Murder in Merino Page 11

  As they inched their way down the crowded steps, Nell mentioned to Ben that she had spotted half the police force in attendance. He’d noticed the same thing, some in uniform but many in suits milling around at the back of the church and now headed downstairs.

  They caught up with Jerry Thompson at the bottom of the steps to the parish hall. “Looks like your whole force is here,” Ben said.

  “Almost.” Jerry nodded and moved over to the wall to let people pass. “The crowd had me worried,” he said. “The harsh fact is that there’s a murderer on the loose. Although nothing so far leads us to believe that this was a random killing, you can’t take anything for granted.”

  Ben listened carefully, his brow creased. “I can’t imagine it was random—but I can’t imagine anyone intentionally killing Jeffrey Meara, either.” He looked around at the crowd, the faces, some chatting as if at a wedding reception, others with tears in their eyes. “I understand murderers often have a compulsion to show up at press conferences or funerals of victims.”

  Jerry managed a laugh. “So you watch CSI, Ben? Who would have guessed? But yeah, it’s true. The guy could be in there eating Harriet Brandley’s potato salad or Gracie’s lobster rolls or Harry’s cold cuts. So all my crew are spies today. Maybe someone will hear or see something, catch a look or some movement, something that doesn’t quite fit in at a wake.” He shrugged. “We’re looking under every stone. We’ll solve this. Tommy Porter is my right-hand guy on it, and he’s definitely motivated. Jeffrey was a friend of his grandmother.”

  Nell saw the fatigue and sadness on the police chief’s face. She and Ben had talked about it for a long time the night before, the difficulties built into his position. Senseless loss of life was an awful thing. And when it was a friend, a man who was a fixture in a small town, it was awful—and personal. Having Tommy, a young man they’d known almost since his birth, on the case was a good thing, too. Tommy and his girlfriend, Janie Levin, were special to all of them.

  They left the chief and walked by some of the Ocean’s Edge staff making their way out of the church. Some were kids just out of college, looking to move on to better jobs but content to have one at the Edge in the meantime. Most had probably been hired by Jeffrey himself. And if rumor had it right, fired by him as well.

  Inside the large hall, Maeve sat in a semicircle of chairs not far from the food buffet. The long folding tables nearly groaned beneath the weight of hams and seafood salads, platters of lobster and chips and dips, pies and cakes. The widow was composed and gracious, a small, peaceful woman who believed with all her heart that her Jeffrey hadn’t left her. Not really.

  People circled around her, murmuring kind words, then moved on to let others take their place.

  Ben and Nell stood in line with Izzy and Birdie, just in front of Stan and Karen Hanson. They exchanged a few words, but Stan was clearly not in the mood for small talk, and Karen, one hand on her husband’s arm, watched him closely, her face composed.

  Nell thought about the conversation they’d had just days before. Stan and Jeffrey had been friends. And however long ago it was, it appeared fresh today in Stan’s face. Fresh and very sad.

  The Three Musketeers, Karen had called them. The third in the trio hadn’t been mentioned by name. He was likely one of the Sea Harbor High graduates who didn’t come back after college and now lived in Boston or New York or someplace more exotic.

  Maeve looked up as Nell and Ben approached. She smiled, her eyes focusing first on Nell. “Jeffrey loved you, you know,” she said to her. “You and that big Ben of yours. And sweet Izzy.” When she saw Birdie, her eyes filled, but she wiped away the gathering tears immediately. “And my dear Birdie.” She held out both hands.

  Birdie leaned over and hugged her, a gentle embrace to a fragile form.

  “Birdie was at our wedding. All those many years ago,” Maeve said.

  “And you were at mine, Maeve.”

  “All three of them, I believe,” Maeve said, chuckling.

  Looking at the weaving line of people waiting behind them, Ben and Nell began to move on. Maeve stood briefly and moved close to Birdie, her hands on her friend’s shoulders, their eyes at the same level, one looking into the other’s. Two women small in stature and big in all the things that matter. “Come visit me,” she said. “We will talk.”

  Birdie promised as much and moved away. They walked single file through the crowd, over to a small table where Cass, Sam, and the Brewsters sat together, drinking glasses of iced tea.

