Murder in Merino Page 7

  Through the shop window she watched her climb into her white Mercedes, as immaculate as the first snow. She slipped on her sunglasses, then sat still for a few minutes, staring across the street. Finally she started the engine and pulled quickly away from the curb.

  Curious, Nell looked across the street.

  Gus was in his usual spot, standing on the sidewalk in front of his store.

  Today he had company.

  Late-afternoon sunlight fell across the sidewalk, stretching the two shadows onto the street. Julia Ainsley, sunglasses pushed to the top of her head, stood next to the friendly hardware store owner.

  Gus was listening intently to whatever Julia was saying. Finally he nodded, then took her by the arm and walked with her to a doorway between his store and Scooper’s Ice Cream Parlor. The door, nearly hidden in the shadows, opened to an inside staircase and a second floor of small offices, including that of Nell and Ben’s dentist. Did Jules need a dentist? Being in an unfamiliar town and needing medical care could be difficult.

  When Nell looked out a few minutes later, Jules was still standing there, listening to Gus while she scribbled something on a piece of paper. Then she slipped the paper into her pocket, flashed Gus a brilliant smile, and sprinted down Harbor Road.

  Whatever she was up to didn’t involve having a cavity filled after all.

  Jules Ainsley looked more like a woman on a mission.

  Chapter 8

  It was two days later when Nell discovered what Jules Ainsley had written on that sheet of paper. And it came to light only after a head-on collision with Karen Hanson.

  She and Birdie were walking through Archie’s bookstore toward the exit, their arms filled with books and their heads bowed in conversation, catching up. Birdie had agreed that Jules Ainsley was an odd sort of tourist and her interest in the town did seem a bit peculiar, but there had been no recent sightings of her with Danny, and that pleased them both.

  Outside the bookstore, Karen Hanson, herself distracted, pulled on the heavy glass door just as Birdie was about to do the same. The unexpected movement as the door opened wide caused the small, white- haired woman to lose her balance, sending several of Danny Brandley’s mysteries to the sidewalk. She tottered, regained her balance, and stepped quickly to the side with Nell close behind, closing the heavy door behind her.

  Karen, muttering apologies, crouched down and scooped up the books. “So terribly clumsy of me,” she scolded herself. She looked up. “Are you all right, Birdie?”

  “Fit as a fiddle.” Birdie held up Danny’s newest release, diverting attention from Karen’s embarrassment. But the absent look on Karen’s face stopped her short from expounding on the dramatic cover. “Karen? Are you all right?”

  Her face was the color of Archie’s gray, sea-washed door.

  “I should have been paying attention to where I was going. My mind was elsewhere.” She stood up and handed Birdie her books.

  “Campaigns can be killers,” Birdie said. “We understand.”

  “Yes.” The single word carried unusual force and brought some color to her face. “But Stan and I will get through this.” She paused, then said, with clear determination, light coming back into her eyes, “Stan will handle it. He will. He promised me —”

  Nell wondered briefly whether Beatrice Scaglia had anything to do with Karen’s distress. It was out of proportion to a few dropped books. But before she could ask, a familiar voice shouted at them from across the street.

  “Miz Favazza!”

  It had come from Gus McClucken’s hardware store and was followed by a truck screeching to a stop as Stella Palazola, her hair flying behind her, raced in front of Shelby Picard’s tow truck. She sent an apologetic wave to the frustrated mechanic.

  “Stella, you’re going to get yourself killed,” Birdie said as the Realtor leapt up on the curb and rushed across the sidewalk.

  But Stella heard none of it. She wrapped her arms around Birdie and spun her in a circle, lifting her small feet clear off the sidewalk.

  “Stella?” Birdie mumbled from the folds of the young woman’s sweater.

  Finally Stella released her and took a step back. Her green eyes sparkled. “You’re like my guardian angel.” She turned toward Nell and gave her a quick hug. “You, too, Miz Endicott. Two guardian angels. Aren’t they the best, Miz Hanson? And that’s why I’m so lucky. Can you believe it?”

