A Fatal Fleece: A Seaside Knitters Mystery

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “And Beverly?”

  “She must have known the same thing that got Finnegan killed. Maybe she even knew it up-front and personal.” Angus stroked his beard, choosing his words carefully.

  “Desperation and fear can drive a truly bad deed. And once you’ve done it, a smaller threat could tip the cart, precipitate another bad act. Like a bad habit. Lie once; the second time is easier.”

  And the third easier than that?

  Gabby had gone down to a narrow stretch of beach, and they watched her bend low, her hands on her knees, searching for glints of glass.

  Angus looked at Birdie. “Look at how carefully she searches the beach and picks up the pieces that look like sea glass. Some will end up being plain old glass with sharp edges.”

  “Throwaways,” Izzy said.

  “Not always,” he answered. Then he sat back and scraped up bits of egg with a piece of biscuit.

  “You said there’s been traffic on the island recently. There’s not much over there to see, is there?” Birdie asked.

  “Nope, not much, but it’s a good place to find privacy, at least at night. Except for the little stretch of beach where people picnic and look for sea glass, it’s rocky and a good place to get out of the limelight. Finn’s boat has made a few visits.”

  “Recently?” Nell asked.

  He nodded.

  “So, that’s where she goes,” Birdie murmured.

  He nodded again.

  “What about the night she died?” Izzy asked.

  “Yep. But never saw her leave, not that I would have. Like I told the police, sleeping’s more important to me these days than keeping track of wayward sailors. But it was Finn’s boat I saw—I was sure of that. The purple Moira.”

  “Did you see another boat?”

  “Nope. But if a boat came in from the other side, I wouldn’t have seen it.”

  They looked at the island for a long time and thought of the righteous Finn, wanting to right the wrongs of the world.

  By the time Gabby came back up the hill, her hands and pockets full of new treasures, the motive for murder seemed more real, as polished as a piece of sea glass.

  But Angus’ message echoed clear. Watch out for the throwaways.

  Chapter 38

  Cass sometimes took Mondays off, a habit started a long time ago when she realized other people didn’t and she could plan her day around herself. But when she met Nell at Izzy’s shop that morning, she wanted to plan it around finding a murderer.

  Birdie had brought a coffee cake to the back room, while Mae handled customers in the main shop—shoppers mesmerized by the display of luscious garden-colored yarn, who wandered in the store wanting some of everything. Izzy had given an excited Jillian and Rose bonuses because of all the business their display had generated.

  The back of the shop was quiet, with no classes scheduled that morning. Cass sliced the cake into pieces and slid them onto small plates.

  At the other end of the table, Nell pulled out Gabby’s sweater and spread it out. “Once I get these loose threads woven in, I will have a sweater. Or, rather, Gabby will.”

  They stood around the table, looking at it. In the beginning it had been a nice gesture for a new granddaughter; now it was a lovely purple sweater, perfect for a young girl who had woven her way tightly into their lives and hearts.

  “She’ll love it,” Birdie said, her words slightly choked.

  Izzy tugged on a thread to smooth out a loose stitch. “And with her green beanie, she’ll certainly make a fashion statement. I’m going to have to stock up on the pattern and the yarn to meet the demand.”

  They didn’t mention Gabby leaving. It hadn’t come up in recent days and no one asked, as if without a reminder, it wouldn’t happen. Nick was no longer a person of interest. He had simply been cleaning out his brother’s files in the old office, he told the local police, and Birdie confirmed that it was Joseph’s place. “Better late than never,” she had said to Jerry Thompson, her smile discouraging further questions.

  But though he was free to leave Sea Harbor, he didn’t.

  “Davey Delaney was at the Gull last night when we went in to watch the end of the Sox game,” Izzy said, pulling their thoughts back to the matter at hand. She swallowed a bite of crumbly cake.

  “Was he alone?” Nell asked.

  “Yes and no. Davey comes alone but flirts his way into any group that’ll take him.”

  “And Kristen?” Birdie asked.

