Trimmed With Murder

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Charlie stood next to Sam, laughing the hardest. Getting to know a grown-up sister was even more fun than he had imagined it could be.

  Nell watched them all, enjoying their antics and glad they had come. No matter what they were wearing, she thought, or how tired they were, this might be exactly what they needed. A touch of Christmas. One evening of setting aside what they knew to be true: that a murderer was about to be taken off the streets.

  But in the process lives would be turned upside down.

  And when she pulled Birdie, Cass, and Izzy aside, and they walked together through the small park so close that people thought they were trying to keep warm, Nell told them the whole truth about the figure at the grave site that day.

  • • •

  Like so many homes on Cape Ann, the Sea Harbor Historical Museum had been built a century before for a wealthy sea captain. Over the years it had been many things before finally being added to the historic registry and resuming its Colonial roots. It now housed exhibits, an impressive library, staff offices, and a paneled hall for events, where tonight’s party would be held.

  “It’s a Christmas jewel,” Birdie said, looking up at the electric candles in each window and the garlands that circled the pillars beside the door.

  Two college-aged girls dressed in elf costumes opened the double doors and welcomed them inside.

  Immediately they were swallowed up in the fairyland the committee had created—a giant tree that reached nearly to the ceiling, filled with lights and ornaments. Instead of bringing toys to the event, everyone filled out donation cards to purchase new toys and placed them on the tree—already heavy with the red and green envelopes.

  Passing out the cards were Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, sitting in red velvet chairs and looking every bit the regal beneficent pair. The gentle and congenial Gibsons. Nell laughed and she and Birdie immediately headed over to Esther, not nearly as anonymous as she thought she was in her well-used costume.

  “How did you know it was me?” she said as Nell leaned over and gave her a hug.

  Birdie answered. “Maybe because you’ve worn the same Mrs. Claus dress at every Christmas event for the last twenty years, my dear?” She turned to Richard and gave him a hug, then frowned. “Santa, that beard has to go. It smells like mothballs. Surely you can afford a new one.”

  Richard laughed heartily, practicing his ho-ho-hos.

  And then Nell had a niggling thought—a piece of the yarn that hadn’t been woven into the whole quite snugly enough. Intuition had given them an answer that afternoon, but knowing it factually would tighten the stitch. And, as Izzy often said, criminals weren’t convicted on women’s intuition. Maybe they should be, but it didn’t often stand up in court.

  “Speaking of money,” she said. “I hope we didn’t ruin your poker game the other day.”

  “How can you ruin a poker game? I robbed Alan blind—eighteen dollars and fifty-two cents. And then he turned around and robbed me right back. Claire and Esther gave up on us.”

  Nell and Birdie laughed.

  “So, how does family room poker compare to the Reno casinos? That’s big-time, Richard,” Nell said.

  Esther broke in. “It’s the redeeming piece in all of this poker and slots and blackjack thing. We go twice a year, something we can only do because one of Richard’s local casino buddies lets us use his place. It’s a small world, Nell.” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Always assume someone you know is around the corner because they probably are. Imagine, finding someone from Sea Harbor right there in Reno.”

  Esther described the house and its generous owner, and said it was a wonderful opportunity. They should all go together sometime. They might even want to try the slots.

  And the house is magnificent, Esther said: four bedrooms and three baths. And an amazing deck that overlooks the mountains and is close to their favorite casino. Imagine that.

  Imagine that. Nell felt another piece of the puzzle slip into place. It landed with such an echoing thud she was sure Esther and Richard must have heard it.

  The stitch was pulled tight. And without asking, though Esther called it out to them as they walked away, they knew who owned the magnificent home. “Friends of yours,” Esther said, who would be happy to have them as guests, even if they didn’t like the casinos all that much.

  Nell and Birdie bottled up the conversation and carried it across the room where the well-dressed elves were now passing out tiny sausage and shrimp puffs and champagne. Nell wasn’t shocked or even completely surprised at Esther’s revelation, nor was Birdie.

