Death by Cashmere (35 page)

"Margarethe, we can make this right," she said, not believing her words, just as she knew Margarethe would not believe them, but trying desperately to hold her attention.

Ben slowly moved around the circle drive while Nell talked.

"Gideon was a fool, you know," Margarethe said, her voice rising to an unfamiliar level. "He saw us that night as he was stealing the lobsters, foolish, horrible person. No one could ever blackmail Margarethe Framingham."

"You kept Izzy's sweater, Margarethe."

The light of the fire illuminated an odd smile on Margarethe's face. "It slipped off her shoulders. It was the most exquisite yarn, an unusual perfect weave . . ." Her voice trailed off as if she were picturing the saffron-colored cashmere, feeling it with her fingertips. "I kept it safe in my closet. One should care for beautiful things, Nell."

"Angie talked to Angus about this land," Nell said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ben circle the statue in the center of the drive, moving closer to the tall figure at the foot of the steps.

Margarethe looked off into the distance. "Angus told me Angie was giving him proof. But she was dead. He didn't know what she was talking about half the time, fool man. All he wanted was to clutter up the harbor front telling tales. But when he was lucid--"

Nell wrapped her arms around her body, warding off the chill of dawn. "Then he knew, didn't he? Knew that this land belonged to his beloved Anja. And when she died, it belonged to him. And that somehow Angie had put things in place for him."

"Belonged?" Margarethe stepped closer to the house. "What do you know about belonging? I was nothing, nothing! And now I am something. And no one will ever, ever take that away." She turned and looked around the circle, spotted Ben not fifty feet away. She put up her hands in front of her, stopping him, her tall figure a silhouette against the burning backdrop.

And as the fire trucks screeched and whirred, their lights spinning around and casting eerie shadows against the trees, Margarethe smiled back at Nell, nodded politely to Ben, turned as if on a stage, and walked back into her house.

The
Sea Harbor Gazette
said it all:
Sea Harbor's old man of the sea-- a millionaire benefactor
.

And farther down, a headline read:
Fall from Grace
. And the sad, awful story of Margarethe Framingham was detailed in chronological exactness. Nell noticed that Margarethe's accomplishments were listed as well, but they paled in the light of her motivation and awful, murderous compulsion to maintain a name and a fortune. That couldn't be explained away so easily.

When Izzy and Nell visited Josie a day later and carried the boxes of her things into the back bedroom, Josie pulled out one of Angie's graduate school papers and showed it to them. Angie had gotten an A on it, Josie said proudly. She'd chosen Sea Harbor for her paper that semester and discovered unusual land transfers that didn't fall on the grid. So she had come back home after graduation to pick up the trail. It had been a lottery win for Angie, Nell realized now--she'd found a way to extract justice from Sylvester Framingham Sr. for her father's death--and she'd help a very nice man in the process.

Tony Framingham returned to Sea Harbor the next day, as soon as the news reached him. He'd been in Boston, visiting friends.

A blessing,
Nell thought when she took a look at the bedraggledfigure standing in her doorway that afternoon. No good would have come from seeing his mother die.

Ben and Nell were both home when the unexpected visitor arrived, and they sat with him on the deck, a glass of untouched ice tea in front of him.

"You were the last to see her," he said. "I just want to know . . . I don't know what I want to know."

"The fire chief said she didn't suffer, Tony. She was knocked unconscious when the ceiling caved in. She didn't feel any pain."

"Maybe not at that moment," Tony said. He sat on the bench, his head low and his elbows braced on his legs.

"Did you know what was going on, Tony?" Ben asked.

Tony looked beaten, a handsome man, crushed beneath a sordid history and grief for his mother--and for her deeds. "I knew she wasn't right lately. I got strange phone calls from her saying that people were out to destroy the Framingham name. Things that didn't make sense. That's why I came home.

