A Fatal Fleece: A Seaside Knitters Mystery Read online

  A Fatal Fleece

  OTHER SEASIDE KNITTERS MYSTERIES

  BY SALLY GOLDENBAUM

  Death by Cashmere

  Patterns in the Sand

  Moon Spinners

  A Holiday Yarn

  The Wedding Shawl

  A Fatal Fleece

  A SEASIDE KNITTERS MYSTERY

  Sally Goldenbaum

  AN OBSIDIAN MYSTERY

  OBSIDIAN

  Published by New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

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  First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, May 2012

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Copyright © Sally Goldenbaum, 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

  Goldenbaum, Sally.

  A fatal fleece: a seaside knitters mystery/Sally Goldenbaum.

  p. cm.

  “An Obsidian mystery.”

  ISBN: 978-1-101-58537-5

  1. Knitters (Persons)—Fiction. 2. Recluses—Fiction. 3. Right of property—Fiction. 4. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 5. City and town life—Massachusetts—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3557.O35937F38 2012

  813’.54—dc22 2011049867

  Set in Palatino • Designed by Elke Sigal

  Printed in the United States of America

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  ALWAYS LEARNING

  PEARSON

  To Luke, Atti, Ruby, and Jules—

  the dazzling lights in my life

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Gabby’s Purple Cardigan

  Acknowledgments

  First, grateful thanks to Cheryl Erlandson, a talented designer and owner of In the Loop yarn shop in Norfolk, Massachusetts, who designed Gabby’s purple sweater in A Fatal Fleece. Along with Gabby (and Birdie, Nell, Izzy, and Cass), I thank her for sharing her artistry with all of us. Visit the In the Loop shop Web site: keepyourneedles happy.com/shop/. A special thanks to Mary Bednarowski, Nancy Pickard, and Sr. Rosemary Flanigan, who spent lots of time with me and with Finnegan, the old fisherman in A Fatal Fleece, exploring his life and his relationships and helping me figure out what he was all about. As always, thanks to my supportive, wise, and intuitive anchors—Andrea Cirillo and Christina Hogrebe—and to the wonderful Sandy Harding, whose magical spin brings the best out of my words. Thanks to my friends and to my family—Todd and Laila, Aria and John, Danny and Claud—and always, always, to Don. They truly make this whole business a family affair.

  Cast of Characters

  THE SEASIDE KNITTERS

  Nell Endicott: Former Boston nonprofit director, semiretired and living in Sea Harbor with her husband

  Izzy (Isabel Chambers Perry): Boston attorney, now owner of the Seaside Knitting Studio; Nell and Ben Endicott’s niece; recently married to Sam Perry

  Cass (Catherine Mary Elizabeth Halloran): A lobster fisherwoman, born and raised in Sea Harbor

  Birdie (Bernadette Favazza): Sea Harbor’s wealthy, wise, and generous silver-haired grande dame

  THE MEN IN THEIR LIVES

  Ben Endicott: Nell’s husband

  Sam Perry: Award-winning photojournalist married to Izzy

  Danny Brandley: Mystery novelist and son of bookstore owners

  Sonny Favazza and Joseph Marietti: Two of Birdie’s deceased husbands

  SUPPORTING CAST

  Alphonso Santos: Wealthy construction company owner; once married to Sophia Santos, then Liz Palazola; Gracie Santos’ uncle

  Andy Risso: Drummer in Pete Halloran’s band; son of Jake Risso

  Annabelle Palazola: Owner of the Sweet Petunia restaurant; Liz and Sheila Palazola’s mother

  Angus McPherran: Enigmatic old man called the Old Man of the Sea by the locals

  Archie and Harriet Brandley: Owners of the Sea Harbor Bookstore

  August (Gus) McClucken: Owner of McClucken’s Hardware on Harbor Road

  Beatrice and Sal Scaglia: Councilwoman and her husband, manager of the town’s deeds annex

  Beverly Walden: Artist; Moira Finnegan’s daughter

  D. J. Delaney: Owner of Delaney & Sons Construction; wife, Maeve; son, Davey

  Ella and Harold Sampson: Birdie’s longtime housekeeper and groundsman

  Esther Gibson: Police dispatcher (and Mrs. Santa Claus during holiday season)

  Father Lawrence Northcutt: Pastor of Our Lady of Safe Seas Church

  Finnegan: An old fisherman and longtime resident

  Gabrielle Marietti: Birdie’s ten-year-old granddaughter

  Harry and Margaret Garozzo: Owners of Garozzo’s Deli

  Jane and Ham Brewster: Former Berkeley hippies, artists, and cof
ounders of the Canary Cove Art Colony

