Murder Wears Mittens Read online

  Murder Wears Mittens

  Sally Goldenbaum

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Acknowledgments

  Simple Skyp Socks By Adrienne Ku

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2017 by Sally Goldenbaum

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2017940678

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-1102-1

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: September 2017

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1104-5

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-1104-1

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: September 2017

  Cast of Characters

  The Seaside Knitters

  Endicott, Nell: Retired nonprofit director, lives in Sea Harbor with husband, Ben

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

  Halloran, Cass (Catherine Mary Theresa): Co-owner of Halloran Lobster Company

  Perry, Izzy (Isabel Chambers Perry): Former attorney, owner of the Seaside Knitting Studio; Nell and Ben Endicott’s niece; married to Sam Perry; toddler daughter, Abby

  The Men in Their Lives

  Brandley, Danny: Mystery novelist and son of Archie and Harriet Brandley; Cass’s fiancé

  Endicott, Ben: Nell’s husband; Charlie and Izzy’s uncle

  Perry, Sam: Izzy’s husband; award-winning photographer

  Sonny Favazza: Birdie’s first husband, now deceased

  Friends and Townsfolk

  Adams, Willow: Pete Halloran’s girlfriend

  Anderson, Mae: Izzy’s shop manager

  Brandley, Archie and Harriet: Owners of the Sea Harbor Bookstore; Danny’s parents

  Brandley, Marian: Librarian

  Brewster, Jane and Ham: The Endicotts’ oldest friends; artists and cofounders of the Canary Cove Art Colony

  Cardozo, Dolores Francesca Maria: Sea Harbor resident

  Chambers, Charlie: Izzy’s brother; nurse practitioner at Sea Harbor clinic

  Danvers Family: Laura, mother of three girls; Elliott, Laura’s husband and owner of Danvers Family Bank; Daisy, 11-year-old daughter

  Duncan, Marlene and Joe: Neighbors of Dolores Cardozo

  The Fractured Fish band: Andy Risso (drummer); Pete Halloran (guitarist, singer); Merry Jackson (keyboard, singer)

  Garozzo, Harry: Owner of Garozzo’s Deli

  Gibson, Esther: Police dispatcher

  Halloran Family: Mary, Pete and Cass’s mother and secretary at Our Lady of Safe Seas Church; Pete, Cass’s brother and co-owner of lobster company and singer in the Fractured Fish band; Sister Mary Fiona Halloran, Mary’s sister-in-law and Pete and Cass’s aunt.

  Hartley, Elizabeth: Friend of the police chief

  Jackson, Merry: Owner of the Artist’s Palate Bar & Grill; singer in band

  Mackenzie, Glenn: Family doctor

  Marietti, Gabby: Birdie’s preteen granddaughter from NYC

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

  Palazola, Annabelle: Owner of the Sweet Petunia Restaurant

  Perry, Abby: Izzy and Sam’s daughter

  Pickard, Shelby: Owner of Pickard’s Auto Repair

  Pisano, Mary: Newspaper columnist; owner of Ravenswood-by-the-Sea

  Pisano, Richie: Reporter and distant relative of Mary Pisano

  Porter, Tommy: Police detective

  Purl: The yarn shop’s calico cat

  Risso, Jake: Owner of the Gull Tavern; Andy’s father

  Russell, Claire: Manager of Lambswool Farm

  Sampson, Ella and Harold: Birdie’s housekeeper and groundskeeper/driver

  Stewart, Kayla: Waitress at the Ocean’s Edge Restaurant; Christopher and Sarah Grace’s mother

  Swenson, Hannah: Director of the Seaside Initiative nonprofit organization

  Thompson, Jerry: Police chief

  Virgilio, Lily, MD: Ob/gyn

  Wooten, Don and Rachel: Owner of the Ocean’s Edge Restaurant (Don) and city attorney (Rachel)

  Chapter 1

  Kayla Stewart leaned against the old tree. Its gnarled branches, shaped by decades of ocean winds and nor’easters pounding the miles of shoreline, creaked menacingly in the cold wet wind. She glanced across the yard at the gray Cardozo house as if she were seeing it for the first time. Two long windows stared back at her—glaring, judging, as if they already knew why she was there.

  She turned away, dismissing the image, and looked around the property—the scrub bushes, a tree hugging the corner of the house, a narrow walkway. And acres that wound back to the dense woods and beyond.

  The familiar terrain calmed her. A patch of garden was just visible along one side of the house, wedged between a gravel path and the gray siding. A row of nasturtiums Kayla had planted last spring outlined the walkway. She remembered tossing the seeds on a whim, willy-nilly, thinking a little color would provide a good vibe for the house. But it had surprised her when something beautiful came from her random gesture, the scattered seeds turning into leafy crimson and yellow plants. It had made her smile, and unless she had imagined it, had softened the homeowner’s lined face, too.

