Murder in Merino Page 5

  Karen served him well, too. She was a plain woman, a contrast to her handsome, silver-haired husband, but always perfectly attired. Tonight the simple black dress, pendant, and diamond stud earrings she always wore blended perfectly with Stan’s more relaxed slacks and jacket. She had emerged, some said, from a quiet, mousy woman to one who used the power her money brought to propel her husband into the political arena.

  “Jeffrey almost went to Yale, too,” she said. “They were all very intelligent. The brainy Three Musketeers, we called them.”

  The bartender frowned in displeasure at the talk of his teen- age past and concentrated on wiping an imaginary water spot from the bar.

  “So tell us about this drink,” Ben said, easing into a topic Jeffrey might be more comfortable with.

  Appreciative, the bartender launched into the origin of the Forbidden Apple, expounding on the health benefits of apples.

  “So you’re saying it’s a health-food drink?” Sam laughed.

  Jeffrey leaned in and lowered his voice. “It convinces some of the older crowd. No matter that the whiskey will curl the hair on their chests.”

  Nell half listened as the drinks were passed around. She watched the homebred bartender. The lines on his forehead relaxed as he talked about the special drinks he concocted for his customers, clearly more comfortable in his present than in his past.

  But it was his past that intrigued her. He turned down Yale?

  She was as guilty as Izzy of sometimes forgetting that—because she and Ben, Izzy and Sam, the Brewsters, and other friends weren’t Cape Ann natives—there were those who had lived their entire lives on the rocky cape that jutted out into the Atlantic. Some went away for school or training, and then returned to live out their lives on the shore, just as their parents and grandparents and sometimes great-grandparents had done before them.

  Cass and her family, the Garozzos and Wootens, the Brandleys and Palazolas, Stan and Karen Hanson, and so many others.

  People were born here. People lived their whole lives here. And people died here.

  She looked over at Stan, polished and handsome, his silvery hair thick and smooth. And across the bar from him, Jeffrey Meara, short and slightly overweight, with tufts of what little hair he had left sticking out at odd angles. One man with a Yale law degree, an accomplished civic leader. The other, a bartender his entire life. The smartest student in the high school class, if Karen was correct.

  She looked back and forth between the two men. She knew Stan from social and civic events. Ben considered him a friend. And everyone knew Jeffrey. But she knew little about either man’s past. Had they been high school friends? Nell couldn’t tell. Stan’s face revealed little, and Jeffrey had clearly skirted the conversation. Nor had their nickname greeting to each other seemed overly friendly.

  Finally Jeffrey eased away from his guests, sliding a bowl of peanuts and a basket of mozzarella sticks their way. With stubby fingers he straightened his bow tie and moved into the entry, greeting incoming diners, all the while keeping his eye on the kitchen door, the waiters, the busboys, the bartenders.

  He did everything at the same time, like the conductor of a well-rehearsed symphony orchestra.

  But from the look on his face, the expected harmony and the seamless service weren’t pleasing him tonight. Worry lines—angry ones?—once again marred the forehead of the usually mild-mannered man.

  The hostess moved over to the group, interrupting Nell’s thoughts. The young woman apologized for the wait, then led them across the room and around a corner to a table for four, elegantly set near the wide glass doors that opened to the outdoor dining area. A slight breeze ruffled the edges of the white tablecloth and the salty tang of the sea mixed with the enticing aromas of seafood and garlicky vegetables.

  Stan and Karen waved as they walked by, following the hostess to an intimate table on the other side of the fireplace.

  “It’s nice those two manage to find alone time,” Ben said. “A political campaign can’t be easy on a marriage.”

  “If a baby makes spending time with your woman so difficult, imagine what a political campaign would do,” Sam said. He wrapped an arm around Izzy’s shoulder, edged her closer, and kissed her lightly.

  “Your woman?” Izzy wrinkled her nose and pulled away. Then she moved in and kissed him back. “Okay, Perry. You were right. We needed a night out.” She sighed and looked down the front of her dress. “This is nice—and so far no leaky milk stains.”

