A Finely Knit Murder Page 4

  “It’s an art,” Nell said.

  “Right. All done with a lovely smile.”

  “Why does she care so much about the school?” Cass asked. “She seems to have the world on a string. You’d think she’d have better things to do than bad-mouth the headmistress of a girls’ school.”

  “I can understand why it might be,” Birdie said. “She’s a great-granddaughter of the captain who originally owned the mansion and a host of other properties. The Westerlands were well known. She has a certain proprietary feeling, I suppose.”

  “She called the school a safe haven—she loved it. It was home to her,” Izzy said.

  “There’s something sad about that,” Nell said. “It makes one wonder about her real home.”

  Birdie agreed. “But no matter what the reasons are, Blythe takes a very active interest in how the school is run.”

  “True. And Dr. Hartley wasn’t her choice for the headmistress position. She had a cousin or someone she thought would be good for the job. I suspect Blythe is used to getting her way. There was a fuss at the board meetings when it came time for the final selection, and she’s never quite forgiven Barrett Mansfield for winning the battle. Or at least that’s what I remember.” Nell handed Abby a cracker. The toddler immediately sent crumbs flying across the table, which brought an affectionate smile from her great-aunt.

  “Blythe is a little like her grandfather. Clarence Westerland, Captain Elijah’s son, was on that school’s board with my Sonny a million years ago,” Birdie said. “Clarence was from the old school and quite contentious. All those Westerland men were. Stuffy and pretentious—that’s what Sonny thought about them. Clarence was used to getting his way and he couldn’t stand women being on the board, or—for that matter—he couldn’t see women doing anything productive other than being in the classroom and having babies, that sort of thing. Men ruled, women obeyed, he seemed to think.”

  “We know better,” Cass said.

  Sam humphed.

  Nell looked again at Elizabeth sitting with the chief of police. The headmistress was attractive, although in such an understated way she was probably not often described in that manner. Her short brown hair curled softly at the neckline. The cut was efficient, practical, but refusing to be totally ordinary by the soft waves that framed her face and the fact that she didn’t seem to have total control over its direction. High cheekbones and intelligent brown eyes gave definition to an otherwise pleasant but ordinary face.

  Birdie looked over. “I imagine there are days when Elizabeth would like nothing better than to take two aspirin and go to bed. Today was probably one of them.”

  “I suspect Jerry Thompson can handle headache duties better than Walgreens,” Ben said. “He’s more relaxed than I’ve seen him in a long time.”

  “Well, let’s hope so.”

  They watched Jerry stand and pull out Elizabeth’s chair. She slipped on a sweater and aimed a grateful smile at Jerry. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders as if warding off worries, and led her toward the door.

  “An odd couple,” Birdie mused. “But both seem completely comfortable with each other.”

  Blythe Westerland spotted the couple from the bar and walked their way, approaching them just before they reached the door. With a gracious smile and words that no one at the Endicott table could hear, Blythe spoke to the couple, shaking the chief’s hand as one would a friend, then turning an equally gracious smile on Elizabeth.

  But it was Elizabeth’s expression that left a lasting impression on Nell. A weary day seemed to have whipped away the headmistress’s defenses, and without a word she stared at Blythe, then turned her back on the board member, tucked her arm in Jerry’s, and hurried out of the restaurant.

  Blythe stood back and watched them walk away, then turned and walked back to the bar.

  Nell turned back to the table, feeling as though she had intruded on a private moment. She knew that the two women weren’t friends, but it was the first time she had seen Elizabeth Hartley let her guard down. She had always maintained a gracious facade, even when Nell knew she wasn’t feeling that way inside.

  Blythe Westerland seemed to have worn it down. And she appeared pleased with herself for having done so.

  On the deck, Pete Halloran picked up his guitar, and soon his mellow baritone began singing an old Journey tune. Merry Jackson, the Fractured Fish keyboardist, sang along, her voice blending with Pete’s, as Andy Risso moved his feet, tapping to the beat of his drums.

