Nell pulled into the circle drive in front of the Ocean’s Edge. The wide white porch that wrapped around the restaurant was filled with people. Surely someone would have seen the skateboarder.
Izzy hopped out and headed for the restaurant steps, but before she reached the entrance, Willow Adams and Pete came out, arms looped around each other. They nearly collided with Izzy’s fast-moving body.
“Whoa.” Pete reached out one hand to steady Izzy. “You must be awfully hungry, wild woman.”
“We’re looking for Gabby,” she said breathlessly. “Have you seen her?”
“Who’s Gabby?” Willow asked.
Izzy shook her head. “Silly. Of course you haven’t met her yet. She’s almost ten, dark hair. She might be lost.”
“Was she skinny and about this tall?” Pete asked, lifting his hand to Izzy’s shoulder.
Izzy nodded.
“With lotsa hair?” Willow asked. “And cruising like crazy on a skateboard?”
“That’s her.” Nell called from the car.
Beside her, Birdie released the air trapped in her lungs, her small body sinking back into the seat.
“I passed her riding along Canary Cove Road when I went to pick up Willow. She was hell on wheels speeding along that narrow strip. Not so safe with all the vacationers cruising the streets. I would have stopped, but I was late.”
“But she was still there when we headed back that way. Remember?” Willow said.
“Where, exactly?” Izzy asked.
“Near the community garden. She was near the fence where we planted the sunflowers.”
Birdie leaned through the passenger’s window. “Finnegan’s fence?”
Willow nodded. “She didn’t act like she was lost. She didn’t seem to be looking for help.”
“But then she disappeared,” Pete added.
“Disappeared?” Worry crept back into Birdie’s voice.
Pete shrugged. “I checked in the mirror before we turned off Canary Cove Road—just to be sure she wasn’t out in the road on that board. But she was gone.”
“Maybe she went on toward the Canary Cove shops,” Willow offered. “Jane and Ham’s gallery was still open.”
“No,” Birdie said suddenly.
Nell looked over at her. “No?”
“No. I think I know where she is.”
“Finnegan,” Cass and Izzy said in unison.
“Her new friend,” Nell said softly.
Willow frowned. “You mean she might have gone down to his place? Why would she do that?”
“That’s a good question,” Birdie said, more to herself than to anyone listening.
They waved good-bye and turned the CRV back down Harbor Road.
Nell drove slowly, careful of groups of vacationers who wandered back and forth across the main Sea Harbor street, seemingly unaware that the town had cars.
Once on Canary Cove Road, they peered into the shifting shadows that fell along the edges of the road. On either side of the winding strip, wavy sea grass turned ominous and the pounding of the surf filled their heads and hearts with impending danger.
Nell brought the car to a crawl as they approached the beginning of the rusty wire fence that surrounded Finnegan’s property.
There were no streetlights here, but finally, just as the wind whipped up and threw an empty soda can beneath the wheels of the car, its bright beams caught two figures walking slowly along the side of the road toward Canary Cove.
“Thank the lord,” Birdie murmured.
Finnegan turned around and shielded his eyes from the bright lights. He stepped to the easement, pulling the other figure along with him.
Gabby Marietti clutched a small blue-and-white cooler.
Nell pulled the car off the road and turned off the engine, leaving the lights on. They lit up the path of gravel and weeds, the rusty fence.
And Finnegan and Gabby—deer in the headlights. The large white bandage on Finnegan’s face caught the light and bounced it back.
Finnegan began ranting before they were out of the car.
“If that damn . . .” he stopped short, looked down at Gabby, then started in again, choosing his words carefully. “If those dagnabbit cops had minded their own business, I’d be driving the kid home. Here, and she’s skinned her knees nearly raw. Phone out of batteries. And I’m having to walk the girl to a phone in Canary Cove. Wicked stupid.”
Gabby looked up at him. Her face was stern. “I told you, Finn, I’m fine.”
