“Well, you, young lady, have asked just the right question. Without me, you might spend the rest of your knitting career on scarves.”
Cass frowned. She looked at Izzy, then Nell. “This doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s all good, Cass. We’ve got lots to do tonight, and now that we’re fed, we’ll have a toast.”
“You’re getting kind of bossy, Birdie,” Cass said, collecting the rest of the plates and putting them on the bookcase.
“Shush, Cass. Raise your glasses, everyone.”
Four glasses of Birdie’s Pinot were raised into the air in unison.
Birdie sat forward on the couch, her back straight and her eyes sparkling. “Here’s to friendship,” she said.
“To friendship,” they chorused.
After a moment, Birdie raised her glass again. “And take a big gulp this next time.” She paused, then said dramatically, “Here’s to Cass’s shawl.”
Three glasses were lifted. One remained on the coffee table.
“Shawl?” Cass said. Her dark eyebrows shot directly into her bangs. “Birdie, sometimes I think you’re truly batty.”
“Shame on you, Cass. Respect your elders and lift your glass. To Cass’s shawl,” Birdie repeated.
Izzy nudged Cass’s elbow. “Come on, Cass. Be a sport.”
Cass frowned and lifted her glass a few inches off the table.
When the toast was completed, Birdie picked up a sack from beside the couch and pulled out a ball of yarn. “Izzy helped me pick this out, Cass. It’s a lovely silk and wool blend—”
“Silk?” Cass yelped. She glared at Izzy. “Izzy, I catch lobsters. I don’t knit with silk. I can’t afford it, for one thing. And I don’t wear shawls.” Cass walked over to the table and refilled her empty plate.
“Don’t fuss so, Catherine. The shawl is for your mother. Mary will love it. And it’s time. Scarves alone do not a knitter make.”
“It’s beautiful yarn, Cass,” Izzy said. “And you can do it. It’s a little Faroese shoulder shawl, something to keep Mary warm without it getting in her way. The shoulders are shaped so it won’t fall off, even for an arm waver like Mary. She’ll love it. And this yarn is so soft and scrumptious, you’ll want to eat it.”
“The tuna will do fine. But thanks,” Cass said. She wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin and watched Birdie pass the skeins of yarn to Nell, who fingered it as if it were a tiny kitten, like Purl.
“I’ve picked the pattern and the needles,” Birdie said. She handed them to Cass along with the pattern.
Nell leaned over and looked at the picture. The shawl hit midarm, shaped nicely at the shoulders, and had a lovely, lacy design running along the back. The pattern might be a little difficult for Cass, she thought, but she’d have plenty of help.
“It’s perfect for Mary,” Nell said aloud. “The beginning is easy. Just cast on, Cass—you like to do that.”
“And while you’re doing that, Cass dear, Izzy will pour us another glass of wine,” Birdie said.
Izzy disappeared into the studio’s galley kitchen for a chilled bottle, taking the empty plates with her.
Cass picked up the needle and began to cast on stitches. The silky yarn sat in a heap on her lap, and her forehead was knit as tightly as her cast ons.
Birdie leaned forward and looked down through her glasses at Cass’s stitches. She touched her hand and whispered, “Make these looser, dear. Casting on is your one chance to be a loose woman.”
A thump from above stopped Cass midstitch. The room was silent as the three women stared at the ceiling.
Izzy came back into the room. “Don’t worry. It’s a good thump. Sam Perry doesn’t wear boots, but he weighs more than Angie did. He’s thinking about renting the place for a month or so. At the least, Aunt Nell can stop worrying when I’m here after closing and get some sleep.”
“Well, now,” Birdie said, “that’s good news, Izzy. I approve.”
“Coming from you, Birdie, that’s a real coup for me. But back to business. Now that Cass’s shawl is underway, I want to go back to Sal. And Angie. I think we are just an inch away from figuring this out.” She sat down next to Birdie and pulled her sweater from the basket beside the couch. “Who would want to hurt Angie and, more important, why? A lot of gossip accompanies lost stitches and baby booties, and things said about Angie that I didn’t know, even though she lived a floor away.”
