Murder in Merino

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Mary hadn’t connected the break-in to the murder of the man who had once lived in the house. The police hadn’t done that, and Mary showed great restraint in not coming to her own conclusions, as she so often did. Nell thought that Mary probably had another reason for not connecting the dots. She suspected that she—along with all the rest of the town—couldn’t bear the thought that a murderer was freely walking down their streets and could have gone into Maeve Meara’s home in broad daylight. Or could be here, tonight, on Harbor Road, listening to Pete and Merry singing.

  Nell shivered.

  “Cold?” Ben asked, tightening his hug.

  “I need to move along,” Jerry was saying beside her. “I was taking a break and heard the music. It’s a good thing Pete’s band is doing here. People are smiling, even me.” He checked his watch. “Now, back to things that aren’t quite so pleasant.”

  As if summoning him, his cell phone rang. He shrugged. “No rest for the wicked.” He took a step away to answer it. The lines in his forehead deepened as he listened. Although the words were muffled, Nell could hear the strain in his voice, the terse words, the listening with all his senses.

  He silenced his phone and stood still for a moment, staring down into the shadows of the lamplight, his jaw set. Then he turned abruptly, and with an unreadable wave to Ben and Nell, he hurried across the park.

  In the next minute, he was swallowed up by the night.

  Chapter 19

  “Jerry Thompson didn’t show up today,” Sam announced the next morning, walking into the Endicotts’ kitchen with Abby in his arms. “We were going to go for an early sail. Maybe he slept in.”

  “He could use sleep,” Ben said. “But I don’t think that’s what kept him away. He got a call last night that sounded important and clearly upset him.”

  “A break in the case?” Sam asked.

  Nell brightened at the sight of the baby, and immediately took her from Sam. “That would be our hope,” she said. “But his expression didn’t exactly say that.”

  “Whatever it was, it was important and worth paying attention to. He took off in a hurry, hardly said good-bye, and that’s not like Jerry. I checked the morning paper and there wasn’t anything about the case, almost as if it were being swept under a rug.”

  “Or was simply a terrible nightmare,” Nell said.

  The ringing of a cell phone caused all three people in the room to rummage for phones.

  Nell handed Abby back to her father and answered. Mary Pisano was upset. She was looking for Jules. “I don’t think she slept here last night,” Mary said.

  Nell cringed. It was Danny’s first night alone in his new place. She hoped it had been exactly that. Alone.

  Aloud she told Mary that she hadn’t seen Jules, but she’d ask Sam and Ben if they had.

  “She has the keys to the house,” Sam said. “Stella handed them over yesterday. It’s all final. ‘Cash to keys,’ the Realtors call it. She’s probably checking things out over there. As anxious as she was to get into the place before she bought it, I can’t imagine she’d be holding back now. I told her we’d help her move anything that needed moving, but she doesn’t have much.”

  Nell repeated the message to Mary, who seemed slightly relieved. But her voice still held concern.

  “I’m sure she’s fine, Mary,” Nell said. “She’s a grown woman.” But as soon as she spoke, Nell realized how empty her words were. She was a grown woman, true, a grown woman wandering around a town with a murderer on the loose.

  Mary didn’t buy Nell’s assurance, anyway. But her concern went in a different direction. “Nell . . .” she began, pausing. And then she proceeded to share the reason for her concern.

  Nell listened carefully, then dropped her phone into her bag and turned to Sam and Ben. “It seems Mary isn’t the only one looking for Jules. Tommy Porter came by the bed-and-breakfast looking for her, too.”

  “Oh.” Ben poured Sam a cup of coffee, then refreshed his own. “Did he say why?”

  “No . . .”

  “No, but . . . ?”

  “Mary said he was in full uniform, shiny shoes, pressed pants . . . and he refused one of Mary’s cinnamon rolls. He meant business.”

  • • •

  It was another hour before Sam left. They took Abby out on the deck and drank coffee while they explored possible reasons for Tommy’s visit to Ravenswood by the Sea. And in the end, they convinced themselves that it was probably routine—Tommy had become a top-notch member of the police force who didn’t let details slide away from him. He probably had a few more questions for Jules about what she’d seen that awful day.

