Death by Cashmere (5 page)

Bound into the wire mesh of the trap were the thick red locks of Angie Archer's hair, Cass said, with her lifeless body tangled in the warp.

In a short time, more police arrived, an ambulance, and Angie's body was pulled out and taken away.

"It seemed to take hours," Cass said.

"How horrible for you, Cass," Ben said.

"I felt connected to it," Cass said.

"Because you knew her?" Nell asked.

"No, not that. Not because it was Angie. But it was my trap. My warp. That's what was holding her down beneath the water."

Izzy touched her arm, and Nell nodded, but there wasn't anything anyone could say.

"I feel responsible, you know?" Cass said sadly. "Like somehow I killed her."

After a hot shower in Nell and Ben's guest bath, Cass curled up beneath a soft comforter in the wide guest bed and fell asleep.

Pete never arrived at 22 Sandswept Lane that night, but Birdie, the Brandleys, and a few friends who had heard the news gathered on the deck beneath the full moon while Cass slept soundly upstairs. Nell tossed grilled vegetables into linguini, put out warm chunks of sourdough bread and a spinach salad, and they sat late into the evening, trying to make sense out of the day's tragic happenings.

The
Sea Harbor Gazette
reported little else in the weekend edition. The story of the beautiful redhead carelessly walking out on the breakwater with a storm approaching was spread all over town. A rogue wave was the culprit, most believed, something every Sea Harbor child was taught to respect and fear.

Chapter 5

The bells in the stone tower of Our Lady of the Seas church tolled long and mournfully on Monday morning, rolling down the hill like flood waters, filling homes and businesses and hurrying those walking along the winding side streets or driving through the town on their way to the church.

Josie Archer had told Father Northcutt that she wanted her daughter's funeral held as soon as possible. And though the autopsy would take a few days, the old priest accommodated Josie's wishes, with plans for a private burial later. He cancelled the regular eight o'clock Monday service and scheduled Angelina Mary Elizabeth Archer's Requiem Mass for that time.

Neighbors, friends, and parishioners came, some carrying sweet breads, casseroles, or homemade
malasadas
for the gathering in the church basement afterward. If they didn't know Angie, they knew her mother or her late father. Or some simply needed to attend the Mass to mourn a young life so carelessly ended and to pray that it wouldn't happen to them or those they loved. And a handful, as always, were simply curious.

Nell, Ben, and Izzy walked down the steps to the church basement after the service, talking quietly about Father Northcutt's simple homily. He had known Angie since birth, and he was able to offer her family and friends sweet memories of Angie, avoiding the more colorful aspects of her life.

"I can't begin to imagine the depth of Josie's emotion," Nell said. "Burying a child--it's unthinkable."

Ben slipped an arm around Nell's shoulder in silent agreement.

"And I can't imagine Angie falling off the breakwater," Izzy said.

Nell nodded. She knew that Izzy found it easier to put emotion at bay and address the logic of the incident.

"It doesn't make sense," Nell said. "I agree with you completely, Izzy, but we'll have to deal with that later."

A broad woman in a flowered sundress elbowed her way in front of Nell and Izzy. "What was that crazy girl thinking?" she said, speaking loudly to the owner of the Main Street stationery shop. Her strident voice cut through the muted conversations around her.

Nell frowned at the woman. But it was Izzy who glared the woman into silence before following Nell and Ben into the church hall, where the altar guild had set up long tables for food with stacked plates and plastic forks at either end.

A crowd had already gathered and formed a line.

Ben and Izzy headed for the coffee urns perking on the side table. "Don't let gossip bother you, Izzy. Everyone will have an opinion," Ben said. "But it is what it is--a terrible accident." He filled two paper cups and handed one to Izzy.