  “She’s quite a lady, isn’t she?” Sam said.

  “I wonder how much she’s really grasped of what’s happened,” Birdie said. “I got the feeling that maybe the way Jeffrey died has escaped her completely.”

  “Which might be a good thing for now,” Nell said.

  They looked back at Maeve. She greeted the mayor and his wife graciously, smiling. Karen sat down next to Maeve, taking her blue-veined hands in her own. She smiled, that sad way people did at funerals. Next to her, Stan stood silently, awkwardly, looking down at the two women. He appeared slightly rumpled today, a look out of place for the distinguished mayor.

  Next in line was Beatrice Scaglia, her eyes scrutinizing the group in front of her. She watched each movement, each gesture, her own face still and in mourning mode.

  “Beatrice wants to be sure she gets equal time,” Cass whispered. “There are lots of voters here.”

  Birdie tsked at her, but with a half smile.

  Cass feigned regret. “I shouldn’t be snarky at a funeral, should I?”

  “But you’re right,” Izzy said. “Our Beatrice is a good politician. Funerals are fair game, I guess.”

  Minutes later, their attention shifted back to Maeve. She moved forward on her chair, her hands grasping the edge, then slowly got up and stood in front of Stan Hanson. She tilted her head back, looking up into his face. She lifted one hand to his cheek and touched it gently, then spoke quiet words, as one might to comfort a child.

  In the next minute, Stan Hanson, mayor of Sea Harbor and a man known for keeping his emotions in check, seemed to shrink in size. Maeve stood still, not moving away, her hands now resting on his arms.

  Mayor Hanson lowered his head as unchecked tears rolled down his cheeks.

  Karen rose from the chair immediately and gathered up her things. She offered her husband a tissue, and then she gently ushered him through the crowds of people and out of the crowded hall.

  Ben suggested they leave shortly after the mayor and his wife. Birdie declined, saying she was going to stay on a while longer and make sure Maeve got home safely. “She’ll be here a couple more hours at least. I’ll stay with her.”

  Ben gave her the look that questioned her mode of transportation and she assured him her driver, Harold, would be in charge of getting them both home. Ben’s personal mission to keep Birdie’s Lincoln Town Car in the capable hands of Harold Sampson, especially after she’d ruined several parking meters near the police station, would be honored. Birdie took Ben’s reminders in stride. Besides, the thought of marring her deceased Sonny’s cherished Town Car was nightmarish, and though she’d never tell Ben, that fact went much further than Ben’s concern in convincing her to let Harold take the reins.

  Nell looked back at Maeve once more before following the group out of the hall. Beatrice had now claimed the widow and was sitting next to her in her tailored black suit, offering water and condolences.

  “Stan Hanson was having a hard time. What was that about?” Cass took two steps at a time, up the basement steps and into the sunshine.

  “I was surprised, too,” Ben said. “I’ve never seen him show much emotion, not even during the fiercest city council fight. That was the private side, I guess.”

  Nell squinted in the brightness of day, then slipped on her sunglasses. “I think it was about a sweet man showing us that even real men cry,” she s
aid.

  Cass scoffed. “Real men do lots of things, some not so nice.”

  Nell put an arm around her shoulder and they began walking together down the wide granite steps that fronted Our Lady of Safe Seas. “Speaking of real men, I didn’t see Danny.”

  “He’s watching the bookstore,” Cass said. “His parents were good friends of the Mearas.”

  “Of course,” Nell said. “See? Good men do nice things.”

  Ham interrupted before Cass could manage a retort.

  “We’re off to the gallery. No rest for the wicked,” he said, taking Jane’s arm and guiding her through a crowd gathered on the steps.

  “And I need to get back to work, too,” Izzy echoed. “Mae’s nieces are minding the shop.” She looked over at Sam and Cass. “Anyone want to grab a coffee on the way?”

  Sam was checking his messages but dutifully followed behind the two women.

  Nell watched them walk off. It was the middle of the week, a Wednesday, but the weekday seemed out of place. It was a different kind of day, not one with a name like Wednesday. Nell felt unsettled. She looked up and down the street, as if something should be happening, a second act. As if something she couldn’t quite see would add some closure to the day. She looked at Ben and saw in his eyes that he sensed what she was feeling.

