A Fatal Fleece: A Seaside Knitters Mystery Read online

  Gabby was clearly pleased with her analysis of the situation.

  Nell looked over at Birdie, who nodded. The young girl had analyzed the situation perfectly.

  “Gabby is going to stay with me until Nick comes back. Ella and Harold are thrilled to have someone to spoil, but I’m the lucky one.” She looked at Gabby. “I get a granddaughter.”

  There was only a slight difference in their heights, and Gabby’s clear blue eyes smiled into Birdie’s easily. “I never knew you, did I? I didn’t know you even existed. It’s exciting. Like a mystery that we’re solving together. We’re pulling the skeletons out of the closet, Uncle Nick says. And the best part is that now I have a nonna for real. I’ve always wanted one.”

  “Nonna?”

  “A granddaughter?”

  “Birdie, what’s going on?”

  Their voices collided as Birdie rejoined them in the yarn studio’s back room, after making sure Gabby was safely buckled in behind Harold. Ella was waiting at the big house on Ravenswood Road with a special pizza she’d made especially for Birdie’s newly discovered granddaughter.

  Birdie dropped her knitting bag on the table. She handed Izzy a bottle of chilled pinot gris. “I think we should open this right away, dear,” she said.

  Izzy laughed and gave her a quick hug. “Nonna. Imagine that.”

  “Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.” Nell stood at the old library table, tossing the lemony shrimp onto a bed of angel hair pasta. Izzy headed for the galley kitchen to get some glasses.

  “Actually, Gabby’s explanation was fairly accurate. She’s quite precocious. And absolutely beguiling. You should see Ella and Harold. You’d think it was Christmas and Santa had brought them their sweetest desire.”

  “You never mentioned anyone named Gabby,” Cass said. “Were you hiding her?”

  “And her father, for that matter.” Izzy passed around glasses of wine.

  “That’s because I never knew there was a Gabby—at least not one who was related to me. Nor that Joseph, my third husband, had a son before we met. It seems poor Joseph didn’t know, either. I knew he was a hopeless romantic—everyone knew that. Those Italian eyes—oh, my.” Birdie took a sip of wine.

  “I never should have married Joseph,” she went on. “I didn’t need another man in my life. But there was something there. He was such a lovely, romantic man. And he loved to dance. That’s what clinched it.”

  “Ben’s parents used to talk about the parties up at your home. Gatsby-like, Ben’s mother always said. Filled with music and laughter.”

  Birdie’s cheeks pinked at the memories. “Yes, they were that. Joseph brought in elaborate bands. We had great fun. Too much, maybe. He never stopped long enough to find out that he had a heart not destined for such shenanigans.”

  “So he didn’t know he had a child?” Cass prompted.

  “Apparently not. He found out about Gabby’s father shortly before he died. Some lawyer contacted him, apparently. When he knew it was for real, he told his brother, Nick, and asked him to do what was right. So Nick did, and I was never told.”

  Birdie paused as her past played out in front of her. Secrets from the dead. She collected her thoughts, and finally her lips lifted in a playful smile. “The child of Joseph’s love child. Imagine that.”

  “So Nick knew, but not you.”

  Birdie nodded. “At the same time, he was becoming a well-known cancer researcher on the West Coast. He kept in touch with Joseph’s son, Christopher, for whom he’d set up a trust, as per Joseph’s instructions. Nick became Christopher’s family, in a way, since his own father had died and the family in Italy would not have claimed a child born out of wedlock. When Christopher married and Gabby was born, Nick saw his new niece every time he was in New York. According to Nick, she needed a favorite uncle. Her dad is a decent man, but one with a weakness for women—and those women aren’t always the best mothers to Gabrielle. Nick watches out for the little girl. He loves her dearly.”

  “So, that explains the summer road trip.”

  Birdie nodded. “Gabby’s dad and latest wife are having problems and went off to some godforsaken place to have a shaman make their marriage perfect, or some such thing. He couldn’t reach them last night or this morning.”

  “So you have a surprise house guest.”

  “Yes, I do, indeed. Until Nick comes back anyway. She’s endearing, but, good lord, how am I going to keep a ten-year-old child busy?”

  “Gabby seems pretty independent.”

