Moon Spinners Read online

  Nell started to say hello, then on impulse, replaced the words with a hug. Julianne hugged her back.

  “This is nice. Two visitors in one day.” Julianne offered Nell the chair and sat down on the side of her narrow bed.

  Julianne looked like she had a lost a few pounds, but it only enhanced her beauty, and without the haze of drink or drugs, her eyes were bright and clear. And she seemed eerily calm. Nell had the feeling that if the president or pope had walked in, they would have received the same warm, unsurprised greeting. No exaggerated fuss, no embarrassment over her surroundings, just pleasure in receiving a guest.

  “How’s Gracie?”

  “She’s holding up. Gracie is a strong, lovely woman. I hope you get to know that firsthand when all this is over.”

  Julianne didn’t answer, but seemed to savor the thought.

  “Here. I brought you something. This keeps me sane, and I thought it might do the same for you.” Nell pulled the yarn and pattern from the bag. “Izzy helped me pick out this hat for you to knit.”

  Julianne reached out and fingered the soft yarn. The pleasure of it was reflected in her face. “This is wonderful. Thank you. I haven’t knit since I was young. I’m not sure I remember.”

  “Problem solved. Esther Gibson is one of the most accomplished knitters in town. She’s promised to help you work through any snags along the way.”

  “Esther is wonderful. She brings me books and spends her breaks talking with me. And she also lets me call Gracie or Mandy if I want to. I think she bends the rules for me a bit.”

  “Now you can chat about knitting and purling. Our hope is that you will start the hat now—and finish it sitting on the deck of the Lazy Lobster and Soup Café on a bright summer day.”

  “How is the café coming along?”

  “Everyone’s pitching in. It’s going to be a wonderful little place.” A pleased look washed across Julianne’s face, hearing about her daughter’s efforts, so Nell continued, embellishing the conversation with paint colors, a description of the fireplace, the wooden tables and booths, and the deck that families would eat on, enjoying Pete and Cass’ lobsters, served by Gracie’s own staff.

  Julianne hung on every word.

  “Joey has been helping Gracie a lot,” Nell added.

  “Joey,” Julianne repeated. “He’s been here to see me a few times. He says Gracie is happy. It sounds like he still loves her.”

  “Would that please you?”

  Julianne didn’t answer for a few minutes. When she did, her voice was soft. “I don’t have a right to even have an opinion. That’s the sad truth, Nell.” She shifted on the bed and looked out the small barred window. A single stream of sunlight fell across her knees. “I wasn’t around much those few years they were married—but I kept in touch when I had my wits about me. They had a wonderful landlord who became my friend and filled me in on things. It wasn’t easy for them, Mandy—my friend—told me. Joey was gone most of the time. Mandy was Gracie’s salvation, I think. She kept her company, kept her spirits up. Let her talk.”

  “The first years of marriage are an adjustment.”

  “Especially so for Gracie. I’ve read every child psychology book that Esther Gibson can dig up for me, and I know it must have been difficult for Gracie to trust anyone. She’d been abandoned—and the books say that makes trusting people very hard. And then, in a way, Joey abandoned her because of his job.”

  “They were married three years?”

  “Almost four. When they separated last year, Joey moved back here into one of his father’s condos over near Rockport. Gracie stayed in Gloucester until her lease was up. I don’t think they even bothered splitting things up. Joey seemed glad to get away, and Gracie was glad to see him go. Or at least that was Mandy’s take on it. I saw Gracie that Christmas—we were together briefly for a family meeting. Gracie seemed okay, and was putting her life together.”

  Julianne fingered the yarn as she talked, pressing a skein against her smooth skin. “This is beautiful, Nell. Thank you.”

  “It will look lovely on you.” Nell shifted on the chair, wondering how Julianne could sleep in the tiny cell. But there was a peace around her that seemed sincere. Maybe she slept just fine. Something had happened to Gracie’s mother during the short time she’d spent in the Sea Harbor jail. Perhaps she had been priming herself for some life change. The confinement brought it into focus.

  But good or bad, the jail time needed to be short-lived, of that Nell was sure.