  Nell watched for a minute, then turned back to the table, pushing the uncomfortable image out of her mind.

  “Looks like we’ve lost Gabby,” Nell said, nodding toward a doelike figure weaving back and forth in front of the band trio. Daisy Danvers was beside her, her short hair bouncing to the beat. And Shelly, a younger Danvers daughter, stood nearby, a full head shorter but trying desperately to keep up with her two idols.

  “Daisy and Gabby are attached at the hip,” Birdie said.

  “Laura says Gabby is the best thing that’s happened to Daisy in a long time,” Izzy said. “She’d become a little too bookish, and her mom loves that Gabby draws her out.”

  Birdie frowned. “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t lead her too far astray.” Birdie looked over at the table where Elliot and Laura Danvers sat, proudly watching their girls.

  Pete was handing the microphone to Gabby and Daisy now. They latched onto it greedily, their young voices picking up where Pete and Merry left off. “Don’t Stop Believin’” traveled through the open doors and wrapped around the restaurant, drawing in more voices as the waiters moved to the beat.

  Lobster rolls quickly disappeared from the table as Ben refilled beer and iced tea glasses, and serious talk of school board tensions gave way to more music. Gabby and Daisy had loosened up the crowd, and more people were making their way to the mics, dodging the great round trays delivering key lime pie table to table.

  Nell noticed an empty chair. “Where’s Cass?”

  “She grabbed the last lobster roll and headed off. She said she’d see us later,” Sam said. He pointed across the crowded room to where Cass was weaving her way between tables, waving at a dozen people along the way.

  “Where’s she going?”

  It was Danny Brandley’s voice, coming from behind Nell’s chair. Without waiting for an answer, he sat down in his former girlfriend’s vacant chair, greeted the others at the table, and changed the subject. “Sorry I’m late. I had to lock up the bookstore for Mom and Dad.”

  But then he looked again at Cass’s departing figure.

  “I dunno, Danny,” Izzy said. “I was sort of hoping she was meeting you.”

  Birdie and Nell watched for an answer, their hopes matching Izzy’s word for word.

  Danny took several fish tacos from the tray and poured himself a beer. He shook his head. “Nope.”

  Nell watched his expression, but it was noncommittal. Danny was an expert at keeping his thoughts to himself. Maybe it was the life of a writer that encouraged the skill, living alone with his characters so much of the time.

  But in spite of Danny’s poker face, no one could convince Nell that Cass and Danny didn’t still harbor feelings for each other. She didn’t buy their “just friends” description for a minute. Cass didn’t talk about it much, not even with Izzy. And Danny didn’t, either. But Nell knew.

  People continued filing through the front door, heading to the bar and listening to the Fractured Fish musicians turning amateur voices into Paul Simon and Katy Perry. Bodies moved to the music as they waited patiently for empty chairs and tables to appear.

  Cass gave a high five to several fishermen she had just hired, but she didn’t stop to chat. Instead she continued toward the door, held open to the evening breeze by a large ceramic lobster a Canary Cove artist had given to Gracie.

  Izzy stood, taking her daughter from N
ell and slipping her into the stroller—an excuse to stand and get a better view of Cass. Just seconds before her friend reached the door, a tall, well-muscled man with a beard and mustache blocked the door. His broad chest and height filled the doorway. Behind him, the lights along the pier created an interesting silhouette.

  Cass stopped, her profile revealing a half smile. The smile was returned as the stranger wrapped one arm around her shoulder, leaned down to hear her words, then ushered her out into the night.

  Izzy looked at Nell. She was sitting straight in the chair, following Cass’s exit with great interest. The men, including Danny, had turned their attention to Jane and Ham Brewster, who had stopped by the table and were recounting an upcoming show at their Canary Cove Art Colony.

  Before Nell could ask her niece what they were seeing, Izzy said, “I saw that guy over near Paley’s Cove a couple days ago. Gracie said Cass met him in the Gull the other night. Who is he?” The rhetorical question hung in the air between them.

