A Finely Knit Murder Page 15

  “It’s too bad she has to deal with things like that,” Izzy said. “Geesh, what a mess.”

  They were walking along the beach—Izzy, Birdie, and Nell taking turns pushing Abigail’s thick-wheeled stroller and taking advantage of Izzy’s day off. She had refused to take time off for years, but finally caved in when Mae Anderson, the store manager, threatened to quit if Izzy didn’t spend more time with Abigail. Putting it like that was genius—and of course Izzy started taking a day off now and then. This Monday seemed like a good day.

  “Angelo was practicing his bouncer skills and did a nice job of removing the man from the premises. But there was a line of parents outside the office door, all jittery, with fear in their eyes. The police have talked to a lot of them, especially those who stayed late at the party. And that only makes it worse because everyone imagines they might have been standing next to a murderer, or talking with one, or might have seen something. And that only adds to the fear, of course.”

  “I can imagine,” Nell said. “Everyone is nervous—but it must be worse for parents whose children are there at the school, so close to the crime scene. It isn’t logical but it’s certainly emotional.” She looked at Birdie.

  “Of course,” Birdie said, feeling Nell’s question. “I worry, too. But I know that the school is probably the safest place in town.”

  “Was Teresa Pisano in the office?” Nell asked.

  “No. And that was making things more difficult for Elizabeth. Dear Mandy White was trying to juggle Teresa’s job and her own assistant headmistress responsibilities all at the same time.”

  “And doing a better job than Teresa would have done, at least today,” Nell said. She filled them in on Sunday’s incident in the parking lot. “She seems convinced Elizabeth had something to do with Blythe’s death.”

  “How awful for Elizabeth,” Birdie said.

  Nell agreed. It was awful for Elizabeth. They all liked her—and suspected things were going to get more difficult for the headmistress before they hopefully got better.

  Birdie and Izzy were quiet, too—processing the thought and the accusations.

  Izzy bent over and tucked a blanket around Abigail. The breeze was chilly enough for thick sweaters today but too early for hats, although she’d put one on Abby anyway—a floppy green hat with a huge crocheted flower on the side. It was exactly like one Gabby wore—her signature hat, she called it—and she had knit it up for Abby in three different sizes so she’d never be without.

  As they started up toward the road, they spotted an easel set up near a pile of boulders at the end of the beach. In front of it stood a tall man swinging a brush across the canvas, his mouth moving along with his strokes.

  He spotted the women walking along the beach and nodded in their direction, then waved his brush briefly in the air. It wasn’t clear if it was a wave to them or the air or to a gull hovering overhead.

  “Josh Babson,” Nell murmured. They waved back, but rather than disturb an artist at work, they continued toward the road that led back to Nell’s.

  “You don’t like him, do you, Aunt Nell?” Izzy said softly.

  Nell frowned. The comment made her uncomfortable. “I don’t know him well enough to not like him.”

  “But I can tell from your voice that he isn’t someone you’d want to invite to Friday night dinner,” Izzy said. “I don’t know the man from Adam, but Gabby likes him. She told me he was a good art teacher and she was sad he got fired.”

  Nell knew that—and Gabby had proven herself to be a good judge of character. So what was it about the man that bothered her?

  “He acted odd at the party,” Birdie said. “There was an unpleasantness about him. He was clearly looking for someone—and he didn’t look happy about it.”

  “So, do you think he was looking for Blythe?” Izzy asked. “Why?”

  Nell looked at Birdie, who shrugged. “I don’t know. But he was attending a party at the school that had just fired him. Blythe was a part of all that.”

  “But he should have been looking for Elizabeth,” Izzy said, bringing logic to the guesswork. “She was the one who fired him. He probably was furious, especially if he was as good a teacher as Gabby thinks he is. Maybe he wanted to confront her, embarrass her in front of everyone. Just like he did with the yellow paint.”