  “And so is this,” Ben said, nodding with pleasure at the platter of calamari, shrimp, and chunks of sweet lobster that the waitress was setting down in front of them. Crocks of spicy red sauce and lemon butter were next.

  Somewhere in the distance, a band began to play. Not Pete Halloran’s band, but a nice jazz combo, filling the ocean air with horns and percussion, the mellow sounds of a piano keeping the rhythm of old familiar pieces. The drinks, the music, and the taste of perfectly prepared seafood quieted the conversation into a comfortable lull, with the pleasure of each other’s company, the breeze from the sea, and friendship wrapping around them like a soft merino blanket.

  They were nearly finished with the chef’s special—crispy sautéed cod with a bright green chimichurri sauce—when Izzy declared her legs in need of stretching. She pushed back her chair.

  Sam looked at his wife, one brow lifted. “Izzy, Cass will handle things just fine.”

  “Shush, Sam,” Nell said, slipping off her chair. “I’ll go with you, Izzy. I’m a bit stiff, too.”

  Izzy had her phone out before they reached the restaurant lobby. “Cass is wonderful with Abby. I know she is, Aunt Nell. It’s just—”

  “Izzy, just call. Cass will wonder about your mothering skills if you don’t. I’m off to the ladies’ room. I’ll meet you here in a few minutes.” Nell walked down a narrow hallway opposite the bar, passed the partially opened door to the restaurant offices, and retreated to the restrooms beyond.

  A few minutes later she emerged to the sound of angry voices. Suddenly the hallway seemed smaller, narrower, but there was no one in sight.

  “You’re a crazy man, Meara!” The voice, coming from the office suites, was low and threatening. “I warned you about this one. It’s going to have consequences. Fogarty was a decent supplier and he’s furious—he’d like to kill you, given a chance, not to mention the two guys you fired this week. You’re going to regret this—mark my words. You’ll run us into the ground, you damn fool, and I won’t stand for it.”

  The voice was familiar, but one that at that moment Nell had no desire to connect to a person. She hurried down the hallway, eager to pass the office suites before anyone came out.

  But she was three steps too late. A tall shadow backed into the hallway, blocking her way.

  Nell stopped short. She took a step backward.

  The man was tall, with broad shoulders and a sprinkling of gray hair mixed into the brown. The stance and head of hair were both familiar.

  Don Wooten turned and stared at her, as if she had somehow dropped from the sky. Quickly he regained his composure. “Hi, Nell. Good to see you.”

  Nell smiled and gave her friend a quick hug. “I sometimes forget you’re an owner here, Don.” Looking around his shoulder, she spotted Jeffrey Meara, stepping back into one of the offices and quietly closing the door.

  “A not-so-silent partner,” he said, glancing back into the office suites. “Sorry you overheard that. It’s nothing, just a minor business disagreement. Par for the course.”

  “Don’t give it a thought. But whatever you’re doing to the Ocean’s Edge, it’s all good. Things just keep getting better and better here.”

  “Good to hear.” Don began walking down the hallway beside her, ushering her out into the lighted entry. “Rachel thought I was crazy when I bought into this a few years ago. But she’s so dagnabbit busy managing all S
ea Harbor’s legal maneuverings at City Hall that I needed something to keep me out of trouble. And I figured I had the necessary credentials—” He patted his midsection. “I love to eat.”

  Nell laughed. Don often sailed with Ben—he and Rachel Wooten were old friends. And she was well aware of Don’s credentials, which were far more noteworthy than his healthy appetite. Having bought and sold several successful businesses on Cape Ann, he knew what he was doing when he bought into the Ocean’s Edge enterprise and contributed his expertise to making it one of the most popular restaurants on the North Shore.

  Nell looked up and spotted Izzy waiting near the bar. She nodded in her direction, then smiled back at Don and excused herself. “Izzy and I need to get back to the most delicious cod I’ve had in ages—or at least since I was last here. Ben Endicott can’t be trusted around my plate.”

  Don smiled, looking relieved to end the conversation, and Nell walked over to Izzy’s side.