“Fine, my foot. Look at you.” He pointed one crooked finger toward Gabby’s legs. Two awkward-looking bandages covered her knees—thick strips of gauze wrapped around her narrow leg several times and tied in a knot.
“Gabrielle,” Birdie began, the lines across her forehead turning into fissures.
“It’s nothing,” Gabby said. Her black hair flew around her head as she talked. “My dad says I’ll have scarred knees for the rest of my life. His wife says it’s unattractive.” She shrugged. “It’s part of the package. I’m a kid. I fall.”
“Where’s your board?” Cass asked.
“I threw it out,” Finnegan snapped. “Damn thing broke right in half.”
Gabby frowned but kept her thoughts to herself.
At least it wasn’t Gabby who broke in half, Nell thought. Finnegan may have unintentionally done them all a huge favor—skateboards and summer traffic didn’t mix very well. The shopkeepers’ association finally had banned them from Harbor Road during busy hours. She looked again at Gabby’s skinned knees and Finn’s attempt at bandaging. He’d tried to help her, tried to treat the superficial wounds. The man was a conundrum, but a kind one.
“It’s okay, Finn. No problem. I’ve got another board back home,” Gabby said.
Finnegan didn’t look worried about the skateboard, but his concern over the young girl was written all over his wrinkled face. “So you’ll be okay, kid? These ladies’ll get you home safe. They’re good folks.”
Gabby nodded. She held up the small cooler and said to no one in particular, “We went fishing after I crashed. Three cod. Finn thought it’d make me feel better.”
“In the dark?” Birdie placed one hand on Gabby’s shoulder, as if to grab on tightly if she made any move to run. But it was Finnegan her eyes bore into. What were you thinking, you crazy fool? they said.
“Don’t get your innards in an uproar, Birdie Favazza. It was her choice. The girl’s never fished. Not once.” He looked at Cass. “Patrick Halloran woulda done the same thing, and you damn well know it. Can’t let a girl grow up without catching a cod. It ain’t right.”
“You’re right, Finn,” Cass said. “A right of passage, my dad called it.” She placed a calming hand on his arm. “I remember fishing off your dock myself when I was a kid. Probably at night.”
“We could see all the way across the harbor,” Gabby said. “There were boats out there, and that one cool yacht with the bright blue stripe. Right, Finn?”
“I s’pose. Now, you sure you’re okay, kid?” he said, looking down at her knees.
Gabby frowned, one hand on her hip. “Course I am. I’ll have mine off sooner than yours.” She wrinkled her nose at him.
Birdie looked at the bandage on the side of Finn’s head. “I hope you’re taking care of that wound, Finnegan.”
Cass said, “The other guy looks a lot worse, I hear. Broken nose, no less.”
“Damn right, Cassoulet.” He managed a smile. “Bums have no right to take over my place.”
He looked down at Gabby, then back at the women hovering around him. “Important thing is keeping kids like Gabby safe. I’ve no use for the riffraff that hangs around here.”
Gabby looked at all of them, and for the first time seemed to sense the worry that had blanketed the group. Her dark brows pulled together and her voice softened when she looked at Birdie. “Were you guys worried, Nonna? It’s not like Central Park or anything. I was okay. I know how to watch out for myself.”
Nonna. The
word was still startling. It was a new identity, one that was foreign to Birdie just days ago. Nell looked over at her friend.
Birdie took a deep breath. And then she wrapped Gabby in a tight hug. “You’re freezing, child,” she said. “It’s time to go home.”
“I told her as much. Said you’d be wicked worried.” Finnegan shifted from one foot to the other. His worn black boots shuffled gravel as they moved. He looked down at the young girl at his side, and his craggy face softened. “I’ll turn you into a fisherman yet, kid. You’ll be as good as Cassoulet in no time.”
He nodded as if affirming his own words, then turned around and walked toward the gate that opened into his land. His head was low, his shoulders hunched.
In the distance, waving weeds were silhouetted against the lights of the art colony, and off to the right, the sea pounded a steady beat against the shore.
Birdie’s eyes trailed the lone figure as he made his way into the night. She took a step to follow him, her small sneakers crunching on the gravel.