  “It’s an uncomfortable feeling, isn’t it, Nellie? Funerals are so final. But nothing about this is final. We’re in a time warp, and we’re stuck here until the murderer is found.”

  Nell let out the breath that had been trapped inside her chest and nodded, somehow knowing that Ben would manage to crawl inside her thoughts and make sense of them. She smiled and took his arm, her heart holding him there, next to her, forever.

  They walked out of the long shadows of the church toward their car. Ben had parked just past the small corner park near the Sea Harbor Historical Museum.

  Nell noticed Tyler Gibson, a bartender at the Ocean’s Edge, standing in the middle of a group near a small fountain that centered the park. Nell recognized several members of the restaurant’s waitstaff.

  “Nice funeral,” Tyler said as they drew near. His cheeks reddened as he heard his own words. “Geesh, Nell, Ben. Sorry. That doesn’t sound right. What should you say?”

  “It’s fine,” Nell said. “It was nice. Very personal, and that meant something to Maeve.”

  “It’s nice that all of you came,” Ben said. “Jeffrey would have liked his staff being there.”

  Ty smiled and shifted from one foot to the other, his blond hair flopping over his forehead. “Truth is, Ben, Wooten closed the restaurant until four today so we would all come, kind of like we should, you know?” Then he added quickly, “But we’d’ve come anyway—sure.”

  Zack Levin, Janie’s younger brother, stood next to Tyler. He cleared his throat, then looked at his older friend and shrugged. “Speak for yourself, Gibson.”

  Nell looked at Zack. Poor kid. She remembered seeing him the other night, trying to hold it together under Jeffrey’s anger when he caught him texting someone and neglecting a table littered with dirty dishes. Janie had told her later that Jeffrey had fired Zack that night.

  “It’s nice of you to show up, Zack, considering everything. And if you need suggestions in your job search, Ben and I might be able to help.” Zack Levin was a nice kid—not completely responsible, but well intentioned. And they all adored his sister, Janie, the wonderful nurse who lived in the apartment above the yarn shop. Ben would surely be able to find someone to hire him.

  Zack brightened. “Hey, thanks, but I’m good. Surprise, surprise. Don Wooten hired me back a couple days ago—that’s why I’m here all duded up like this.” He flipped his tie.

  Nell held back her surprise. Without looking, she could feel Ben’s similar reaction. Their friend Don Wooten hadn’t wasted any time in overturning his dead partner’s decisions.

  Behind Zack, Ryan Arcado, the fire chief’s son, stood with his hands in his pockets. He had been fired, too, according to M.J., Nell’s hairdresser and Ryan’s mother. A month or so earlier, M.J. had said. Nell had been in the salon for a trim the day before Jeffrey’s murder, and M.J. had not minced words. “Jeffrey Meara wields a mighty stick with his employees. He’s tough,” she had said. “I know Ryan can be a hothead, but the man could have been more forgiving and given him a second chance. It’s impossible for these kids to find jobs and Jeffrey knows that. He’s so smooth and gracious to diners, but let me tell you, Nell, he can be a beast to work for. He was much nicer when all he did at the Edge was tend bar.”

  The portrait that M.J. had painted of Jeffrey had surprised Nell at the time. Ben had been more circumspect when she repeated the conversation. “Ryan can be bullheaded. Maybe he deserved it. Who knows? He has some growing up to do.” He had paused and chuckled as he went on to share an old memory. “I got fired from busing tables at the Harvard Club because I tossed out a bunch of silverware with the trash. As my manager politely explained, ‘It wasn’t a good thing to do.’”

  Nell had laughed. A decades-old mistake was humorous in the retelling. But one that happened a day or week before had not had the chance to be softened by time.

  Zack looked over at Ryan and pointed. “Arcado is back, too. Jeffrey took his phone from him the day he caught him texting and threw it in the trash bin outside. Not a happy sight. There’s a bunch of us who got canned. We’re the Ocean’s Edge’s returning alums.”

  Ryan tugged off his tie and sat down on a bench. “Yep. It’s good to be back. Wooten called me Monday. He’s cool. Old man Meara could be wicked hell to work for. I’da liked to have killed the guy a couple times,” he said.

