A Holiday Yarn

by Goldenbaum, Sally

  The wide hallway wound past a library with leaded double doors opening out to the back porch. Nell peeked in and vowed to come back to make friends with the wall of books that stretched from floor to ceiling.

  Beyond it, the hallway curved to the right, past a small utility room, and the kitchen beyond.

  The sound of low voices stopped Nell just before she reached the kitchen door.

  “This isn’t your house, DeLuca. If you have to smoke, there’s the door.” It was Kevin, his voice controlled.

  “Testy, aren’t we, now?” the deep, lazy voice of Troy DeLuca answered.

  “I just have trouble with cheats, people who sneak away while on the job. Bill the crew for it.”

  “Do I detect a little jealousy, Cook?”

  Kevin’s laugh lacked humor. “Of what? You’re a loser, DeLuca. Over the hill—wasn’t that what she said?”

  Nell could almost hear Troy DeLuca’s sharp intake of breath. Then silence, broken finally by a spewing of words spit out in anger. “Look who’s talking about a loser. We all know what’s going on here, Kevey boy. We all know who’s the one with nasty little secrets, now, don’t we? Pamela told me all about it. . . . ”

  A heavy silence followed his words.

  It was Kevin who finally spoke. “She’s dead, gone,” Kevin said. “So why are you still hanging around? There’s nothing left for you here. You should have been fired long ago.”

  Nell turned and inched her way back toward the front of the house, anxious to get out of earshot.

  She had almost reached the wide doorway to the living room when Troy’s words filled the kitchen and the hallway, loud and mean.

  “You bet she’s dead, Kevey boy. There’s justice in this mean world—and you wanted her dead as much as I did. Alleluia. The wicked witch is dead.” The words bounced off the walls.

  A stomping of feet and slamming of the back door brought stunned silence.

  Nell walked into the living room. Mary stared at the floor, as if wishing it would open up and swallow her.

  Nancy Hughes’ face was as white as snow.

  Minutes later, the sound of Troy DeLuca’s motorcycle roared down the driveway and onto Ravenswood Road.

  Chapter 14

  Nell knew Mary Pisano would be at Coffee’s the next morning. On summer days, she commanded her own table beneath the giant maple tree in the corner of Coffee’s patio, but winter and north winds brought customers inside to gather around the fireplace and settle into the well-worn chairs and couches scattered about the cozy shop.

  It’s where Mary wrote her column and where she salved her soul.

  The day before, several workmen had descended on Ravenswood-by-the-Sea just minutes after Troy DeLuca made his dramatic exit. Mary and Nancy were called away to decide outlet locations and point out areas that still needed work. It clearly wasn’t the time or place to dissect the encounter between the handsome blond painter and Mary’s chef. They’d have to talk about that later.

  Nell decided sooner was better than later.

  She spotted Mary as soon as she walked into the coffee shop. She was alone as usual, dressed in jeans and a bright blue cable-knit sweater, her coat and bag piled on an empty chair next to her.

  Nell recognized the wool sweater—Mary had spent all last winter knitting it up. She’d even perfected knitting the cables without the cable needle, something Nell herself had yet to master.

  Nell picked up her coffee at the counter and carried it over to Mary’s chair. Georgia lay comfortably at her feet, her floppy tail welcoming Nell.

  The strain in Mary’s usually cheerful face was evident. Her eyes were lowered to the computer on her lap, its screen as black as her hair.

  “I thought maybe I’d find you here,” Nell said.

  Mary looked up and smiled. “They called Kevin down to the station yesterday afternoon,” she said.

  Nell nodded. Ben had told her as much the night before.

  It had been a blessed night at home, and over a glass of wine, a plate of mushroom-curado quesadillas, and Andrés Segovia’s guitar soothing their tired bones, she and Ben had shared their day. It was an intimacy Nell cherished, a ritual begun in the early days of their marriage. Sharing their days, for better or for worse. It made everything else in life all right.

  Ben told Nell that the police had found Pamela’s wallet in the utility-room locker where Kevin kept his personal things. That, combined with the fact that he’d made his dislike of her known to the work crew, didn’t help his cause.