  “No doubt about that. She begged me to let her explore this afternoon. What do I know about the limits of a child’s world? So finally I gave her ninety minutes and had Harold patrolling, though she didn’t know it. He followed her to the pier, sat in his car to be sure she was safe. I think Gabby’s used to marching to her own drummer.”

  Cass picked up a pair of salad forks and piled generous helpings onto each plate. “My kind of girl. I like her already.”

  “Harold and Ella say she’s a breath of fresh air.”

  “And this food is a breath of fresh air to me,” Cass said. “I’m starving.”

  They all laughed, embracing the comfort brought about by things in their lives that never changed—like Cass’ utter reliance on Nell’s Thursday-night dinner.

  Balancing plates and glasses, they moved from the knitting table to the circle of chairs near the fireplace. A ritual repeated nearly every Thursday evening, no matter the season. Food, knitting, and friendship. As sacred as the sunrise.

  “We’ll help you keep Gabby busy,” Izzy said. “She can come to our kids’ knitting class.”

  “Having met her, I’d say she’ll be teaching it,” Cass said.

  “Ben and Sam can take her sailing,” Nell said.

  “I’d offer to take her out on the Lady Lobster,” Cass said, “but the atmosphere these days isn’t always pleasant.”

  “Which brings up another topic of discussion,” Nell said. She looked over at Cass. “Are you all right, Cass?”

  The smile slipped from Cass’ face.

  “Just the usual hassles of running a business. It’s the old catch-twenty-two. We need to expand, hire, get another boat, new traps, all those things. All it takes is money.” She managed a grin. “Pete got a lottery ticket this week. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky.” She fingered her napkin, twisting it into a roll.

  “Ben could help you get a loan.”

  “I’m ahead of you. Pete and I talked to him last week, bent his ear for advice.”

  Nell wasn’t surprised. Ben’s business and law background, coupled with a kind and generous personality, had served him well in his semiretirement. Sea Harbor’s unofficial go-to man. He dished out sound advice to friends and neighbors with ease and grace—and a confidentiality that rivaled Father Northcutt’s confessional.

  “We’ll figure it out. Ma has started another novena for us, so something good will happen. She promised.” Cass smiled, but the worry lingered in her dark eyes.

  “Mary Halloran has connections in all the right places,” Nell said. “And we’re here, too.”

  Nell felt the emptiness of her words. Being there for Cass and her brother, Pete, was a given. But it might not be enough. Expansion for the Hallorans’ business was key. And that took money, of course. And though she, Ben, and Birdie would gladly help, Cass would never accept it, not in a million years.

  After Patrick Halloran’s death in a storm years before, his brother kept the small fishing business afloat until he retired. Unwilling to sell it, Cass and Pete had taken it on when they finished college. Cass loved the business passionately—although sometimes Nell wondered if it wasn’t her father she loved, and hanging on to his business kept him close to her. But whatever the motivation, the last year had been difficult, as equipment began to deteriorate and competition forced the Halloran Lobster Company to grow—or perish, as so many others had done.

  Birdie stood and refilled the wineglasses. “Patrick Halloran wo
uld burst wide open with Irish pride at what you and Peter have done, Cass. You’ll pull through this. And we’re all here to make sure you do.”

  “Oh, shush. Now you’ll get me emotional.” Cass held out one hand as if to ward off her friends’ kindness. “I know you’re here. You guys are always here, and I love you for it. But Pete and I need to figure this out. And we will.”

  “Danny’s worried,” Izzy said. She tossed the words into the conversation casually, but Nell knew there was more than that behind them.

  Dan Brandley and Cass had become close in the past year, and it wasn’t just Cass’ mother, Mary, who was happy about it. But Nell had noticed the worried look on Danny’s face at a recent gathering.

  “Danny’s got his own life to take care of. He doesn’t need to worry about mine.”

  The words were spoken with an edge.

  “That’s what friends do, Cass,” Izzy said.

  Cass was silent for a moment, then said, “This is my pa’s business that I’m trying to resuscitate. What does a mystery writer know about that? It needs Pete and me. And we’ll make it work. Danny has his own things. He has all these book tours going on. He doesn’t need to be worrying about me.” She mopped up the remaining sauce with a hunk of bread.

