Death by Cashmere (4 page)

"You're right, Nell," Tony said. "It's her house." But his face tightened as he spoke.

Just then the light in the front of the store went off, and Archie knocked on the window. He waved, mouthing a good night, then pulled down the blinds on the front door and slid the dead bolt in place.

Nell looked through the window into the darkened shop, half expecting Angie to appear, but the store was dark and silent.

Before she could ask Tony what had happened to her, he mumbled a hasty good-bye and was off across the street, headed toward his bright orange Hummer.

"Where's Angie?" Izzy asked Nell. She looked back through the window into the dark, quiet store.

"She probably went out the back door, like Archie does, instead of walking past Tony." Nell looked back at the Seaside Studio next door. The upstairs apartment was dark. Angie hadn't headed home. Nell hoped that for Pete's sake, Angie was back at his side.

"I remember Tony's argumentativeness," Izzy said. "There's a temper beneath all that charm." She tucked her arm back through Nell's, and they crossed the road, dodging a group of boys who breezed by on shiny bikes.

"He was cocky in his teenage years," Nell said. "But that's part of growing up." Tall, good-looking, and smart, Tony was sometimes involved in minor scuffles back then, but Nell never thought him a bad boy. He was always gracious when he came to the house, and Ben liked him. He was simply a product of too much indulgence, Nell had always thought.

Once Tony had to face real life, Ben always said, he'd shape up.

And taking care of his mother certainly fit in that category, even though Nell found it hard to imagine that anyone would presume to take care of Margarethe Framingham.

"I never thought Tony would come back here," Izzy said. "He seemed destined for a bigger world than Sea Harbor."

"Maybe he succumbed to its magic, like you did." Nell stopped at the door of her car and pulled out her keys. She was parked in front of the Gull, a local hangout. Yellow light from the bar spilled through the windows, lighting up the brick sidewalk.

Nell opened the door and put her knitting bag on the backseat, then turned toward Izzy and looked at her closely. She felt a familiar tightness in her chest. The feeling she had had off and on since Izzy moved to Sea Harbor.

Izzy searched her aunt's face. Then she wrapped Nell in a tight hug, breathing in her familiar soapy smell. "I love you, too, Auntie Nell," she whispered.

When Izzy pulled away, Nell collected herself. Why was she feeling so emotional tonight? She kissed Izzy on the cheek and slipped into her car. When she looked back to wave, her niece was already walking away, her arms swinging and her hair flying on the wind, headed toward the Ocean's Edge.

Nell slipped the key into the ignition and looked up to see a lumbering, slightly hunched figure crossing the street in front of her. It was Angus McPherron, a long-retired stonecutter who spent his days wandering the harbor and spinning tales for anyone who crossed his path. "The old man of the sea," the kids called him.

Nell wondered for a minute if she should drive him home. Sometimes Angus wasn't quite in touch with his surroundings, and he might not notice the impending storm. But the old man looked up then and gave a small wave. His small beady eyes were clear and bright with recognition. In the next instant, Angus slipped inside the Gull, swallowed up by music and bodies, and disappeared from her sight.

Nell looked after him. He was a kind man, but a bit unfocused sometimes. She looked through the tavern windows, trying to see his rounded shoulders, his lumbering gait. A mahogany counter, running along the width of the windows, was packed tonight with the usual Thursday-night crowd, anxious to get an early start on the weekend. Angus would have his pick of listeners. A good night for him.

Nell squinted, pulling the scene inside the bar into focus.

"Oh my," she said aloud.

Seated on a high stool, his eyes staring off into space, was Pete Halloran. He sat alone, unaware of the jostling activity on either side of him, his elbows planted on the counter. A half-dozen empty beer bottles littered the narrow space in front of him.

Nell slipped out of her car and walked toward the Gull's windows, her intentions unclear, but her body propelled forward.

As she neared the window, Pete's hand lifted into the air and curled into a tight fist.

On either side of him, men and women laughed and drank beer and picked fried clams from wicker baskets, oblivious of the troubled young man in their midst.