  The police had no motive, but they were checking.

  “Ben mentioned the wallet,” she said to Mary now.

  “Kevin told me he didn’t put it there. It’s not locked—just a cubby for him to put his things in when he’s working. Anyone could have done it. Someone wanted to divert attention from themselves to Kevin.”

  Nell pulled out a chair across from Mary and sat down.

  A ham-and-cheese-stuffed breakfast croissant sat on a small table next to Mary’s chair. She offered half of it to Nell, then glared at the pastry, as if chastising it. “A week ago I could eat two of you,” she said. Her small laugh was tired. “Nancy is handling the workmen for me,” she said. “I need time away. Time alone. It’s good to have someone to take over, at least for a bit.”

  “Of course.”

  Mary drank her coffee and straightened her back, willing away the tiredness with a stretch. “Kevin Sullivan is a good guy. You know that, Nell. His mother is lovely. His father’s a drunken lout, but that’s not Kevin’s fault. He does all he can to make life easier for his mother. A good son. Kevin wouldn’t hurt a flea.” Her hands waved in the air for emphasis, and Nell put out a hand to prevent the laptop from toppling onto the floor.

  Mary went on. “Never in a million years could he have had anything to do with Pamela’s murder, no matter what.”

  Nell waited. The “no matter what” seemed to be going somewhere.

  “No matter that he didn’t like my cousin,” Mary said with finality. “Kevin was gentle, but he was a good judge of character, and he didn’t especially like the way Pamela treated people. He . . . ” She shook her head.

  “Yes?”

  Mary bit down on her bottom lip. Then the expression passed and the muscles in her face relaxed. “Nothing. It’s simply that sometimes you know people well enough to know without a smidgen of a doubt what they could or could not be capable of. And no matter what Pamela might have done to Kevin, he’d never have retaliated in a violent way. He just wouldn’t.”

  “So the question is, who did? Do you know what that conversation between Kevin and Troy was about, Mary?”

  She slumped back in the chair. “Pamela had insisted on staying in the carriage house while she was here, even though there were enough bedrooms in the main house, and the carriage house still needed work. We thought maybe she had someone coming up from New York or Boston. That wouldn’t have surprised anyone. I guess we didn’t think that she’d find someone here in town so quickly. It usually took her longer.”

  “So she and Troy?”

  “Yes. I’m sure they were fooling around. Kevin saw Troy headed toward the carriage house a few times when he was on the clock. And another time the crew needed Troy for something, and he was nowhere to be found—nor was Pamela. She missed a few conference calls with our lawyers.” Mary shrugged. “I would have fired him, but frankly, Nancy urged me not to. ‘It would be hard to find another painter,’ she said. ‘Let him finish the job and move on.’ ”

  “Do you think the police need to know about this? Could he have . . . ?” Murdered Pamela went unspoken. Nell knew the thought had flitted in and out of Izzy’s, Birdie’s, and Cass’ heads, too. But was it simply that they didn’t like the man? Or did it have a more legitimate base? They knew that he had a temper—and that Pamela had squashed Troy’s model ambitions . . . and his ego—quite soundly.

  “I know Troy was here that day at some point. Kevin said he came by while we were meeting.”r />
  “What about Kevin?”

  “I told him he could leave early because we weren’t having a cocktail hour that day. Everyone was going to the Gull instead. Kevin said he’d be back later that night to do the breakfast preparations. And he did come back after he picked his mother up at the retirement home and dropped her off at home. But by then, the police had blocked off the drive and wouldn’t let him in.”

  “Do you know what Troy meant about secrets?”

  Mary’s eyes locked into Nell’s. “Everyone has secrets. You do. I do. Everyone. We keep them to ourselves, for better or worse—which is what makes them secrets. And revealing confidences won’t help anything. It only hurts; trust me.”

  The subject was closed. Mary looked back at her laptop.

  Nell didn’t agree, but there wasn’t any use in pursuing it, at least not right now. Sometimes revealing secrets was necessary, especially when it might reveal why a woman was found dead in a snowbank.

  But for now, sleeping dogs would lie. And she would let them.