"But it wasn't an Angie-like thing to do, Ben," Izzy said. "You know that. For one thing, she was a terrific swimmer--she always beat the bejesus out of me when we competed on those summer swim teams. And Angie was smart. Why would she wander out on the breakwater on such a nasty night? And we had seen her just hours before
.
"

The thought had plagued both Izzy and Nell all weekend as they replayed the tragedy. But stopped her from what? All they knew was that the evening had apparently soured for Pete and Angie. And Angie and Tony seemed to have fared no better. So why had she gone to the breakwater, a couple miles away? Pete refused to talk to anyone, Cass said, and they all agreed that this wasn't the time to ply him with questions. But their questions hung in the air like gulls waiting to swoop down for an answer.

"There was no way on earth you could have done anything to change what happened, Izzy," Ben said, reading her thoughts. His voice was stern, but not convincing enough to stop the tears that gathered in Izzy's eyes. He put his arm around her and led her back to where Nell was talking with Ham and Jane Brewster, old friends--and founders of the artists' colony on Seaside Harbor's Canary Cove.

"Ham and Jane said Angie had been spending a lot of time recently on Canary Cove," Nell said to Ben as they approached. She saw the tears in Izzy's eyes and tried to channel the conversation to pleasant memories.

"I couldn't figure out why she wanted to hang out with us old geezers," Ham said, scratching his beard. "But we enjoyed having her around. She was interested in the early days of the colony-- how we bought the land and the old fishing shacks and turned them into galleries. She wasn't the same bratty kid I remembered years ago, who used to hang around the colony and mess up my watercolors. She was interesting, and knew some things about land acquisitions around here that I didn't even know."

Jane nodded. "She was ambitious, too. Had plans for her life."

"What kind of plans?" Nell asked.

"Oh, what she'd do when she left here. I got the impression it'd be soon. She thought she might travel some, then go back to school and get a doctorate."

"That's odd," Nell said.

"Which part, Nell, more school?"

"The planning-to-leave-soon part. Her job at the Historical Society was a full-time job, not temporary. Why would she talk about when it ended?"

"From the way she talked, she was working on a special project and would leave when it was over," Ham said. "She told me outright she wouldn't be here long."

"Well, we all know that Angie wasn't the most predictable person around," Ben said. He set his coffee cup down on a table and looked around the room. "This is just damn sad." He focused on a small group sitting on folding chairs off to the side. Josie Archer sat still, leaning slightly forward, her face pale and eyes glazed. At her side was Margarethe Framingham.

"It looks like Margarethe is taking care of Josie," Ben said, nodding toward the group.

Nell looked over at Margarethe sitting on the metal chair, her hands covering Josie's, which lay limp in her lap. Margarethe was a handsome, large-shouldered woman, stately, and almost Zen-like in her posture, Nell thought. She looked elegant today in a black designer suit and her hair carefully coiffed in a bun. Her demeanor was one of compassion as she leaned in to comfort the devastated mother.

"She's been a big support to Josie," Ham said. "She offered to have the reception at her own home, but Josie said no. She wanted it in the church."

"Margarethe has been a leader in this town for so long, I think she feels the loss of one of us almost as if it were her own," Jane said. "Is there any part of this town she hasn't helped?"

"That's true. She's very generous," Nell said. Ben's family had always helped Sea Harbor causes, but in a behind-the-scenes way. Margarethe's efforts were large and sweeping. She stepped in to influence zoning laws that helped the thriving arts community that Jane and Ham had founded, and she organized a drive to help build a new park to honor the fishermen. Nell had served on committees with Margarethe and had experienced firsthand her ability to get things done.

"And look who else is here," Izzy said. They all followed the tilt of her head and looked to the wall just inside the door. Angus McPherron, dressed in a white, thrift-shop shirt and dark wrinkled pants, stood awkwardly and alone, his large face washed in sadness.

"I've never seen Angus in a dress shirt before," Nell said.

"Or in church," Ben added. "Poor guy. He looks like he lost his best friend."

"He and Angie were friends," Nell said. "I often saw her sitting with old Angus down at Pelican Pier. She listened to his stories with true interest. Sometimes she had her computer on her knees and typed in things that he said. It gave him great pleasure. "

At that moment Birdie Favazza slipped in the back door, her white hair mussed by the breeze. Birdie missed the funeral part in the church, Nell noted, but that was probably intentional. She didn't spend much time in Father Northcutt's church, but her concern for Angie's family wouldn't allow her to miss the gathering after.