The veins in Pete's forehead pulsed and his jaw clamped shut. He stared through the window, but Nell knew he didn't see her. In the next second, Pete's raised fist swept through the air and slammed down on the pocked wooden counter, sending discarded beer bottles, paper-lined baskets, and bits of clam and French fries crashing to the hardwood floor.

And the next minute, Pete was gone, swallowed up by the crowd of people on either side like a hole in the sand, filled in by a rushing tide.

Friday was a perfect Sea Harbor day. The night rain had washed the village clean, and a white sun hung over the water, warming bare shoulders and cheeks. A perfect day for fishermen heading out in small boats to check traps. A perfect day for friends to gather on the Endicotts' deck to talk about the weekend regatta or share news from Boston or gush over the shipment of new alpaca yarn that Izzy had unpacked that day. A perfect day for grilled tuna with Nell's spicy herb sauce and Ben's magnificent martinis.

Too perfect, Nell would think later. Beneath the glossy sheen of perfection, tiny cracks could widen in the blink of an eye, taking one by total surprise.

"I'm ready, how about you?" Nell called from her post at the kitchen sink. The open windows carried her voice out to the wide deck, where Ben poked and prodded a pile of coals in the stone grill.

Ben looked up, his thick gray brows lifting suggestively over sparkling eyes. "Ready, you say?"

Nell brushed her hair back behind one ear and smiled. What a comfort this big bear of a man was. Ben knew her so well. And he could still punch the buttons that made her remember what it felt like when they roamed Harvard Square, arms wrapped around each other, totally unaware that there were other people in the world. The desire was mellow now, not that crazy, exhilarating rush of youth. But rich and full, just the same. Ben Endicott still lit fires in Nell--and the fires warmed her to the bone.

Ben was at the door now, wiping his hands on an old towel. "I need to get some ice from the garage for the cooler. But otherwise, my darlin', the bar's ready and the grill will be soon. Some soft jazz and we'll be set."

Friday-night gatherings at the Endicotts were all about relaxing, putting the week to rest and being with friends. Ben and Nell were never sure who would show up, but it didn't matter--there was always enough food and friendship to go around. And if it was just the two of them--though that happened rarely--that was just fine, too.

Nell stood in the doorway and looked out over the backyard. Later in the evening, tiny gaslights would blink on, but now the large yard was bathed in the soft light of day's end. When she and Ben had decided to move to Sea Harbor permanently, they had added a guesthouse behind the garage, tucked cozily into a grove of pine trees. Beyond it was a narrow pathway, flattened into the earth by generations of Endicotts making their way through the pines to the beach beyond. The first time Nell had visited Ben's family vacation home, years ago when his parents were still alive, she thought she would never in her life find a place quite as perfect as 22 Sandswept Lane. And she'd been right.

Ben looped one arm around her shoulders. "You didn't sleep much last night."

"The rain, maybe." Nell leaned into his body, her head just touching his shoulder.

Ben touched her hair, then traced her high, prominent cheek-bone with the tip of his finger. "I'll make sure you sleep tonight."

Nell smiled and nodded into his shoulder.

"Anyone home?" The front screen door banged open and shut, followed by sandals flip-flopping on the hardwood floor. Izzy breezed into the family room, a large wicker basket hanging over one arm.

"You look like Little Red Riding Hood." Ben walked across the room and wrapped Izzy in a warm hug. He took the basket from her arm and carried it over to the kitchen counter.

"Ha," Izzy said, following Ben into the kitchen. "And the wolf's name is Gideon, our new security guard--the guy the shop owners hired to patrol at night. He's kind of creepy, Nell. He was sitting on Angie's apartment steps tonight when I left. Acted like he had a perfect right to be there and gave me the oddest smile."

"Was Angie home?"

Izzy shook her head. "At least I don't think so. I haven't seen her all day, in fact."

"That's odd." Nell unwrapped a hunk of Vermont cheddar and placed it on a wooden platter, then spread crackers at either end. "I poked my head into the research library to say hi when I was over there today for a meeting, but she wasn't at her desk. I wonder if she's sick."

"Maybe she was out late last night and slept the day away. Or stayed at her mom's. I remember a time or two when I crashed at your home in Boston after a night of too much fun." Izzy pulled some aluminum foil from a drawer and began to wrap the bread for the oven. "Pete Halloran is the one I'd worry about, not Angie. Cass said he stayed at her place last night. He came in late and not in great shape. Cass is ready to strangle Angie for ditching him the way she did."