  Later, Nell thought it might have been that sense of peace and acceptance that made her ask the next question. She didn’t think she would upset Julianne, and she knew her answer, whatever it might be, would be honest.

  Nell leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and looked into Julianne’s clear eyes.

  “Do you have any idea who might have killed Sophia? Or why? You may have known her better than some of us.”

  Julianne stared at her hands in her lap. She gave Nell’s question careful consideration. Finally she said, “I think that when pressed, most of us could kill. If I thought someone was going to hurt Gracie in a terrible way, I think I could kill them.

  “So the question, I think, is what had Sophia done or threatened to do that would hurt or frighten or enrage someone enough for them to kill her? Whose life was about to change in an awful way because of her? That’s the person who killed her.”

  Nell listened carefully. This was not the dazed, angry Julianne she had seen in recent weeks. This woman sitting in front of her on a hard jail chair spoke from her heart, with clarity and wisdom.

  “Had Sophia done something that severe to me that I would kill her?” Julianne asked out loud. “She made it difficult for me to get money from my brother—and I hated that she had that power over him. But that was all going to change in a few weeks, so it wouldn’t make logical sense that I would kill her because of that.”

  “What was going to change?”

  “On Gracie’s thirty-sixth birthday she’ll receive her inheritance from my parents—they adored Gracie. She’ll have control over the other part of the will, too, so Alphonso doesn’t have to worry about that.”

  “So you know about all that.”

  “We had a meeting about it months ago. Very hush-hush. My parents were peculiar in many ways, and managing money—though I am certainly not one to speak—was one of them.

  “But as you can see, my motive for killing my brother’s wife is now reduced to the fact that I didn’t like her. And you can see where that disastrous logic leads.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. Nell was stunned. Julianne spoke with the clarity of a judge. And she was absolutely right.

  “One curious piece of this puzzle is why someone wants the police to think I did it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone put incriminating evidence in my car. Books about car mechanics and some tools that would be useful in tampering with brakes. Even some pages printed off the Internet.”

  Nell had almost forgotten that the trunk of Julianne’s car gave the police the last bit of evidence they thought they needed to arrest her. “When do you think the evidence was planted?”

  “It had to have been shortly after Sophia died. That night I went to Gloucester to see Mandy—the landlady in Gloucester that I told you about. She’d become a good friend and she loved Gracie.

  “When I got there that night I took my backpack out of the trunk, and if there’d been books in there I would have seen them, even in the state I was in. The next day my car wouldn’t start—it was on its last leg, so Mandy said I could just leave it there and she loaned me a motorbike to use. I never used the car again. It stayed there until the police came, opened the trunk, then towed it away. But I know one thing for sure—I had never seen any of those things in my life until the police opened the trunk that day.”

  “Do you have any idea why someone would do that to you?”

  Julianne’s soft laugh was sad, but it lacked
the bitterness Nell might have expected. “Oh, Nell, you are a sweet woman.” She leaned over and touched Nell’s hand, then sat back on the bed. “I haven’t been a very nice person for a long time. I didn’t endear myself to people much. And I didn’t care. I’m sure there are dozens of people who wouldn’t mind me being blamed for Sophia’s murder. I couldn’t begin to list the people that I’ve hurt. Gracie and Alphonso just happen to be the only ones I care about.”

  Chapter 30

  Nell drove away from the Sea Harbor jail with Esther’s promise that she’d keep an eye on Julianne.

  “She’ll be out of here soon,” Esther had said. “Mark my words. No one in their right mind could possibly think that gentle lady killed Sophia Santos, and that’s exactly what I served up for the chief today, along with his doughnuts. Julianne’s on her way to being a fine lady. And once we get her knitting, she’ll be better than fine.”

  Nell certainly hoped so. Julianne had left a trail of hurt behind her, but if there was such a thing as redemption, she was a poster child for it.

  A soft wind blew through the open window of her car as Nell headed home, following a slow-moving line of traffic. Her thoughts moved from Julianne to Harold and Ella, and the toll the last days had taken on them. Poor Harold. So distraught over his wife’s friendship with Sophia that he did crazy things. But how crazy?