  Nell looked down at the sleeping dog at Mary’s feet. Loyalty and trust, she thought. And holding secrets. Just like her master. Sweet Georgia—the one creature who could solve this awful crime in a heartbeat, if only she could reveal what she’d witnessed on the porch that night. If only she could talk.

  “I know you have things to do, Mary. I’ll leave you in peace. But . . . you’ll come to me if you need anything, all right?”

  “Of course I will. You and Birdie, Nancy, Izzy, and Cass. All of you. I know you are there for me; I do.”

  “And I agree with you—Kevin is a good man. The police will realize that, too.”

  “Hopefully they will, yes. But in the meantime innuendo and gossip can so quickly ruin someone’s life.” Her eyes flashed and she straightened in the chair, her laptop sliding forward on her knees. “The future of Ravenswood-by-the-Sea is in jeopardy, too. And it will be until that person is found.” She bit down on her bottom lip, her brows pulled tight, as if gathering all her strength to hold herself together.

  As long as Nell had known Mary Pisano, she was always in control of her emotions. And she’d weathered some sizable storms, including her husband being lost at sea for three long weeks a few years ago. But in all those years, Nell had never seen Mary crumble.

  Until today.

  “I want my life back, Nell. I want it free of police and awful talk that’s turning my grandfather’s home into something ugly—and ruining the reputation of a fine young man in the process. Something needs to be done.”

  Nell leaned over and gave her a hug. When she stood back up, she felt the warmth of Mary’s tears on her cheek. She walked slowly to the door.

  “Now,” Mary called out to her back. “It needs to be stopped. Now.”

  Chapter 15

  Mary’s words stayed with Nell as she moved through the morning. The repercussions of Pamela Pisano’s murder were everywhere. Nell felt them while shopping at Shaw’s, while attending the community center fund-raising meeting, and while walking beneath the canopy of crystal branches along Harbor Road.

  She walked slowly, her eyes moving from one decorated window to the next. Windows sprayed with snowflakes, filled with pink and red poinsettias, garlands and green elves that looked out at her, oblivious of the lives unraveling around them.

  Nell heard singing and looked down the street. A small circle of gray-haired ladies was gathered in the gazebo across from the historical museum, their voices lifting in holiday song and their breath white plumes against the cold blue sky. They were bundled in heavy coats with red and green knit caps pulled down on thinning hair. Nell recognized Moira Sullivan facing the group, directing the retirement-center chorus. She was smiling at the ladies, mouthing the words, her arms coaxing their voices—allegro, adagio. Crescendo.

  It all looked so normal and lovely. She wondered whether Moira was aware of Kevin’s problems. She hoped not—but suspected otherwise. She was probably worried sick about her son—in the agonizing way that mothers do. Praying away the nightmare of suspicion and rumor.

  She turned away and pushed open the heavy glass door of McClucken’s Hardware Store.

  “Nell, my darlin’, what can I do you for?” August McClucken, his thick arms lifting wide, stood behind the checkout counter.

  The owner of the store looked like Santa Claus himself. His belly was full, his eyes twinkled, and his bushy white beard was carefully groomed in anticipation of playing the annual role he loved best—riding into the harbor on a lobster boat to hundreds of cheering children.

  Santa Claus would come to town—Auggie McClucken would make sure of it.

  “Printer paper and some cartridges, Auggie.” Nell handed him the specifications and looked around the bustling store. “Hardware store” was definitely a misnomer, she thought. Space allotted for nails and screws vied with shelves crammed full of CD players, iPods, and GPS devices. On the opposite side of the store, shiny boat motors, paddles, and snowshoes were displayed in front of piles of rope and buoys.

  Nell spotted Laura Danvers filling a shopping basket with Christmas ornaments. In the next aisle, Beatrice Scaglia examined two flat-screen televisions.

  Nell walked over to Beatrice while Auggie filled her order.

  “I think I know what Sal is getting for Christmas,” she said, looking at the display of televisions.

  Beatrice laughed. “We don’t need a new television—who has time to watch those silly shows? But Troy insisted.”

  “Troy?”

