A Fatal Fleece: A Seaside Knitters Mystery

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Gabby pointed at a small life vest hanging from a post.

  “Finn got that at McClucken’s for me. He made me wear it when we fished.”

  Nell watched the happiness in Gabby’s eyes. She didn’t see the rusty, broken-down appliances, the smashed cans and broken windows. Instead, she saw what Finn must have seen: the beauty of plants meeting the sea, and the happy memories that she and an old man had created in the middle of it.

  A young reflection of Moira, thinking it was the most beautiful spot in the entire world.

  No wonder Finn loved this child.

  They walked around the house and looked down to the dock where Finnegan had kept his boat.

  “That’s where kids fish sometimes,” Gabby said. “Finn didn’t like it because he was afraid they’d fall off. It was okay for me to do it because he was with me.”

  Nell looked down at the dock, and in her mind’s eye, she saw the three teenage boys huddled together, watching a stranger move through Finn’s house, a flashlight moving from window to window, room to room. She looked up at the second-floor apartment that Finn had renovated for his wife. Skylights were still in place, though it was difficult to see if they were broken. A deck, leaning precariously to one side, fronted a wall of windows overlooking the water. It must have been a beautiful place.

  The dock was similar to the one near the Artist’s Palate, probably built around the same time and both in need of a good carpenter. She thought of Beverly coming around the fence and seeing her father on the dock with Gabby. Then arguing with him. Being chastised for something that went against Finn’s moral code, whatever that might be. And adding insult to injury, her getaway thwarted by tripping on the path, thick and slippery with dead seaweed.

  Beverly coming . . . Beverly fleeing. And in between the two, getting a lay of her father’s land.

  “Can’t you just see why Finn loved it here?” Gabby tossed a stone down into the water. “And why he went ballistic when people tried to take it away from him?”

  “I certainly can,” Birdie said. “There’s a kind of peace here. That must be what Finn found.”

  “Yes, he did,” Gabby said, excited to have someone understand.

  The realization that Gabby had been on the property before they arrived suddenly occurred to them. “But what were you doing back here, sweetie?” Birdie asked.

  Gabby had appeared out of the brush like Puck. Their own mischievous woodland elf.

  She seemed surprised at the question. “I brought flowers.”

  “Flowers?” Birdie looked back at the house.

  “Not there. There.” Gabby tossed her head, pointing toward some bushes, scrub trees, and a broken door leaning against a stump. “Finn used to do it, so now I do it for him.”

  “Where are the flowers?”

  “Back there,” Gabby said. She walked past the women and headed toward the broken door, then around two overgrown euonymus bushes. Though thick with weeds, there were signs of a pathway that led farther back into the brush.

  Nell and Birdie followed the quickly moving child.

  In a small clearing, barely identifiable as such, Gabby had put a handful of daylilies in an old bottle and leaned it up against a tree. Beyond the tree was a hole, carelessly filled in with dirt and debris.

  A hole from which a casket had been recently removed.

  Chapter 28

  It wasn’t yet lunchtime, but the day felt full, with chunks of a puzzle falling onto the ground, waiting for order.

  Gabby said she was off to Willow’s to work on some things for the Garden Celebration.

  She hadn’t offered more information about the flowers, just that she’d seen Finn take flowers into the woods and come back without them. He never let her come along, she said. “Maybe he talks to the woodland nymphs. I do that sometimes.”

  But Nell and Birdie suspected it was more than woodland nymphs that lured Finnegan into the woods.

  They made their way back up the drive and climbed into Nell’s car. “Where do we start?” Nell asked, pulling back into traffic. “It’s as if a storm has tossed pieces of people’s lives—and deaths—up in the air. Now all we need to do is put them into an order that makes sense.”

  “How about we talk to Father Northcutt? He’s wise—and old. He’s seen a lot.”

  Nell nodded. Father Northcutt knew as much about Finn as anyone. Perhaps he knew some secrets about Moira, as well.

  Birdie checked her watch. “We’ll lure him with the promise of food.”