  “No. She doesn’t like noisy bars—or baseball. She says it works out great, though. They are fine with separate interests.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “Yes. I asked straight out if he knew Beverly Walden, and he said no. That kind of ended the conversation.”

  “Those were expensive flowers to send to someone you don’t know,” Cass said. “He’s lying.”

  Birdie frowned. “This isn’t stacking up well for Davey. We know he sent her flowers. And you saw them together in what looked like a romantic way—something Finn might have seen, too, and thought Beverly was breaking up a family.”

  “Add to that that Kristen was out of town the night Finn died. He could have taken their dinghy around to the dock and come up on land that way,” Nell said.

  “And maybe it wasn’t the inheritance he was after. He wanted the land—and thought if he romanced her, she’d sell it to him.”

  “But when it wasn’t going to be hers, she became a handicap,” Cass said. “And, worse, maybe she started making demands on him or threatened to tell Kristen.”

  “There’s one thing that doesn’t fit, though,” Izzy said. She looked at Nell.

  “Remember Sam’s photo of Beverly at the Fish concert? Remember the man’s hand?”

  Nell nodded.

  “Well, Davey wasn’t wearing a wedding ring last night. I checked. I don’t think he ever has.”

  They looked down at the soft sea of purple cotton on Nell’s lap. In the distance, the sound of customers grew louder.

  The wedding ring wasn’t a deal breaker, they decided. Maybe the glint was something else.

  Mae Anderson stuck her head into the room. “There’s a group that wants to knit and gossip. Is that okay?”

  “Of course,” Izzy said, and began cleaning up the crumbs from the table. She looked up to greet a chatty group of women who frequented the shop and loved the comfortable knitting space in the back. “A home away from home,” was the way one woman put it. “With the added benefit of not having husbands or teenagers underfoot.”

  The athletic group bounded down the steps in tennis shorts and exercise pants, tan and fit. “Izzy, you’re our haven,” a woman named Louise said. “Don’t ever leave us.”

  Kristen Delaney was next, followed by an acquaintance of Nell’s from the museum board, and Elliot Danvers’ older sister, Sharon.

  Kristen walked over and gushed over Nell’s sweater as she began to fold it. “That’s absolutely beautiful, Nell. My ten-year-old, Sasha, would love it. It would match her room. All purple, even the ceiling.”

  They laughed.

  “I still have a few skeins left,” Izzy said. “The yarn is heavenly. You’ll want to sleep with it.”

  “Izzy says you spend a lot of time in here,” Nell said to Kristen as the others settled themselves in the comfortable chairs around the fireplace.

  “A lot of money, for sure. Izzy hooked me. It’s like an addiction. But I have three kids and they actually love the fishermen-knit sweaters I make. They keep them toasty on the boat.”

  Kristen laughed easily, and Nell wondered briefly how she put up with Davey. But maybe it was the difference of interests—Davey spending time in Jake Risso’s bar or on his boat, and Kristen having weekends away with friends. People had different ways of making marriages work. And for all the unpleasant thoughts Nell had heard about Davey Delaney, she found herself hoping that he wasn’t guilty of this horrific crime that would surely devastate this nice woman wanting to knit a purple sw
eater for her daughter.

  “I hear you had a weekend away,” Izzy said from across the table. “We missed you at the Scaglias’ party.”

  “We had a great time,” Sharon called over from her chair.

  “And we have the tans to show it,” Louise added. “It was a bit of heaven. No kids. No husbands. Plenty of sun and wine and music.”

  “Where was this magical place?” Cass asked.

  “The sea,” Kristen said, laughing. “I am turning all my friends into sailors so we can escape. We sailed down the coast, stopping wherever we felt like it. Taking the dinghy in to shore for great meals.”

  “So, Davey’s not the only boat lover in the family,” Nell said.

  The group in the background burst into laughter.

  Kristen put out a hand to calm down her friends. “What they’re saying, in their raucous way, has to be a class-A secret. It cannot leave this room.”

  “Of course,” Izzy said. “Mum’s the word.”

