The Wedding Shawl (16 page)

Nell frowned. She glanced over at the door. It was closed, and the window they’d been sitting in front of a few hours earlier was shut. Claire’s gardening clogs were lined up neatly beside the door.

Nell walked up the step and along the narrow porch below the windows. She peered through a window, her chest tightening.

The water glasses they’d used earlier were put away; the bed in the alcove was neatly made up.

Nell rapped on the door, but she knew before the sound echoed through the cottage that no one would answer.

Claire Russell was gone.

Chapter 17

“S
he’ll be back,” Ben assured her as they drove along Harbor Road on their way to the store. The sky was a deepening blue, with brilliant rose bands painted across it as the sun slipped down behind the western edges of the town.

Nell had spent an hour working in the garden alone, somehow sure that if Claire knew she was messing with her plantings, she would show up in an instant.

But when Ben returned from his meeting and Claire still wasn’t back, he suggested a quick trip to the new cheese store on Oak Street. “You know what they say about a watched pot,” Ben said. “Besides, I need a bite of manchego tonight. Just a small sliver.”

So Nell had gone with him to the Cheese Closet, and they’d walked the narrow aisles of the charming new shop, filling a basket with cheeses, crackers and olives, jars of pickled onions and sweet gherkins, black olive tapenade and homemade salsa. Ben looked longingly at the smoked salmon and applewood ham. Nell laughed and dropped them into the basket next.

And in between paying for far more than a hunk of manchego cheese and climbing back into Ben’s car, Nell quietly told Ben the story of Claire Farrow Russell.

Claire wouldn’t mind. Nell was suddenly sure of that. But even if she did, the news would come out.

Ben had listened carefully, as he usually did. Asked a question here and there. Before he turned the ignition to head back home, he’d hugged her close. “That’s a sad story,” he said. “A broken life. Hopefully it can be mended.”

They had each lapsed into their own thoughts then, knowing that mending a heartache as great as Claire’s might take a lifetime to do.

“This will teach us to leave our house unlocked,” Ben joked when they walked into their house.

Pete, Willow, and Merry sat at the island, Sam and Izzy were piling beer into the refrigerator, and Cass was washing her hands at the sink. Standing outside, alone on the deck, was Andy Risso.

“Hi,” Izzy said, her head poking around the refrigerator door.

“Hi back,” Nell said. “What’s up?”

Merry looked up, a blush traveling across her cheeks and forehead. “This isn’t too cool, is it? Barging in like this.” She looked around at Izzy, then Pete and Cass. “They said you wouldn’t mind.”

Nell laughed. Merry’s enormous eyes filled her face, and she looked like a child caught with her hands in the cookie jar. She hadn’t spent as much time at the Endicott home as some of the others. The open-door policy was foreign to her. “We don’t mind at all, sweetie.”

“We had a late-afternoon band practice, and then Andy got that outrageous phone call,” Merry began, glancing out to the porch.

“What call?” Nell turned and saw Andy standing at the railing by himself, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.

Merry rushed on. “And we usually go out somewhere after practice. Izzy and Sam were going to join us tonight.”

Pete filled in. “But after the call, well, we didn’t feel much like the Gull—”

“The Edge was packed,” Izzy added.

“And Wednesdays at the Artist’s Palate are crazy busy. Hank would be waving at me every other minute to help,” Merry said.

“No excuses necessary,” Nell said. It flattered her, if truth be known, that Izzy felt so comfortable bringing her friends to the house unannounced. Nell suspected that once Izzy sold her little cottage and moved into Sam’s wonderful seaside home, that would change. So she’d relish it while she had it, and she was happy to have it, tonight especially. Claire’s VW was still missing from the side of the drive where she’d been parking it, and Nell would have spent the evening worrying. Company was good.

She looked over at Sam. He was helping Ben unload the cheese shop treasures, most of which would be spread out on the center island and promptly eaten, she suspected. She took some platters from the cupboard and handed them to him for the ham and salmon.

“You’re nice to let us barge in like this,” he said. “Pete’s band was bummed out, so Dr. Izzy suggested coming over here. A place to talk without crowds and noise. So we picked up some beer, thought we’d order a couple pizzas.” He looked at the spread that was magically appearing from the thick Cheese Closet bags and laughed. “Looks like we lucked out. Sure beats pizza.”