  They stared toward the open door, unsure of what was the biggest surprise—that Cass might have a new friend, or that they weren’t the first ones to have known about it. Somehow the latter served up the bigger punch.

  Nell stood. It wasn’t like Cass not to tell them what was going on in her life.

  The crowd had thinned and Nell began walking toward the door and a disappearing Cass. There was one easy way to solve the mystery: go meet the man.

  She heard Cass laugh. Light. Young.

  But when she reached the door and looked out into the night, Cass was nowhere in sight.

  Chapter 3

  M ary Pisano’s “About Town” column in Tuesday’s Sea Harbor Gazette captured Monday’s scene at Gabby’s school in all its glory.

  Nell spread the paper out on the coffee table in the back room of Izzy’s yarn shop. “Mary is a master at elaboration. She describes the scene as ‘flying swirls of brilliant color.’”

  Running alongside the column was a photo of a grassy lawn faintly stained with yellow paint, not nearly as dramatic as the words Mary strung together to portray it. The photo had clearly been taken after Ira Staab sheared the area with his John Deere.

  “Must have been a slow news day,” Cass said over Birdie’s shoulder.

  “Mary attended the school,” Birdie said. “Her grandfather Enzo insisted all his children and grandchildren, nephews, nieces—all of them—be enrolled. It was one of his many gestures to buy legitimacy from the town—sending them to an expensive private school and following it up with generous contributions.”

  “Gracie went there, too.” Cass spoke around bites of a giant submarine sandwich Birdie had brought over for lunch. “Her uncle insisted on it. Since her mother wasn’t much of a role model back then, Alphonso figured the private school would keep her in line.”

  “I can’t imagine Gracie being out of line,” Birdie said.

  Cass laughed. “We were both upset that we’d be separated. Me off to the public school and Gracie gobbled up by the elite. She got hold of some handcuffs and we hooked them together so we couldn’t be separated. But Gracie’s wrists were so skinny that they kept falling off.”

  “You were, what? Six?” Izzy said.

  Nell helped herself to half a sandwich. Birdie had put out a message to the others that she was bringing lunch to Izzy’s shop. Only the hungry should come, she texted.

  They all knew free food would lure Cass away from her office desk at the Halloran Lobster Company or the dock or wherever she happened to be. And sometimes, but not always, food loosened Cass’s tongue.

  But so far, Cass held her silence—at least when it came to the bearded man she had gone off with the night before.

  “Was Gabby aware of what happened on the lawn?” she asked Birdie.

  “She didn’t say a word. Not about that. The students were probably not even aware of it.”

  “So who did it?” Izzy asked. She walked around the large table, picking up spare needles and pieces of yarn as she talked. They’d had a full morning of classes—and there’d be another in an hour.

  Nell scanned the paper. “No one’s name is mentioned.”

  “Did Elizabeth call the police?” Cass asked. She helped herself to a handful of fries.

  “Ben didn’t mention it, and he talked to the chief for a while last night before we left. I tried to engage Elizabeth in chitchat, but she was unusually quiet. She clearly had something on her mind.”

  “I suppose it’s a minor crime. Spraying someone’s lawn,” Cass said. “But it’s not too different from teepeeing trees, which Gracie and I did a lot of a hundred years ago. And never once did I get tossed in jail.”

  “I don’t think Elizabeth is vindictive,” Nell said. “She probably wouldn’t push the matter—”

  “Unless she thought the students or staff were in danger,” Izzy said. “We represented a woman once who sprayed WD-40 on the front step of a house, then waited until her husband’s lover came out and slid right into a bush where she was waiting with a camera and a can of spray paint. So even yellow paint can be dangerous in the wrong hands.”

  Nell picked up a pitcher of iced tea and began filling glasses. “I’m so glad you left the world of trials and criminals behind you, Izzy.”