  “Believe what?” Birdie asked. She had known Stella since she was born, and she also knew her enthusiasm could signal a range of things—from a lottery win to an invitation to a party, or the fact that she’d finally found her favorite shoes on sale. Patience would eventually be rewarded by clarification.

  “It’s the house,” Stella said breathlessly. Her cheeks were bright pink. “Izzy’s house. My house. My first listing.”

  “Izzy has a fine Realtor, that’s for sure. You’re going to do a great job,” Nell said.

  “Izzy and Sam are selling their house?” Karen asked.

  Stella turned toward the mayor’s wife and put on her more professional face for the city’s first lady. “Her old house, Mrs. Hanson. Not the one she and Sam and Abby live in. I’m selling it for her. You’re welcome to come to my open house tomorrow.”

  When she turned back to Nell and Birdie, unbridled enthusiasm once again filled her voice.

  “I’m almost ready for the open house. It’ll be so cool. It’s going to be at the cocktail hour—fancy, right? Sam said he’d go over there with me tonight to check last-minute things. Make sure all the lightbulbs work, toilets flush, that kind of thing.”

  “That is smart, Stella,” Birdie said. “I knew you’d be good at this. Izzy mentioned the open house.”

  “But wait—I haven’t told you the most amazing news. The real news. I already have someone who wants to buy it! Can you believe it?”

  Nell took off her sunglasses and stared at Stella. “But it hasn’t even been advertised. There’s no ‘For Sale’ sign up, is there?”

  “Nope. Not yet. I’ll put it up today. But people hear about things like that. You know how news travels in this town. Izzy has been talking about it and my mom tells people who come into the Sweet Petunia. And of course I’ve told anyone who looks at me.”

  “So how did it happen?” Birdie asked.

  “Well . . . when I got to the office today . . .” She grinned as she said the word “office,” and pointed across the street to the windows above Gus’s store, where a new sign read: PALAZOLA REAL ESTATE. “Uncle Mario said that getting a partner—that’s me—required a new sign. Anyway, when I got to work, there was someone in the hall right outside my office, just sitting there, waiting for me. Someone who wants to buy my very first listing. And here’s the kicker. They want the house without ever even stepping inside it!”

  “That’s great, Stella,” Nell said. “But odd, don’t you think? I can’t imagine anyone making an offer on a house they haven’t seen.”

  “Yeah, it’s weird. But here’s the thing—it’s really none of my business, as long as there’s legitimate financing, so if that’s how it goes, I’ll take the offer to Izzy. But here’s what I’m thinking—and this is my business,” Stella said, her brows shooting up into her bangs and her eyes growing larger behind her green-framed glasses. “If one person is that enthusiastic about the house without even seeing it, then maybe there are even more people who might want it. I’ve put an ad in the paper for the open house, so I can’t just pass this offer along—not until the open house. I can’t just cancel it, no matter what the offer is. But the real reason is that maybe we’ll have lots of people bidding on it.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Nell said slowly, trying not to put a damper on Stella’s enthusiasm. Izzy’s house was cute and cottagelike, but in need of repair, and the neighborhood wasn’t as kept up as it once was. A bidding war was probably wishful thinking on Stella’s
part. On the other hand, the fact that someone had actually made an offer on the house without even seeing it was equally preposterous.

  Karen Hanson listened, but with little interest, her mind elsewhere. Finally she checked her watch, and once again headed for the bookstore entrance.

  “Who wants to buy it?” Birdie asked.

  “You’ll never guess. That’s the weirdest thing of all,” Stella said.

  The mystery in Stella’s voice stopped Karen at the door. She paused and looked back.

  “Who?” Nell asked. It had to be a contractor—Davey Delaney would be her guess—someone planning on doing something to that small neighborhood, like buying up the small homes and turning them into condos. Davey had a keen eye for turning a profit.

  “It’s that lady who runs every day, even when it’s raining.”

  Nell’s brows lifted.

  “Who?” Karen turned around. Her voice was tight.

  Stella’s head bobbed with excitement.