  Nell’s frown deepened. She looked at Birdie, then back to Izzy. “Actually it wasn’t Elizabeth who wanted him fired,” she said. “It was Blythe Westerland. She wanted him gone because he didn’t conform to what she thought the school’s teachers should look like, or act like.”

  Izzy was surprised. “Blythe? I saw her with Josh one night at the Gull. I think they had come in together and they didn’t look like enemies.”

  “That’s a surprise.”

  “Well, it was months ago. Or weeks, maybe. Not recently.”

  “Well, no matter. The point is,” Birdie said, “Josh wouldn’t have known who was behind his firing. Elizabeth Hartley is the consummate professional. She would have assumed the responsibility for it. I don’t think she would even have hinted that Blythe pushed for it.”

  They all thought about that as they walked up the winding street, listening to Abby’s delightful new sounds.

  Elizabeth was the headmistress. She was the one who had fired him. That was a fact.

  She was the one Josh Babson would hold responsible. “That’s an assumption, though,” Izzy said. “We don’t know that.”

  But what they did know was another fact: although Elizabeth fired him, it was Blythe Westerland who had forced her hand.

  * * *

  “Maybe I’ve been wrong about Josh Babson,” Nell said to Ben that evening. “Elizabeth fired him. She would be his target if he was seeking revenge. I go back and forth. My logical, rational mind tells me I’m misjudging him. Yet I can’t shake this feeling I have about him. It refuses to let go of me.”

  They were driving over to the yacht club. Ben had to pick up some things he had left on the boat, and the club was having a seafood special that Ben found difficult to miss. But mostly they both craved quiet time together to try to make sense of the turbulence in their town.

  “I don’t think I’ve spoken two words to Josh Babson. Ham seems to think he’s an okay guy. He wouldn’t have hired him if he didn’t.”

  Nell had had the same thought. But it didn’t seem as simple when mixed with other thoughts. “Jane thinks you’ll like his paintings. She said he paints beautiful seascapes.”

  She told Ben about seeing him that morning at the beach, working on one.

  “Maybe I’ll stop by the Brewster Gallery one of these days. Meet the guy.”

  “But not to buy any paintings, Ben. We don’t have any walls left.”

  “Where there’s a beautiful painting, there’s always a wall, Nellie, dear.”

  The yacht club parking lot was nearly full, a tribute to the chef who had recently moved over from the Ocean’s Edge and was now giving the Edge some healthy competition.

  Ben parked beneath a lamplight and they walked through the early-evening light to the clubhouse.

  Liz Palazola Santos, the club manager, met them just inside the dining room door.

  She hugged Ben and Nell. Annabelle Palazola’s oldest daughter was as competent and gracious as she was beautiful—and everyone connected with the Sea Harbor Yacht Club was grateful that her marriage to wealthy contractor Alphonso Santos hadn’t taken her away from them.

  “What a sad week,” she said. “I can’t quite get my arms around it all. It’s so awful. Blythe had just been in here that very day. She’s been a regular for the past few months. There were certain nights we could set the clock by her. But before that, too, when she was in town. Actually even before I was manager—back in my hostess days. I can’t believe anyone would want to kill her.”

  “Were you two friends?” Nell as
ked.

  Liz considered the question, then answered carefully, “No. I certainly make an effort to be friendly to everyone who comes here. I try to learn people’s names, a little bit about their families. But Blythe was very self-contained. It was almost as if she didn’t need friends. From what I know of the family—the Westerland men—they were that way, too. Strong, powerful men who had a habit of getting their way.”

  “Except Blythe was a woman. But the other description seems appropriate,” Nell said.

  “Yes,” Liz said. “But she played with power quite adeptly herself.” The manager started to say more, then held back. “Never speak ill of the dead, my mother always said.” She turned to Ben. “Anyway, I noticed you got out on the water today. A good sail?”

  “Short but good.”

  “Saw Sam. But who was the other man? He looked vaguely familiar and I’m trying to get better at keeping everyone straight around here. It makes my job a lot easier.”