  “Of course you are.” Izzy gave her aunt a quick hug. “Sam said Elizabeth was taking pictures of the vandalism. That was probably smart. Just in case—”

  But none of them could imagine what that “just in case” would be. Sea Harbor was a sleepy town, especially in the fall when the tourists had left. It was filled with people who cared about one another and preferred quiet and peaceful to extravagant paint shows.

  “I’m sure you take extra precautions when you have young people in your care,” Birdie said. “But no matter, I guess we’ll find out more about it tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Izzy asked.

  “The school’s board meeting,” Birdie said.

  “I almost forgot you were on that board,” Izzy said. “Gabby has somehow transported all of us back to elementary school in one way or another. You know she’s signed us up to teach a session of the enhancement program Elizabeth began this semester. We need to come up with some knitting projects—which, by the way, you will all help me figure out at Thursday night knitting.”

  “Of course we will.”

  “And don’t forget the benefit at the school Friday night,” Birdie said quickly. “I’ve reserved a table and am counting on every one of you. It’ll be lovely.”

  “That’s just one of the many things we love about you, Birdie. The glass is always half-full.”

  “Of course it is,” Birdie said. “As it will be Friday night. I’ll make sure our glasses are completely full. But you’re right about these new commitments, Izzy. Imagine at my age, suddenly attending PTO meetings and parent-teacher conferences, school concerts, and art fairs.”

  “And coaxing all your friends into Gabby’s world as well,” Nell said.

  “Coaxing? That’s a gentle way of putting it.” Cass laughed as she crumpled up the wrapping from her ham sandwich. She tossed it into the wastebasket, her eyebrows lifting at the slam dunk. She stood and collected her backpack from the floor. “My lobsters are calling,” she said, and walked toward the steps leading to the main room of the yarn shop. She paused at the bottom step and turned around. “Birdie, is your table at the benefit full?”

  “I have your place reserved, Catherine. Don’t worry.”

  “What if I brought a guest?”

  Three faces turned toward her.

  “A guest?” Birdie said.

  “Hey, no problem if the table is full,” Cass said quickly. “I know it’s better to have a body in every chair. That’s all I was thinking. Just trying to help. Stack the deck. That kind of thing.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do have an empty place.” Birdie paused br
iefly, wondering if she wanted it filled. It was Danny’s chair, after all.

  Cass noticed the pause and went on, stepping right into the middle of Birdie’s thoughts. “I ran into Archie at the bookstore today and he told me his talented son had a book signing in Boston Friday night. I assumed you’d invited Danny to the event at Gabby’s school—”

  “Yes, that’s true. And Danny mentioned he wouldn’t be able to make it. So of course, if you know someone who might enjoy it, invite them. Who do you have in mind?”

  Cass had already taken the three steps as one, landing at the top of the archway with a kind of plop. She paused and turned around, as if she hadn’t heard Birdie’s question. “So Laura Danvers is in charge of this thing, right? Shall I let her know I’m bringing someone?”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Birdie said. “She’ll have a ticket waiting for you at the event.”

  A ticket for whom? But they held the question, waiting for Cass to fill in the gap.

  Cass frowned at Nell and Izzy. “What’s the matter with you two? You’re never ever this quiet.” She looked down at the shop’s calico cat, rubbing against her jeans. “Hey, Purl, did you get their tongues?”

  Then she waved and was gone in a flash, black hair flying wildly, looking more eager than usual to leave her trio of friends—even with half a sandwich left on the table.

  * * *

  Ever since Rachel Wooten, Sea Harbor city attorney, had taken over as chair of the Sea Harbor Community Day School board, the meetings were very organized, brief, and well attended. Rachel insisted on sticking to the agenda. Knowing the meetings were set to begin promptly at six thirty, members could usually count on sitting down to dinner in their own homes shortly after eight.

  Tonight’s meeting fulfilled only one of Rachel’s goals—it was well attended.

  “But,” as Birdie reported to Izzy and Cass later, “at least no one was killed.”