The Wedding Shawl (31 page)

“Did Tiffany think she was pregnant?” Izzy asked.

The question seemed to catch Andy off guard, as if it didn’t segue naturally into the conversation. He was quiet for a minute, as if processing Izzy’s simple query and trying to figure out why she asked it. And then, as if a light went on, he shrugged and looked at her.

“I don’t know if she was pregnant, but I suppose the autopsy report will tell us for sure.” His lips lifted in a smile that wasn’t happy or sad. He looked defeated. “But if she was pregnant,” he said, “there’s one thing I know for sure. It wasn’t mine.”

The words were said with the conviction of someone swearing on a loved one’s grave. Nell found herself breathing a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure what difference this information made in the scheme of things, but it was one less thing to weigh down the scale against Andy Risso. And that made her happy.

Pete appeared with another cold beer and offered it to Andy, but he shook his head and stood up. “Nah. I need drums, not beer. Think Hank might let us steal Merry away for an hour?”

“If not, we’ll fool around with some drum-guitar duos.” He grinned at Izzy. “How about that for a processional? Nice little drumroll and some sweet strings?” He strummed an imaginary guitar and in a wobbly falsetto, sang, “Here comes the bride.”

Pete managed to escape the deck just seconds before Izzy’s plastic water bottle landed where his head had been.

Chapter 28

“S
heila is getting ready to leave town,” Birdie said the next day. She called Nell early, right after her morning bike ride. “I stopped by Ravenswood-by-the-Sea to check on her, and she said the police have cut her free. The autopsy report will be out soon, which they’ll mail to her if she wants it.”

“What about the boxes of things at my house?” Nell asked.

“She doesn’t want them. Not even the clothes and things from the boardinghouse. She’s giving it all to Father Northcutt for the homeless shelter.”

“But she doesn’t even know what’s in the boxes you and I packed.”

“I gave her a brief description, though I said we hadn’t looked through things carefully before stashing them in the boxes. She said no thanks. She doesn’t want books or knickknacks or old newspaper clippings. She and Tiffany weren’t savers, she said. Probably because there was nothing of their growing-up years worth hanging on to.”

“That’s sad.”

“But true, I think. So I assured her we’d go through the boxes and give the padre whatever we thought he could use. And if there was anything that we thought she should have, we’d mail it to her.”

“That’s a good plan. Did you get her contact information?”

“We can get it tonight. I invited her out to dinner. Gracie’s Lazy Lobster and Soup Café.”

Nell chuckled. As always, Birdie picked the perfect place. Noisy and happy. Sheila would enjoy herself, and it might give her at least one good memory to take back to Nebraska with her.

It was a good night for it, too. Ben was in Boston for a board meeting at the Endicott family company. Her quiet night would now have company.

“Dinner is a nice idea. But, Birdie, I think we—” Nell began.

“I completely agree,” Birdie said, breaking into Nell’s sentence. “We should look through those boxes before we meet Sheila for dinner. Just in case …”

The “just in case” had all sorts of thoughts bundled around it.
Just in case
there was something special there, something Sheila should have, whether she wanted it or not.
Just in case
there was something there that brought more questions to mind to ask her before she left town.
Just in case …

“I’ll pick up some sandwiches at Harry’s Deli and be there at noon,” Birdie said. “That leaves you free for those endless meetings you seem to fill your Monday mornings with.”

“Old habits die hard.” Monday mornings
were
often busy. Some days her calendar was so full she thought she might as well be back at work in the Boston nonprofit she directed for years.
Meetings.
Followed by
meetings
. But then she’d remind herself that now on other days there were
no
meetings—nothing but a quiet beach to walk along, or a garden to tend, or an evening with Ben, looking up at the stars or sitting in front of a fire. And then she’d relish all over again their decision to retire to the roomy old Endicott home in Sea Harbor.

Today’s meeting was with an arts group in Gloucester. It wouldn’t last long. She went into the den, collected her papers and purse, and told Tiffany’s boxes, stacked neatly in the corner, that she’d be back. She hadn’t forgotten them.