“You wanted to talk?” Ben asked. “About anything in particular?”

Before anyone had a chance to answer, Andy walked in from the deck, his bottle empty. He set it on the island and managed a lopsided smile. “Hope you don’t mind the invasion of the Fractured Fish and friends.”

“Nope,” Ben said. “Not in the slightest. Glad to have you, Andy.” Ben clapped him on the back.

“Good folks, these guys,” Andy said, looking around the room. Cass was turning on the CD player and Izzy was heating up some bread she’d brought along.

No one even noticed when Birdie appeared, her light step carrying her across the room. “A party without me? Shame on all of you,” she said, then chuckled and began slicing the applewood ham. “Andy, dear, I’ve just been to the police station.”

“You, too?” Andy said.

Ben frowned. “What’s going on?”

“The police are shifting gears on Tiffany’s murder,” Birdie said. “Old Angus McPherran fished her computer out of the ocean when he was hoping for carp this afternoon. Now, why would any robber worth his salt throw the one valuable thing he took away? Her phone is probably down there somewhere, too, swimming with the fishes.”

“So they’re thinking someone wanted Tiff dead. They’re looking at people who knew her,” Andy said.

“That would be everyone who had their hair done at M.J.’s,” Nell said, uncomfortable with the direction in which they were going.

“But we’d known each other a long time, Tiff and me. Much longer than the folks who get their hair done. Harmony Farrow was my friend, too, as anyone who reads the
Sea Harbor Gazette
now knows. And she was Tiff’s best friend. So some people think that a tight trio like that has to mean something, especially when two out of the three are dead.” Andy tried to keep his voice neutral, calm, but his words were coated with sadness.

And fear,
Nell thought. A sliver of fear.

“Birdie, why were you at the police station?” Ben asked.

“Harold got another speeding ticket—not me, Ben. I was talking it over with that sweet Judge Simpson. For a man who moves with the interminable slowness of a turtle, Harold is a regular Dario Franchitti behind the wheel of my Lincoln. I suspect there may be a driver’s ed course in his future.” She shook her head at the thought and went on. “I visited with Tommy Porter while I was there. He told me that they had invited you down to talk, Andy, and I told him exactly what I thought of that.”

Andy managed a smile. “Thanks, Miz Birdie.”

“You’re too old for that now. Call me Birdie. When you were a tot, your mother, bless her soul, liked for you to be formal. But ‘Birdie’ will do nicely now.”

“My mom liked you a lot.”

Birdie nodded. “And I liked her. She was a lovely woman. I also know that no son of Marie Risso would ever be connected to a murder.”

Nell thought she saw tears collecting in Andy’s eyes, but just as quickly he clenched his jaw and looked each of them straight in the eye. His voice was as firm as the manchego cheese Izzy was slicing. “No, he couldn’t. Not then. Not now.”

“It was a new guy on the force who called. Tommy Porter would know not to interrupt band practice,” Pete said, attempting to lighten the mood.

“What did he say?” Ben asked.

“Just that they wanted to talk to me,” Andy answered. “He wanted me to come down to the station right then, but when I hesitated, he backed off and said tomorrow morning would be okay.”

Nell issued a sigh of relief. “Well, that doesn’t mean anything, Andy. They will talk to everyone. Merry, Pete. Everyone who knew Tiffany. M.J. and I have already been to the station once. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were called back.”

Andy nodded, though he wasn’t convinced, Nell knew. Maybe the hardest part of this for him was that he’d been through it all before. He knew what it would be like. It was a remembered pain that had never really gone away, and now it was an anticipated one.

As if by magic, plates and napkins appeared, and platters of bread, cheese, ham, and salmon crowded the island. Nell’s dill sandwich sauce and Ben’s array of French mustards filled a lazy Susan, and Ben busied himself with martinis for those with that bent. It had become a bit of a drama, Ben and his silver bullets, and he used it now to entertain, to push thoughts of murder to the edges of their lives so they could enjoy cheese and smoked salmon.

“I’ve never had a martini,” Andy confessed.

Ben laughed and told him that then this would be a night for learning. He didn’t need to drink it, but he needed to appreciate it. “Now, I’m a guy who likes mine very dry,” Ben began with great pomp. “The vermouth just wants the gin to know he’s thinking about him. It’s the gin’s show, after all.”