  “You know her. The runner—that’s what Pete Halloran and his buddies call her when she jogs by Coffee’s every morning. All the guys—the early-morning coffee drinkers—they all stand up and watch her fly by. It’s Jules Ainsley, that’s who. She’s fallen in love with Izzy’s old house, sight unseen.”

  Chapter 9

  “It doesn’t make sense.” Cass refused the news, pushing it away with a sweep of her hand. She walked over to the large wooden table in the yarn shop’s back room. Food would calm her down.

  She spooned a small mountain of shrimp scampi onto her plate, scooped up a helping of rice pilaf, and returned to her overstuffed chair near the fireplace corner.

  Thursday-night knitting with Nell, Izzy, and Birdie was the mainstay of Cass’s week. Great friends, Nell’s cooking, and the sensuous pleasure of soft, vibrantly colored yarn. It calmed her down, revitalized her, and refreshed her spirit. Lobster traps, ever-changing fishing regulations, and pressing business matters facing the Halloran Lobster Company were put aside for three hours of bliss.

  How dare Jules Ainsley interfere with her Thursday night?

  “Stella said she was insistent,” Nell said.

  Izzy concurred. “She came rushing into the shop late this afternoon, right in the middle of a class on intarsia knitting. She was concerned about Stella’s open house tomorrow. In her mind, there was no reason for it, because she knew she wanted the house. Couldn’t I simply accept her offer and that would be that?”

  “That’s crazy,” Cass said. “Doesn’t she know she doesn’t live here? What does she need a house for?” Purl flew up next to Cass. Absently, she scratched the calico cat’s neck, her sweet purring bringing Cass’s blood pressure back down to manageable levels.

  Birdie filled wineglasses all around, then settled back in her chair. She speared a buttery piece of shrimp and chewed it thoughtfully. “Perhaps she’s looking for a vacation house. She seems to like Sea Harbor. It might be a wise investment for her.”

  Nell disagreed. “I saw Mary Pisano earlier today. She said Jules mentioned the house to her last night and then asked her a million questions about the neighborhood—she even brought up the names of other people who live on Ridge Road, wanting to know how long they’d lived there, if there was much turnover, that kind of thing. And she asked about Sea Harbor winters. That doesn’t sound like a house she wanted to spend two beach weeks in.”

  “What does Mary think about it?” Birdie asked.

  “She is dumbfounded. Jules hadn’t mentioned anything to her about looking at property. As far as Mary knew she was here for a relaxing vacation and then would be leaving. The only unknown was how long she was staying.”

  Birdie sipped her wine. “Stella said Jules was looking into financing, talking to the bank. It might simply be a lovely dream on her part. Perhaps we’re all overreacting a bit.”

  “Birdie is probably right.” Nell passed around a basket of warm rolls and Irish butter. “I can’t imagine a stranger doing something so impulsive. Buying a house is an important decision, not something you jump into. A finance person may help her see that.”

  Cass held her glass out for more wine. “There’s something about her—and it’s not just that she seems to be putting the moves on Danny. It’s something else. I mean, who comes through town, ‘just visiting,’ then suddenly is trying to make friends right and left? Something about her really gets to me.”

  “Maybe it’s because she’s interesting, and she has this big personality—so we want to like her, or at least get to know her better,” Izzy said. “But she makes us uncomfortable because we don’t really know what she’s all about, we’re not sure why she’s even here, and we certainly don’t like her hanging on Danny.” Izzy picked up her glass and swirled the wine around. She was quiet for a moment, as if wondering how far to take this discussion without seeming disloyal to Cass.

  She went on. “I remember vividly the first time I met her. It was shortly after hearing Pete and Andy Risso discussing her jogging prowess. She had ‘admirable form,’ they said. Ha. But anyway, I had Abby in the shop with me that day. We had a ton of customers, and in came Jules in running shorts and an old T-shirt—‘parting the sea,’ as Mae later put it. You know how people are. A stranger in town—and an attractive one at that. Everyone looked her way, though she seemed not to notice.

  “Abby was still in her car seat near Mae’s checkout counter. Jules looked around for a few minutes, getting the lay of the store. But then she spotted Abby in the corner. She stopped for a minute, and then walked directly past that exquisite new display of alpaca yarn as if it weren’t even there. And she crouched down beside Abby, looking at her with a look that said she was the most exquisite child she’d ever seen.”