  She took out her phone and punched in Father Larry’s number. Mary Halloran answered, as she usually did, her sweet Irish lilt a pleasure to hear. “The good father is with a parishioner,” she said, “but he has no luncheon plans.” She assured Birdie there was nothing he’d like better than having lunch with her and Nell. She would see to it that he was at the Ocean’s Edge in thirty minutes.

  “That gives us time for a stop,” Nell said. “I’ve been curious about the people checking out the deed to Finn’s property. We already know Nick visited the deed office. But Sal was hesitant to tell me much more. He should have been a priest, the way he holds confidences so close.”

  “Even when he doesn’t have to,” Birdie said. “I think Beatrice trains him to keep everything in their life confidential so she’ll never have to worry about little things leaking out and surprising her during some campaign.”

  Nell laughed. “A wise woman, perhaps.”

  Parking karma, Birdie called it, when a parking spot magically appeared right in front of the city office building.

  And the karma walked inside with them, for when they opened the door to the register of deeds annex, a young woman sat in Sal’s place, her head buried in an open chemistry book. There’d be no need to finesse their way around Sal Scaglia.

  The college student looked up and a smile instantly lit her pretty face. “Yay! Nell and Birdie, two of my favorite people in the whole wide world.” She jumped up, nearly toppling the chair.

  Birdie hugged her. “Dear Janie. Now, what in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

  Janie Levin held up the textbook. “Studying organic chem. Next-to-last semester of nursing school,” she said proudly. Then she looked around and pointed to the desk. “Oh, but you mean here. I’m a substitute gal Friday. That’s what my boyfriend calls me.” She laughed. “This office needed some major computer upgrades, so I’m doing that, bringing them up to the twenty-first century. Or at least trying to. And I do pretty much anything else they need me to do around the offices. Great summer job, especially on days like this when I get to study.”

  Nell hugged her warmly. “We’re very proud of you, you know. Tommy tells me—and everyone he sees—how well you’re doing in school.”

  Janie blushed. She and policeman Tommy Porter had been dating for a while now, and Nell suspected that a diamond would arrive before nursing school graduation, but an engagement wouldn’t alter Janie’s plans one iota. She was the first in her family to go to college, and sweet Tommy was as proud of her as if he’d single-handedly made it happen.

  “What brings you two into this musty old office? I told Sal that it was unhealthy in here, and I made him open every single window. Years ago, before people knew any better, someone used to smoke in here. I can still smell it. I can. It’s in the books and that carpet around the computers and those old upholstered chairs. It’s dreadful.”

  If Janie’s enthusiasm for disease, health, and diagnosis of her friends and neighbors matches her grades, she will graduate with the highest honors, Nell thought. “So, Sal’s not here?” she asked.

  “Sal? Nope. He just left. So for today, I’m him. Sitting in his chair, anyway.” She looked sheepish, then laughed. “And studying my organic chem. But enough about me. How are you two, and what brings you in here? Would you like to look at some deeds? A little local history? A . . .”

  Nell laughed at Janie’s antics, swinging her arms theatrically toward the computers and the wall of dusty books.
/>   “Actually, it’s simpler than that. We’d like to see the sign-in book that Sal keeps.”

  “That’s it? Easy as pie. Here.” She picked up a lined tablet from the desk and handed it over to them. “But don’t sit in those upholstered chairs. Try the wooden chairs at the table. Less germs.”

  They thanked her and moved to the library table, sitting down and opening the book, leafing back over the past few weeks. There was Nicholas Marietti, signing in with his distinctive scrawl. Sal made people indicate what they were looking for in another column, along with time in and time out. Nick was looking up the deed to the Francis Finnegan property, it said, and he stayed exactly one hour. As far as they could tell, that was his only visit.

  Birdie ran her finger over the columns, backing up to a couple of weeks before Finnegan died and taking it up to the most recent entries. Lots of developers’ names checking out Finnegan’s place—Davey Delaney, some Boston companies, some investment bankers.