Nell started to walk toward her, but just then Birdie spotted Angus standing alone and walked over to his side.

Birdie touched Angus lightly on the arm.

They all watched as Angus looked down at Birdie, whose head barely reached his shoulder, acknowledging her presence with a slow nod. Then he wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, and his face grew hard. With one hand grasping the back of an empty folding chair, he leaned over until his eyes were nearly even with Birdie's, his voice thick with emotion.

"She didn't drown, Miss Birdie," he said, the words loud enough to interrupt the hushed conversations nearby.

Josie Archer and Margarethe looked up, startled.

Nell tensed.

"Angus, hush," Birdie said in a loud whisper. "Not now, dear." She pulled gently on the old man's sleeve, trying to move him toward the door.

Angus shook off her hand and stood as tall as his humped body allowed, no longer looking at Birdie. His eyes focused over the tops of people's heads, off into space, and he spoke as if to an invisible being. "Angelina was a good girl trying to help," he said in a husky, determined voice. "That's all. Just trying to make things right. She didn't deserve this. Who did this?"

Birdie reached again for Angus's arm, and, seeing the horrified stares of Margarethe and Josie, she pulled with all her strength until he followed her out of the church hall.

Nell released her breath. "Good grief. Josie doesn't need that."

"Angus is usually such a sweet man," Jane said, "but sometimes he simply isn't all there."

"Sometimes." Izzy nodded, her eyes still on the doorway. "But other times he clearly knows exactly what he's saying."

And Nell knew exactly what Izzy was thinking. But neither of them would say it out loud. Suppose Angie hadn't been alone? Suppose she had argued with someone and been pushed off the breakwater? What solace could that possibly bring to Josie Archer? A part of Nell said to let it go, let Angie rest in peace. Let her mother grieve and begin to put their lives back into place.

But another part of her couldn't block out the feeling that parts of Angie Archer's life--and death--might not have been what they seemed.

Nell looked over at Josie and saw that Margarethe had gestured for Father Northcutt to join their group, and Josie was once again calmly receiving condolences from neighbors and friends. Josie was a strong woman herself, and Nell knew she would survive this.

Tony Framingham, who had been standing at a distance, approached his mother and leaned over, whispering into her ear. Nell wondered if he had seen the disturbance Angus had caused.

Margarethe listened to her son, then shifted on the metal chair, turning away from Tony without responding. She focused all her attention back on Josie Archer and the next group of people who were waiting to speak to Josie in hushed, sad voices.

Nell caught the look of frustration on Tony's face. He looked as if he were going to interrupt again, but instead, he walked briskly away. As generous a woman as Margarethe was, Nell imagined she might be difficult to have as a mother, even when that child was a grown adult, successful in his own way.

Tony walked over to a metal coat rack near the back of the hall and stood quietly against the wall.

Nell considered going over to speak to him. He had been with Angie so close to her death, a memory Nell was sure haunted him now, just as it did her and Izzy. Nell replayed Archie's harsh scolding of the young man. He accused Tony of threatening Angie. The thought caused tiny goose bumps up and down Nell's arms.

"Tony is all alone," Izzy said, following Nell's gaze. "He seems so much more serious than the Tony I knew."

Nell nodded. "Life does that to you sometimes. But it's nice of him to come to the funeral. Like so many others here, he's known Angie all his life."

"And like Angie," Jane said, "he's come back. They had that in common, too."

"And they are certainly two that no one--their parents included-- would ever have expected to settle back here," Ben added.

Nell wondered briefly if Tony's plans were not as straightforwardas they seemed, either. He didn't seem comfortable here at the funeral. And when she saw him around town, he was polite, pleasant, but made no efforts to renew old acquaintances. At least not that she could see. He was handsome and wealthy, and caused a stir among the unattached women in town. But as far as Nell could see, he wasn't interested.

"Cass and Pete are over there," Izzy said, tapping on Nell's arm and pulling her attention away from Tony.