The Wedding Shawl (32 page)

Izzy reached over for the jeans they’d pulled from the backpack. Size 2. “This isn’t Tiffany’s backpack,” she said. “These aren’t her clothes. These jeans are outdated, and much too small for Tiffany.”

Cass said what they were all thinking. “It’s Harmony’s. All packed and ready to spend graduation night with her best friend, the keeper of her secrets.”

“Tiffany had the present wrapped and ready to give to her friend when they got back from the party,” Nell said.

“So it was Harmony who was pregnant.”

A hush fell across the den. An eerie quiet, except for the silent thud of more puzzle pieces falling like bricks to the floor.

“So the baby that Tanya heard Tiffany mention …” Cass began.

“Was Harmony’s baby,” said Izzy, her voice hushed.

“That’s what Tiffany must have been talking about that night at the Palate,” Nell said. “But, why? Why all these years later?”

“Do you think Andy knew about the pregnancy before Tiff told him the other night?” Cass asked. “Maybe that’s what she was telling him.”

They all thought back over the days, the conversations.

“He knew last night when he was over here; that was clear. He was surprised when we assumed it was Tiffany who was pregnant,” Birdie said.

Nell nodded. “He almost seemed amused by our mistake.” She thought back to the night on the Palate deck, Tiffany needing to talk to Andy. It was urgent. Something she had to tell him.

“This was the secret Tiffany talked about,” she said out loud, the words spilling out. “Harmony’s secret that she had entrusted to Tiffany.”

“And a secret she kept for fifteen years,” Izzy said.

“She was desperate to get Andy’s attention,” Birdie said. “That would certainly be a way to do it.”

“I wonder why Andy didn’t say anything last night, correct our thinking.” Izzy smoothed out the jeans and folded them absently.

And Nell wondered whether Claire Russell had known she was going to be a grandmother.

Izzy took the backpack and opened the zipper as far as it would go. She splayed the canvas apart on the floor. On the inside, shadowed in the faded material, was written in black marking pen:
Harmony Farrow. Phone #: 978-555-0982
.

Izzy massaged the bag, feeling for anything they’d missed. In an open pocket, folded in half, was an envelope. She pulled it out and read the words written across the outside:

Tiff, I may need this. Please keep in a safe place. Luv ya. Harmony.

Izzy tore it open. It was a lab report from a free clinic in New Hampshire. She scanned it quickly, then passed it around the group.

Patient ID: 972456555
Patient Name: H. Markham
PT Medications: multivitamins
D.O.B.: 4.6.78
Specimen collected: May …
Test: hCG
Result: Positive.
Blood type: AB positive
Comment: Patient request copy of lab report.

It was followed by a list of tests, with numbers following them, and signed at the bottom by a physician.

Harmony hadn’t settled for an at-home pregnancy test, though Nell suspected she’d probably done that, too. And then she’d gone somewhere where no one would know her to have her pregnancy confirmed.

She’d been happy that graduation night, Claire had said.
Radiant.

Radiant because she was pregnant?

“Harmony Farrow
wanted
this baby,” Birdie said out loud.

“I wonder if the father did.” Nell looked again at the dates. Harmony was seventeen. Young for her class. Underage. She was probably sixteen when she got pregnant.

“If Andy’s story is accurate, he’s not the father.”

“And if it’s not accurate …”

But that thought was too hard to hold in their heads for long. The police might be able to do it, but Nell, Izzy, Birdie, and Cass refused to.

Nell looked at the sheet of paper once more. She frowned, then looked closer. “The false name she used.” She showed them the lab report again. They hadn’t noticed it before.

Markham.

The place where she was killed.

“Why would she use that?”

But none of them had any answers.

“Wouldn’t the autopsy have shown that she was pregnant?” Cass asked.

Birdie explained what Claire had told them the day before. The incomplete autopsy. External. No one knew she was pregnant.

Probably not even Claire, Nell realized now. Unless Harmony had told her, and that seemed unlikely.

They pulled themselves up from the floor, more questions than answers cluttering their minds. But new facts required a shifting of things. And perhaps in the shifting, there’d be clarity at last.

They lined up the items that hadn’t been put back in the boxes headed for Father Northcutt’s shelter.

A book.

A pregnancy lab report.