Then she stopped and stood still. Her words, carried on the night breeze, were spoken to the fisherman’s retreating back.
“You’re a good person, Finnegan,” she said. “Thank you.”
Finnegan didn’t turn around or break his stride, but his head lifted slightly and his shoulders straightened.
And all of them knew he’d heard.
Chapter 6
It took Gabby Marietti one short week to wedge herself as tightly as a clam into the lives of Sea Harbor residents. With fresh bandages—colorful ones that Ella sent Harold out to buy—still crisscrossing her knees, the wild-haired girl tapped directly into the extraordinary empathy Sea Harbor residents were known for.
And she—along with Cass’ fleece vest—gave Finnegan new life. The two were often seen strolling the harbor, the winsome young girl in the green beanie and the old fisherman in the bright yellow knit fleece. He’d brushed away moisture in his eye when Cass had given it to him—“Damn bug in my eye,” he’d said—and slipped it on immediately, right over his old denim shirt.
And not a soul in town ever saw him without it again.
“Gabby looks good on that old pink Schwinn of yours,” Cass said.
“Doesn’t she, now? And she doesn’t seem to mind that it only has three gears. She and Harold spent an hour scrubbing and shining it up.” Birdie settled herself into a chair on the Artist’s Palate deck and pulled a half-finished floppy hat from her backpack.
“The bruises don’t seem to have held her back,” Nell said.
“That’s an understatement. I think Gabby knows more people in town than I do.”
They all knew that to be a gross exaggeration. Birdie Favazza knew everyone in Sea Harbor. And if a few managed to briefly escape her acquaintance, they knew who the gracious lady in the magnificent house on the hill was—and they knew how integral she was to the town.
“Have you told Nick about Gabby’s tumble?” she asked.
“Yes. He calls a couple times a day, wanting a complete report.”
“So he calls you often?” Izzy said. Her brows lifted and a mischievous grin followed.
Birdie leaned over and patted her hand. “Sweet Izzy, I think your dear Sam and married life have turned you into a hopeless romantic. I’m an antique, sweetie.”
Izzy held up both hands. “What? What did I say? It’s nice he talks to you, that’s all. Besides, what does age have to do with anything? And you’re not an antique. You’ll never be old.”
Birdie laughed. “I like Nick. I always have. Joseph used to tease me about him, wondering if I had married the wrong brother.”
“Did you?” Cass asked.
Birdie looked up, surprised at the abruptness of Cass’ question. Then she laughed. “Of course not. I probably shouldn’t have married anyone at that point in my life. It was full to the brim. But Joseph was convincing.”
And he was very much in love with Birdie Favazza, according to all reports.
Everyone in town knew about Birdie’s unexpected wedding to the dashing Italian businessman. He was absolutely smitten with her, people said. Devoted. And apparently didn’t mind living in the shadow of Sonny Favazza, the man who had stolen Birdie’s heart decades before and, even in death, still had possession of it.
“What did Joseph do for a living?” Izzy asked. “You never talk about him. Was he retired?”
Birdie waved one hand in the air. “Oh, it was such a long time ago.”
“Not that long,” Nell said.
“It seems like it sometimes. A lifetime. What did he do. . . . ?” Birdie wrinkled her forehead in thought. “Joseph and I had separate financial lives. It’s easier that way when you marry at our age. We both had more money than we knew what to do with and decided not to mix it up. A prenuptial before it was in vogue, I guess you’d say. So we didn’t bother each other about our investments and business dealings. His was a family business—antique imports. Lovely pieces, I remember from the pictures he showed me. There was a warehouse in New York and one in Italy. Joseph did the paperwork and record keeping and that sort of thing, so he could be anywhere. He had a little office down on the water, which was all he needed.” She frowned, as if thinking back to that time, trying to clear her memory, to bring it back crisp and clear.