"I always suspected my grandfather stole the land and the quarries--I talked to my dad about it once and he admitted as much. His old man was a shyster, but he had friends in all the right places. When both the Alatalos died--father and daughter-- there was no one to stop him. He was able to come up with a document, have it signed and sealed. Angus was probably overcome with grief at the time, and he may not have even known about the will that stated the Alatalos' fortune, the land, and the quarries belonged to him. It was easy.

"My dad handled the fraud by being distant. Mother knew, and coveted the secret to keep her standing, her power--the only things in life that really mattered to her. I handled it by getting away from here, not taking a cent from my family, finding my own way."

"You knew Angie was up to something, though."

Tony nodded. "She told me as much. Angie always disliked the whole family, ever since her father lost his job. She had a right to, frankly. But I always kind of liked her, believe it or not. Angie saw things in black and white though, and I was definitely a part of the bad guys, even when we were teenagers. When I came back to help my mother, I tried to talk with Angie, tried to get her to back off, to bribe her, if I had to. But she wouldn't listen to me."

"Did you know that your mother . . ." Nell paused.

"Killed Angie? I don't know if I knew or not, Nell. I guess I thought if everyone let the police report stand, moved on, it would all go away--and I wouldn't have to know.

"I was rude to all of you, I know. I thought if I played tough, you'd all back off, forget about it, buy into the town's thinking that the guy who did it was long gone. And then maybe I could convince myself that they were right, some stranger killed Angie."

Tony's face was so raw with sadness that Nell had to keep herself from looking away. He sat in silence for a moment, breathing in and out as if to stabilize his shaken world. When he finally looked up at Nell and Ben, his voice was shaky and his eyes filled with remorse.

"She was my mother," he said at last. "And I loved her."

Birdie dressed Angus up in summery Brooks Brothers slacks and a silky shirt for the Fourth of July ceremony. She slipped a rose into the pocket of his shirt.

"This is your day, Angus. Now, behave yourself."

"Miss Birdie, I just love it when you talk dirty." Angus smiled. He had lost weight, but his mind was clear and though the doctors couldn't explain it, he had maintained a reasonable clarity since his release from the hospital.

"I think he always thought he was alone," Birdie said. "Ever since he lost Anja, he wandered, always on the edge but never really being a part of anything. When he was in the hospital, Sea Harbor showed him he still has a family."

The doctors listened politely and nodded appropriately. But, as Birdie told anyone who would listen, they couldn't seem to come up with a better explanation, now, could they?

Nell waved at Angus as he walked onto the stage. It was set up in the middle of the park near Ocean's Edge. When the skies turned dark, fireworks would go off over the ocean and little children would run around the grass with sparklers in their hands. Already blankets covered the grass, the smell of hotdogs and hamburgers filled the air, and a small band played John Philip Sousa marches to the delight of romping children. As the drums rolled, the mayor stepped up to the podium and blew ceremoniously into the microphone. A shrill ring brought the crowd to attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "a happy Fourth of July to you!"

The crowd squealed and several helium balloons floated up in the air above the mayor's head.

They all sat in the first row, just in front of the stage--Nell and Ben, Cass, Pete, Sam and Birdie. The Brandleys were just behind them, Archie outfitted in a red, white, and blue striped shirt with a silly little beanie that had stars and stripes on the top. Ham and Jane slipped in just before Angus came to the microphone.

And Izzy sat on the end, next to Sam, with the cashmere sweater that wouldn't die wrapped around her shoulders. Shortly after the night Margarethe died, a package arrived at the Seaside Knitting Studio, mailed the day of the fire.

Purl had found the package first, just inside the back door, and pawed and pulled until the string fell free. She seemed insistent Izzy open the package then and there.

When Izzy opened the cardboard flaps, she gasped.

"She must have planned that day," Izzy told Nell. "She knew we were putting the pieces together. Angus was recovering. It was just a matter of time."

Nell had added, "And I think she was at Annabelle's when I went to see Stella the night of the fire. When Margarethe was leaving, she saw us talking--and she'd have known that Stella would finally tell me the sweater didn't come with a guest. It came from Margarethe's closet. She rummaged in my car and found Sam's photos of her truck, the one that killed Gideon, sitting so openly on the quarry edge. It was all closing in on her."