  Dolores Cardozo’s face came to her now, the familiar lines and wrinkles etched in her mind—a face so dark and weathered from the elements that Kayla wasn’t sure what nationality or race Dolores would claim as her heritage. When she asked her about it one day, Dolores had chuckled, the ambiguity seeming to please her. She never answered.

  Was that face peering at her right this minute, as Dolores stood in the darkness, looking at her from one of the windows, her long white hair pulled back in a ponytail, or maybe loose, falling over her shoulders? Was she wondering why Kayla was standing in the wet chill of the day, no bundle of food in her arms?

  The first day Kayla had made her way out to the Cardozo property, driving her old beat-up Chevy along the rutted roads, she had gotten lost, in spite of the clear directions given to her. A wrong turn had taken her to a patch of gravel, a parking spot alongside the road that led to several hiking paths. Kayla had parked the car and walked along one of the paths, long and narrow, curling through the woods until suddenly it all opened up to a vast clearing—a silent quarry filling the space. She had stood at the edge of the once
active granite pit and stared down at a bottomless pool of water held intact by massive slabs of granite. The day had been crisp and clear, with sunlight reflecting off the water so white and bright she had to squint her eyes. It was one of the most beautiful sights Kayla Stewart had ever seen. She’d stood there for a long time, mesmerized by the black water, the sky above, and the air, crystallized into tiny diamonds.

  Lucy in the sky with diamonds.

  The song had hummed in her head that day. A good day. A new chapter in her life.

  From then on she had welcomed the solitude that always met her at the Cardozo place. Her body would loosen, her shoulders relaxing and the tight kinks giving away to the space around her. It was a meditation, helping her think about her life as it slowly reassembled itself little by little, the pieces shifting and turning until they fit together in a comfortable way.

  When she had shared the thought later with Sister Fiona, the nun had nodded in that way she had, and Kayla had seen the satisfied look on her face as if she were the one who had put the thought there to begin with. And then the slight lift at the corners of her wide mouth brought on by the incongruous thought of Kayla meditating at all.

  On one of her trips to Dolores’s home, she realized that next to the solitude and the woman in the small house, it was the unlocked doors that she liked. Unlocked doors and wild and free land with a silence so profound that she could hear her own heartbeat when she walked through it.

  Peace.

  But tonight it was hard to hang on to that peace. It was flying around her like loose feathers, difficult to grasp.

  The late afternoon shadows felt ominous with creatures crawling out from behind the trees, rattling Kayla’s resolve. They fueled the burning in her chest, the discomfort, the distaste that coated her tongue. She wanted to be home cleaning up the kitchen. Reading Where the Red Fern Grows to the kids, all of them huddled together beneath a blanket, the soft warm bodies of Christopher and Sarah Grace making Kayla’s heart hum.

  Soon she’d be there. This wouldn’t take long.

  She forked her fingers through her short-cropped hair, then tugged a baseball cap on, frowning as spokes of black hair poked out. It had been a mistake to cut her hair so drastically. Sarah Grace had cried when she saw it. She said that she missed the long hair Kayla would let her twist into braids and tie ribbons around. She said it made her mother look like a boy.

  She’d done it impulsively, the day she’d seen the photo in the paper. A picture of her. Her long black hair framing her face. The waves she could never control touching her cheeks. Thick, shiny black hair. The kind people wanted to touch. Striking, people said. Distinctive. Memorable.

  All of the things Kayla didn’t want to be. She didn’t want anyone to remember. Ever.

  But cutting her hair hadn’t worked, and she had promised her daughter that she would let it grow. Hair grows fast, she had consoled Sarah Grace as she wiped away her tears.

  The wind picked up and Kayla pulled the edges of her jacket tight. She wrapped her arms around herself. Some of the waitstaff at the Ocean’s Edge Restaurant had told her she’d love September and October in Sea Harbor: late summer blooms, leaves beginning to turn, and most of all, the space that opened up in the town when summer people went back to Boston or New York or somewhere. The streets became their own again, the restaurants less crowded, the beaches wide and welcoming, the cool sand soothing.

  But today had been damp and cold, not at all what had been promised.

  Kayla rubbed away the bumps beneath the thin jacket fabric and tried to ignore the headache that began to pinch her face, tugging at her forehead and narrowing her eyes. She rubbed her temples, knowing before the headache took hold completely why it threatened. Favors tethered you to people, you owed them, no matter what. And what they’d ask of you in return could ruin your life.

  The day Kayla turned eighteen, she had celebrated her birthday by running away from her last foster home in North Dakota. It was in the middle of a North Dakota snowstorm so blinding no one could have found her even if they had tried. She had vowed that day never to be dependent on anything or anyone again. Dependency brought pain and deception—and it eroded the bubble she tried so hard to construct around herself.

  Depending on others wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, she’d been told. Ask and you shall receive, Sister Fiona always said. Kayla had cringed at the words. She knew about favors—favors that beget favors, that stole her body and soul.