  Nell imagined him driving the Lincoln back from the club that night—a car nearly everyone knew—worried Ella would find out what he’d done. Would anyone remember seeing the car that night? But even if someone did, would they remember what time they saw it? Nell neared Harbor Road and a sudden thought struck her. She turned in the opposite direction from home, and drove slowly toward Birdie’s house.

  And there he was, poised for duty at the corner of Elm and Harbor, his uniform nicely ironed and his motorcycle polished to a high sheen. She waved and pulled up across the street from him.

  Tommy Porter took off his dark glasses, recognized who it was, and pulled his motorcycle to the other side of the street. “How’s it going, Mrs. Endicott? Saw you driving mighty fast down here the other day . . .”

  “Bless you, Tommy. Sometimes it’s best to look the other way.”

  “Seemed you were on a mission.”

  “Say, Tommy, I see you at this spot often. Were you on duty here the night of Sophia Santos’ murder?”

  “Okay, okay, I know what you’re going to say. But I had to do it.”

  “Go on,” Nell said, not at all sure what was coming next.

  “He was going plenty fast. Like a bat out of you-know-where. He said Ella would kill him if he didn’t get home fast. But I only gave him a warning. I knew he didn’t want Miss Birdie to know about it. Mr. Sampson is a nice guy. He just shouldn’t drive so fast.”

  “Do you remember what time it was?”

  “It was just getting dark. I remember because he had dark glasses on, and I told him he should take them off.”

  “So around eight would you say?”

  “Couldn’t have been much later, because I went back to the station for a break after I sent him along home.”

  Nell thanked Tommy profusely. “You’re one fine policeman, Tommy Porter. Someday you may be chief.” She started her engine, waved, and drove on down Harbor Road.

  Harold Sampson could be crossed off their list, thanks to a conscientious policeman issuing a warning to slow down. Bless Tommy Porter.

  Nell drove off, then pulled into the parking lot of the market. She found an empty parking space and called Ben. Sometimes repeating odd thoughts to Ben was like unwinding a skein of yarn and neatly winding it into a ball. With the loops taken out, it was smoother, easier to work with. Certainly easier to knit back into a pattern.

  Ben listened as Nell divested herself of the conversation with Julianne. He asked a question here or there, and then he promised to mull it over as he lit his coals and iced down the martini glasses. But only if she’d run into the market and pick up some spicy mustard and a jar of toothpicks.

  The supermarket was busy. The day had been too perfect not to finish it off with a barbecue on the deck or a beach picnic. The aisles were crowded with people planning to do exactly that. Watermelons and buns and bags of charcoal were flying off the shelves as Nell hurried down the condiment aisle.

  Davey Delaney saw Nell before she saw him. Had it been reversed, Nell might have chosen a different aisle. But as it happened, they met face-to-face in front of the pickle section, just before an assortment of ketchups and mustards.

  “Nell, I was outta line the other day.”

  “Davey,” she said. “Nice to see you. And yes, you were.” Nell noticed he had one of the small carts. Just a few items—potato chips, a carton of ice cream, some hot dog buns.

  “We always forget something,” he said, shrugging his broad shoulders.

  “I understand. I’m battling this crowd for a simple jar of mustard.”

  “But here’s the deal. Sure, I have a temper. But people should mind their own business and let us Delaneys run ours.”

  “Davey, I’m not sure what . . .”

  Davey’s voice rose a few decibels, and a woman with a toddler in a cart frowned at him. She hurried by with her crowded cart.

  “It’s the snooping and poking around, and trying to see our books and Lord knows what all, it’s all that. People need to just leave it alone. Leave us alone! And if they don’t—”

  Nell watched the flush crawling up his neck and heading for his cheeks and forehead. The now-familiar pulse in his temple began to throb.

  “If they don’t, Davey, then what?”

  She spotted the mustard Ben wanted and picked it off the shelf.

