“I handed Amber her bag of sandwiches and she had turned to go when Helen followed her, telling her that she had to stop meddling or she’d be very sorry. The Cummingses weren’t people who wanted interference,” she said. “She was warning her for her own good. ‘Stay away or else,’ she said.
“Amber was at the door by then, holding it open, and Helen walked right on through, her head high, without even a good-bye to Margaret and me. Just like that. And I suppose that’s what you saw—them coming through the door together.”
Harry took a deep breath, feeling the exertion of his monologue. He wiped his forehead and shook his head. “Damnedest thing I ever saw. That young woman held herself tight, though. Never a bad word said back to Helen. Not one word.”
• • •
Esther Gibson and Nell happened to arrive at the Seaside Knitting Studio at exactly the same moment. Seeing that Nell’s hands were full, Esther held open the door with her hip, using her cane as a stopper. Nell thanked her and walked through, carefully balancing a foil-wrapped casserole dish.
“Crab?” Esther asked, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening as they fanned back into thinning white hair.
Nell laughed. “Is it that smelly?” Nell set it down for a minute on a nearby display table.
“Smelly is not the appropriate word,” Esther said, wrapping Nell in a soft plump hug. “Not by a long shot.”
It was a stronger hug than usual. Something was on Esther’s mind. Nell looked over at Mae, standing behind the computer tabulating the day’s receipts. Mae shrugged. She didn’t know why Esther was there, either. She already had enough yarn in her house to start her own shop. “Tell Izzy I’m locking up in a few,” Mae said. “Birdie’s here and Cass is on the way.”
Nell picked up the casserole dish as Esther relieved her of the bag hanging from her arm.
“Come, dearie,” Esther said. “Let me help you carry it to the back room.”
The Thursday night knitting group—along with the meals Nell brought to the gatherings—was known to anyone who shopped in Izzy’s yarn shop, or who happened by the shop on warmer days, when the smells of garlic and wine and fresh herbs would float through the front door and out onto the street. The store always closed early on Thursdays, another clue.
It was that special sacrosanct time each week that Izzy and Birdie, Nell and Cass shared food and friendship, laughter, and sometimes tears, all while bamboo needles worked soft luscious yarns into spirit-soothing hats and sweaters.
But sometimes, like tonight, someone happened by, whether by design or accident or some mysterious force, that led them through the bright blue door on Harbor Road. And no one was ever turned away. There was always enough food—and plenty of shoulders to lean on, and listening ears, if that be the need.
Tonight Esther made no move to leave. She settled herself in the comfortable couch near the fireplace and gratefully took the glass of wine Birdie offered her. “Thank you, Bernadette,” she said.
“It’ll take the chill off, Esther. Enjoy,” Birdie said, and continued filling the remaining glasses.
Nell looked over. The use of Birdie’s given name portended something serious on the police dispatcher’s mind.
Cass bounded down the three steps to the back room, carrying a recently baked rhubarb pie.
“Cass, you shouldn’t have,” Izzy said. “Bet you worked all day on that.”
Cass glanced at Esther on the couch and Birdie sitting across from her. She gave them a wave, then simply wrinkled her nose at Izzy instead of words she might otherwise have said to counter her friend’s teasing. Birdie had a way of stopping Cass’s more colorful retorts.
The pie, of course, came from Danny Brandley, who found cooking and knitting therapeutic when his mystery plots needed airing out. It was a happy day for the knitters when he finally moved back into Cass’s house, up on the hill above Canary Cove, along with his cookbooks and a presence they had missed.
“Hey, Esther,” Cass called over. “How did you know you were exactly the person I wanted to see tonight?”
Esther’s laugh was sweet and loud at once. “I love you, Cass. Now come sit beside me, right here.” She patted the cushion next to her.
Cass did as Esther directed, slipping off her tennis shoes and sitting down, legs folded up beneath her. Purl purred her way between the two women. “So, what’s going on with you, Esther?”
“Here’s what’s going on,” Esther said, sipping her wine. “You’re all aware that my Amber is back.”