Nell nodded. “I’ve heard things, too. People see different things. People saw Tony Framingham with Angie at the museum, for one thing.” She looked at Cass. “Did Pete say anything about that, Cass?”
Cass finished her cast-on row and began the garter stitch. She shook her head. “Pete knew Angie didn’t like Tony. He wasn’t sure why Tony showed up sometimes, but Angie insisted she couldn’t stand Tony Framingham.”
“That fits what we saw the night she died,” Izzy said. “They had a shouting match in the bookstore. And Tony threatened Angie, according to Archie. I don’t think he liked her either.”
“If we’re making a list,” Cass said, “don’t forget the old man of the sea. I like Angus well enough, but he should be on the list.”
“Angus?” Birdie lifted her head. “That gentle old man? He couldn’t kill a mosquito.”
“He used to follow Angie. I’d see them, down at the harbor where she’d go running. The old man would be nearby, watching her, just biding his time.”
“They were friends, Cass,” Nell said. “That’s all.” But she thought of the old man’s reaction the other day on the beach. It was odd, not quite right, somehow.
“He thought Angie was his best friend,” Izzy said. “And she did spend a lot of time with him. I’d see them together around the Ocean’s Edge. In fact, the night Angie died, I had drinks with some friends at the Edge, and they mentioned that Angie and Angus had been talking outside earlier that night. They were laughing about it because Angie was dressed up for a date.”
“Which we know was Pete.”
“So Angie had a date with Pete that night, left him because she got a phone call. But Angus was across the street, and he stopped her when she left the bar,” Cass said.
“Do you know that, Cass?” Nell asked.
She nodded. “Pete told the police as much, though they said there was no use talking to Angus because you never knew what you’d get. I guess we all know that’s probably true, but when Angus was clear-minded, he knew so much about this area. He was helping Angie on a project she was working on.”
“It makes sense,” Nell said. “Angie was collecting information on the land around here, and who would know more about that than Angus?”
“And we know Angie ended up in Archie’s bookstore with Tony that night,” Izzy said. “They came in together. Archie said he saw them meet right outside his door—Tony seemed to be looking for Angie. They had a few words, then walked upstairs in the shop to continue the conversation in a more private place. At least that’s what Archie assumed.”
“But we don’t know what happened between the bookstore and the breakwater,” Birdie concluded. She leaned over and picked up a pen and the yellow pad and began to make her list.
“Right.” Izzy put down the alpaca shawl she was making for her mother. “So we have Angus—who might have had an irrational love for Angie. We have Tony who threatened her.”
“And though we know our sweet Pete could never harm a fly,” Birdie said, “we need to put his name with the others if we are making a complete list.” She added notes to the paper in her distinctive handwriting.
Cass looked up. “That’s fair. And you’re right—Pete is about as confrontational as a butterfly. Sometimes I think he’d be better off if he were a little less trusting.”
“What about George Gideon?” Birdie asked, looking over the rim of her glasses. “He’s always hanging out in that alley.”
Izzy walked back to her chair and settled into the cushions, her plate balanced on her lap. “Gideon, absolutely. Except we hired
him to hang out around here, Birdie.”
“I know, I know,” Birdie said. “A foolish decision if ever I heard one, Izzy. The man is a womanizer, and he drinks on the job. He never worked an honest day in his life. And my guess is that all he’s protecting around here is himself.”
Nell looked over to the open window, suddenly wondering if their words were traveling farther than the room. And those windows seemed to be a favorite spot of Gideon’s these days.
“Angie didn’t like him,” Izzy said. “She thought he was creepy.”
“Archie thought he spent more time watching Angie’s windowsthan checking doors. He thinks Gideon was infatuated with Angie,” Birdie said. “I think I’ll talk to Gideon.”
Nell frowned.
Birdie looked at her. “Murder’s a serious matter, Nell, and no matter what you’re thinking, I’m not a foolish old woman. I don’t put myself in danger.”
Nell smiled. “Can’t a person think in private around here anymore?” she asked.
Birdie refilled Nell’s wineglass and looked up into her face. “No,” she said. “That’s what friends are all about.”
