell into the restaurant. Over to the side, at a long table near the window, Tony Framingham sat with the group of friends he had brought to the art event the evening before. Tony looked up, caught their eyes, and waved.

"He's in a much better mood this morning," Nell said.

"He wasn't so bad, really. Tony and I have always argued. We were just falling back into old grooves."

"He seemed angry, Izzy. Not just argumentative."

"He has something on his mind, I agree about that. He seems almost too determined to close the book on Angie's murder. And he hates that we're asking questions, keeping it open and alive."

Just then Stella walked back into the main restaurant and headed for the kitchen.

Nell touched her arm as she passed. "Stella, do you have a minute?"

Stella glanced around, checking her tables, and nodded. "Just a minute though--Tony's table is one of mine and they may need me." She beamed as she looked over at the Framingham heir.

"I'll be quick," Nell assured her. "It's about last night at the benefit. When I went to get my shawl, I noticed a beautiful golden cashmere sweater--"

Stella's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Miz Endicott--"

"No, no, Stella, it's okay. I just got a glimpse of it, and I can completely understand that you may have noticed it, too. It was so unique. Really beautiful. I just wondered if you knew who the owner was."