  “My guess is that Jules is at the house,” Sam said. “She probably slept there, just to make sure no one snuck in somehow and bought it away from her. I’ve never seen anyone so determined to own something. I need to run anyway—I’ll drive by on my way home and have her call you. Or Mary. Or someone. Probably not Tommy Porter. I’m sure she’s had her fill of questions.”

  Sam put down his coffee mug and packed up baby Abby. “My Abby and I are doing a photo shoot, aren’t we, darlin’ daughter?” His face lit up as he kissed her on the top of her head and then on the tip of her nose. Izzy’s nose. Then he held her at arm’s length and soaked in every inch of her with his eyes. “She’s really something, isn’t she?” he said, his words catching in his throat. Then he brought her to his chest and, with her tiny hand in his, waved to them good-bye.

  • • •

  Jules’s disappearance didn’t take long to solve.

  First, Sam texted that her car was at the Ridge Road house, parked in the drive, but she wasn’t around. Garrett Barros was standing out front and said she’d gone for a run. All’s well. Mary Pisano needn’t worry that she was lost at sea.

  Jane Brewster called next to ask whether she could bring coleslaw to Friday-night dinner. And then, in passing, she mentioned that she’d just had a nice talk with Jules Ainsley, who was enormously interested in the gallery and some of the artists she and Ham represented. “She’s an interesting person,” Jane said. “And knows a lot about art.”

  “So she came to the gallery?” Nell asked.

  “Actually she was meeting Rebecca Early for coffee on the deck at the Artist’s Palate. I ran over for a quick bite and they invited me to join them. She came back to the gallery with me afterward to see a new exhibit I had told her about. She mentioned you had invited her to dinner tonight and she was looking forward to it. Then she left to jog back home.”

  “Home?”

  “Izzy’s house—well, her house, I guess. She’s moving what little she has into the new place. I think she wants to stop paying for that expensive room at the B and B as soon as possible.”

  “I see,” Nell said, processing the information as Jane talked.

  “So, about the coleslaw? It’s a new recipe I want to try.”

  “Absolutely. That’s great, Jane. As far as I know right now, your coleslaw and Ben’s martinis may be all we have. By the way, how does Jules know Rebecca?”

  “Hmm. I think it was when she first got to town and she was exploring Canary Cove. She fell in love with Rebecca’s lampwork beads and they’ve become good friends. But then”—Jane laughed—“is there anyone in Sea Harbor Jules Ainsley hasn’t met?”

  A point well taken. Maybe they weren’t all friends exactly, but Jules certainly knew a good portion of Sea Harbor residents.

  Nell hung up and grabbed her bag. A late start to a busy day. She called Mary Pisano on her way out the door to the market. “Jules is safe,” was the message she left on her phone. “She’s at her new house. Safe and sound.” Or as safe as any of them were these days.

  • • •

  Cass came over early for Friday night on the deck. She had called an hour before, offering to pick up cheese and crackers on the way, and anything else Nell needed.
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  Nell was in the kitchen slicing zucchini and orange peppers for the grill when Cass walked in. Ben was still at the boat slip doing some minor repairs on the Dream Weaver, but Sam and Izzy were on their way, she told Cass.

  “People seem a bit at loose ends these days, don’t they.” Nell took the paper bag from Cass. “Did you take the day off?”

  “No, I fiddled around in the office, paying bills, ordering new buoys, hired a new guy. But my head wasn’t really there, so I left and went home. But that was a mistake. The house seemed way too big. Too empty. So here I am.” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a diet soda.

  “It was probably an empty night for Danny, too,” Nell said. “Change is hard.”

  Cass focused on her soda, taking a long drink. She found a tray in the cupboard and began arranging rounds of Brie and Camembert.

  “It wasn’t working, Nell,” she finally said.

  The sound of footsteps put a halt to the conversation and Cass looked visibly relieved.