  “Why don’t you go with him?” Izzy asked. She sat forward in her chair. “I’ve gone on out-of-town photo shoots with Sam and it’s fun—I’m the pampered tagalong with no responsibility. Great food. Romantic hotels. You’d come back way less cranky—I guarantee it.”

  Cass responded with a flat laugh. She got up, brushed some bread crumbs from her T-shirt, and started clearing away plates, a clear sign that she was through with the discussion.

  “It might be good for Danny, too,” Nell said, not ready to give up. Cass worked harder than anyone she knew, and business woes or not, a getaway with dear Danny Brandley would do wonders for her. “I imagine book tours can be lonely.”

  Cass spoke with her back to them. “And leave Pete with this mess? No way. Anyway, the book tour is Brandley’s thing, not mine. That’s the last thing I want to do right now—tag along after a writer. He lives in a different world.” She piled the plates on the counter and wiped her hands on a towel. “Besides, you all know perfectly well I couldn’t survive for three days without Nell’s cooking. End of story. But something I do need help with is this sweater.”

  She returned to her chair and pulled out a nearly finished bright yellow vest. “Now, here’s something I have control of—and I’m proud of, if I do say so myself.”

  “You’re almost finished with the fleece vest!” Izzy moved closer to get a better look. “Cass, this is amazing. I am so proud of you for sticking with it.” She fingered the soft cotton yarn—a cotton fleece with just enough wool for resiliency.

  Nell leaned in and touched the edge that would soon have a zipper running up its front. “It’s a great color.”

  “Sunflower gold,” Izzy said proudly, as if she had just found it in a pot at the end of a rainbow.

  Cass laughed. “You’re all acting as if you’ve never seen it before. Like Nell isn’t putting in the zipper, and Birdie didn’t pick the pattern, Izzy the yarn, the color. Not to mention the fact that she’s nearly frogged it to death several times.”

  “Oh, phooey with that,” Birdie said. “That’s what it’s all about—just like with relationships.” She threw a pointed look at Cass over the top of her glasses. Then she reached for the vest and held it close. “Absolutely handsome, my dear.”

  Cass hadn’t mentioned to any of them who would be wearing the vest, but she picked it up now and held it in the air. “It’s for Finnegan. I love it, and I think he will, too.”

  “Finnegan?” Nell’s brows lifted. She’d assumed it was for Danny, but now that she looked at it more closely, it wasn’t really a Danny kind of sweater. But it’d be perfect for Finnegan to wear, sitting on his dock or out in his shiny boat, motoring around the coves. It was so bright, people would be able to spot him if he had an emergency and needed help.

  “It was Ma’s idea.” Cass sat back on the couch and smoothed out a cable that ran up the front of the vest. “He’s always helping us paint this or that or fix things on the Lady Lobster. Even tried to give me some money to fix the engine the other day. Crazy old coot. He needs his money more than I do.”

  “He hides it nicely, but Finnegan is a good soul,” Birdie said.

  Cass nodded. “Ma says this is probably the first new thing he’s had to wear since Moira died. He’s a raggedy fool, as she sweetly put it. Now he won’t be.”

  Nell watched Cass’ blunt fingers weaving in the stray yellow ends. Her eyes remained on the strands of sunshine gold, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. The dock? Her traps? Or on her accounting books and the equipment she needed to find money to buy?

  Or with a very nice mystery writer who, in Nell’s opinion, didn’t deserve to be pushed aside as abruptly as Cass seemed to be doing.

  The evening passed in a flash, as it did every Thursday evening when Izzy, Nell, Birdie, and Cass blocked out the world and surrounded themselves with the dreamy lusciousness of cotton, linen, bamboo, and soft skeins of cashmere.

  A tangle of Izzy’s thick multicolored hair fell across her face, and she brushed it back so she could see the pool of lavender spilling over her jeans. She was half finished with the hoodie—a soft alpaca yarn that begged to be touched.

  “That will look wonderful on you, Iz,” Nell said.

  Izzy picked up a knit edge. As the light caught the strands of the plied yarn, different colors emerged from the lavender—a hint of blue and green, a touch of gold. “It makes me think of the sunset. The colors changing. I love it. Sam does, too. So, how’s yours coming, Aunt Nell?”

