Birdie breathed in the fragrant air. “In my next life, I want to be you, Frances,” she said.
Frances smiled back.
Birdie explained their mission, while Nell walked to the side of the store and made a quick call to Ben. When he didn’t answer, she left a short message, trying to squeeze the new information into a few sentences. It was all beginning to fit together, the conclusion she knew Ben would come to, as well.
In the safe confines of the car, she and Birdie had laid out all the bits and pieces of information that they’d gathered for days now, moving around the pieces of information as if they were in a heated Scrabble game. An obsessive man. A wife. And Mary’s bed-and-breakfast planted right in the middle of it all.
Nell frowned as the red light on her cell phone indicated a low battery. A distracting couple of days, she thought. If forgetting to charge her battery was the biggest thing she’d done—or not done—she’d be fortunate.
Frances didn’t remember the exact dates they were asking about, but she certainly remembered the daily deliveries to the nursing home. The deliveries were arranged over the phone, so she’d never met the sender, but after a couple of weeks of daily deliveries, she had asked him about the occasion for sending the flowers.
“Did you get an answer?”
Frances nodded. The woman had had a setback in the nursing home. “Apparently she was almost adjusted to living there, but her daughter had to leave suddenly, and she relapsed. For some strange reason, the man felt responsible for the setback and thought the flowers might help her recover. He was a sweet man.”
Nell wondered how the man knew about Dolores’ setback, but a sensible answer came quickly. An obsessive person would have attempted to track Pamela down in New York. And never one to mince words, Pamela probably accused him of affecting her mother’s health. The man was kind, the old chief had said. A good person. It worried him. Hurting his wife worried him. Like an alcoholic, destroying a family he loves.
“Do you have the man’s name?” Nell asked.
Frances scratched her head. She was sure she did somewhere because it was a credit card order. But it might take a while. “I keep careful records,” she assured them. “But that was a few years ago, you understand. Three or four.”
And then she’d smiled, took Birdie’s number, and promised to call if she found the name.
When they got back to Sea Harbor, the sky was dark.
“One more stop,” Nell said, checking her watch. She pulled into the Sea Harbor Gazette’s parking lot.
They hurried through the cold, their coat collars pulled up to their ears, and found the records room and a bank of computers.
Obituaries, Nell typed in, and together, counting on their fingers, she and Birdie came up with the year. Then Nell typed in September 15.
They held their breath as they pounded the last nail in the coffin.
Chapter 28
Mae had already locked down the day’s receipts and left for the day when Birdie and Nell finally hurried through the front door of the Seaside Knitting Studio.
Izzy and Cass came in from the back. “Where’ve you been? We were worried.”
“At the library, the newspaper. A florist over in Gloucester,” Nell said, attempting to lighten the tension, but there was nothing light about how she felt inside.
Birdie leaned against Mae’s counter, catching her breath. “We’ve pulled together what we need to know. The dates. Names. The coincidences that weren’t really that at all.”
Birdie held out the notes she had jotted on the pad of paper that afternoon while Nell had driven from place to place.
Dolores Pisano’s surprise flowers had been sent to assuage a guilty conscience, Birdie explained to Cass and Izzy. The deliveries were stopped suddenly without an explanation.
“Why?” Izzy asked.
As if in answer to her question, Birdie’s cell phone rang. She looked down at the unfamiliar number.
“The florist?” Nell suggested.
Birdie pressed the button, and Frances began talking. She’d found the records they were interested in, the dates. And the name of the generous, thoughtful sender.
He had stopped sending the flowers September fifteenth, just as Dolores Pisano had remembered.
Birdie hung up.
“That was the day he killed himself,” Nell said.
They stood in stunned silence.
The dots. The connecting lines. All the loose strands of yarn that had been dangling for days were being knit together tightly—and making horrible sense.
All the way down to Mary’s dog, Georgia, who had enough trust to follow the murderer out to the porch.