"She didn't cover her tracks well," Ben said.

"She didn't think she needed to--she was Margarethe Framingham. "

Nell had touched the sweater with her fingertips, as knitters do. "And Margarethe Framingham would not have let so beautiful a sweater die in a fire, though she didn't think so carefully about her own life."

"So she mailed it to me," Izzy said.

The mayor introduced Angus, and the crowd laughed because there was no one in the whole town of Sea Harbor who didn't know
their
old man of the sea, as they had begun calling him.

But when Angus started to speak, they hushed and listened. The old man looked out at the crowd and at the ocean beyond, and for a minute, Nell thought he wouldn't be able to get through this. They were asking too much of someone who had been through so much--who hadn't regained all his strength and was still weak and frail.

But just as Nell was about to get up and suggest the mayor speak instead, Angus cleared his throat, motioned to Nell that he was just fine, and began to speak.

"Friends--" Angus looked out over the crowd of people filling Pelican Park. Then he looked down at the first couple rows of chairs and coughed slightly, as if he had a lump in his throat. He continued to speak, slowly, hesitatingly, but with the conviction of someone who had something he wanted to say.

"Friends and family--thanks for coming," he began. "I tell stories pretty good, but I'm not much of a speaker. So if you don't mind an old man's whimsy, I'll tell a little story:

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Finnish girl who lived on this land with her father, a good man. She met her prince, a plain fellow--a granite cutter--and she stole his heart dead away. Anja was her name, and the stone cutter loved her ferociously. She lit up his day and brought peace to his nights. And when she became his wife, the plain man's life was filled with a kind of happiness he'd never imagined would come his way.

"When his princess died, the man's mind and soul died some, too, even though his old body went on. And then a young woman named Angie Archer became his friend and brought some things back to him--reminded him of his love for Anja. Angie listened to a million stories about Anja. And she even gave the old man back a piece of his princess--her family's land. Big and glorious, jutting out into the sea like a place of honor. So now that old man wants to give some of what he has to you. And the mayor here"-- Angus pointed to the man sitting on the stage--"well, he says it's okay."

The crowd laughed.

"See that out there?" Angus pointed to the former Framingham estate, where construction and fire crews had worked around the clock to clear the land of fire debris. The crowd turned as one on their white chairs, shielding their eyes, and looking at the farthest point of Sea Harbor. "It's gonna be a park for all of us. Anja Angelina Park. There's a cabin for me if I want it." He looked down at Birdie and grinned. "It'll be my summer home because I have a fine winter place where they take in your mail and make good soup.

"But y'all come," he said. "It's yours."

When Angus left the stage, there weren't many dry eyes around. Josie Archer was a puddle, and Nell hugged her close.

Izzy came up to Nell then, and soon Cass and Birdie joined them. The four unlikely friends stood close, knit together as surely as the sweaters and scarves and socks that they gave birth to every Thursday night.

Together, they looked out over the harbor and the Anja Angelina Park in the distance.

"Geesh," Cass said. "I'll never be able to remember the name of that park."

The others laughed, a rippling sound that was nearly drowned out by the sound of the first fireworks, crackling and lighting up the sky.

"Just call it Angus's Place," Izzy suggested.

They didn't need to say more. The Seaside knitters had begun falling into one another's thoughts as easily as Purl fell into baskets of cashmere yarn.

Nell looked out over the ocean into a black sky, lit with the bright burst of fireworks, every color of the rainbow lighting up the night. She swallowed hard against the emotion that rose up like the tide.

Angus's Place. Or Anja Angelina. It all meant the same.

Family and friends.

Nell's Sea-Silk Scarf

Size:
One size

1 skein Handmaiden Yarns Sea Silk (70% silk, 30% Sea Cell) 400 m/100 g per skein in Ocean (or the color that looks prettiest against your skin).