A teenager’s backpack, filled with all the things she’d need to spend the night at a friend’s house.

“The pack needs to go to Claire,” Nell said. “It’s hers to do with as she wills.”

They all agreed.

“And the necklace?” Izzy asked. “Could Harmony have been giving that to Tiffany for graduation?”

But it wasn’t wrapped as a gift. And it was worn, not new, as you’d expect a graduation gift to be.

Izzy’s brows pulled together. “I know I’ve seen those lines or letters somewhere before on something.”

“I’ll bring it to dinner tonight. Just in case Sheila can shed some light on it.”

It wasn’t until later, as Nell pulled out of the driveway to pick up Izzy and Cass for a night at Lazy Lobster and Soup Café, that Nell second-guessed her decision. Should she have shown the necklace to Claire first? But something inside her said that Claire would have no idea where the necklace had come from, even if it belonged to Harmony. She probably had never seen it before, which was why it was hidden away in a velvet pouch at the bottom of a backpack.

Chapter 29

M
usic streamed from the open door of the Lazy Lobster and Soup Café as the five women walked down the pier to Gracie Santos’ restaurant.

“Sounds like a band playing,” Izzy said.

“Sounds like
the
band,” Cass said. “I forgot the Fractured Fish were playing here tonight.”

Nell looked over at Sheila and wondered if she had put it together. Tiffany would probably have mentioned to her sister that Andy played in a band. But Sheila had been in town only a few days, and she might not realize that the drummer in the well-loved Sea Harbor band the Fractured Fish was Andy Risso.

Sheila’s face showed no emotion, leaving Nell without an answer.

Gracie met them at the door. “We’re rockin’ tonight. Where would you like to sit?”

Nell looked over the room. The band was out on the deck at the far end of the small restaurant, squeezed up against the railing and surrounded by picnic tables, where broiled lobsters were greedily pulled apart and eaten off paper plates. She pointed to an empty table near the fireplace, far enough away from the band that they’d be able to hear one another. Gracie led them over and passed tall laminated menus to everyone. She gave Izzy a quick hug. “Hey, bride-to-be, I can’t wait for the big day. And can’t wait to see the ‘secret’ shawl—I’ve been hearing about it for weeks.”

Izzy laughed. “The best thing about the secret shawl is that it will draw attention away from the bride, and I can be invisible and have a fantastic time.”

“Oh, Iz, that’ll never happen—but you’ll have a fantastic time anyway. We all will. Joy. That’s what we all need.”

Nell introduced Gracie to Sheila, and Gracie murmured her condolences. “Tiffany used to come in here with Andy sometimes. She loved my lobster rolls.”

Sheila smiled her thanks and showed no reaction to the mention of Tiffany’s companion. Nell watched her settle in. She seemed more relaxed, more comfortable. Mary Pisano had worked her magic at the bed-and-breakfast, she guessed. Someone new to “mother” was Mary’s cup of tea.

“I’m anxious to get back home,” Sheila said, accepting a beer the waitress handed her. “But I didn’t expect what I found in Sea Harbor. I came back here, knowing full well how awful it would be, facing a town I ran away from. The murder of a sister I loved—and deserted. A mother I hadn’t seen in decades. But there’s been some closure, some things set straight, and that’s good.”

“But not everything,” Birdie said. “I wish we had more closure for you.”

“That will come. I feel it right here.” She pressed a hand against her heart.

And Nell felt it, too. They were close. Very close.

A basket of fried clams appeared magically on the table, along with a spicy red sauce and plenty of napkins. “Take your time, ladies,” the young waitress said.

Through the open deck doors, Pete was singing a ditty about the walrus and the carpenter, much to the delight of a family of five seated at one of the picnic tables.

Sheila smiled at the clapping and laughter. “This is a great little place.”

“Gracie, the owner, is a friend of ours,” Cass said. “She built this café with blood, sweat, and tears—hers and ours—but it’s been worth it. Everyone in town loves it, and you won’t find better lobsters anywhere in Sea Harbor.”

Izzy explained to Sheila, “Cass and Pete’s company provides the lobsters. So yes, as Cass so humbly reports, the lobsters are the finest, bar none.”