Nell tried again to get Ben, and again left a message. She managed to get the important words out before the battery went dead, this time for good. “Ben is very good about taking his phone. He just doesn’t remember to turn it on,” she murmured, as if somehow the phone was partially responsible for Ben’s lack of attention.
“I almost forgot,” Izzy said. “Mary Pisano called, looking for you, Birdie. She was upset. She wanted you to call.”
“The police questioned her today,” Birdie said, frowning.
“Nancy and Kevin, too,” Nell added.
Birdie quickly dialed Mary’s number.
Mary started talking without a hello.
Finally Birdie hung up and faced the others. “After Kevin was questioned by the police today, he went back to the bed-and-breakfast looking for Nancy. He was furious, Mary said, an anger so black she was almost afraid of him. He tore out of her house, mumbling something about Nancy and this being the last straw.” Birdie paused. Then she said quietly, “Mary was afraid he might harm Nancy.”
They piled into Nell’s car and headed east toward Canary Cove.
Izzy called Sam, pulling him out of a meeting with the Sea Harbor Arts Council. She gave him the short version of the day and asked him to find Ben, to call Jerry Thompson, and to meet them.
Birdie and Cass sat in the backseat, suggesting that Nell slow down—the road was narrow and they didn’t want to miss Christmas.
Lights were shining brightly on the trees lining the Hughes’ drive. Nell pulled in and parked behind Kevin’s beat-up Volkswagen. Inside, every room was lit, as if a holiday party was about to begin.
The front door was open, and Nell spotted Kevin through the storm door. His jacket was open, his brows pulled together tightly, his face beet red. His anger masked the Kevin she knew, distorting his features. He was walking across the family room, calling out Nancy’s name.
Nell slipped through the open door. Cass, Izzy, and Birdie followed.
“What the hell were you thinking, Nancy?” Kevin’s voice, thick with anger, rumbled through the house like a freight train.
They couldn’t see Nancy at first, but from another room, her voice traveled to the front hallway, calm and controlled, as if the museum board were sitting in front of her, waiting for her monthly report.
“What do you want, Kevin? You shouldn’t be here.”
Her voice was coming from Dean’s den.
“I want to know why you’re crucifying me. You know I didn’t kill Pamela Pisano. The police told me what you said, questioned me like a criminal—”
“I only told them the truth.”
“That I hated her? That I threatened her? That she knew I was gay and was going to use it to destroy my family?”
“I had to tell them the truth, Kevin.”
Kevin moved through the door of the den.
From the hallway, Nell watched Nancy’s shadow as she moved to the glass case against the wall. Her breath caught in her throat. The hunting wall, the glass case filled with Dean’s guns. Then she heard the click of the lock and the opening of the glass door.
“You told them I threatened Troy,” Kevin continued. “That I was the one who knew where all the garage tools were. That I told the workmen to take the metal ladder away.”
“You did tell them to take it away, Kev
in.”
Kevin exploded. “Sure I told them to take it away. I told them because you told me to. You said some deliveries were coming. I did what you told me to do. What are you trying to do to me, Nancy? What have I ever done to you?” His voice rose until it vibrated off the walls. “You all but told them I was the one who killed those two people—and you gave them reasons to believe you. Are you crazy? What’s Mary going to think?”
“She’s going to think that you killed them, Kevin,” Nancy said calmly. “And then you tried to kill me.”
At that moment, Nancy spotted Nell. The color drained from her face, and she stared at Nell and Birdie as they moved toward the wide den door. Izzy and Cass were a few steps behind them.
Kevin’s head spun around, and then he looked back at Nancy. “What’s going on . . . ?”
Nell’s voice was quiet, a schoolteacher’s voice, forcing calmness into an unruly classroom. “It’s all right, Kevin. No one thinks you murdered Pamela and Troy.”
Birdie took a few steps toward Nancy. “It’s over now, dear,” she said. “Your nightmare is over.” She stopped a few feet away, letting her words fill the space between them.