  Jake Risso: Owner of the Gull Tavern

  Jerry Thompson: Police chief

  Laura Danvers: Young socialite and philanthropist, mother of three, married to banker Elliot Danvers

  Mae Anderson: Izzy’s shop manager; twin teenage nieces, Jillian and Rose

  Mary Pisano: Middle-aged newspaper columnist; owner of the Ravenswood B and B

  Mary Halloran: Pete and Cass’ mother; secretary of Our Lady of Safe Seas Church

  Merry Jackson: Owner of the Artist’s Palate Bar & Grill

  M. J. Arcado: Owner of M.J.’s Salon

  Nick Marietti: Birdie’s brother-in-law

  Pete Halloran: Cass’ younger brother and lead guitarist in the Fractured Fish band

  Rebecca (Marks) Early: Lampwork artist in Canary Cove

  Tommy Porter: Young policeman

  Willow Adams: Fiber artist and owner of the Fishtail Gallery

  Chapter 1

  In Birdie Favazza’s mind, city council meetings were about as bland as white bread. But tonight’s meeting, from which she was mysteriously absent, would surely make her eat her words.

  “He’s gone loony tunes, that’s what. The old codger has a screw loose.” D. J. Delaney’s booming voice echoed off the walls of the city hall meeting room.

  Finnegan’s land was the last item on the night’s short docket, and most people had stayed to hear what the council would decide to do about it. Or perhaps that’s why they’d come in the first place.

  “It’s such a small stretch of land,” Nell Endicott had said to her husband as they drove the short distance from their house to city hall.

  “But positioned perfectly between Canary Cove Road and the sea,” Ben replied. “A diamond in the rough. Everyone wants a piece of it.”

  The energetic crowd of Sea Harbor residents had concurred as they sat shoulder to shoulder in the heated room, many with their own imagined plans for how it would be used—once they wrested it away from the crazy old man who lived there, that was.

  A developer’s dream.

  Revenue for the town.

  A fancy strip of shops? A small inn, perhaps?

  Expensive summer condos.

  Or a park with play equipment, a wading pool, and a skating rink in winter.

  “I’ve offered the guy everything but my firstborn,” D.J. continued, his eyes blazing. The developer sat near the front of the crowd, his wife, Maeve, at his side. “He won’t listen to reason. People would kill for that land.”

  “Well, let’s hope not,” Ben Endicott said. His voice was a fan cooling the room’s heated air. The voice of reason in the tempest the land debate had churned up.

  “I say we concentrate on the new community garden,” Ben continued. “Get everyone involved. Make it spectacular. It will butt right up to Finnegan’s place, and once he sees those juicy Big Boys bending the vines, he’ll come around and clean up his place—I’ll bet on it. After all, that’s what we all really want. Right?”

  Nell held back a smile. No, that wasn’t what they really wanted, and Ben knew it as well as anyone. No one would object to the unsightly acres being cleaned up, true. But what many really wanted was what they saw when they looked at the land: dollar signs. Lots of them.

  “Maybe Finnegan would help with the garden,” Willow Adams said hopefully. The young fiber artist liked the old man, and the complaints against him offended her. But even Willow had to admit that the land was an eyesore.

  Next to her, Beverly Walden was still. Although the artist kept her opinions to herself, her face was as graphic as her contemporary paintings: bright, bold, and expressive. And from what Nell Endicott could tell from across the room, her expression confirmed the rumors that rumbled up and down the winding, narrow streets of Canary Cove: Beverly Walden didn’t like Finnegan. And from all reports, the feeling was mutual.

  A possible Greek tragedy in the making, because Beverly Walden was Finnegan and his late wife, Moira’s, only child.

  “I know the land’s a problem,” the police chief, Jerry Thompson, said from his chair near the front of the room. His calm voice brought everyone to attention. “It’s not looking so great, sure, but Finn will come around.”

  “That land used to be so fine, just like the other places down there—neat little offices with flower boxes in front,” Archie Brandley, the Sea Harbor Bookstore owner, said, rising from his chair. His head nodded with each word, and he looked down at his wife, Harriet. “Remember? Finn had that little bait shop, and Moira handed out hot dogs to fishermen, right along with the worms. She never took a dime for the dogs, only the bait.”

  Murmurs of agreement mixed with some chuckles rippled through the crowd from those who remembered the days when life moved a little slower—and later ones, too, when it was cheaper to buy bait from the bigger places in town and Finnegan finally closed the shop and decided to fish full-time. But Moira declared that very spot her favorite place on God’s earth. So Finnegan renovated the building. He fixed up the first floor with a couple of offices for rent, and moved Moira from a small cottage above the Canary Cove Art Colony to the spacious top floor with the million-dollar view. Nothing but miles of blue and squabbles of gulls overhead. Fishing boats moving back and forth. And around the building, lots of green space and rosebushes, which Moira tended.

