Patterns in the Sand

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Although Nell could see at a glance that Willow had taken a scissors to her own locks—and perhaps without a mirror—the weight and robust body of her hair hid the defects and the results were stunning.

  Her face, pale just ten days ago, was tan now from daily runs along the beach and riding Nell’s old bike across the cape and back again. She looked healthier, Nell thought, even beneath the burden of her father’s murder. A sprinkling of freckles formed a pattern across her cheeks and nose, and the mass of waves that now freely framed her face highlighted enormous dark eyes.

  Beneath the open raincoat, Willow wore a gauzy cotton blouse that Nell suspected came from Izzy’s own closet. It was white as snow against her sun-touched skin. But it was her eyes that drew Nell’s attention. They were lit in a way Nell hadn’t seen since that first day, when they’d found a determined young girl with a mission, sitting in Izzy’s shop window. Flashing dark eyes.

  “Wow,” Izzy said. “Willow, it’s great!”

  “Come, sit, dear,” Birdie urged, wanting a closer look but reluctant to disturb the yarn or the kitten sitting on her lap.

  “Terrific,” said Cass. “I think I’ll have you do mine.”

  Willow allowed a smile, and touched her hair with her hand, then combed her fingers through it. “I got sick of people looking at me. Maybe they won’t recognize me now.”

  Nell held back a reply but her heart ached for the young girl. Willow, for all her efforts, was even more striking with the short haircut. Her enormous eyes were unmistakable. Even if people didn’t know who they were looking at, they would look. And Willow would feel their stare and think it was because they thought her guilty of a terrible thing.

  But it would probably be because she was strikingly beautiful.

  “I went to the police a few hours ago,” Willow said, shifting to a business tone and clearly wanting to divert their attention from her self-styled haircut.

  “A couple of the younger guys were in there playing darts,” she continued, slipping out of the raincoat and hanging it on a hook. She sat down on the couch next to Birdie and kicked off her sandals. “So I asked them if they were going to arrest me. And if they were, I said they should just go ahead and do it. Right then and there. I was tired of waiting for the bomb to drop. One of the guys ran and got the chief from his office like he was afraid of me. Like he thought I’d drop poison in his Diet Coke if he didn’t behave.”

  Willow looked up at Nell. “Ben was in the office with Chief Thompson. I hope he’s not in trouble.”

  They laughed, and Willow laughed, too.

  “I think we’re okay on that score,” Nell said, “though you never know about Ben.” He had gone over to talk to him about Billy before someone from the Edge did. The young waiter—and the bartender, standing nearby—had heard what Billy said as clearly as Nell.

  Ben was convinced Billy would have a plausible explanation for his drunken words, but it needed to be addressed. And better from him than someone else. Rumors sometimes traveled at the speed of a sailfish in Sea Harbor.

  “The chief said he couldn’t arrest me because he didn’t have enough evidence, but they were still checking things out, he said. He was nice, but that Tommy Porter cowers in the corner when he sees me. I swear he thinks I have an ax in my backpack.”

  “Chief Thompson is a good guy,” Izzy said. “And Tommy has probably fallen in love with you. That’s how he shows it sometimes.”

  “You’re right about the chief being nice. I told him if he wasn’t going to arrest me, then he needed to give me what was mine, and he didn’t bat an eye.”

  “They had taken some of your things?” Izzy said.

  Nell frowned. As far as she knew, the police hadn’t been to the guest cottage. And surely they’d have checked with her first.

  Willow shook her head. She held up a silver ring. Keys dangled from the circle.

  “Aidan’s studio?” Nell asked.

  “My studio,” Willow said. “And my house. There’s even a piece of paper to prove it.” She forked her fingers through her short hair and looked at the four knitters intently, her enormous eyes still flashing. “So. Should we go?” she asked.

  Willow’s hope coated her words. Somewhere, somehow, in Aidan’s small house or in the depths of his studio and gallery would be the puzzle piece that was missing. Somehow they’d find something that meant nothing to the police, but everything to Willow Adams.