“Oh, quiet, you,” Cass said, then snagged their waitress and suggested she bring them five specials. Steamed lobster with lemon butter, sweet potato fries, fresh corn on the cob, and coleslaw, with Gracie’s crusty sourdough rolls on the side.

“What’s the band?” Sheila asked, looking through the crowd of people.

For a second no one said anything; then Izzy said matter-offactly, “The singer-guitarist is Cass’ brother, Pete. I think you’ve met Merry Jackson, the singer-keyboardist. And the drummer is Andy Risso.”

Sheila’s smile dropped for a minute, but she collected herself quickly and took a quick drink of beer. “They’re good.”

“Sheila, if we’re not being too bold here, could you tell us why you dislike Andy so much?” Birdie looked across the table with the peaceful, loving countenance of a confessor. “He’s a lovely boy, and I know he and Tiffany had a long history together.”

Sheila accepted the question thoughtfully. She nibbled on a fried clam while the waitress handed out Gracie’s heavy silk-screened bibs.

“Maybe that’s what I dislike, Birdie—that long history. The history I purposefully extricated myself from. Maybe I resented that? Or maybe it’s because Tiffany was so head over heels in love with the guy. And then, when they finally got together after all those years, he treated her the way he did.”

“What do you mean, all those years?”

“Tiffany loved Andy since high school. She used to call me about him and talk endlessly. But that was the kind of person she was. She had this teenage crush—but she’d never, ever let her friend Harmony know. In fact, there was a time before graduation when Harmony was pulling back from Andy and Tiffany was depressed about it because it made Andy sad. She wanted him to be happy—even if it meant she didn’t have a chance with him.”

“After Harmony died, what did she do?”

“Nothing. She was desolate over losing Harmony. I wanted her to come stay with me, but she couldn’t be that far away, she said. Far away from our mother. So she got a waitress job up in New Hampshire. She told me once that she thought Harmony’s death was really an accident. And she wished the police would leave it alone.”

“But she came back to Sea Harbor?”

“When my mother had to go into a home, Tiff came back and took care of it. See? She was the good daughter. Always pleasing everyone. But when she came back, she discovered Andy was here, too, and it started all over again. She went away to that beauty school, lost a bunch of weight, fixed her hair, and it was all for him. She told me as much. Her time had finally come, she said. This was it.

“And I thought it was, for a while. They started going out. She’d call me, ecstatic. She was going to marry him, she told me. Then just like that, he pulled away. It was like he was playing with her, you know? But she wouldn’t give up. She had more confidence this time around, and she told me she’d get him by hook or by crook. She had a few tricks up her sleeve, she said.

“And all I wanted was for the guy to tell her to go away. To let her loose.”

“But maybe he tried.”

Sheila nodded that it could certainly have been the case. “Tiff probably wouldn’t have heard it. She was determined. I guess it’s not Andy’s fault. But when you’ve been blaming yourself for so many years, it’s a relief to have someone else to lay the burden on for a while, unfair or not.”

The waitress cheerfully announced that their feast was ready and began filling the table with baskets of warm rolls and honey butter and a bowl to hold shells. Next came the plates, steaming hot and piled with corn, baked potatoes, and a magnificent lobster sitting in the middle of each. “Careful. They’re hot and they’re heavy,” she said. “Dig in.”

And they did, as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. Cass instructed Sheila on the process, first by gently twisting off the legs.

Sheila dropped the skinny appendage into the bowl, and Cass immediately retrieved it. “Oh, no, no, no. Plenty of good meat in there.” She put it back on Sheila’s plate and continued with a lesson in using the nutcracker, showing her how to break off the tip of the claw, pushing out the meat with a forefinger, then all the way to what was arguably the pièce de résistance, the tail. Finally, with exaggerated drama, Cass pulled out the digestive tract and dumped it ceremoniously in the bowl.

Sheila’s cheeks flushed with enjoyment. “I don’t think I ever had lobster when I lived here. Not once. And once I left, I never wanted it. Nebraska pork chops helped me create new memories that were easier to live with.”

The talk spun around them, cheerful and upbeat, and the earlier conversation drifted to the background. Not gone. But removed. When Gracie sent over a bottle of chardonnay to go with the lobster, no one objected. Birdie poured glasses all around. “Gracie refers to the Lazy Lobster as a shack. I’ve scolded her for that.”