  “He was a friend of Cass. His family used to vacation up here, but that was before your time.”

  “Good.” She laughed. “One less face to remember.”

  “Is there a lot of talk around here?” Nell asked. “Of Blythe, I mean.”

  “What you’d expect, I guess. I talked to the staff this morning, encouraging everyone to keep things as normal as possible. And to avoid discussions about it.”

  “The best remedy—the only one—is to find out who did this. It’s the only thing that will get the town back to normal,” Ben said. “The only thing.”

  “But in the meantime there’s this awful tension. I feel it everywhere, no matter what I tell the staff to do or not do.”

  Ben looked over to the bar and the small patio that opened off it. “Liz, I don’t have my glasses on. Is that Chief Thompson on the patio?”

  Liz nodded. “He was waiting for someone. Dr. Hartley, I suspect. He had a dinner reservation for two, but he told me a few minutes ago to cancel it. He decided to have a fish sandwich in the bar and then get back to work. The poor guy—he looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

  “The weight of Sea Harbor, for sure,” Ben said.

  They thanked Liz and walked through the bar and out the open sliding doors. Jerry was sitting alone at a high-top table on the small bar patio, his back to the bar and any customers who might be inclined to join him.

  “Jerry,” Ben said, coming up behind him.

  Jerry turned around and looked at them, then smiled a greeting.

  Nell gave him an unaccustomed hug. “You look like you need that,” she whispered in his ear.

  Jerry managed a small smile. A half-eaten sandwich sat on the plate in front of him, a half-drunk bottle of beer beside it. “You’re both a welcome sight. I was going to give you a call. Can you sit for a minute?”

  “Sure,” Ben said, and ordered two glasses of wine from the waitress.

  Jerry was quiet for a moment, his eyes intent on his blunt fingers tapping the table. Finally he looked up. “I have a favor to ask. Both of you, really.”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “It’s about Elizabeth,” he said.

  Nell felt a small stab of worry. The look on Jerry’s face was haggard and sad.

  She and Ben waited while Jerry seemed to play with a jumble of words in his head, searching for those that would make the most sense.

  “This was a difficult day for her. No, worse than that. It was hellish. For me, too . . . and I need, hell, I don’t know what I need. I’ve never been faced with this before.”

  The conversation lapsed while the waitress set the wineglasses on the table and brought a fresh beer out for Jerry.

  He continued. “You were there yesterday when Teresa Pisano had her outburst in the parking lot—so you know that she’s causing some trouble. She’s in the station every day. She’s a little goofy, she overreacts, says things that don’t make sense, then refuses to explain them. She’s sure Elizabeth is in it for the ‘money,’ whatever that means.

  “But it’s more than Teresa, really. It’s the whole investigation. It’s what happened that night and why. The whole thing is thorny and touching people we know.” He coughed slightly, a gesture to clear the sadness in his voice.

  “It’s . . . it’s hovering over Elizabeth. Blythe very much wanted her out of that job. People have come in, told us Blythe was talking to people, waging her own private campaign to get rid of Elizabeth. It was a power thing, I think. But I don’t know why. Not yet, anyway. You’re on the board, Nell. You know some of this.”

  Nell nodded. “But Elizabeth has far more supporters on that board than detractors.”

  “Sure she does. She’s a good woman. A wonderful woman. But she has landed smack dab in the middle of this. She . . .”

  “She can’t be a suspect,” Nell said, but her words fell off as she realized that of course Elizabeth was a suspect. Not the only suspect, but one that the police would have to pay attention to. Not to be arrested now, but certainly to be questioned. And maybe questioned again and again. And she was Chief Jerry Thompson’s close friend—his “lady” friend, as Esther Gibson would gently put it in the days to come. Gabby and Daisy’s April-December romance couple.