Mondays were Cass’ sacred days. She and Pete usually worked their lobster crew on Saturdays and then took Monday off. Cass liked having a free day that wasn’t a weekend, she often told Nell. That way she could decide for herself how to use it and not be influenced by the city calendar or the newspaper lists of weekend events. Other people could go off to work on Monday and leave Cass alone to her own devices.

“So, come help us,” Nell said into her cell phone. She was stopped at the railroad tracks on her way to Gloucester, waiting for the morning train to pass by.

Cass was sitting at Coffee’s, her feet up, a coffee drink on the table in front of her and a book closed on the table.

“I might as well. I can’t stop thinking about Andy,” she said. “Danny and I went over to the Edge last night, and it was like he was there with us, he was on our minds so much. The guy looks whipped, don’t you think?”

Nell agreed. Even though he had smiled, even joked, after he’d purged himself the day before, there was a trace of defeat in the smile. A look that said,
Just get it over with.

“Jake came into the restaurant with Ham and Jane Brewster,” Cass went on. “The Brewsters had gone by and picked Jake up, insisting he go to dinner with them. He’s whipped, too. He said the police keep talking about circumstantial evidence, even though they can’t find anything concrete to link Andy to the crime.”

Circumstantial evidence.
Nell nodded. She and Ben had had a quiet dinner at home last night, then settled on the deck to talk while she sewed tiny beads onto Izzy’s wedding shawl. Ben brought up the same thing. The police couldn’t ignore the awful argument that Andy had had those many years ago with Harmony. And then almost a repeat of the scene with Tiffany at the Palate. His anger. His accusing Tiffany of blackmail. His lack of alibis. A fling, if that was what it was, with Tiffany. And riding beneath it all, Tiffany’s obsession with him.

But most of all, or so it seemed to Ben, the fact that there wasn’t anyone else left that they could bring in to question made Andy stand out. Young Tanya at the salon hadn’t liked Tiffany, had wanted her job, and they’d found her rummaging through Tiffany’s drawers, but she was seen at the Gull the night Tiffany was killed. And even though no one was sure when she left, there was something so naive about Tanya Gordon that Nell had a difficult time placing anything more weighty than gossip on the young woman’s shoulders. Claire didn’t have an alibi, either, but her motive didn’t hold much water. All that was left was Andy … or another cold case to file on a shelf in the dusty police archive room. The thought brought a shudder to Nell. The sight of her slashed tires was a reminder that there was someone
out there
, someone who had killed a young girl. Maybe two. And someone who quite possibly could kill again. There was nothing cold about that, not at all.

They all arrived within minutes of one another. Birdie with wrapped veggie paninis that Harry had grilled minutes before, Cass with Izzy in tow.

“The girl has to eat,” Cass said. “I scooped her up from the shop. Mae was delighted. She said Izzy’s getting entirely too bossy as the wedding gets close. And with everything on her mind, Mae’s afraid she’s going to forget to eat.”

“Fat chance,” Izzy said, unwrapping the sandwiches and pulling a bag of chips from Nell’s cabinet. “Have you ever known me to pass up food?”

They all admitted that they hadn’t, and of all the things that could happen before a wedding, Izzy starving was not one of them.

They grabbed Cokes and iced tea with mint and in minutes were sitting cross-legged on the floor of Ben’s den. Birdie opted for the leather chair in the corner. “Just in case of fire,” she explained. “Getting down there is easy, but it takes a while to get up.” She settled into the chair, her feet barely touching the floor.

Nell passed around plates and napkins to catch the dripping cheese from the grilled sandwiches.

Cass licked her fingers. “Can’t believe I like these as much as I do. A sandwich without a hint of cow or pig—and it’s good.” She peeled back the top crust and eyed the mushrooms, tomatoes, and thin slices of grilled red onion and zucchini. Harry had added sprigs of basil and oregano, slivers of pepperoncini, and a creamy sauce, the contents of which he refused to reveal, all topped with fresh melted mozzarella cheese.

Izzy put her half-finished sandwich down and pulled the first box over to the group. She tore off the tape and lifted the cardboard flaps. “Clothes?”

“She kept a bit of her life in that office. More than at Mrs. Bridge’s boardinghouse, we think,” Birdie said.