Nell thought about Gideon and her encounters with him over the past couple weeks. He’d been quite adamant in telling her that the murderer had moved on. Too adamant, perhaps. How could he possibly know that? Could he have approached Angie that night? Tried something, maybe. The thought made her shudder.
“And don’t forget your conversation with Sal,” Birdie said. “He’s on the list. And maybe Beatrice, too.”
“Where was Gideon the night Angie was killed?” Cass asked.
“He should have been right out there behind the shops.” Izzy took a sip of her wine.
“I think we’re missing something important. Something about Angie herself. She was worried those last days, yet Nancy said her work at the museum was going well. She’d done a great job.”
“She was angry, too,” Izzy said. “She stopped in here one day just before she died, just to talk. We sat and had coffee together. I had the feeling something had happened to her. She talked about people lying. She hated it when people lied, she said.”
“That’s an odd thing to say,” Birdie said. “Did she explain herself, Izzy?”
“No, but she looked genuinely sad. As if she truly wanted the world to be different—but couldn’t do a thing about it.”
“Pete said she was like that. Upbeat and fun-loving one minute, then sad the next. But Angie would never tell him what was making her sad.” Cass smoothed out two rows of knitting and looked at the beginnings of her shawl.
Birdie nodded. “You’re doing fine, dear. Now make sure you don’t tense up toward the end of your rows.”
“I think that’s what we need to find out,” Nell said. “What was making Angie sad—or mad. And why she was leaving Sea Harbor soon. The police look for things like blood and evidence. But I think if we look into Angie’s heart, we’ll be closer to finding the truth.”
A slight tapping on the back door brought Nell’s words to a halt. Izzy stood and walked over just as it opened a crack, then wider, and Sam Perry stepped inside, his tall figure filling the door-frame and his camera bag swinging from a strap around his neck.
“Hi, ladies. Hope I’m not interrupting.”
“What do you think, Sam?” Izzy asked.
“It’s perfect, Izzy. What a great place. I sure appreciate your doing this for me.”
“My friends here would tell you that it’s for all of us, Sam,” Izzy said.
“And that would be the truth,” Birdie said. “It will be nice to have someone other than George Gideon keeping an eye on our knitting studio.”
Sam dropped the keys on the table. “I’ve met him once or twice and understand what you’re saying, Birdie. I took my students up to North Beach today to take some shots and we ran into him. He seemed to be moving from beach towel to beach towel, grazing the ladies, so to speak.”
“Ugh,” Izzy said, wrinkling up her face. She glanced at the window, then looked at the clock on the wall. “He should be coming on duty soon. But enough about Gideon. When do you want to move in?”
“Now,” Sam said. He smiled. “But I guess the weekend will suffice. How about I come over tomorrow after class and I’ll help take the boxes of Angie’s things over to her mother’s? Then Saturday I can bring my meager belongings over. I don’t have much.”
“Sam, it’s good of you to do this,” Nell said.
“Well, the least I can do is help clean up my new home. And I told Izzy I’d look into having the locks changed.” He looked over at Izzy. “So it’s a date?”
Izzy frowned for a moment, the words sounding unfamiliar. She cleared her throat. “How about an appointment?” she said finally.
Izzy could control her voice and mannerisms, Nell thought, like any good ex-lawyer. But she had absolutely no control over the slight blush that spread down her neck. Perhaps summer was coming to Sea Harbor after all. Or at least it was just around the corner.
Chapter 21
Ben arrived home on Friday afternoon. To Nell, it seemed he had been gone a month.
“I should go away more often,” Ben joked. He walked out onto the deck where Nell had placed a platter of cheese and crackers and a carafe of sun-brewed mint tea. Nell’s hand rested on the small of his back, and her body leaned nicely into his side as they stepped into the late-day sunlight.
“It’s been a long week,” Nell said. “I’m glad you’re back, Ben.”
“So fill me in,” he said, drawing her down beside him on the swing. “We’ve a little time before Ben’s Colorado fish fry.” He leaned forward and poured them each a glass of tea.