  Birdie’s finger stopped: Beverly Walden was written clearly on several different dates. They checked across the rows to see what she was interested in: Canary Cove deeds one day, Francis Finnegan land another, some random places. All in all, they came across ten entries for Beverly Walden, even including the property on which she lived, and a couple of refurbished homes in the most expensive neighborhood in Sea Harbor.

  Birdie looked at Nell. “How strange.”

  “Indeed.” Nell slipped her glasses back into her purse and scribbled a few notes on the tiny notepad she kept in the bag, and they quietly exited the office, careful not to disturb Janie, her head once again buried in organic chemistry.

  “We need to keep our thoughts going in a straight line,” Birdie said as they drove the few blocks to the Ocean’s Edge. “I feel we’re going in too many directions.”

  “But there’s overlap in all of this. The body in Finn’s yard. His murder. His changing his will. Nick’s interest in the land.”

  “I hope not too much overlap,” Birdie said.

  Nell knew what Birdie was thinking. Not enough to implicate Nicholas Marietti in anything more serious than . . . More serious than what?

  A boatload of questions—and not even a tugboat of answers.

  Father Northcutt had already arrived and was seated in his favorite booth when they walked into the restaurant.

  Jeffrey Meara, who had tended bar for at least thirty years at the Ocean’s Edge and probably knew as many secrets as Father Larry, said the priest had already ordered his favorite stout and they should go right on back.

  The priest greeted them effusively, his broad hands grasping theirs. “To what do I owe this extraordinary pleasure, my darlin’s?”

  A waitress appeared before they could answer. Birdie and Nell ordered the salmon salad special with glasses of iced tea. Father Larry would have his usual, he said, and the waitress beamed.

  Nell frowned at him. “Father . . .” she began.

  “I know, I know, dear Nellie. It’s that nasty cholesterol beast you fear. But I promise you that Mary Halloran, bless her sweet soul, insists on stuffing my refrigerator with lettuce and uncooked vegetables most days, so this is a treat I save to complement the pleasure of dining with two such beautiful women.”

  “Father,” Birdie said sweetly, “you’re full of it.”

  The waitress laughed at Birdie’s choice of words, then went off to place their order: two salad specials and a grilled filet mignon, rare as a bottle of Midleton’s, with just a hint of béarnaise sauce drizzled on top.

  They talked about the weather, the influx of vacationers, and the upcoming Garden Celebration before settling into their steak and salmon and the real reason they were there.

  “A question for you,” Nell began. “Did you officiate at Moira Finnegan’s funeral?”

  “Oh, sure, and I did. Moira was a wonderful lady. So generous to the church and she never missed a Sunday.”

  “Where was she buried?” Birdie asked. “I vaguely remember the funeral. But I can’t remember much of what followed.”

  “Old St. Mary’s Cemetery, out near the quarries. A beautiful place to put someone to rest. Lots of trees. I visit her grave now and again. It’s on a rise in the land beneath a huge hawthorn tree, a wee bit of ocean visible in the distance.”

  Birdie agreed that Moira would love an ocean-view resting place. She dearly loved the water.

  “Finn wasn’t as attentive as others,” Father Larry went on. “Some people aren’t, you know; the grave is simply a place to bury a body. Sure, and that’s fine, as long as they hold the loved one in their heart, I say. But no matter what, I like a well-tended grave, so I take fresh flowers out to Moira now and again.”

  Although the gentle priest’s comments were not exactly what she and Birdie were expecting, they filed them away in their heads to pull apart later. They’d come in expecting one answer, but would leave with another.

  The chunks of rare salmon were flavored with a lemon tarragon dressing, and Nell tried to pick out the ingredients. It would make a perfect dish for the knitting group some night. She mentally recorded: lemon, wine, tarragon, and a tiny bit of good mayonnaise.

  Father Larry was devouring his steak bite by bite, with obvious enjoyment. Nell waited until he’d finished a bite, then slipped in another question.

  “Have you heard the rumors surrounding that body on Finn’s land? You don’t think he killed anyone, do you, Father?”

  “Did our Finnegan have anything to do with that grave? It’s a mighty perplexing question.” Father Larry took another bite of steak and chewed it thoughtfully.