“Yes, that’s right. After we married, Joseph suggested once, just once, that he might use my den—Sonny’s den—for his business, but I rightly refused and he very nicely agreed, saying he’d probably be better in his own place anyway. So he found a nice little office down near the harbor.” Birdie smiled at the memory. “He loved the smell of the sea and the sounds of fishermen picking up their bait and taking their boats out to sea. He said he never had that kind of feeling in New York or back in Florence. He always felt hemmed in.”
“Is Nick his older brother?”
“No, younger,” Birdie said, her fingers automatically wrapping the yarn around her needle. “Nick came to our wedding—a small affair—but his life was in California. He didn’t seem to have any interest in the family business that Joseph was involved in. I don’t think Nicky got along with his mother very well. He came to the States to go to medical school and went back to Italy rarely, as far as I know.”
“Has he said when he’ll be coming back for Gabby?” Nell asked.
“As soon as he can. He feels terrible about abandoning her, but I’ve assured him that Sea Harbor is truly the kind of village that helps raise children. I’m already wondering what Harold and Ella will do when she leaves. They adore her.”
Emotion flitted across Birdie’s face. Harold and Ella weren’t the only ones who would miss Gabrielle Marietti.
“She’s a good kid. As Finn would say, she’s not half bad—the ultimate compliment.” Cass lifted one leg across the bench to sit down, then frowned at the wet edges of her jeans. “Damn. Occupational hazard,” she mumbled, a frown pulling her dark brows together.
“You’ve already been out on the Lady Lobster?” Nell asked. She looked down at the stain of seawater dampening the jeans’ cuff. Cass was rarely completely dry.
“I went out early to check the traps in the cove. I like it early—no one bothers me. It’s my time to meditate.”
Cass had probably been up at dawn, meditation or not. There was always work to do. And she’d be going out later, too, baiting and checking traps, just like her father before her.
“Gabby brought me her pattern for that crazy beanie,” Izzy said. She pulled a pink sock out of her bag and began turning a row. Socks were her travel projects, her half-finished hoodie left behind. “She’s going to help teach a kids’ class to make one. I think they’ll love having someone their own age involved. She’s also been scavenging through my bins of scrap yarn for a new project, she says. She won’t tell me what she’s making, though—says it will be the coolest surprise.”
“From what I’ve gathered, Sophie the cook is her best friend. Gabby loves her,” Birdie said.
“Finn is giving
the cook serious competition. He’s crazy about Gabby,” Cass said. “I’ve never seen him so soft and mushy.”
Nell laughed. They were an odd couple, for sure. She’d spotted them on Monday, sitting on a bench across the street from Izzy’s shop, eating ice cream. The sparkle in Finnegan’s eye was a welcome change from the defensive look he’d been wearing at the city council meeting not too many days before. Maybe Gabby was their secret weapon to get him to clean up his yard.
“She seems to have gotten through to him in a way few of us have,” Birdie said. “Except maybe for you and your mom, Cass.”
“Gabby doesn’t want anything from him, that’s why.” Cass said. “Neither do we. Besides, he likes Ma’s Irish stew.”
That was true. So many people wanted a piece of Finnegan these days. They wanted him gone from a piece of land he loved. Maybe even gone from the town. Nell thought about the harsh tones the Delaneys and Beatrice Scaglia had used at the meeting.
All Gabby wanted from him was his company—and maybe the use of his fishing pole now and then.
“But even those of us who don’t want anything from him aren’t always made to feel welcome,” Birdie reminded Cass. “I’ve often wondered what that’s all about. It’s a mystery to me. I’ve known Finnegan forever. We’re friends, of a sort. But after Moira died, I’d try to take things over now and then—a pot roast, smoked salmon. He was getting so thin, it seemed to me. But I learned my lesson. I wasn’t welcome. Might hurt myself on all the clutter, and there was poison ivy everywhere, he said, but that was an excuse, I always thought. And shortly after that he built a giant mailbox near the gate and told me that he’d sure welcome Ella’s pot roast if I ever had a mind to give him some. I could just leave it in the box, he said.”
A Fatal Fleece: A Seaside Knitters Mystery Page 5