Moon Spinners

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Cass still hadn’t arrived when Ben began filling plates with chunks of skewered Vidalia onion, peppers, and the juicy tuna. Crisp asparagus in a citrus sauce and quinoa with cranberries and almonds filled plates to the brim.

  Pete had already gone back for seconds when the sound of Cass’ battered Chevy pickup finally chugged its way to the front of the house.

  “That truck’s not long for this world,” Pete said, glancing toward the noise.

  Voices drifted up to the deck as Cass walked along the side of the house on the flagstone walkway.

  Nell looked up. Cass wasn’t alone. Behind her, his shadow stretching across the lawn, was Danny Brandley.

  A chorus of voices greeted them.

  “You’re late.”

  “You’re here.”

  “Wow.”

  The last was from Willow and directed toward Cass’ slinky sundress. Her black hair fell loose around tan, bare shoulders, a far cry from her usual cutoffs, baseball cap, and T-shirt.

  Cass silenced her with a look.

  “Hi, everyone.” Danny walked up the steps behind Cass, smiling at the group. He spotted Ben and Nell and walked their way, looking slightly embarrassed. “Cass said this would be all right?”

  “Of course,” Nell said. “The Brandleys are always welcome.”

  “I thought we should call first.” He looked back at Cass. “But she’s one determined woman.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Sam said. “Watch yourself, Danny. Ask any lobster in town—she’s tenacious.”

  They laughed, and the tension Nell felt when she saw Danny walk up the steps began to ease. It was her home; Danny was her guest. Perhaps there was an explanation for his actions—and for his not being honest. In any case, she and Ben never made a guest feel less than welcome, and Danny wouldn’t be an exception. Even though she would prefer him kept at arm’s length—both her arm and Cass’.

  The others welcomed Danny warmly. Cass fixed heaping plates of food for each of them, and Nell watched them settle in, Danny like an old shoe. She had to admit he was likable. But liars could be likable—when you didn’t know they were lying. And Danny had lied about knowing a woman who was murdered. Why?

  “How long are you staying around, Danny?” Ham asked. “A summer stay—even a week—can hook a guy. Take Sam here.”

  “It’s true,” Sam said. “One summer here and I was sold on the place.”

  Izzy walked over and straddled the arm of Sam’s chair. She looped an arm around his neck. “Okay, Perry, admit it. It wasn’t just the sea and the beach and the sailing that kept you here.”

  “No.” Sam rubbed his head against her arm and looked up with teasing eyes. “These Friday nights on the Endicott deck are worth moving across continents for.”

  The group laughed as Izzy pretended a stranglehold.

  “So, okay,” Cass said, “the folks here are asking you questions, Danny. A good guest would answer them. How long are you staying?”

  “That’s probably why she brought you. She knew we’d interrogate you the way she wants to, and she’ll come off smelling like a rose.” Izzy passed Danny a martini.

  Danny laughed at the gentle teasing, comfortable and relaxed. He held his martini in the air, examining the color, the light shining through the thin glass, the chilled stem. “Made by a master. Wonderful.”

  “You’re getting off track, Danny,” Cass said.

  Danny tugged on a lock of Cass’ hair. “I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’m a reporter of sorts—mostly freelance stuff, special-assignment kind of jobs. But I’m working on a novel, too, and wishing I had more time for it. I guess you’d say that’s my obsession. I just quit a reporting assignment I’d started so I could spend more time on it.”

  “What kind of novel?” The question was a chorus from Willow, Birdie, and Cass, all leaning slightly forward in their chairs.

  Danny took a taste of Ben’s martini and smiled in appreciation. “It’s hard to talk about a novel before it’s been exposed to real life and hard knocks. When no one, like an agent, has had the chance to tell you that you should never, ever admit to writing such drivel. But I did get a nibble from someone who expressed interest in representing it. It’s got one foot out of the cradle, I guess you’d say. So maybe it’s okay to talk about it.”

  “It’s okay,” Cass assured him.