  But they at least understood a “why” that had been floating around for days. Although Esther and Richard, Claire, and Alan Hamilton played poker for eighteen dollars and fifty-two cents, for others it could be a dangerous addiction. An addiction that could ruin people’s lives—or make them do unsavory things to pay their gambling debts. It was something people sometimes died from—or even killed for.

  While Birdie went off to greet an old neighbor, Nell stood alone, enjoying the quiet in the middle of a jovial, noisy crowd. Sometimes it was the best kind of quiet, being surrounded by noise and not being a part of it.

  She noticed Barbara Cummings, her red tailored suit a nod to the season, standing beneath one of many sprigs of mistletoe that hung from the ceiling. Several women, including Mrs. Esther Gibson Claus, stood with her, talking. Nell noticed Garrett O’Neal seeking Barbara out, spotting her, then standing back against the wall close to the group of women. His red bow tie was perfectly tied, his hair carefully combed, rimmed glasses hiding thoughts and emotion. Finally he moved to Barbara’s side, one arm grazing hers.

  Barbara seemed not to notice his presence, her posture erect and still.

  A convenient couple, someone had called them. Perhaps that’s what it was, at least for one of them.

  But the thought made Nell enormously sad.

  She looked beyond them and spotted Stu Cummings and Ben standing together, talking quietly. Stu looked worn, his congenial smile seeming to be an effort. When people crowded in, the two men moved away to a quieter spot behind the enormous Christmas tree.

  In the next minute, as if somehow planned, Jerry Thompson joined them.

  Birdie was back and handed Nell a glass of champagne. “Sam and Izzy are heating up the dance floor,” she said. “I think all the tensions of today are being exorcised effectively.”

  Nell nodded. Exorcised but not gone. She nodded across the room to where Beatrice Scaglia, Barbara, and Helen Cummings stood with a group of council members. A waitress passed by, accepting their empty glasses and replacing them. Helen reached for another as Barbara looked over, spotted Nell, and nodded in a brief hello, then turned away.

  A rebuff? Nell turned and followed Birdie across the room, her heart heavy, to where Father Northcutt sat alone on a couch, watching a toy train circle a small tree.

  “You look like you could use this, Father,” Birdie said, handing him a glass of champagne.

  “Now, how did you know I was sitting here thinking about a glass of bubbly?”

  “I just knew,” Birdie said.

  His smile was sad, but, as always, warm and welcoming.

  “One of the nurses told me she met you lovely ladies today at Ocean View,” he said.

  Nell nodded. “They think highly of you over there, Father.”

  “Oh, my, highly can be overrated, Nellie.”

  “Your presence to those patients means a great deal. Even those like Ellie Harper—”

  “My sweet Ellie. She was a pleasure to be with, even though her life was not a real life, not lying in that bed for all those years.”

  “Not a full life, surely,” Birdie said. “Not like ours. I can’t quite imagine it.”

  “It’s hard to understand, isn’t it?” His head nodded, his meaning not clear. But he went on. “Someti
mes death is a release. Even when it’s unexpected. I understand how people have trouble with that, a conflict between moral imperatives, now, isn’t it? An ethical dilemma.”

  Izzy and Cass had walked up as Father Northcutt was thinking out loud.

  Ethical dilemma.

  Birdie looked at the others. The words rang out as they listened and heard, not Father Larry’s words, but Amber Harper’s.

  Amber’s quandary the night she asked for Birdie’s guidance. Exploring the right thing to do with the information she had.

  Birdie gazed at the kindly priest. Finally he looked up and met her eyes. “Sure and we all know it, Birdie. This has to be reconciled. Too many people’s lives are on hold because there is still a crime unsolved, justice unserved. And a motive that may not be honorable.” He looked around the room, then down at his hands, arthritis taking hold of his fingers as the lives of people he cared about took hold of his heart.