  “His farewell gift—along with a new laptop for me. It’s for letting him stay with us, he said. The guy is full of surprises. I didn’t think he had two dimes to rub together, and here he’s buying us TVs.”

  “Troy is leaving?”

  Beatrice nodded. “He’s making plans—‘big’ plans. But he agreed to finish up that painting at Mary’s first, at my insistence. Mary has enough on her mind without her workers leaving her high and dry.”

  “Mary must be paying Troy well if he’s buying computers and televisions.”

  “Seems so. We told him to hang on to his money, but he just laughed and said he had plenty of money, not to worry.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a neatly clipped roll of bills. She held it up in the air. “Who knew? He gave this to me for the gifts and said he’d be insulted if I didn’t take it. Do you think Auggie McClucken will take cash? Does anyone take cash?”

  Nell stared at the roll of one-hundred-dollar bills.

  Beatrice dropped the money back into her bag and looked up at the TVs, then lifted her palms in a “What’s a woman to do?” gesture. She smiled at Nell. “So, which do you think Sal would like better, Nell—the forty-five-inch or the bigger one?”

  Nell paid for her supplies and walked out into the sunshine, pulling her collar up against the wind.

  For reasons that seemed as frozen as the tree branches, Nell found the tidbits of conversation in McClucken’s uncomfortable. Mary Pisano was generous and was probably using some of her inheritance to pay the crew handsomely. But Troy had been on the job only a couple of weeks—certainly not long enough to afford such extravagant gifts.

  And why would Mary pay him in cash? She’d be the last person on earth to try to shortchange the IRS.

  It didn’t make sense. Pamela had been a wealthy woman. Had she helped Troy out before she died? Nell frowned, her mind cluttered, filled with square puzzle pieces that should be round.

  “Nell, you’re going to get yourself killed if you don’t look where you’re going. One funeral this week is plenty.”

  Nell looked up and felt a pleasant rush erasing her troubling thoughts. “Father Northcutt, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Well, now, and I’ve heard worse said to me, Nellie. May I rescue you from this north wind?” Without waiting for an answer, the older man cupped her elbow in his wide glove and began walking her down the street, his gait slow and steady. “I find myself needing a cup of the Ocean Edge’s F
rench onion soup, the one with all that cheese covering the top. And there’s nothing that goes better with it than a fine person like yourself.” Father Larry brushed back a swatch of gray hair, ruffled by the wind, and quickened his pace.

  Nell laughed as she mentally rearranged her afternoon schedule. It was a serious character flaw, she often told Ben—how quickly she could be lured away from a carefully planned schedule.

  Ben said that on the contrary, it intrigued him. Charmed him, even—the fact that rarely was anyone allowed to impose on Nell Endicott’s life. People were always welcomed into it and made to feel she’d been waiting just for them. No, Ben said firmly, it wasn’t a flaw. It was simply Nell relishing the moment—something she did easily and graciously. That, and a firm belief that what needed to get done would certainly find its way to the surface in due time.

  Either that, Ben said with a chuckle, or he’d end up doing it.

  She hoped that was true, because if it wasn’t, the Thursday night knitting group might be sorely disappointed at the dinner they got that evening.

  All the tables at the Edge were filled, it seemed, until they saw a familiar hand waving at them from a booth at the back of the restaurant.

  “I’ve been stood up,” Ben said, slipping from the booth. “Jerry Thompson and I had just enough time for a beer before he was called away. Mind if I join you?”

  “Join us at your table?” Father Jerry replied with a chuckle. “Getting two Endicotts for the price of one is a pleasure indeed.”

  They settled into the oversized booth, shielded from the others by tall padded seat backs. Along the wall, windows framed the harbor waters, providing a moving panorama as lobster boats moved in and out, weaving between the occasional sailboats.

  Father Northcutt ordered soup for them, and Ben detailed his aborted meeting with the police chief. “Jerry mentioned the Pisano murder before being called away. The police are baffled. Pamela had her naysayers and folks who didn’t like her, but real motive and connecting someone to the crime scene is still out of reach. With the holidays so close, he’s anxious to wind it up, but he says it might be one of those cases that goes cold. It just doesn’t make a lot of sense.”