  “I can imagine that an accident might have occurred back there,” Nell said. “A drifter, maybe, trespassing through unfamiliar land, and for whatever reason, he accidentally died. Maybe Finn left a rake in a bad spot, or a piece of rusty something-or-other. But what doesn’t fit into anything I know about Finnegan is covering it up by burying the man back there.”

  Father Larry was nodding as Nell talked. He sliced off another bite of steak while listening carefully and thoughtfully.

  “He couldn’t have lived with that kind of deception,” Birdie added. “And that’s the truth. He couldn’t have. And you know that, too, Father.” Her fork stabbed the air as she talked.

  “So the question is this: who, in heaven’s name, was buried in that grave?” Nell’s words hung over the leather booth.

  The theory that someone was seeking revenge on Finnegan for a long-ago crime was weak, Father Northcutt admitted. “I don’t think the police buy it, either, though nothing’s been ruled out. Why would someone come back all these years later? That body had been there for years. Doesn’t quite make good sense, now, does it?”

  The waitress cleared their plates and returned with a dessert tray filled with sugary delights. Much to Nell’s surprise, Father Northcutt demurred, but his look of longing following the disappearing tray was so intense, Birdie and Nell half expected the tray to be pulled back by sheer desire.

  “Enough is enough. Right, Nell?” he said, his eyes still lusting after a piece of banana cream pie. “Of course, the fact that I have a meeting with your fine husband in ten minutes might have something to do with my sudden restraint.” Laughter filled the booth, offering a nice sorbet ending to the discussion—a gentle cleansing of the palate, washing away the unpleasant things they’d touched upon.

  But as they walked past the bar, waved to the bartender, and walked into the sunshine, Birdie brought them back on topic once more.

  “Just one more question. Something that’s been bothering me. Did Moira Finnegan have any health problems that you remember? Before she got cancer, I mean.”

  Father Northcutt gave the question some thought, his white brows pulling together and his head leaning slightly to one side. “None that I can remember,” he said. “She was as sweet and pretty and delicate as an Irish rose. A blooming healthy lady, I believe she was.

  “Except for the teeth, of course.”

  Chapter 29r />
  It was Father Northcutt’s final comment that triggered Birdie’s memory.

  “It was like turning the lights on. There it was, all of a sudden, a perfect memory of that funny little dentist. “Suddenly I can see him as clearly as if he were right in front of me,” she told Nell as they drove through the streets of Sea Harbor. “And I can imagine him and Moira, too.”

  Lunch was followed by a trip to the post office to mail some letters and a stop at the library to return a stack of books before heading over to M.J.’s salon. While they drove, Birdie shared her suspicions about the dentist.

  “But they’re only suspicions,” she reminded Nell, after going through her parade of memories of Dr. Pulaski. “They need a day or two to percolate.”

  “But I think we’re on to something.” Nell made a mental note to ask Ben that evening about the body that had been exhumed. Perhaps he would have the key that would turn the lock. It would be nice to be able to excuse one more person from the lineup.

  They pulled up in front of the hair salon and parked. Nell picked up some shampoo, and Birdie had a scheduled appointment with M.J.’s new masseuse.

  Cass and Izzy had teased her about it, but Birdie insisted the woman was marvelous and her gentle manipulations were lowering her blood pressure. “And she says I have good bone structure,” Birdie added proudly.

  The door of the salon opened as they approached, and Beverly Walden walked out, squinting as she adjusted to the bright sunlight.

  At first Nell and Birdie weren’t absolutely sure who it was.

  Beverly’s hair was lightened considerably, with dramatic highlights woven in. Her shoulder-length style had been cut in a layered, feathery way, with a loose fringe of bangs swinging across her forehead. It was a dramatic departure from the simple, more conservative hairdo that had been hers since she moved to Sea Harbor.

  “Goodness,” Birdie said. “Imagine running into you twice today. You look lovely, Beverly.”

  “I needed a change.”

  “Well, it’s quite a nice one. M.J. does a wonderful job.”