  Izzy grinned, then added, “I thought she was the wisest, most perceptive customer I’d had in my yarn shop all year.”

  Even Cass smiled, and then the group fell silent, spooning up the last bites of shrimp and rice and relishing the rich, garlicky wine sauce Nell had snuck into the recipe. In the background, Adele sang about rain and relationships, her husky voice a comforting blanket as the night breeze grew more robust.

  Nell got up and rinsed her plate in the sink, then closed the casement windows above the window seat. The sea was black and active, with harbor lights catching waves as they crashed against the shore. She had met Jules for the first time at the yacht club buffet, not a usual destination for tourists, but Mary and her husband had brought Jules as their guest that night. It was a gracious gesture, Nell said, and the more practical Ben had laughed, wondering how quickly the B and B would go broke if the Pisanos treated every guest to a lavish spread at the Sea Harbor Yacht Club.

  It was Jules’s look that Nell remembered from that night. The even stare that seemed to see clear down to your soul. And yes, she’d liked her, too.

  It would be easier, maybe, if Jules Ainsley were obnoxious and they couldn’t bear to be in her presence.

  But she wasn’t.

  Finally Izzy spoke again. “She’s not likable in a warm and fuzzy way. But yeah—I admit it. I’d like to know her better, maybe even as a friend. But I also know what you mean, Cass—there’s something about her, some kind of mystery. As if what she lets us see might be sincere, but there’s a lot going on there that we don’t see, something hidden beneath the covers.”

  “That could be said of most people,” Birdie said. She put her empty plate on the table and walked back to the group. “We all have secrets, don’t we? It makes us interesting.” Her infectious laughter softened the seriousness weighing down on the room. “I think one solution to these mixed feelings would be to get to know her better. Invite her to Friday-night dinner, but not as an afterthought. Even if she leaves town soon—which I suspect she will—it’s a nice thing to do.” She looked at Nell.

  “That’s a good idea, but only if you’re comfortable with it, Cass.”

 
; They all looked at Cass. She turned toward the window and the darkening sky. “I think it’s going to rain tomorrow,” she said.

  “Well, whether we get to know her better or not, it will probably never happen—her moving here, I mean,” Izzy said. “I can’t imagine anyone buying a house without looking inside it. I told Stella she was absolutely right to hold the open house as planned. For starters, we can’t let that new dress she bought for the occasion go unused.”

  She cleared the last of the dishes and wiped off the table, readying it for yarn and needles and the pieces of the afghan they were knitting for Ben and Nell’s anniversary gift.

  “Yes, an evening together might be just the ticket,” Birdie said, pulling out a ball of ruby red yarn. She fingered it lightly, then spread a piece of her knitting out on the table—a long stretch of stockinette, outlined in lacy hearts and knit in the softest of merinos. “Maybe we’d find out why she wants a house on Ridge Road so badly, don’t you think?”

  Cass leaned over Birdie’s shoulder and looked down at the work taking shape right there in front of them, blocking out Birdie’s question. The afghan’s ruby red color symbolized the fortieth anniversary. Izzy had designed the blanket in sections that could be worked on individually, then sewn together to make a whole. A gorgeous tapestry, knit by those who loved her aunt and uncle.

  Nell moved closer to the table. When she looked down at Birdie’s panel, the threads of their previous conversation faded away, replaced with the simple stitches on the table, now being worked into art. “This is . . . it’s truly the most . . .” She sat down beside Birdie, the rest of her words swallowed up in emotion.

  They hadn’t shown Nell Izzy’s pattern. It was the one secret they’d kept from her. But to bar Nell from their knitting sessions was an awful thought, so they had decided instead she could watch the afghan as it evolved on knitting nights. At first the sections were simply a series of rows, mostly in stockinette, a lacy band here and there, that graced Cass’s and Izzy’s and Birdie’s laps each Thursday. But now, as if by magic, the shape was becoming more than that. It was becoming a whole, a true tapestry, with hearts and cables defining the work.