“Your Amber?” Izzy looked over.
“Yes. Lydia Cummings did what she was capable of for the girl, but that didn’t include love. She left that to me.”
Izzy filled plates for everyone, adding a sprinkling of fresh Parmesan cheese to the creamy, wine-laced crab. She and Nell carried them over to the group around the fireplace.
“Lydia was my dear friend,” Esther went on. “God knows why. She could be a pain in the sweet patootie sometimes. But I loved her the way we women do, in spite of one another’s faults.
“She loved her son Patrick more than life itself. He was so like his father, and when Lydia’s husband died, all her dreams, every single one, were poured into that boy, whether he wanted them there or not.”
“Stu and Barbara aren’t exactly the dregs,” Cass said.
“No, of course not. And I think Stu was a decent older brother to Patrick, though Barbara never gave Patrick the time of day. But Patrick was special to his mother—maybe because he came along so late—who knows? But it was clear to everyone that Patrick was the prince.”
“And then he was gone,” Izzy said softly.
“Yes. And Lydia was never the same.” Esther balanced her plate on her lap and began eating again, deliberately and quietly, as if the food was somehow the reinforcement she needed to go on.
For a while the only sounds were the wine being sipped, the scrape of forks spearing remaining chunks of chunky crab, and the soppy sound of bread soaking up the last remnants of Nell’s savory sauce.
Finally Birdie broke the silence. “Esther, why are you here?” she asked.
Esther looked up. Her usual smile was gone as she handed her empty plate to Nell. “Of course you would call me out, Birdie dear. I can never put one over on you. You don’t think it’s simply to enjoy this magnificent crab casserole?”
She settled back into the cushions as if she was suddenly very tired. “You women have been kind to Amber. She said as much, something she doesn’t admit to easily. She’s a harsh young woman. I’ve excused it because she had no role models, at least not consistent ones. Amber was never really a part of that family, not in the way you and I think of family anyway. Richard and I wanted to take her in, relieve Lydia of a baby who only deepened her grief. But she wouldn’t have it. Lydia was quite religious, and she tried to keep her commandments intact. Giving away a blood relative would surely be against one of them. But as Amber grew and started looking more like her mom, Lydia allowed me to help, sometimes taking the toddler, and then young child, to see her mother at Ocean View. But as soon as Amber was old enough, Lydia sent her off to boarding school and I only saw her on vacations.”
“That was cool of you, Esther. Did Lydia visit Ellie, too?” Cass asked.
“No, never. Someone told me Stu went over, probably the only family member, though when I mentioned it to him, he said no. But Lydia, for her part, made sure Ellie Harper was in the best facility, got the best care, and she paid for it all. Ellie was a terrible reminder of what she’d lost. In her mind, Ellie shouldn’t have been the one who lived. But she did, no matter how limited a life it was.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Izzy said. “Why did she include Amber in her will if she felt that way about her?”
“Well, I’ve thought about it long and hard and I think I know why. The one thing Lydia paid attention to were her children’s
minds, their learning—and in this case, her grandchild’s. Achievement was important, so she always read school reports. Amber’s reports and testing showed that she had her father Patrick’s keen intellect. The girl is a genius at numbers, extremely intelligent. Off the charts, as they say, just like her father was. Lydia knew that. I think she bequeathed her the business because she knew Amber would be an asset to the company’s growth once she was gone.”
“That’s interesting,” Nell said.
“And perverted,” Cass said.
But Esther seemed not to hear and continued on with what she came to say.
“Once Patrick died, the success of the Cummings Northshore Nurseries became the most important thing in her life. Almost like another child. Amber has the capability to continue that. Lydia didn’t need Amber while she was living. But in death, she did. And she wouldn’t have to be around to look at her, to be reminded of that awful day Patrick died. So maybe that’s why she did it. Stu is a wonderful front man and visionary, but maybe she thought Barbara and that Garrett fellow could use some looking after.” Her voice seemed to drop off then, her face drawn.