  Birdie’s words preceded her into the family room, as they often did. “Maybe it’s just me,” she said, “but the awful pallor over this town is slowing down thinking, walking, talking, living. Pretty soon we’ll be at a dead standstill. Just a bunch of people looking sideways at their neighbors, wondering if the sacker at the Market Basket is a bad person, or the waiter at the Ocean’s Edge, or the baker or grocer.”

  She walked across the family room and put a freshly baked apple pie on the island. “Stan Hanson was in the bakery when Harold and I stopped in for the pie. He was picking up five dozen cookies that Karen had ordered for yet another campaign event. He looked very preoccupied but managed a weak hello. It can’t be easy being mayor of a town where a murderer lurks.”

  Nell agreed. “It’s a double burden for him—trying to keep the town safe, help people with their fears, while grieving for someone he’s known for a long time.”

  “His emotion at the funeral was a surprise, now, wasn’t it?” Birdie said. “He’s a dear man but usually holds his feelings in check.”

  “I think his wife was embarrassed,” Cass said. “She holds everything together—including Stan.”

  Ben came through the back door, struggling with a case of beer. He set it down beside the refrigerator. “I heard Stan’s name. I ran by the library on my way home and Karen was there, standing in the foyer, fuming. Stan was supposed to speak to a group of seniors but apparently didn’t show up. It’s been a miserable week for him. Jerry Thompson mentioned to me that Beatrice Scaglia is spreading the word that Stan should drop out of the race and take a long vacation. He’s been a great mayor, she said, but his time is over.”

  Nell shook her head, putting the beer in the refrigerator. “Beatrice better watch what she says. Her words could turn on her. People like Stan.”

  “On the other hand, he does deserve a vacation,” Birdie said. “Maybe Beatrice has a point—a mayor needs to handle business even if it is personal. I can’t imagine wanting to keep that job a second longer than he has to.”

  “I’m not sure Karen would let him quit,” Ben said. “And he is a damn good mayor, in my opinion. Karen wouldn’t take his resignation sitting down.” He pulled out his phone to check his messages. “I forgot to turn it on when I got out of the library.”

  Jane and Ham Brewster walked in with a bouquet of gerber daisies, and a hand-painted bowl, filled to the brim with Jane’s new recipe for coleslaw.

  “The secret is in the peanut butter,” she said. “Who would have thought?” She busied herself in the kitchen while Ham went through cupboards looking for a vase.

  Nell suggested Cass put some music on since Izzy, their usual DJ, hadn’t arrived yet. She and Birdie got out iced tea glasses and Ham took over uncorking wine until Ben could replace him.

  Nell looked over at her husband. He had moved to the den doorway and was scrolling through the messages slowly.

  “Ben?” Nell saw the lines in his forehead deepen, his face still. He scrolled back through the messages, then began all over again. “Ben, what is it? Is it from Jules? She said she’d be here tonight—”

  Just as he lifted his head to answer, the doorbell rang, a sudden, invasive sound. Nell started toward the door, but Ben held up his hand, stopping her, as if he knew who it would be, and that it would be for him.

  He strode through the family room to the front door.

  Tommy Porter stood on the steps, his face somber.

  “I just got your message, Tommy. Jerry’s, too. So sorry I didn’t respond—my phone was off.” He clenched his jaw, anger at himself tightening his face.

  “No, no, it’s okay. I hope it’s okay that I just came over.”

  “Of course it is.”

  Nell came up behind him. “Tommy? What is it? Is Janie all right?”

  “It’s Jules Ainsley, ma’am,” he said, his manner professional but his eyes filled with apology. “I thought she might need company. And you folks are friends she mentioned.”

  Nell’s confusion was softened by Ben’s assurance that Tommy had done the right thing. He seemed to somehow understand what that was and why he was standing on their doorstep. It must have been the barrage of texts he’d just looked at.

  “Is she in the car?” Ben asked.

  Tommy nodded and Nell looked out to the curb, where the policeman’s patrol car was parked. A woman sat in the backseat, her eyes straight ahead.