  “The truth is, my macho husband, Davey, doesn’t sail. In fact, a short ride in the dinghy makes him seasick. His dad bought that gorgeous boat for us when Davey landed some big job, but he’s never been out on it. I’m the one who loves it. Me and the kids—”

  “And your friends,” Sharon said.

  “Yes, and my friends. But Davey won’t sail with us, though he’d never in a million years tell anyone. He thinks it’d make him look wimpy.”

  “Well, that was a surprise,” Birdie said when they left the shop a short while later. They walked down the street to Nell’s car.

  “Without a boat, how would Beverly’s affair have happened, assuming it was with Davey, anyway? It adds a new twist to things.”

  “I don’t think we can eliminate him completely, though. Maybe . . . maybe he says he is seasick to throw Kristen off?” Cass said.

  “Frankly, I can’t imagine Davey falling for someone like Beverly Walden when he has a wife like Kristen,” Izzy said. “I like her a lot, and I think the two of them actually have a decent relationship. They give each other a lot of room.”

  “But what about the flowers? And the lunches people saw them having?”

  Izzy walked with them as far as the car. “I’m leaving work early today. How about we meet at your house, Aunt Nell? Sam and Ben are sailing with Jerry Thompson. Maybe they’ll bring back something to throw into this messy stew.”

  They agreed, and waved her off to a noontime class on finishing details.

  “I need to run a photo over to Sal. Are you two game? Maybe we can look at that list of deeds Beverly was so interested in during her visits. When we were there the first time, she was still alive, and we were looking for different things.”

  They left the car parked at the curb and walked the few short blocks to the three-story stone building. Mondays were busy at the courthouse, but Sal Scaglia’s office would probably be quiet. And most likely empty.

  As they walked down the short hall, Beatrice walked out, a surprised look on her face as she came face-to-face with Nell, Birdie, and Cass.

  “Hello,” she managed. “I don’t often see you over here.” Her voice was slightly accusatory.

  “We need to check a few things in the deed’s office,” Birdie said. “That’s all.”

  Beatrice’s hand was still on the doorknob. For a moment she looked as though she wasn’t going to let them go in.

  “Oh?” she asked. “Is it something I could help you with?”

  “I am sure you have better things to do, Beatrice, but it’s a kind offer. I think we’ll be fine. Is Sal in?”

  “Sal?” she asked, as if she wasn’t quite sure who they were talking about. She looked back at the closed door, the frosted glass with REGISTER OF DEEDS ANNEX printed across it.

  “Oh. He’ll be back in a minute. He must have gone to the restroom.”

  Beatrice managed a smile, checked her watch, and then excused herself quickly for a meeting, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she disappeared around the corner.

  They turned at the sound of a door swinging shut at the other end of the hall. Sal Scaglia stepped into view. He stopped short, seeing the women collected at his office door. Then, with a puzzled look, he walked toward his office.

  “Greetings, ladies. This is unexpected,” he said. He held the door open for them, then walked around the desk and sat down. A pharmacy lamp cast a yellow light across the sign-in notebook. He looked up, then pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled. “What can I do for you?”

  His glasses slipped again. He apologized and took them off.

  “Mine do the same thing,” Nell said. “Are they new? You have a different look today.”

  “These?” He shook his head. “No, it’s an old pair. I can’t find the other ones. The curse of bad eyesight, I guess. So, how can I help you? I have only two computers working today, but I suppose you could share one. You’ll need to sign in here.” He pointed to the notebook.

  “Actually, we don’t need the computers today,” Nell said.

  Sal sat back. He tented his fingers. “If you . . . if you are wanting more information about Nicholas Marietti, I don’t feel I . . .”

  Nell smiled. “No, Sal. I appreciate your respect for people’s privacy. I promise not to ask you about Nick. But I do have a question about someone else. It’s about Beverly Walden.”

  Sal frowned. “The woman who was killed?”

  “Yes. We know that she was in here looking some things up and—”

  “In here?” Sal’s frown deepened. “I saw the photo in the paper, but I don’t remember seeing her before. Are you sure you saw her here?”