  Izzy’s smile told Nell that all was well with baby Abigail.

  “Of course it is,” Nell said aloud, taking her niece’s arm. They wove their way between the tables, knowing that if Ben and Sam had their say, there would be a bountiful tray of desserts waiting for them.

  She tucked away the curious encounter with Jeffrey and Don. They often kidded Don about the ease with which he approached life, a perfect complement, everyone agreed, to his wife Rachel’s lawyerly demeanor. But business partnerships were something Nell had some experience with—Ben’s family had owned a successful company for decades. And she knew well that such dealings could bring out personality traits never visible during dinner with friends or afternoons spent sailing at sea.

  A short while later, after watching Sam scrape the sides of his empty bowl of crème brûlée with his spoon, they all agreed it was time to go. A perfect evening. Time for bed.

  Ben and Sam went on ahead to bring the car around while the women gathered up their things and headed to the front entrance.

  Izzy spotted Danny Brandley first. He was leaning on the polished surface of the bar, talking to Jeffrey Meara and nursing a beer.

  Danny spotted her at the same time and waved them over. “Hey, you two. I just talked to Cass. She’s in her glory. Having Abby all to herself is pretty great, Iz. She refused my offer to help. Next time it’s my turn.”

  Izzy hugged him. “I am crazy about the fact that our baby has so many aunts and uncles loving her. But I’m sorry you’re here all alone. You should have joined us for dinner.”

  “And be the fifth wheel? Just saw Sam and Ben and they made it clear that it was double date night.” He laughed. “I’m fine. I’m just here to meet someone for a drink.”

  He looked toward the front door, then lifted one hand in the air.

  Izzy and Nell turned. The entrance door was open tonight to bring in the evening breeze. Esther Gibson, Sea Harbor’s longtime police dispatcher, her cane in hand, was tapping her way into the restaurant with her husband, Richard, close behind, her white head nodding to everyone she passed.

  But it wasn’t the Gibsons who were drawing Danny’s attention.

  Nell and Izzy stared.

  It was Jules Ainsley, walking directly behind Esther and Richard and looking slightly caged in by Esther’s slow pace.

  She was looking around. It was a moment before she spotted them at the bar, just long enough for them to admire her silky red blouse, the locket that rested between the rise of her breasts. Her hair was loose tonight—a tangle of waves that Nell suspected was the result of a quick brushing—yet looked like some stylist had spent hours making it appear casually glamorous. Her skirt was breezy and her manner the same.

  Spotting Danny’s raised hand, she hurried over.

  “Sorry I’m late, Dan.” She smiled at all of them. A generous smile, unaffected, seemingly oblivious to the emotions that her meeting with Danny Brandley might generate.

  “Wine?” Danny asked, but Jules shook her head and pointed to his dark beer. She focused her smile on the bartender.

  Jeffrey smiled back, but it was a curious smile that quickly turned to a puzzled one. “Have we met?” he asked her.

  She extended her hand across the bar. “You’re the second person who has asked me that this week. But no, I don’t think so. I’ve seen you around, but we’ve not actually met. I’m Jules Ainsley. And you are the Bartender, or so the locals tell me.”

  Jeffrey didn’t seem to notice the outstretched hand or anything she was saying. Instead, he leaned a little closer, continuing to scrutinize her face. His brows pulled together in concentration. Finally he said, “I guess you’re right.” But his eyes remained fixed on her face.

  Jules wrapped her necklace around one finger, the small charm sliding through her fingers. Her words were quick, as if wanting to appease his stare. “Well, I don’t think we’ve met, though I might be wrong. I’ve eaten here before. I love this place. The calamari alone has added five pounds to my hips. Maybe you’ve noticed me because of that. The gal in the corner chowing down all those squid.” Throaty laughter followed her words.

  “Tell her she’s not alone, Jeffrey. The Edge’s calamari is famous,” Nell said. “She has good taste.”

  Jeffrey finally released his stare. He filled a mug with beer from the tap and slid it across the bar.

  Jules thanked him and took a sip.