  The chief continued. “I’ve put Tommy Porter in charge of large chunks of the investigation. I need to step back a little. I know how people talk, how they think. Even good people, and I can’t let the force suffer because of what people might see as signs of impropriety—though I’d quit my job in a New York minute to be able to stand by her side. But it’s Elizabeth who’s taking the lead on this.”

  He leaned back and swilled down half a bottle of beer. Ben and Nell sipped their wine, the table weighted down with thought.

  Jerry’s smile was sad. “She doesn’t think we ought to see each other for a while until this thing evens out a little. Tommy had to go to her house and talk to her, question her. And he’s probably going to have to bring her in to the station. It’s awful for her. I tried to tell her we would be discreet, but she is convinced we can’t be seen together, and she’s adamant. A stubborn woman. She needs me right now—and I can’t help.”

  Whose need was greater? Nell wondered. It was a trying time for both of them. And they were two fine people who clearly cared deeply about each other.

  But Elizabeth was a wise woman. And a selfless one. She cared more about Jerry and his career than her own comfort level right now.

  “I never thought there’d be room in my life for anyone after my wife died. But in spite of our age difference, Elizabeth and I have connected in a way neither of us ever expected. I can’t define it. She fills this gaping hole in me that I didn’t even know was there.”

  Jerry took a deep breath, then slowly released the air in his lungs and dropped his napkin beside the remains of his dinner. He stood and lifted a jacket from the back of his chair, then looked into the darkness beyond the lounge patio.

  The waves were close, hidden in the darkness beyond the tennis courts. They crashed with abandon against the shore, a fitting backdrop for the night.

  Finally Jerry looked back at Nell and Ben. “So here’s my favor. What I’m asking is—for right now at least—will you two watch out for her? Be there if I can’t?”

  It was the kind of request only a good friend would make of other good friends.

  Nell and Ben embraced the favor wholly.

  Then they got up from their chairs and embraced Jerry Thompson as well.

  Chapter 17

  T he man was walking toward the deli door at the same time that Nell and Cass walked out, carrying two large bags of Garozzo’s famous pastrami sandwiches.

  He was of medium height, about Danny and Sam’s age, dressed in khakis and a knit shirt. He took his sunglasses off and looked at them intently.

  On a normal day, they would have smiled, greeted the stranger, an
d gone on their way. But Blythe Westerland’s murder less than five days before had changed things. And suddenly a normal Tuesday didn’t seem normal—or safe—anymore. In fact, the woman’s murder had changed nearly everything in the lazy seaside town.

  Strangers now appeared suspicious, sinister even. Because surely it was a stranger who brought this awful curse to their town.

  So they stopped, looked back at him carefully, and then recognized what he really looked like wasn’t sinister.

  He looked lost.

  “May we help you?” Nell asked.

  “Hell, I don’t know,” the man said, then tried to smile away his brash answer. “Sorry. I’m a little frustrated, that’s all. There was a pileup on 128 and then once I got here I realized that as small as this place is, I didn’t know where to go. And I said I’d be here at ten, not noon. Believe it or not, I’ve never been to Sea Harbor before.”

  That was certainly believable, Nell thought. Many people hadn’t been to Sea Harbor. But if he thought he should have visited earlier, he probably should have. It was a magical place. At least it once was, and it would be again.

  Cass shifted her bag to the other arm. “So you’re looking for a place? A person? Maybe we can help.”

  Nell checked her watch. They were headed down the street to the small park across from the historical museum—a quick lunch meeting. Izzy and Birdie were there waiting, probably already poring over the final details for the week’s sewing class at Gabby’s school.

  The man looked around, then back at Cass. “The courthouse or police station. I’m really not sure. I was going to ask in the deli.” He thumbed the door behind him. “I just got back in the country, and jet lag has my head doing strange things.” He pulled out his phone and flicked to a message. “Courthouse, it says.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re next to each other. We’re headed that way if you’d like to walk with us,” Nell said. “The courthouse is just a couple blocks off Harbor Road.”