Nell watched for a minute, smiling at Ben’s antics, then stepped out onto the deck. What she wanted to see was a guest cabin filled with lights. To see movement behind the thin curtains.

But it was dark. And nothing had moved. Not the wheelbarrow, the rake beneath the tree. The pile of mulch she’d left there earlier, knowing Claire wouldn’t want it left out and would move it the minute she saw it. Though the sky still held light, the sun had disappeared and shadows fell heavily across the yard. It looked suddenly sad to her.

And that couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t allow it to happen. This was Izzy’s wedding site—and it would be filled with great joy. No matter what.

Birdie appeared beside her with a martini. “Ben’s about done with Martini 101.” She followed Nell’s gaze toward the back of the yard and frowned.

Nell felt Birdie’s look before she saw it. “Birdie, I get the feeling that there is more on your mind than martinis,” Nell said. “What really brought you over here tonight?”

Birdie looked around. Izzy, Cass, and a few others had followed them out into the twilight. Andy stood at the door, talking with Pete about music.

Birdie hesitated briefly.

“It’s all right, Birdie; we’ll talk later.”

“No, it’s fine. This is no longer private information. Tommy Porter told me tonight that another person they want to talk to is Claire Farrow, Harmony’s mother. Chief Thompson tracked down Harmony’s father. He lives in Maine now with a wife and half dozen kids. He’s some kind of a preacher. Richard Farrow told Jerry that Harmony’s mother no longer had a right to the Farrow name and he had insisted she legally change it.”

“Claire Russell,” Izzy whispered as the pieces fell into place.

“Yes.” Birdie looked at Nell.

“What did he mean, that she no longer had a right to the name?” Cass asked.

“I’m not sure, but they divorced after Harmony died.”

“What did you say to the police?” Nell asked.

“Nothing. But I think we need to pass this information along to your houseguest.” She looked back toward the guesthouse. “I think it’d be easier on her to at least be prepared.”

Nell sighed. “She’s gone, Birdie,” she said.

Twilight slid into evening, and a huge moon filled the sky and lit the Endicotts’ backyard. Everyone agreed to call it an early night. Sam, Izzy, and Cass were meeting up with Danny and some old friends for a prewedding toast at the Franklin in Gloucester, and Merry had asked Pete and Willow to drop her off at the Artist’s Palate. Hank had called a couple of times, suggesting she come and help him close up.

Ben said he needed to fill up his gas tank, so he’d take Birdie home. Maybe have a talk with Harold while he was there.

Birdie wholeheartedly agreed. Keeping Harold out of traffic school—or jail—was beginning to wear on her.

Andy had his own car, he said. He followed the others through the house, then stopped at the door and looked back.

“Your keys?” Nell asked from the family room. “Keys or phone. That’s what Pete Halloran always has to come back for.”

“No. It’s not that. It’s—” He looked back out the front door, then took a deep breath and walked back into the family room. “I heard you talking about Claire, Harmony’s mom.”

“I didn’t know until today that she was Harmony’s mom. She’s been staying here, helping me get the yard ready for Izzy’s wedding.”

His lips lifted in a half smile. “I remember. She was really good with flowers. Harmony used to say she had a bright green thumb.”

“Did you ever see her garden?”

He shook his head. “I never even saw the inside of their house. It was out on the edge of town. We never went over there because of her dad. He didn’t want guys around. We went to my house instead.”

“Your mom liked Harmony, didn’t she?”

“Yeah. Harmony was like a daughter to her. It was sad, because Harmony loved her own mom more than anything, but I barely knew her. I only met her a couple times. Once I was at Shaw’s and I saw Harmony there with her mom. Another time it was at an awards ceremony at school. And then … then there was the service.”

“Where was that, Andy?”

“The school did a memorial. The funeral was somewhere else, up in Maine, I think. No one went to the house, not even Tiffany. I guess we were afraid of what her dad would do. But Harmony’s mom came to the school service. No one talked to her, though. I don’t know why. We just didn’t. Dumb kids.”

He shifted from one large foot to the other, his gentle face mirroring his memories. Finally he looked back at Nell. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and rotated his shoulders like an athlete, as if preparing himself for some feat.