  “You been here before?” he asked.

  “In Sea Harbor?”

  He nodded.

  “Not exactly. Well, no.”

  “You like our town?”

  “I love it here. It’s an amazing place.”

  He nodded. “Why do you think that?”

  “Why do I think it’s amazing? I don’t know. The people. The sea. I feel at home here in an odd way. Like I have been here before. Even though I haven’t.”

  Jeffrey’s eyes narrowed, his look intense.

  Nell felt the awkwardness of the conversation, with Jeffrey’s scrutiny unnerving all of them. “Jules is from Chicago,” she said. “She’s a runner, and is enjoying exploring Cape Ann on foot.”

  Again, Jeffrey wasn’t listening. Instead, his eyes were moving from Jules’s face to her blouse, to the finger twisting around a gold chain.

  “Okay, then,” he said finally. His eyes focused on the necklace, shiny against a tan chest. “That’s nice. Your locket. It’s a clamshell, right?”

  She nodded. “It’s old. You can hardly see the shell anymore. I should probably stop fiddling with it. Nervous habit.”

  It looked for a minute as if Jeffrey was going to reach out and lift the jewelry up to the light. But instead, he forced himself to look away. He smiled at the rest of the group, the expression familiar and one they were all more accustomed to seeing on Jeffrey’s face. He shook his head as if ridding it of cobwebs. “’Scuse my questions. I like to find out about people visiting our town. Two more beers, Danny? On the house.” He looked over as Ben and Sam walked in. “Ben? Sam? Any takers?”

  Ben dangled his keys. “We’ve got to get Izzy home. A hungry baby awaits.”

  “Sure. I get that,” Jeffrey said as Ben moved his group away from the bar and toward the door.

  But the bartender’s words were distracted, muted.

  Nell followed Ben through the door. She paused and glanced back before heading down the steps.

  Danny’s elbows were on the bar, his head lowered, his attention on whatever Jules was saying. She was talking quietly, leaning toward Danny to be heard. One finger twisted her necklace chain around and around, as if tugging on it brought some clarity to her thoughts. The conversation seemed serious, intent.

  And off to the side, his blunt fingers drying the same wineglass over and over and over, Jeffrey Meara watched the conversation as if it was about to change the course of his life.

  Chapter 6

  “Oh, you know Cass. Cass is Cass,”
Izzy said. The fat wheel of Abigail’s beach stroller moved smoothly along the sand.

  It was the early morning, a clear Tuesday with a slight breeze and only an occasional whitecap rolling up on the shore. Abby loved movement, and her tiny pink hands clapped as she lay back in her padded cocoon. Beside her, Nell and Birdie worked to keep pace with the stroller.

  “She can’t be happy about Danny spending time with Jules,” Nell said.

  “When we got home Sunday night, she already knew about Danny being at the Edge. He called her earlier and told her Jules had asked to meet with him there.”

  “Of course he did,” Nell said, her voice filled with the need to keep Danny’s integrity firm, to protect this quiet man they all loved.

  “But why?” Birdie asked. “What could Jules possibly want from Danny?”

  Nell looked at Izzy. She had wondered the same thing, and had asked Danny as much when she’d run into him at his parents’ bookstore the day before. His answer then had been a nonanswer. He’d shrugged and said Jules was a mystery fan. And she needed some help with something. She’d heard he was a reporter, and didn’t reporters know everything? It wasn’t a typical Danny answer. Danny didn’t claim to have fans and rarely talked about the fact that he had been a recognized and respected reporter. That he had won awards and was sought after as a special guest at conferences. He had “made it” in a world that didn’t make that easy.

  “I guess that’s the mystery in all this,” Izzy said. “Cass was trying really hard to handle it without showing anger or jealousy. She asked him that exact question: Why was he spending time with a gorgeous woman, at a bar, at night—without her? I’ll tell you right now that if she invites Sam Perry for a drink, I’m going along. Or better yet, Abby will go along, nicely parked on Sam’s back, preferably right before a feeding.”

  Nell and Birdie laughed, imagining the scene.