  She admitted to herself there had been decent people along the way, like when she ended up in Idaho and a woman a few years older than herself had helped her out. Her name was Angel. Angel! Kayla had ridiculed the name, scoffed at it. But Angel had been tough, her life once a mess, just like Kayla’s. Later on, Kayla came to understand that “Angel” had been a perfect name for the tough girl with the purple hair who believed anyone could pull themselves together if they decided to do it.

  And sure, Sister Fiona, as bossy as she could be, was a part of the whole life raft deal. Maybe she was better than okay. Maybe she and Angel had saved her life.

  After all, Fiona had brought her to Dolores.

  Sea Harbor, Massachusetts, was a place for living, the nun had told Kayla. Sea Harbor was where problems could be solved. Where kids could thrive. Where pasts could be buried.

  So she swallowed her fear and her secrets, buried them deep down inside her where no one would find them.

  But someone had.

  Kayla took a deep breath, curled her fingers into a ball and stared at the house. It was now or never. She needed to tell her what she had done. And then to beg . . .

  She blocked from her mind what she’d do if it all fell apart.

  And then, with steely resolve, she walked along the path, past the nasturtiums and the darkened windows, to the back door.

  The door she knew was never locked.

  Chapter 2

  The wind slammed the door shut behind Cass Halloran as she walked into the Harbor Road Laundromat. She bunched up a fistful of unruly dark hair, damp from the wet, salty air, and bound it with a scrunchie she pulled from her wrist.

  Beneath an old sweatshirt, her stomach complained, reminding her that it had been hours since she had eaten. Quiet, she murmured. Nell’s homemade lasagna is just minutes away. At least that’s what her friend Izzy’s texts had been promising her for the last hour. And that made the hunger bearable at least. Homemade. Even the lasagna noodles would be made from scratch, a fact that still puzzled Cass. Noodles were like crackers and baked beans. They came in boxes, cans, or bags. No one made them. But much to Cass’s sublime happiness, Nell Endicott had proved every one of her assumptions wrong.

  Earlier that day, Cass had made her own plans for the evening. She’d finish the company laundry and race home, out of the chilly night, to a waiting Danny Brandley, who would warm her up nicely in the cozy seaside house where they co-lived, a term a relative had recently—and pointedly—coined. Her fiancé would massage her feet while she’d stretch out in front of a fire he’d have laid. A fire in September, unheard of, but it sounded perfect and wonderful and there was plenty of cut wood out near the garage.

  She was bone weary. Probably, she told herself, because it was Saturday—a day off—and instead she’d spent the day putting out fires. Everything seemed to have gone wrong at the Halloran Lobster Company that day—including a breakdown of the commercial washer and dryer they used for nets and sweatshirts, towels, and all things smelling of fish. Which was nearly everything. So she had dragged them all to the Laundromat, then run errands while waiting for the machines to do their thing. She hoped the bad day wasn’t an omen. Nor the reason her weariness had a touch of worry attached to it. Silly. All would be better once she got home.

  And that’s when her friend Izzy’s texts started messing with her plans.

  Nell is cooking lasagna. Says we should get over there ASAP. There’ll be champagne. Pick me up at my yarn shop.

  Danny followed up with

/>   Hey, babe. The Endicotts are feeding us. I know you were dead set on my grilled cheese. I’ll make it up to you.

  So Danny was headed to Ben and Nell’s, too. It was all about homemade lasagna and champagne.

  The group of friends had missed their usual Friday night dinner at Ben and Nell’s because the couple was out of town for the day. Friday night dinner was a ritual born when the Endicotts had retired and settled permanently in Sea Harbor. It had become a comforting staple in Cass’s life, right along with the older couple themselves, more family now than friends. Maybe that’s what this was about—Nell feeling guilty, knowing that none of them took canceling dinner on the Endicott deck lightly. It was therapy and friendship and amazing food all mixed up together in one bundle—something they all held sacred.

  Sure, that was it. And that was fine with Cass. Few things outdid Danny’s foot massages, but Nell’s cooking might be one of them. Champagne? she texted back to Danny. You’re kidding me? Her fiancé knew she hated champagne, but the thought of lasagna caused her stomach to dance.

  Danny sent two kissing, carefree emoticons back.

  She stuck her phone in her pocket and set her laundry basket beneath the round door of the dryer, pulled it open, her mind still on the lasagna. And beer. Ben would most certainly have beer. Who drank champagne with lasagna?

  She pulled out a damp towel, grimaced, and tossed it back in. Next she felt something fuzzy and pulled out a small pink sweater, its buttons caught in a ratty fisherman’s net. She pulled them apart and stared at the clothing. It was soft and pretty and tiny. Nicely hand knit.

  Cass frowned, then reached in and pulled out another net, this one tangled up with a small plaid skirt. Cass leaned over and looked in, then pulled out a pair of boy’s jeans and several other small garments.

  She glanced around the room. The harsh fluorescent lights lit up every corner. She was completely alone. Even the girl who usually worked nights was absent, most likely having a burger and beer across the street at Jake Risso’s tavern.