  A group of parishioners moved in to share a word with their pastor, and the women moved away, taking the priest’s words with them.

  “It’s very sad,” Birdie said. “But we’re here tonight for other reasons, not to be sad. There will be time for that.” With forced brightness, she suggested to Cass that they take to the dance floor.

  “Birdie Favazza, no one’s asked me to be their dance partner since high school. But let’s go—what’s that crazy thing you say—cut a rug?”

  But before they could move through the crowd, a familiar voice called out their names from the other direction. They turned around and looked into the smiling, excited face of Carly Schultz.

  Behind her was Andy Risso, lifting his shoulders and palms as if to wonder how this had all happened. How did all these people who were important to him know one another?

  Carly looked beautiful, her short blond hair bouncy, a bright green and red dress short and saucy. She hugged all four of them as if they’d been friends for a long time.

  “Andy’s my boyfriend,” she said proudly, tilting her head toward him.

  “This is the boyfriend?” Nell asked. “Our Andy?”

  “Of course. The one who visited Ellie with you sometimes.” Birdie clapped her hands, delighted with the connection.

  “We met at Ocean View. All the older patients love Andy, so I said to myself, ‘Hmm, I think those ladies have good taste. Maybe I should give him a look. So I did. And sure enough, they were right.” She laughed, a full and happy sound.

  “Well, we like him, too. You have absolutely wonderful taste, Carly,” Nell said.

  “Don’t get too full of yourself, Risso,” Cass warned. “I could tell Carly stories, you know.”

  Carly giggled. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw all of you across the room.” She looked at Nell. “I was going to have Andy take me to your house on our way home.”

  “Oh?” Nell said, but somehow she knew exactly what Carly was going to say.

  Carly opened her purse and pulled out a single sheet of paper, folded twice into a small, neat square. “I think it might smell like my perfume,” she said.

  Nell assured her that the perfume would only make it sweeter. She took the folded paper and slipped it into her purse. Thank you, Priscilla, she said silently. She patted the purse gently as if pushing a final puzzle piece in place.

  Cass watched the couple as they walked away, Andy’s arm holding her tight. “Who knew? Do you think our magic brings these things about?”

  “No,” Izzy said. “If it did, you and Danny would be married.” She pointed to the lobby and suggested they find a quiet spot.

  “What did she give you?” Cass asked.

  “The visitors’ log from Ocean View the day Ellie died.”

  “She must have sensed our disappointment earlier today and talked a security guard into letting her into the office,” Birdie said. “She’s a lovely girl. Andy is fortunate.”

  Nell took a deep breath and pulled the paper from her purse, then slowly, carefully unfolded it, smoothing out the wrinkles. Izzy took out her cell phone and clicked on the flashlight, carefully scanning the names.

  Ellie had had a banner day for visitors the day she died, just as they had been told. Beginning with her doctor in the morning, her priest. And her friends.

  And then a final visitor that night. The one who had ended Ellie Harper’s well-tended life with one swift movement.

  A plump pillow with tiny embroidered roses placed carefully over her mouth.

  Chapter 38

  Father Northcutt got the call a second before Cass’s phone pinged. And then Birdie’s.

  Mary Halloran had covered several bases, hoping someone at the party would answer.

  “Come,” she said.

  They all got the call, and no one asked “Come where?” It was December novena week and Our Lady of Safe Seas Church stayed open long hours. Mary Halloran would be there picking up stray bulletins, filling the holy-water fonts, and making sure people were orderly and didn’t fall off the prie-dieux. A December novena always brought in some homeless folks, which was why Mary insisted that Father Northcutt hold it in December—a nice reason to give people a warm place to go. And who knows, maybe they’d even light a candle or two while they were there.

  The church was just a few blocks from the historical museum, but Birdie suggested she find Father Northcutt a ride and the others run on ahead as fast as they could.