  “If they don’t . . .” Davey tightened his jaw, clamped his mouth closed, then opened it again. “If they don’t, then they just might find themselves in a heap of trouble, that’s what. Bad trouble.”

  And for the third time that week, Davey Delaney turned away from Nell, this time with a small grocery cart that spun around beneath his powerful grip, crashed into a cardboard display of spaghetti seasonings, and rattled toward the front of the store.

  Nell hoped he was heading home. His ice cream was beginning to melt.

  “He starts out calm, almost sweet, and then this anger rises in him, Ben. It’s a little scary.”

  “Maybe we’re being too critical of him.” Ben opened the freezer and took out some ice. “I think sometimes Maeve is hard on him. She wants him to act more refined. But he’s a D.J. clone. He’s more comfortable drinking beer on the deck than tea in the parlor, and there’s nothing wrong with that. And he could do worse than follow in his dad’s footsteps. D.J.’s not such a bad sort—I don’t suppose Davey is either.”

  Nell took napkins and silverware from drawers and piled them on the island. She leaned back against the counter and took a sip of her wine. “It’s easy for you to say that. You haven’t been the object of his ire this week like I have been. Twice. And in the middle—when we saw him trying to put a move on Gracie—the look he gave Izzy and me wasn’t friendly.”

  The sound of voices distracted her, and she turned to greet Izzy, Sam, and Birdie, walking across the room, their arms filled with bags.

  “Wine, a new pattern book from Interweave, and a single skein of the most amazing yarn in the world,” Izzy announced.

  “And a journal,” Birdie said triumphantly. She set a green leather volume down on the kitchen island. “And my thanks for discovering Harold’s airtight alibi. I knew all along that sweet man couldn’t hurt a fly, but I’ll forever love Tommy Porter for giving us proof.”

  Nell looked down at the teal-green book. It was larger than most journals, a size that would stick out of a purse. Which is exactly where she’d seen it before.

  “I saw this the day of Sophia’s wake,” she said. “Ella was coming downstairs with it. She must have gone up to Sophia’s bedroom while Alphonso was greeting people and taken it.”

  “She probably needed something of
Sophia’s. She was so sad, and Alphonso wouldn’t think to give her anything,” Birdie said. “He’d probably have sent it all off to Goodwill, just like he did her car.”

  Nell touched the cover with the tip of her finger. It was soft, expensive leather, and the heavy pages were edged in gold.

  “Ella is probably the only one who will appreciate it—much of it is written in Spanish. I took Spanish a hundred years ago but could only make out a word or two.”

  Spanish. Nell sighed. She wasn’t sure what she thought the journal might tell them. Maybe hints into why Sophia was pursuing the Delaneys with such a vengeance. Her edginess the last weeks of her life. Small notes offering bits of insight? She put the book on the counter to keep it out of harm’s way and took a platter of cheese and fruit out of the refrigerator.

  “Where are Cass and Gracie?” Nell asked. “Is Pete coming? Willow?”

  “Cass had a stop to make. Gracie had to talk to Joey about some things but might be by later. I think maybe she’s decided to tell Joey what a jerk his brother is. And Pete and Willow came up the back steps while you were talking about the journal. They’re on the deck with the martinis.”

  “Which is where we should all be, dears,” Birdie said. “Come.”

  Izzy plugged her iPod into the dock. Sounds of Earth Wind and Fire poured from the speakers, and she danced her way out to the deck behind the others, her fingers pointing toward the moon.

  The smell of hot coals, even before the ginger-spiced kabobs sizzled on the grill, was intoxicating. As Ben handed out icy martinis, one by one, with the thinnest layer of ice floating on top, Nell relaxed, perhaps for the first time that day. She looked up at the sky. The moon spinners were working their nightly magic, winding the strands of moonlight onto their distaffs, moving the world toward darkness. Providing protection in the darkness, or so the legend went. Nell sipped her drink, looking up. Protection in the darkness. Is that what they sought? When the light was pulled down and spun, would they all be safe and their summer whole again?

  For this moment, she would let the moon spinners do their work. She’d let go of her concerns and savor laughter and voices spinning around her of those she loved.