Birdie handed her a piece of pie. “But this all seems to worry you, dear. Am I right?”
Esther nodded. “I’m not sure Lydia took into account that everyone might not automatically do what she wanted. And that would be especially true once she wasn’t around. How could she possibly think Amber, of all people, would cater to her wishes? And that’s my worry, sort of. Not that Amber won’t do what Lydia intended, but what she might do instead.” Esther took a bite of pie and continued.
“I ran into Helen Cummings and Beatrice Scaglia having lunch at the Ocean’s Edge yesterday. Helen mentioned that Amber was spending time with their financial records and that it’s causing stress on the family and it worries her. By family she means Stu, of course. Stu’s heart isn’t what it used to be, she told me.”
Nell listened, although the story was becoming repetitive.
“Therefore, Amber is harming Stu’s heart?” Izzy said.
“Oh, I know, Izzy. I suggested Stu stop with the cream tarts and steak. But the thing is, the Cummingses are strong, powerful people and don’t take kindly to meddlers. And Amber? She’s this skinny young woman finally grieving her mother. And that’s why I worry. I worry about Amber.
“I have this awful fear that she’s out for revenge.”
Esther got ready to leave shortly after finishing her pie. She was weary, and Richard would be waiting for her.
“Amber is staying with you, right?” Birdie asked as she handed Esther her cane and prepared to walk her to the door.
“She has a key to the house. A warm bed. And she knows we’re there for her.” She looked over at Izzy. “She’s also leaning on your brother. Amber is moody and can cover up emotions by lashing out—she’s always been that way, even when she was little—and she probably does that with Charlie. She’s done it to me, so I know. But she cares for him.”
Esther took a sip of water. “Amber keeps things bottled up. I’d like to talk with her, find out what she’s thinking. But she is on a bit of a quest right now. She doesn’t seem to have a sensible ounce of fear in that body of hers. I’m worried where it might take her.”
It was what they expected to hear, but somehow it left a chill in the room as Birdie helped Esther up the steps and to the door of the yarn shop.
Izzy got up and stoked the embers in the grate, bringing them back to life. She curled back up in a chair and pulled a skein of wool from her knitting bag. Somehow fingering the easy fibers brought warmth into her body.
In the distance, they listened for the roar of Esther’s old truck rumbling down Harbor Road, going a few miles an hour too fast and knowing no one on the police force would ever consider stopping her for it.
“Esther’s worry brings a reality to all this,” Birdie said. “She knows Amber better than any of us, certainly better than her relatives.”
“Amber may be fearless and even angry about things in her past, but she’s smart.” Nell had cleaned up all the dishes and returned with fresh coffee. “I don’t think she’d do anything foolish.” She told them about the encounter at the deli—and the restraint Amber had showed.
“Did Harry think Helen was seriously threatening Amber?” Birdie asked. “It sounds to me like she was just trying to protect Stu. Sometimes I think that is her goal in life. She worries about his blood pressure, his heart, like Esther said. I heard her worrying about his cavities one day. She used to pour out her worries on her mother-in-law, Lydia. Now I think it’s anyone who will listen.”
“A threat is a threat, whether you mean it or not. Amber was the grown-up it sounds like,” Cass said. “I might have been a tad more vocal in her shoes.”
Izzy agreed, but still looked worried. “I’m not crazy about Amber. I guess it’s Charlie I’m really worried about. Amber seems to have some weird power over him—and even though Esther thinks it might be a good thing, I’m not so sure.”
Birdie tucked a lap blanket over her legs to ward off the draft. She fingered the soft angora snowflakes Izzy had knit into the pattern and thought about the designer’s brother. “Izzy, I don’t think you need to worry. Charlie’s attraction to Amber is tempered with common sense. She has common sense, too, judging from what we just heard. And if she lashes out now and then, Charlie gets that, too. He doesn’t like it—but the girl hasn’t had an easy life, and he’s sensitive to that. He told me so himself. He feels some responsibility for her because he rescued her that night on the highway. Misplaced or not, it’s like rescuing a bird. You can’t simply throw the robin into a snowbank and walk away, now, can you?”