  Cass’s mother needed them.

  Their breaths plumed up into the frosty air as they raced through the small park and around the corner to the church. They pushed the heavy carved doors open and stepped into the stillness of the ornate church, its enormous ceiling rimmed in gold, the rows of old wooden pews polished to a high sheen.

  Before them was the long center aisle, which led to the solemn sanctuary at the front.

  They stood eerily still, not sure whether they were alone. The pews were empty, the low lights along the walls casting shadows onto the side aisles.

  A sound in the distance drew their attention toward the front of the church, where they spotted Mary Halloran standing alone on the top sanctuary step, talking out loud.

  “Who’s my ma talking to? God?” Cass whispered.

  They walked tentatively down the aisle, knowing instinctively that quiet was the best way. With one hand beckoning to them and no words, Mary Halloran urged them forth. Her eyes were focused elsewhere.

  As they approached the steps, they followed Mary’s look to the right, into a small recessed grotto where a life-sized statue stood on a small rise, her arms outstretched. Also standing on the platform and holding one of the statue’s hands was Helen Cummings.

  In her other hand she held a knife.

  She wobbled slightly, her eyes nearly shut. “Don’t come near me,” she pleaded, her head turning just enough to know there were several other people besides Mary Halloran watching her. She recognized Nell, and her face contorted.

  “A security guard told me what you were all up to,” she said, this time looking back at Mary. “I found out they got the sign-in sheets from Ocean View, the smarty-pants. Snoopy, like the daughter was. Amber should have left it alone, Mary. She should have. I told her that, that night at the Harbor. That’s all I wanted—to meet with her, to talk for just a few minutes. To explain. That’s all.” Her head began to move back and forth with the rhythm of her words.

  “The past is always best left alone, I told her. She was quiet, but for a minute, I thought she was listening. I thought she understood that her mother was better off. Her mother had no life in that bed. But I had a life. A life with Stuart.

  “But Amber just stared at me. A hard stare. It was painful to watch, so cold, and then she turned away from me, shunning me. And I knew she hadn’t heard. Or understood. She started to walk away from me, down the path. To walk away and ruin all our lives—”

  Her voice grew husky, deep
er, and from where they stood, it looked as though tears were streaming down her face.

  “I couldn’t let her go off like that, you know. She had her mother’s things. The pillow. My beautiful brooch. It must have stuck to the pillow that night. But when I couldn’t find it, I remembered where it must be. Ellie had no one here; it would surely get thrown out. Then her daughter came back to ruin my life—all our lives.”

  She looked out at Nell now, and her voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I didn’t want to hurt Amber—I only wanted to make her understand. But I could see in her eyes that she didn’t.”

  A banging of doors and a ruckus in the back of the church shattered the silence and for a moment, Helen lost her balance, her head leaning forward and one foot flying awkwardly in the air. But her hand held tight to the statue’s, and she managed to regain her footing.

  Birdie followed Father Northcutt down the aisle. But it was Stu Cummings who created the commotion, his heavy footsteps taking him to the front of the church in seconds. He stood near Nell.

  “Helen, get down from there,” he ordered. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  Nell looked over at him. His words were strong, his stance firm, and in his eyes was a pain so deep that she looked away.

  “Why did you come, Stuart?” Helen said. Her voice shook as she looked at her husband. “Please go away. I did it for you. It was all for you. It was the only way you would stop visiting her, a dead woman! But you kept going. Your mother told me it would stop. But it didn’t. Some nights I followed you, Stu. I knew from early on, from those nights in the Gull when she’d serve you beer. I saw how you looked at her when she was with Patrick. And then a miracle happened—the accident—and it solved everything.”

  She shook her head. “But it didn’t. She was still there, in that room filled with your flowers. Where you sat at her side.” Her head dropped. Finally, with great effort, she lifted it and focused on Stu. “You cared for me, Stu. All these years, you cared for me. But you loved her.”