  “Zip it, Arcado.” It was a hostess Jeffrey had introduced Ben and Nell to early in the summer, Laura Danvers’s cousin Grace. Jeffrey had liked her, and today she looked both sad and disgusted.

  “Sometimes you’re as appropriate as my kid brother. Just let it be. The man is dead.” She looked over at Nell. “It’s sad. As soon as Mr. Wooten was out of sight today they peeled out of that church as if it were on fire. I don’t think they even stayed long enough to hear the nice eulogy Father Larry gave.” She glared back at her coworkers. “In fact, I didn’t see some of you in the church at all. I think you just got dressed up, made sure Mr. Wooten saw you, and then probably went over to the Gull and drank beer. How juvenile. You guys are supposed to be grown-ups.”

  “Grace’s right,” Tyler said, holding up his hands as if to stop a fight. “Let’s be fair about old Jeffrey. He helped put that restaurant on the map.” He looked around for nods, then added, “Best on the North Shore, bar none.”

  Nell watched Tyler change the course of the conversation with a charming smile. He was a good guy—not to mention a good grandson to Esther. He’d brought real joy back into that house when Esther offered him a place to stay. And maybe because of his grandmother, he seemed to be learning from his rather numerous youthful indiscretions. Hopefully Ryan Arcado would learn a thing or two from the handsome bartender. And Zack Levin could use a role model, too, although she suspected his sister stayed on top of his missteps.

  As Nell started to turn away, she noticed another familiar face just behind the stone benches. At first she couldn’t place the tall, dark-haired man with the square chin. But then she realized who it was. Garrett Barros had been Izzy’s neighbor when she lived in the house on Ridge Road. Nell had talked to him a few times while visiting Izzy. And more recently she’d seen him at the Ocean’s Edge.

  Was he on Jeffrey’s good side? she wondered. Or had he suffered the fate of Zack and Ryan? He had always been pleasant, which she remembered specifically because his parents had been curmudgeonly, criticizing everything from Izzy’s placement of her trash to the length of her grass. She looked again at Garrett. Yes, he was pleasant enough, but there’d been something about him, something . . . What was it? She pulled her brows together as she tried to
tug up the memory. But it was gone, so she smiled instead, waved to the group, and followed Ben down the pathway toward their car.

  Sam was standing at the curb checking his watch, his Jeep parked next to the Endicott’s car. He looked up.

  “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Go for it,” Ben said.

  “The police chief has taken down the yellow tape from the Ridge Road house. They’re through with whatever they needed to do and it’s been tossed back into our lap. Stella wants to meet over there to go over some papers, look at the inspection report. Izzy won’t go. She says it gives her nightmares. I thought maybe one of you would want to come along.”

  They both agreed to join him.

  “Funerals have a way of discombobulating me,” Nell said. “I won’t get anything done at home anyway.”

  They drove over in Sam’s Jeep, Ben in the back, straddling his long legs across the floor mat. Sam rested one arm on the window edge and headed the car north. “Izzy gave a fleeting thought to tearing the house down and selling the property. There’s always a market for land close to the water. But that would be a mess, finding groups who’ll reuse the bricks and wood. Somehow, I don’t know, some crazy voice in my head rejected that idea.”

  “And it would certainly crush Jules Ainsley.”

  “That it would. She’s been calling Stella every day, even though we haven’t signed anything and told her we needed some space to say good-bye to our friend Jeffrey. I went ahead and had the house inspected, even though Jules offered to buy it as is. It didn’t seem right to take her money and have the house fall apart the next day.”

  “Was she at the funeral? I didn’t see her.”

  “She told Izzy she wasn’t going,” Sam said. “She didn’t know Jeffrey, and she thought her connection to him might make it awkward for everyone. She was right. I saw her headed into the bookstore when I picked Izzy up at the shop.”

  The Brandleys’ bookstore. Nell looked up, about to say something, then thought better of it, and instead turned and watched the neighborhoods roll by until Sam finally turned onto Ridge Road. They drove past the Barroses’ house and pulled up behind Stella Palazola’s small Toyota. She was standing on the front step.