  Nell frowned for a moment, scanning the sheet of paper she’d set on the table. She looked at Izzy. “I know in the end I’ll be happy that you talked me into designing something, but it’s keeping me up at night right now. And I don’t even know who this should be for.”

  “Gabby,” the other three said in unison.

  Gabby. Of course. A sweater was the perfect welcome for anyone new who happened into the knitters’ lives—like Willow Adams or the Santos baby. Or Sam Perry and Danny Brandley, when they’d innocently come to Sea Harbor to teach a photo class and to write a book, and been caught up in the magic of the town and its people, never to leave. They’d all been welcomed, not just with lifelong friendships, but with sweaters or hats or wraps—not to mention Nell’s amazing Friday-night dinners.

  “Gabby?” Birdie said again, this time with a question at the end of it, as if exploring this sudden change in her life.

  “You’re a grandmother,” Nell said. “And I will celebrate the amazing occasion by knitting your granddaughter a sweater. It’s an honor. What fun.”

  “Instant nonna.” Izzy leaned over and gave Birdie a quick hug. “And I know the exact yarn we’ll use for this cardigan.” She flew up the three steps to the cotton room—a cozy room with a rocking chair and colored photos of grazing sheep on the wall. In the next instant, she was back, her hands holding skeins of bright purple yarn, soft as clouds and as delicious-looking as a grape Popsicle.

  “We did a survey. Purple is the favorite color for ten-year-olds. And with her hair? It’s perfect.” She placed the armful of yarn in Nell’s lap.

  Instantly the skeins were passed around, fingers touching the strands of cotton.

  “It’s summery, light. Just perfect, Iz.” Nell said. “Perfect for our first grandchild,” she added.

  Birdie sat quietly and soaked it all in. Then she said, “And each of you is now one of Gabby’s newfound aunts. But names can’t possibly say what you really are.”

  The phone rang, scattering the emotion of the moment, and hands immediately went into pockets and bags.

  “We need to change our ring tones,” Cass muttered, then looked at Birdie. “It’s coming from your backpack.”

  Birdie fished out her phone, checked the name
that appeared, and pressed Talk.

  Ella talked loudly, probably because Harold refused to get the hearing aid he sorely needed. But her words were clear and reached each one of the knitters.

  “It’s the little one. She’s gone.”

  Chapter 5

  It felt like déjà vu.

  Nell, Izzy, Birdie, and Cass knew the routine well. Without a word, they folded up their knitting, locked up the shop, and piled into the Endicott CRV.

  At least it wasn’t raining, like the knitting night several years ago when they’d driven all over town looking for the gallery owner, Billy Sobel. Or the night, just one year ago, when Ella herself had disappeared, driving off in Birdie’s Lincoln Town Car without a single driving lesson to her name. In the first instance, the missing person had ended up dead; in the second, Ella had ended up in the hospital, badly injured in a car accident.

  Hopes for a better outcome silently filled the car as they drove at a snail’s pace down Harbor Road, their eyes peeled for a slender-limbed girl with flying black hair.

  Most of the retail shops were closed for the night, but all along the gaslit street, sounds of music and laughter floated through the open doors of cafés, restaurants, and bars. Nell idled the engine in front of Scoopers. The ice-cream shop was packed with people.

  Cass ran in. Had anyone seen a young girl with wild black hair? Maybe on a skateboard?

  No luck, her face told those waiting in the car.

  Birdie was quiet. Nell glanced over and saw the worry filling her face. Gabby had been in her care less than a day. She barely knew the young girl.

  And now she was gone.

  Nell reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand. “It’ll be fine. She probably just needed some fresh air.”

  Birdie kept her eyes focused on the road straight ahead, as if looking away would make Gabby disappear forever. Her voice was strained and lacked the calming warmth they depended on from their oldest friend. “Ella said they’d had a good time at dinner,” she said. “Gabby never stopped talking, and made Harold laugh so hard Ella was worried about his pacemaker. After dinner, he took her on a tour of the estate, showing off his gardens, the flagstone paths, and the rope hammock he’d just replaced. She was riding her skateboard around the driveway later when he went in to get a jacket. When he came out, she was gone. They searched the grounds, the woods between our house and Alphonso Santos’ place. Alphonso said he saw her turning onto Ravenswood Road, headed toward town.”