Izzy pulled out jackets and checked the pockets. “You never know,” she said, looking up, but they were empty except for some loose change and a pair of sunglasses. She folded them neatly and took out a pair of nylon running shorts and several shirts. The rest of the box had more of the same—several underwear items, a baseball hat.

Nell took out a Magic Marker while Izzy refilled the box.
Father Northcutt,
she wrote across the side.

Cass opened another box and lifted the battered backpack out, setting it aside.

“The rest are all books,” Cass said. She opened each one, then flipped the pages upside down to release any notes or receipts, or stray bits of paper. Anything that might add details to Tiffany Ciccolo’s life. She checked the titles, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, and she packed them all up again.

Birdie leaned over and pulled the backpack to her lap. She unzipped the main compartment and looked inside. “This is interesting.” She pulled a cotton nightshirt from the bag. Next was a red lightweight hoodie. Birdie held it up. SEA HARBOR RED HOTS was written across the back.

“That’s the name of a community-center basketball team. I think I played on it one year. I was awful,” Cass said.

“Tiffany played basketball,” Nell said. “She must have saved it. Claire said she was a good player.”

Birdie held the shirt up by the shoulders and scrutinized it more carefully. “It must have shrunk over the years if it was Tiffany’s. It’s not very big.”

The nightshirt and shorts were small, too. She pulled out a hairbrush and small bag holding creams and elastic bands. Deodorant and a toothbrush. A clean T-shirt and pair of jeans were folded together, along with underwear. Birdie set them aside and unzipped a side pocket. She found a pair of earrings and a black velvet pouch. Inside was a thin gold chain.

“What’s that?” Izzy said.

Birdie dangled it in the air. A rectangular charm hung from it. It had a raised design on the gold-plated surface. “An amulet. It looks like an Egyptian cartouche.”

Izzy took it and turned it over. She rubbed a finger over the design. “It’s pretty.” She squinted and looked at it more closely. “It’s an odd design, two or three horizontal lines. The letters are rubbed down, hard to see, but there’s something about the design that looks familiar.”

Nell took it from her and looked at it. “Maybe we should show this to Sheila. It’s jewelry, maybe something from their family?”

They all agreed, and Nell set it aside.

“This box is all picture frames, some with the original store picture still in them. And CDs. Father Northcutt?”

Nell nodded, and Cass closed the box and marked it.

Birdie pulled a pair of flip-flops and a bathing suit from another compartment in the backpack. “I guess this is it for the backpack.”

Cass stared at the items. “These are odd things to carry in a backpack. It sure doesn’t look like yours, Birdie. No yarn, needles. Not a single bottle of pinot grigio.”

They laughed.

“Cass is right, though. It’s odd. Where do you suppose Tiff was going?”

“It almost looks like she had packed for an overnight,” Izzy said.

Nell looked at the pile of clothes on the floor near Birdie’s feet. “That would be my guess. Claire said Tiffany mentioned meeting someone at the salon later that night. She assumed it was a client, but maybe not. Maybe it was someone she was going away with.”

“What about that front pocket?” Cass said. She pointed to the bag. “It has a bulge.”

Birdie unzipped the remaining compartment. She frowned, then pulled out a package. The wrapping paper was slightly torn and dirty, but the design on it was distinct. Caps and gowns. It was a wrapped present.

“A graduation present?”

“It’s June. Maybe she knew a graduate and was giving them a gift.”

“I wonder who.” Birdie tore the paper off and stared down at the paperback sitting in her lap.

The title leaped off the cover. It was a perennial best seller, a book they’d all seen staring out at them from bookstore racks.

What to Expect When You’re Expecting.

“Good lord,” Nell said.

“So Tiffany … was pregnant?” Izzy said. “Tanya was right?”

Nell took the book from Birdie’s lap and opened the cover. Across the inside, in the loops and swirls of teenage penmanship, was written:

Happy Graduation(!) to Harmony, my best friend in the whole world. I will always be with you, through thick (ha, ha!) and thin.

From your secret keeper, your soul sister.

BFF,

Aunt Tiffany

Nell stared at the inscription.
Aunt
Tiffany.