Nancy stared back at her, then the others, and then her body seemed to shrink, her shoulders slumping forward. The look of a trapped animal filled her narrow face. She stared at the gun in her hand. “This was the gun Dean killed himself with; did you know that? And this”—she flapped a piece of paper in the air—“this was the note he left for me. I told the police he didn’t leave one, but he did, a private note, meant only for me.” Her voice dropped, and she stared at the piece of stationery as if it had suddenly betrayed her.
Nell thought back over the years she had known Nancy Hughes. The composed, capable woman who did so much for the museum. She had changed after Dean committed suicide; they had all seen that. It was understandable, everyone said. Such a good man doing such a horrible thing, without any reason. But Nell never imagined the depth of Nancy’s anguish—and what it had done to her. A terrible disease, eating away at her core.
Nancy looked up from the letter. “He said he was sorry. And he loved me—his smart, pretty wife. That’s what he wrote.” She looked down and read slowly, “ ‘But, my darling Nancy, I cannot function anymore. I have nothing left to give you. I’m empty. She’s taken it all. I cannot live without her.’ ”
Nell thought of the words Nancy had written in the snow beside Pamela’s lifeless body, hoping it would seem like a suicide to the police. I’m sorry. It’s what she wanted Pamela to be for ruining her life. What Dean was for ruining hers. Sorry.
Nancy looked at the people surrounding her, her usual control lost in the confusing moment. Then she lifted the gun again and looked at it intently.
Birdie started to move, but Nell put her hand on her arm and pulled her back a step.
Emotion had drained from Nancy’s face, and Nell remembered that same look at Dean’s funeral. Nancy had never cried. People said she was brave, holding it together. An amazing, remarkable woman, dealing with terrible loss. A man who had every reason to live but threw it all away.
“Full circle,” Nancy said, the words catching in her throat. “There’s nowhere for me to go, is there?”
In the distance, Nell heard the sounds of cars on gravel, but Nancy seemed not to notice. She cradled the gun, as if it were a special gift.
“Nancy,” Nell managed to say. “Don’t . . . ”
Nancy didn’t seem to hear. It was as if she were alone in Dean’s room. Just the two of them, talking as lovers. Her words were whispered. “I kept your gun, my darling. And I finally rescued you from her, just as I promised. You’re free now, my love.”
“Nancy, why don’t you give it to me?” Birdie said softly. “You don’t need it any longer.”
Nancy looked at it. “She ruined people’s lives. I’ve done a good thing. People will thank me.”
Close by, Nell felt Ben’s presence. And Sam’s. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sea of blue uniforms walking past the window, making their way into the hallway.
Nancy’s hand was unsteady, but her voice was clear.
“Troy DeLuca thought I would support him for the rest of his self-indulgent life to hold his silence. He watched it all from the carriage house, waiting for Pamela to come to him that night. But instead of getting Pamela that night, he thought he’d gotten the mother lode. He rejoiced. He demanded a little bit one day, a lot more the next. And on and on and on. I had to keep him close, to watch him, until I figured out what to do. It would never have stopped.” Her forehead furrowed as if it pained her to think about it.
“I’m truly sorry it had to be at Enzo’s house; that’s a deep regret. Ravenswood-by-the-Sea is a wonderful place. Pamela didn’t deserve to die there.” Her voice dropped, and she seemed to be speaking to herself. “And she didn’t deserve my husband. . . . ”
Nell saw the slight movement of Nancy’s hand as she turned the gun toward herself. But before anyone could move, Kevin lunged toward Nancy.
The pistol clattered to the floor, the blow causing a bullet to explode and tear through the leather cushions of Dean Hughes’ favorite chair.
Nancy’s body began to weave, a hollow reed unable to support skin and bones and muscles any longer. In one swift movement, Kevin’s arms grabbed her, cradling her shrinking body as she collapsed to the floor in a torrent of wrenching tears.
He stayed there for a moment, his arms holding her as her body shook with grief.