  Nell took a deep breath and wondered how much of Willow’s zeal was directed at discovering the murderer and clearing her own name, and how much was directed at discovering the father she never knew. A week ago she wanted nothing that belonged to this man who had never acknowledged her existence. Today she was claiming his property.

  “I just thought,” Willow went on, “that maybe we’d find something there. All of us . . .”

  “You shouldn’t go over there alone, I agree,” Nell said.

  “That’s what Brendan said—but he’s helping over at Billy’s and can’t get away right now. He wants me to wait until tomorrow so he can go with me. But I thought . . . I mean, you all have been working hard to figure this thing out, and I thought if you weren’t busy . . .”

  At that instant a crack of thunder shook the small shop and the lights flickered, then went out completely.

  Izzy grabbed for a flashlight fastened to the wall and clicked it on. It was a lantern-style light, and she set it on the table. Soft, eerie shadows played against the wall. The lights flickered again, and the hum of the refrigerator greeted the lights’ return.

  “The lights may be short-lived,” Izzy said, looking out the window at the harbor. One strip of lights, over near Canary Cove and the Artist’s Palate and pier, had not returned, and the pelt of rain was growing louder against the rocks. She pulled the casement windows closed. “It’s still partially dark on the cove.”

  “This might not be the best time, Willow,” Nell said gently. “You may not have lights over there, and the storm will probably intensify. How about if you come home with me shortly and we’ll heat up last night’s seafood chowder? Tomorrow—in the light of day—we can sort through things together.”

  The others echoed the sentiment. Exploring Aidan’s property on a stormy night was not enticing, even to Cass and Izzy, whose love for adventure sometimes went a tad too far, in Nell’s opinion.

  Willow sat quiet for a moment, and Nell knew her heart and spirit were already over in the vacant house, wondering if she’d find any trace of herself in the house her father had left her.

  Nell was half tempted to give in, when a pounding on the door broke into the conversation. It was the side door, the one that led from the alley directly into the cozy knitting room, and Izzy was up in an instant. She pulled the door open.

  Natalie Sobel, her makeup smudged and running down her face in dark rivers, stood alone on the wet steps, her rain-soaked blouse clinging to her shivering body.

  Chapter 21

  “Come in out of that rain,” Izzy urged, one hand touching Natalie’s shoulder and pulling her out of the pelting rain.

  They all turned and stared at the rain-drenched woman, standing in a puddle in the middle of Izzy’s knitting room.

  “It’s Billy,” Natalie said. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I can’t find him.”

  “You can’t find him? I don’t understand.” Nell took Natalie’s umbrella and set it by the door. The thought of Billy Sobel being lost was rather incongruous. Even considering his actions the night before.

  “I’m sure he’s okay,” Izzy said. “He’s probably at the gallery, getting things ready for the exhibit.”

  Natalie shook her head so vigorously that drops of rain water flew in all directions. “No,” she said strongly, refusing an easy explanation. “Billy came home from the store a few hours ago. We had some drinks. A bottle of wine. He was feeling . . . amorous. And then he got a phone call.”

  She looked at Nell.

  “I think it was your husband.
I heard Billy say Ben’s name.”

  “If it was Ben who called, Natalie, there’s nothing to worry about. He and Jerry Thompson just had a question for Billy.” Nell hoped to heaven she was speaking the truth and not lying to Billy’s distraught bride. She agreed with Ben that Billy would have a good explanation, but she knew, too, that her belief in her friends was robust . . . until she had a firm reason to believe otherwise. And although Billy was more of an acquaintance than a friend, she’d known nothing to make her think ill of him.

  Izzy, Nell, and Cass nodded, silently sharing Nell’s hope that worry wasn’t warranted. But Billy’s outburst weighed heavily on their minds.

  “The police chief wanted to talk to him?” Natalie’s brows lifted clear into her hairline.

  “They’re still trying to figure out the Peabody murder, Natalie. They’re questioning everyone who knew Aidan.”

  “But they’ve already talked to Billy. Why again?” Natalie twisted the edge of her damp silk blouse until it resembled a narrow string of macramé.

  “They still don’t know what happened, that’s all.”