  “We didn’t actually see her,” Birdie explained. “But she signed the book. In fact, it seems she was in here several times.”

  “In here?” Sal sat back, thinking. “I suppose it’s possible, but I think I’d have remembered, at least once her name was in the paper.”

  “Well, it will be in the book, so maybe that will trigger a memory,” Cass said.

  “Of course. That’s right. Do you know when she was here? What day or week?” He reached for the notebook.

  “She was here several times over the last month or two,” Nell said. “As many as ten, I think.”

  Sal’s frown deepened. “Odd,” he murmured. He put his glasses back on and opened the book. Carefully, he turned page after page, slowly running his finger down each line. After covering two weeks, he looked up and shook his head. “I don’t see her name. Could she have signed in with a different one?”

  Nell looked at Birdie. “That’s crazy. We saw her name . . . Maybe earlier?” she suggested.

  Sal dutifully turned several more pages, and again, line by line, searched for Beverly’s name. Finally, he looked up. “I’m sorry. I don’t see it anywhere.” He rubbed his forehead.

  “So, you don’t remember her ever being in the office?”

  “No. Maybe if I looked at the newspaper photo again,” he offered. “I’ve had some help this summer so I could take a day off every now and then. Let me ask Janie and get back to you.”

  “May I?” Nell took the book out of Sal’s hands before he could protest. She flipped through it, frowned, then looked again more carefully. Finally, she closed the book and handed it back to him. “Maybe we were mistaken. We’re sorry for wasting your time, Sal.”

  “It’s always a pleasure to have you come in,” he said. “It’s usually quiet in here.”

  They turned to go, and then Nell remembered the photograph. She pulled the photo envelope from her purse. “I almost forgot. Sam Perry asked me to give you this.”

  Sal took the envelope and pulled out the photograph of his boat. His face brightened as he looked at the photo, his usual quiet demeanor melting into one of pure pride. Sam had mounted the photo on foam core, ready to be matted and framed.

  “May I see?” Cass asked.

  Sal handed it to her, a proud parent showing off a snapshot of a newborn.

  “What a beauty,” Cass said.


  Sam had captured in crisp detail the polished teak trim of the deck, the leather seats and shiny chrome accents, its deep blue sheen. Cass looked at it closely, then handed it back. “I’d love to go out on her sometime.”

  “Just name the day,” Sal said, taking the photo back and looking at it again. “Sam’s good. He captures everything.” He held it closer, pushing his glasses up his nose. A puzzled look shadowed his face. Then quickly he slipped the photo back into the envelope and looked up. “Thanks, Nell. And thank Sam for me. Now I guess I’d better get back to work.”

  He looked down at his desk, empty except for a book on sailing in one corner and the sign-in notebook on the other.

  “All right, Nell. What did you see when you looked at that sign-in notebook?” Birdie asked as they walked outside and down the steps, three abreast.

  “Someone tore the original pages out, the ones with Beverly’s name on them.”

  “Are you sure? It looked legit to me,” Cass said.

  “You were looking at it upside down. I could see a few rough edges where the original pages had been. It was picked clean, but not entirely.”

  “That’s odd. Anyone, even Beverly Walden, has a right to look at deeds.” They turned the corner onto Harbor Road.

  “Beatrice . . .” Birdie murmured.

  “She looked guilty of something. Or concerned, maybe?” Nell said.

  “Why wouldn’t she want us to know Beverly was in the office? Or was it the deeds she was looking at that someone didn’t want noticed?” Birdie said.

  “But we saw those. And they were almost silly. It looked like she jotted down anything, just because it was required. We’ve all done that, I suppose, when we have to sign in or out somewhere, just to make it go fast.”

  “Sure, I’ve done that. Especially if the request for information seems foolish. Like, who cares what deeds I want to look at? Deeds are public information. I think it’s Sal Scaglia’s quest for control and perfection, covering every little thing. But it’s actually kind of silly.”

  Nell looked at Cass. “You have a point. Sal’s mostly there to be sure people know how to use the computers. He must get terribly bored.”