Birdie stopped talking for a minute. She sipped her wine and let the words settle wherever they might. Then she wiggled the tightness out of her fingers and with a quick change of tone, said, “Speaking of snowbanks, that might be where we’ll land if we don’t commit to knitting up some of these ornaments for our tree.”
Izzy laughed. “Good segue, Birdie. You’re right. Here’s the deal. Anything goes, as long as it’s hand-knit and reflects Sea Harbor life—on land or sea. Some of my customers will knit up a few ornaments if we need them.”
She slid several patterns across the table: a sailboat, a snowman with an anchor on its hat, starfish and lobsters, whales and surfboards. They sorted through them and sank their fingers into the pile of yarn Izzy and Nell had chosen. In minutes the patterns were selected and bright green, red, blue, and multicolored yarns were claimed by fingers eager to begin.
And just like that, the needles began clicking.
A lovely familiar sound.
A new project had been born.
And along with it, blood pressures lowered, worry slipped aside, and the warmth of a fire held four friends close.
Birdie decided she’d knit a whole school of fish and sea life, and quickly began casting on for a jolly fat whale that she’d brighten up with a red Santa hat. Izzy picked a snowman with an anchor on its scarf, Cass a bright red lobster, and Nell began the moss-stitched hull for a sailboat named Mistletoe.
They set to work casting on, coming up now and then for talk or coffee or simply to lean back with needles in hand and listen to the gentle voice of Tori Amos singing about promises and sunshine.
Cass finished a claw on her tiny lobster and set down her knitting to concentrate on Purl, the shop’s calico cat, gently rubbing her belly. “Willow has taken over the Halloran fishing crew’s tree decorations,” she said. “Good thing he has a girlfriend.”
“Willow will do him proud. Imagine, those scruffy guys having a beautiful tree,” Izzy said.
“While we’re on the subject of my family,” Cass said, “Pete and I had breakfast with Ma this morning. It’s dinner at her place or Sugar Magnolia’s, that great restaurant over in Gloucester—once a week, like clockwork.”
“And she
pummels you with questions about when you’re going to marry Danny?” Izzy asked. “All before the Sugar Mag special arrives at your table?”
Cass laughed. “Oh, sure. Pete gets some of it, too. Subtle inquiries as to when he and Willow will reproduce the amazing Halloran genes. But mostly she takes care of that with the candles she lights at Our Lady of Safe Seas. She even has Father Northcutt lighting a few.”
“So, what else do you talk about? The scandalous rumors in the Ladies’ Altar Society?” Izzy asked.
“Like Ma would ever tell their sordid secrets?”
Birdie held up her whale. Its yarn belly was already taking shape as she began the process of short rows. “I imagine Mary has other things on her mind these days, like helping Father Larry with funerals and wills and trusts. Your mother is a dear soul and I know she’s the real power behind that church.”
“Yes, she is,” Cass said. “She’s a worrier, too. And these days she’s more worried about Father Northcutt’s pressures than when her kids will get married and give her grandbabies. I guess that takes the pressure off—but I’m not sure her new worries are so good for her.” She slipped her knitting into a backpack, finished for the evening.
“What do you mean?” Izzy asked. She looked down at the beginnings of the small knit snowman and smoothed out a stitch around what would be his belly.
“I’m not sure what I mean. Let’s talk about something else, like what I should get Danny for Christmas.”
“How about an engagement ring?” Izzy said, lifting her head. “Why should it always be up to the man to decide if and when? You could lure him out to the Harbor Green, kneel down beside our tree filled with exquisitely knit ornaments, ask for his hand—”
“He wouldn’t give me his hand. He needs that for writing,” Cass said.
But no matter her retort, they all enjoyed the image of Danny Brandley sporting a diamond on his large hand. And even more, they enjoyed the fact that Cass hadn’t immediately told them they were crazy, that she’d never get married, that everyone didn’t have to, you know?
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