  Willow sat quietly on the couch, and it was several minutes before Natalie noticed her. She frowned, then looked at Nell as if Willow weren’t in the room. “Is that Aidan Peabody’s daughter?”

  Nell nodded. “Willow, this is Natalie Sobel.”

  The two women eyed each other. Natalie looked like she wanted to speak, to suggest that maybe the police should come to Izzy’s knitting studio if they wanted information—and should leave her husband alone.

  “When did Billy leave the house?” Nell asked, diverting attention.

  “Almost immediately after he got the phone call. No, wait. He got one more call. He swore when he saw the number on his cell phone, then looked resigned and took the call.”

  “Did you hear what he said?”

  She shook her head up and down and rain drops flew in all directions. “Yes! He said, something like, ‘Okay, okay. Don’t cry,’ he said. ‘Don’t cry, I’ll come.’ I think that’s what he said, but he’d been drinking a little—that bottle of wine—so I wasn’t sure.

  “But then, when he snapped the phone shut, he swore again, and Billy, he tried not to swear in front of me. And then he kissed me, and said he’d be back soon. He had a couple of errands, he said, but he’d be back for dinner. But he didn’t come back. He knew we were having a special dinner together. It’s our eight-month anniversary, and I had the Edge cater us a nice lobster dinner. We got the champagne. And he got me this.”

  Natalie pulled apart the top of her blouse to reveal a diamond necklace. Bright, big, sparkly diamonds that Nell suspected would blind one in the dark.

  Natalie beamed through her tears.

  “It’s beautiful. Billy is a thoughtful man.” Nell wondered what their first-year anniversary would bring.

  “But he’s not so thoughtful right now.”

  “Billy is so friendly,” Izzy said. “He talks to everyone. I bet he’s at the Gull, maybe telling people about the beautiful necklace he got for his beautiful bride.”

  “I went there first,” Natalie said, accepting the compliment but dismissing the excuse. “Jake said he’d come in for just a few minutes. Sat alone at the bar and didn’t talk to anyone. Just guzzled down a few beers. Guzzle, guzzle, just like that. And then he walked out. No good-bye. Just left.”

  Nell checked her watch. It was after seven, not too late. Dinnertime. Natalie’s worry seemed extreme. She wondered if she was simply a nervous new wife. Because he was a dealer who met with clients, she suspected Billy’s work would often serve up irregular hours. But Billy’s drinking, and being depressed about something—that, in Nell’s opinion, was worth concern. That, and missing an anniversary that clearly was important to his wife. Was it the prospect of talking to Jerry Thompson that upset him? She wanted to slip out of the room and call Ben, but that would be too noticeable and might worry Natalie even more.

  “He was upset,” Natalie continued. “He was worried. And he wouldn’t share it with me. He just shut me out.”

  Natalie’s tears began again and she slumped down on one of the chairs. The eyeliner had disappeared from beneath her sad eyes, and small meandering trails ran though her makeup and down her chin.

  “Did you think Billy would be here?” Nell asked.

  Natalie shook her head again. “No. But the light was on here. And you are such nice ladies. You’ve known Billy longer than I have. I just thought maybe . . .”

  “Maybe we’d be able to help,” Birdie finished. “I bet you dollars to doughnuts that Billy will be home in a jiffy. He will know you’re worrying about him, and he’ll come home and want a big plate of pasta with his lobster. You mark my words.”

  Natalie offered a small smile.

  Izzy walked over with a glass of wine and handed it to Natalie. “Would you rather have a cup of tea?”

  But Natalie was already drinking down the wine, looking grateful for something to hold on to. “I had not seen this side of Billy before. He was so distracted, all these recent days. And he’s not been himself, not so loving, for days now. He gets mad at me because I’m doing his books now—but that should be a help to him, not make him mad. He’s distracted and distant. But it must be a stage he is going through. My Billy is a good man.” She looked around at each of them, as if begging them to repeat her words.

  “Billy loves you. And if he has something on his mind, he’ll share it with you when he’s comfortable.” Nell also hoped that would happen soon after he’d shared it with Jerry Thompson. And she prayed that what Billy Sobel had done was nothing more serious than running a red light on Harbor Road.