For the first time since Dean Hughes’ tragic death, his wife grieved his loss.
Chapter 29
It was a sad group that caravanned to 26 Ravenswood Road, to the comforting warmth of Mary’s kitchen.
Tears fell copiously as they took turns filling Mary in on Nancy’s terrible, heartbreaking story. All the deceits.
They laid the facts out on the kitchen island, one following after another, small invisible lines connecting the flowers, Dean’s death, Nancy’s vigilance over the goings-on at the bed-and-breakfast.
“Mary,” Nell asked presently, after the facts of the day had been lined up along the island like cups of tea, “why were you so late meeting us the night that Pamela was murdered?”
“Nancy had planned for us to meet at the Ocean’s Edge. But then she was late getting there. She called and said to wait; she’d be there soon.”
“So she made sure you stayed away.”
“And the night Troy was killed, it was Nancy who decided we needed a night off. She had Ed and me over for dinner that night.”
“After she’d made sure the ladder would collapse beneath his weight,” Izzy said.
“She was handier than any of us,” Kevin said. “She knew how to use those tools better than I did. But she made sure I was the one who moved them around, who carried out the ladder, who sent the good ladder back with the work crew.”
“I wanted to fire Troy after Pamela died,” Mary said. “Kevin and I didn’t trust him, but Nancy convinced me we needed him.”
“She needed him close, where she could watch him,” Nell said.
“I always thought her insistence on Troy painting the eaves was a bit silly, but she paid such close attention to detail, I bought it.”
Kevin sat at the island, listening to Mary, his eyes offering what comfort he could. But they had both befriended Nancy. And in the end, her betrayal was too enormous to get their arms around immediately.
“In time,” Ben said, seeing emotion cloud Kevin’s face.
He nodded.
Sam arrived then, his arms filled with platters of Gracie’s special lobster rolls, a heaping salad, and several bottles of wine.
“Fortification,” Mary whispered, pulling herself up as high as she could to embrace the tall photographer.
“Nancy was a victim, too,” Nell said. She took the platter of lobster rolls from Sam’s bag and passed them around, encouraging everyone to eat.
“Imagine losing your husband because he couldn’t live w
ithout another woman,” Izzy said.
“I think Dean cared deeply for Nancy—but he was . . . ”
“Obsessed,” Izzy said. “How many times did we hear that word these past weeks?”
Cass nodded. “Obsessed . . . it was like an addiction.”
“So terribly sad.”
“It’s hard to understand unless you’ve walked in those shoes.” Ben passed around glasses of wine. Outside, the sky was dark, and the wind picked up.
“I think Nancy sensed we were beginning to pull it all together. Trying to focus the blame on Kevin was a last-ditch effort,” Cass said.
“She was frightened,” Nell said. “Nancy is such a bright woman. She must have known that things were closing in on her.”
“She overheard one of you talking about the man Pamela had an affair with,” Mary said. “She told me it was absurd. But I sensed concern in her voice.”
They finished off the platter of lobster rolls and the arugula salad, surprised at themselves that they enjoyed the food so thoroughly.
And then the group of friends began to slowly drift off, first Cass to meet Danny at the Gull.
She glanced at her phone message. It was the third time he’d texted her in the past hour. “The news is traveling along Harbor Road. Danny just needs to see my gorgeous face.” She laughed roughly and sorted through the pile of coats, finding her jacket.
Sam stood next, stretching his arms above his head.
Nell watched his movements. She’d seen the great relief that had flooded his face when he entered the Hughes house earlier and found Izzy all right. Now she saw something else.
Resolve.
“Hey, Iz,” he said, looking across the island where she sat on a leather stool. “Any chance I could give you a ride home? It’s been a long day. I could use a cup of your horrible coffee.”
Izzy looked up. Her face lacked the grin Sam seemed to be hoping for.
The day had affected them all in different ways, Nell thought. Thoughts tumbled over thoughts. Emotions grasped for meaning. Lives were examined.
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