Nell sipped the tea, looking over the tops of the trees toward the ocean. “I don’t have much to tell that I haven’t told you over the phone, Ben. It’s more a collection of emotions. Uncomfortable ones. Do you remember the summer that we went out to the ranch for the Fourth of July?”
Ben nodded. “The summer of the tornado.”
Nell nodded against his shoulder. “Yes, that one. Remember how we stood outside that day and looked up at the sky while the warning sirens went off in the distance? How the air got heavy and still, and the birds went crazy, chattering and flying in circles.”
“I do remember. It was my one and only Kansas tornado. That early part was fascinating and foreboding.”
“It was almost like a spell, holding us in suspension. That’s what it’s been like here, Ben. That eerie calm that you can feel deep down inside. But you know it’s not right, and you know it’s not going to last. It’s going to explode in an enormous black flurry and rip things apart.”
Ben touched her hair. “Far as I know, there are no tornadoes scheduled for Sea Harbor, Nellie.”
Nell nodded, her head rubbing against his shoulder. Not one tracked by Doppler radar, maybe. Not that kind.
When the phone rang, they both looked toward the house, thinking for a minute they’d not answer it, savor this time alone. But when Ben got up and walked into the kitchen to answer, Nell knew before he called her in that it was a call they needed to get.
“That was Izzy,” he said, grabbing the keys to his SUV from the counter. “She needs us.”
Nell had been right. A tornado had struck Sea Harbor. Or at least one small part of it.
“What a mess,” Ben said, looking around the small apartment that was once Angie’s apartment.
Sam and Izzy stood in the center of the living room, surrounded by debris. The books that Izzy had piled on the shelves to warm the apartment were scattered across the floor, some open with their pages bent where they hit the floor. A desk drawer hung awkwardly at the end of its groove, ready to fall. Two small area rugs were rumpled, kicked aside, and cushions from the corduroy sofa had been pulled up at odd angles and left that way, leaning against the back or sides.
Nell picked her way across the room to Izzy’s side. She looked at Sam. “You found it like this?”
“We came up to
check the door for new locks,” Sam said. “And take the boxes of Angie’s things over to her mother. This is what we found.”
Izzy and Nell walked back into the bedroom area where they had stored the boxes of Angie’s things, and Sam and Ben followed.
It mirrored the living room, drawers emptied, bedclothes pulled back, and the mattress was pulled partway off the bed. Izzy walked over to the open closet door where they had stored the boxes of Angie’s things. The boxes were ripped apart, clothes and shoes and cosmetics thrown all over the closet floor and trailing out into the bedroom.
Nell’s heart sank.
“I should have taken Angie’s things to Josie right away,” Izzy said, her eyes brimming with tears.
Nell wrapped her arms around Izzy’s shoulders. “We’ll pack them again, Izzy. It will be fine.”
“I wonder if they found what they were looking for,” Izzy said, her voice soft. She bent down and picked up a jean jacket that had been Angie’s, held it for a moment, then folded it carefully and set it on the bed. She picked up a small cardboard box in which she’d carefully packed a few of Angie’s personal things— some photos, CDs, a few pairs of earrings. She frowned, then fingered through the messy contents.
“What’s wrong, Izzy?” Nell asked.
“I packed Angie’s iPod in here. It’s gone.”
“You’re sure, honey?”
Izzy nodded. “Positive. And those orange earphones are gone, too.”
“Someone did all this for an iPod and earphones?” Ben said. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe the intruder didn’t find what he was looking for,” Nell said, “and he took the iPod for a consolation prize. So silly. So unfortunate.”
Nell glanced into the kitchen area and noticed that even the refrigerator had been searched and the freezer door left open. A small pool of water had collected on the floor. Several of Izzy’s plates had fallen from the cupboard and lay cracked on the counter.
Izzy’s eyes were huge, taking in the chaos that had been a clean, tidy apartment the day before.
“Have you called the police?” Ben asked.
Sam nodded. “There’s a bad accident out at the rotary that they’re taking care of first. And because no one was living here, it’s not a priority, I’m afraid.”
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