  “I should go look some more.” Natalie forced a smile and looked around the room, avoiding Willow’s face. “Maybe he is at the Gull now, drinking beers with the guys. The drinking I can handle, s’long as I know my Billy’s safe.”

  The last comment was spoken plaintively, and Nell knew before Birdie spoke that dinner tonight would be late. Natalie driving around Sea Harbor’s rain-slick streets was an accident in the making.

  “We can help, Natalie,” Birdie said. “We know Sea Harbor better than you do. And, Nell, you have that big tank of Ben’s here—we could all pile in and do a little looking. And when we’re through, we will probably find Bill Sobel asleep in his own bed.”

  Natalie stood immediately and Nell could see that it was just what she needed—a little companionship to calm her down. And Birdie might be right—he’d be home before they dropped Natalie off.

  While the others were putting away their knitting, stashing the wineglasses and cheese in the galley kitchen, and gathering bags, Nell stepped into another room and called Ben. He answered on the second ring.

  Nell suspected the answer before she asked the question. Ben had told the chief about Billy’s comment the night before, and then Jerry had called and suggested they get together to chat. Not a big deal. Just to check one more thing off the list.

  Billy had said that’d be fine. He’d be there in ten minutes.

  And he never showed.

  Nell snapped the phone closed, slipped the hood of her rain jacket over her head, and quickly followed the others to the car, tucking away the unanswered questions about Billy Sobel. Maybe, just maybe, he was at his gallery.

  But first, a slow drive down Harbor Road, with Izzy, Cass, and Willow jumping out of the SUV and running through the rain into the Edge, the Gull, and several small restaurants. No, no one had seen Billy in the village-shops area. But Archie Brandley was doing some inventory work in his bookstore and thought he had seen Billy on his Harley, weaving down Harbor Road, headed toward Canary Cove.

  On the way around the bend to the cove, they noticed utility trucks and two men climbing poles with flashlights attached to their helmets, but streetlights along the main street in the artists’ neighborhood were still dark.

  Nell pulled up in front of the Sobel Gallery and they all sat there for a minute, peering through the shee
ts of rain. It was plunged in darkness, just like the shops on either side. Natalie didn’t have a key, but if Billy was inside, he was sitting in darkness. Not a likely scenario, and his Harley was nowhere to be seen.

  They drove slowly down the road and turned into the Artist’s Palate parking lot just in time to see Hank and Merry Jackson getting into their car. Hank shielded his eyes against the glare of their headlights, then recognized the Endicott SUV and ran up to the window, the hood of his rain jacket flapping in the wind.

  “Have you seen Billy?” Nell asked, rolling down her window. Rain slid into the car.

  Hank nodded. “He drove up on his Harley not long before the lights went out—an hour or so ago. Sat around for a while, tapping his hands on the counter, all alone, checking his watch. Made us nervous. Billy’s a friend, and we’d have helped him if we could, but he didn’t want to talk. He seemed to have a lot on his mind.

  “While I was in the kitchen, he talked Merry into giving him a bottle of bourbon and he took off in the rain. Billy was definitely a little off tonight. Acted like he didn’t even know it was raining. Didn’t have his helmet on or nothin’.” Hank shook his head. “He probably headed on home. Not much else you can do on a night like this.”

  Merry honked the horn impatiently. Hank waved and started to hurry off. Then he stopped short and called back, just before Nell closed the window, “Merry says she swore there was someone waiting for Billy over near his Harley and that’s why he raced off. Said it was someone in a yellow rain slicker. But hell, I don’t know how she could see a thing in this downpour. She says I’m blind, that he’s probably got another girlfriend already.”

  For a minute no one said a word. They sat still in the car, hoping Natalie, squeezed into the backseat, hadn’t heard Hank’s words.

  They waited, wondering.

  Finally Nell twisted in the seat until she could see Natalie in the shadows. Her face was dark, her brows pulled together.

  “Natalie?” Nell said. “What do you think? Want to look further?”

  But Natalie had made a decision.