  “She’s a tough lady,” Tommy said. “But she’s scared. And she didn’t have any way to get back home or here or anywhere.”

  “Where is her car?”

  Tommy sighed. “She’ll explain. Chief Thompson said she needs to talk to a lawyer. He gave her your phone number, said you’d know someone.”

  “I got that text,” he said, and headed out to the car. “She needs to come inside.”

  “Tommy, what’s going on?” Nell asked. She could feel bodies behind her, keeping a distance but straining to hear what was going on.

  “I’m really sorry, Nell. We’re pulling you right into the middle of this. Izzy and Sam, too, it being their house and all. I shouldn’t get involved like this, I suppose, but Janie would shoot me if I just dropped Jules off at an empty house, her not being from here and all. And Janie likes her. ‘Innocent until proven guilty,’ she keeps saying to me, and it’s the truth. But it doesn’t look good. That’s why the chief gave her Ben’s cell number. He says even though Ben’s not practicing law, he gives the best advice on Cape Ann—and he thinks about the people getting the advice while he’s doing it.”

  Ben walked up with Jules beside him, pale as a ghost, but holding herself in check. She wore slim jeans and a sweater, her hair loose and curling around her shoulders. She looked at Tommy and forced a smile, holding out her hand. “Thanks, Tom. It’s your job—I know that.”

  Tommy shook her hand, then walked as quickly as appropriate back to his car without appearing to run from the scene. His shoulders were slightly slumped and his tires screeched as he made a U-turn and headed back to the station.

  It was the first time Nell had ever seen Sergeant Tommy Porter look anything but proud of his profession.

  Sam and Izzy drove into the driveway just as Ben was ushering people inside. Danny Brandley sat in the back next to Abby in her car seat. They got out and walked up to the door, puzzled expressions on their faces, but one look at Ben held their questions in check.

  He held the door open for everyone to come inside.

  Ben eased the initial awkwardness by suggesting Sam open a couple of bottles of the wine. The martinis could wait. “And you and I can talk in here if you’d like,” he said to Jules, motioning toward the den. His voice was kind.

  Jules forked her fingers through her hair, pushing it back over her ear. She nodded. “But could we . . . could I talk to everyone first?” She looked around at the people standing in the family r
oom, trying to be welcoming and nonchalant, while all the while wondering what their Friday night was turning into.

  “Of course,” Ben said.

  “You are . . . all of you . . . kind, good people,” Jules began. “And I can’t just descend on you like this again, not without an explanation.”

  “We invited you,” Nell said. “Maybe not this way, but you know you are welcome here, Jules.”

  “Thank you. Your kindness is kind of overwhelming. But you deserve an explanation, whether you think you do or not. Other people, well, they will think what they want to think no matter what, and there isn’t anything I can do about it.

  “But you—” She looked around again, directly into each person’s face, begging them with her eyes to listen. “I care what you think. And I need you to know the truth. I need you to believe me. No matter what the police think, no matter what they found, no matter what they say or anyone else says, I need you to know.

  “I came here to Sea Harbor to find myself, my life. Not to take someone’s away. Please believe me. I did not kill Jeffrey Meara.”

  Chapter 20

  The room was silent, save for Cass’s iPod music soothing the mood with the throaty sounds of Norah Jones singing about needing a friend. “A fortuitous choice, my dear,” Birdie whispered to Cass.

  “All right, then,” Nell said, breaking the silence. “First things first. Please let’s all sit down and be comfortable.” She touched Jules lightly on the shoulder and pointed to one of the sofas near the fireplace. It was a cozy area, with a wooden coffee table anchoring it and light sisal rugs covering the polished cherry floor. Slipcovered chairs and sofas in greens and blues and golden tones reflected the colors of nature outside the wall of windows. It was a spot that had harbored more than a few traumas—and many triumphs as well.

  Ben had opened the French doors to bring in a breeze, and Sam was already setting out wineglasses, filling each one with cabernet. Birdie placed the cheese board on the coffee table and the group gathered around, with a snoozing Abby adding a comforting note to the tense scene.