"At least he had the sense not to drive back to his own place. He wasn't in any condition to be on the road."

"I saw him at McClucken's this afternoon buying rope for the boat," Ben said. "He looked a little down in the dumps, so I told him to be sure to come tonight. A chilled pint, good friends, Nell's cooking--that's what Pete needs."

Izzy looked up at Ben and brushed his cheek with the back of her fingers. "You are such a sweet softie, my uncle Ben."

"Soft?" Ben frowned and pretended to flex a muscle. "Not a good thing at my age, Izzy girl."

Izzy squeezed his bicep.

"He's strong as nails," Nell said. And Nell made sure he stayed that way. A mild heart attack a few years back had frightened Nell--and Izzy, too--in an icy, paralyzing way. But the outcome, Nell often said, was a good thing--a reminder of their mortality. And together they decided to work less and enjoy life more. A few months later, to the surprise of the foundation Nell directed and Ben's business associates, they'd sold their Beacon Hill town home and moved permanently to Sea Harbor.

"What time is Cass bringing the tuna by?" Ben asked, deftly shifting the attention away from his sixty-five-year-old physique.

"She should be here by now," Izzy said. "She was baiting traps over at the cove, but planned to drop the fish off before going home to shower."

Nell looked at her watch. "Maybe I'll give her a call. Ben could pick it up and save her the trip."

But before she reached the phone, a rattling and screech of brakes in the driveway announced the arrival of Cass's ancient Chevy truck. Nell headed for the door to help her with the ice chest of fish, but before she reached the front of the house, the screen door banged open.

Cass was dressed for the sea, her muddy yellow waders and baggy bib overalls hiding her shape. The familiar Sox cap was missing, and masses of thick tangled curls were plastered against her wet, red cheeks. But it was the enormous tears streaming down Cass's face that stopped Nell in her tracks.

Nell reached out instinctively for the young woman. "Cass-- what is it?"

In a heartbeat, Cass was in Nell's arms, her head burrowing into Nell's shoulder. Her body shook, and Nell pulled her close.

"It will be all right, Cass," Nell whispered. "Whatever it is, we'll make it right."

Cass's head moved from side to side. "No, it won't be all right, Nell." Cass pushed away from Nell and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. She took a deep, steadying breath, pulling herself together.

"It's Angie," she said. Her husky voice was reduced to threads.

"Angie Archer?" Nell asked, not wanting Cass to answer.

"She's dead," Cass said, her voice as heavy as the anchor on her lobster boat.

Izzy and Ben came into the hallway just as Cass's words thudded onto the hardwood floor.

"No, Cass," Izzy said, her voice catching in her throat. "Angie's not dead. She's at the apartment, or out somewhere, you know how she does, or--"

Cass lifted her hand to stop her friend's words. She took a deep breath, sucking in the air as if it were her last breath. She let it out slowly. When she spoke again, her voice was unusually loud, the words pushed out with force.

"She's dead, Izzy," Cass said. "I
saw
her. Her hair was tangled up in the warp from one of my traps, pinning her down to the bottom of the sea as surely and completely as a trapped lobster."

The story came out in starts and stops, with Ben, Nell, and Izzy sitting quietly on the couch, letting Cass take her time as she took them through the terrible afternoon.

A couple of policemen were on the breakwater--"finally checking out the poachers' turf," Cass said. Since she was in her boat, they climbed in and circled around the shallow cove with her, and she pointed out her lobster buoys to them.

"Since we were out there, they helped me pull up a trap so I could show them what I was finding every day--the bait gone, and the lobsters gone, too."

She paused and sipped the tea that Nell had given her. Her fingers gripped it as tightly as a warp on her traps. "It was the second set of traps we pulled up, the ones closest to the breakwater--" Cass's voice broke, but she went on.

"It wouldn't budge. Sometimes they get mired in the muddy bottom, so the guys tugged at the line until I thought I'd have to pull them out of the water, too. Finally, the trap moved and they heaved it up, just enough for us to see . . ."