  “It was after his Moira died that things got bad,” Harry Garozzo, owner of the deli on Harbor Road, said. “Damn cancer took her and might as well have taken Finn, too—for a while, anyway.”

  Nell remembered hearing the stories. Moira’s death was the beginning. And soon the land became a jungle of sea grass and broken bottles—a place for kids to hide a six-pack late at night or drifters to seek shelter, until driven away by Finnegan’s BB gun. Eventually ocean winds ripped the paint from the cottage by the sea, and it decayed into a shack where drifters sometimes slept when the ocean’s freezing gusts drove them inside and the owner was absent.

  And old man Finnegan refused to clean it up.

  He also refused to give it up, though the offers to buy the land would have made him a rich man.

  Instead, he put up a wire fence that held in the weeds, trash trees, and tall, wavy grass. At the gate he fastened a NO TRESPASSING sign. Outside the fence, passersby—joggers and strollers, vacationers headed toward the Canary Cove art galleries—caught glimpses of Finnegan fiddling with rusted boat parts and lobster pots and bales of old fishing rope. Sometimes he’d be whistling, sometimes muttering to himself.

  But no one ever saw him mowing the waist-high grass that offered him the privacy he coveted.

  Sometimes at night, folks dining at the Ocean’s Edge harbor restaurant would look out over the water and see him silhouetted against the lights, a bent black shape sitting on the end of his weather-beaten dock, scanning the sky with an old pair of binoculars, searching the sky for new planets.

  Or maybe for his Moira.

  “Finnegan can be downright nasty,” Beatrice Scaglia said, not buying the love story that may have informed his land. She sat at the curved table in the front of the room, her red fingernails tapping on the wooden surface near the microphone. The councilwoman was impeccably dressed in a white linen suit, though the other council members sported knit shirts and khakis or cotton skirts and blouses. “We’ve had dozens of complaints and so have the police. And when Sergeant Tommy Porter, dressed in full uniform, stopped by to discuss them politely with him, he practically forced Tommy off his land.” Her hand flapped through the air in the direction of the young policeman.

  “I wonda what he’s hiding out there.” This came from the owner of a pizzeria on the edge of town, who’d been trying to get a place near the water for years. “Maybe he’s, well, you know, growing somethin’. Maybe those weeds are hiding more than old lobsta traps. . . .” His words hung suggestively over the crowd.

  What nonsense, Nell thought. She removed a nearly finished lace scarf from the bag at her feet. Knitting brought a calmness to her spirit
, and all this negative talk about a decent man who liked his privacy was beginning to rile her up.

  Beatrice Scaglia pulled the microphone closer but waited for a few moments, allowing the pizzeria owner’s words to settle on anyone who might need further convincing that someone, somehow, needed to persuade Finnegan to vacate his land and allow it to be used sensibly. Finally she said, “I think we may need to impose serious fines on Finnegan, ones that will convince him to sell the property and move on with his life.”

  In the front row, an old man pushed himself up to a standing position, his white beard creating the illusion of Santa Claus himself. He leaned on a carved walking stick to keep his balance. Angus McPherran rarely showed up at public functions, and his presence caused a hush to fall over the room.

  “Finn’s mad because the police took away his driver’s license,” Angus said. “Had to be done, but it made him wicked mad. So he doesn’t want any patrolman knocking on his door. He wonders what you’re gonna take away next.

  “And then there’s the rest of you, pushing your way onto his property, trying to buy it out from under him to make yourselves rich. Shame on you.” He threw a pointed look at D. J. Delaney, the developer, then went on. “So he doesn’t want to pretty up the place. So what? That’s his God-given right. It’s his land, for chrissake.”

  Those gathered in the council meeting room nodded at the mention of Finnegan’s driver’s license. Everyone had heard about the day Chief Jerry Thompson said, “That’s it, Finn,” and took his license away forever. The bent lamppost in front of Harry Garozzo’s deli was just a small reminder of Finnegan’s slow responses and careless driving, not to mention the fear that rippled up and down Harbor Road when he’d come around the corner in his beat-up Chevy pickup. The chief had bought him a ten-speed bicycle with his own money to soften the blow, but Finn would often sit up in the cab of his truck, now a fixture on the weed-encrusted land, as if it somehow gave him back his freedom.

  “Just leave the old coot be,” Angus said. He gave another withering look toward D.J., then lowered his body back down onto the chair.