  “A mystery. Suspense. The protagonist is a loner but has a love interest. He lives on the ocean. Does a lot of sailing.”

  “Sailing?” Sam and Ben looked up.

  Danny nodded. “I never won the Sea Harbor regatta when I was a kid, but never gave up that dream. So maybe I can give it another try in a book.”

  “Does the love interest die?” asked Cass, pulling Danny back on topic. Then she added plaintively, “Please don’t have her die.”

  No, please don’t have her die, Nell thought. They’d had enough of dying. For one shining night, they had been able to back-burner it a little. And as much as she hated to admit it, Danny Brandley was partly the reason.

  The sky deepened to a midnight black, and the music switched to a mellow sound track from Something’s Gotta Give. Izzy and Sam poured coffee while Ben got out some brandy. Birdie served up heaping slices of rhubarb pie.

  And Danny Brandley made huge inroads into the circle of friends sitting on the Endicott deck.

  Nell took the last remaining plate into the kitchen and stood at the window for a minute, listening to the chatter and laughter floating through the open window, thanking her blessings, as she often did at such moments.

  They had talked a little about Julianne Santos before dessert was passed around. Nell told about her trip to the jail. But the mood kept moving them away from it, to lighter conversation. Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow they would regroup and get Julianne Santos out of that tiny cell. And she was beginning to flesh out a direction they could all take.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Startled, Nell spun around. Danny Brandley stood at the island, watching her. He set down two empty bowls he’d carried in. In his other hand, he held a glass of Ben’s special brandy. “That was a terrific dinner. Thanks for making room for me.”

  “Of course. We always have plenty.”

  “Do you have a minute?”

  Nell motioned to the stools. “Please—sit.”

  “I sense something’s going on between us, Nell. Do we need to clear the air? If I’ve offended you, I’d like to hear about it and at least have a chance to apologize.”

  That was a fair request. Nell had a list of things that bothered her about Danny Brandley, beginning with his denial of knowing Sophia even though he’d spent weeks with the family, not to mention a recent rendezvous in Sea Harbor.

  “Maybe I’ll start,” Danny said. “I think it involves the Santoses. I indicated that I didn’t know Sophia. But you saw the article at the bookstore. My dad told me—proudly—that you were looking at it.”

  “That’s a good place to begin.”

  “I spent a lot of time with them when I was writing that piece. But when I’d finished the story, I felt I knew Sophia about as well as I know the guy who sells me shoes at Macy’s. So I didn’t know her. Not really. That part was true, if a bit deceptive.”

  Nell could identify with his explanation. “Someone saw you picking Sophia up from the high school shortly before she died.”

  Danny’s brows lifted. “Ah, small-town living,” he said sardonically. “I’d almost forgotten.”

  “It has its ups and downs.” Nell smiled.

  Danny was quiet for a minute, as if fashioning his reply. He answered slowly. “Sophia heard about a series the Globe was doing on the construction industry. She was adamant that Delaney & Sons be on our list. She was a source, in a way. We don’t like to put people in danger; it’s not what we do. So I hedged, out of habit, I guess.

  “Anyway, I came and talked to her—it was a good opportunity to see Mom and Dad. She suggested I pick her up at the school that day. She d
idn’t want Alphonso to know about it—he didn’t like meddling in Delaney’s business, or anyone else’s for that matter. But Sophia had an ax to grind, I can tell you that.”

  “How would Sophia have inside information about the Delaneys and faulty construction?”

  “It wasn’t about faulty construction, per se. She was more interested in their billings. She was convinced the Delaney books would show creative accounting, as she put it. She thought they were funneling money to a fake company—or one not really doing work.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “No. She wouldn’t say. But she was sure we’d find something. It actually was beyond the scope of our article. But she pushed me. And you may know the rest. I went out there one day, asked some questions, and if Davey Delaney had had a shotgun handy, my backside would be full of pellets right now. Or worse.”

  Nell listened carefully, processing what Danny was saying. Most of what he said made sense. The pieces playing out in her mind started to line up, like reading a complicated pattern for the third time, and suddenly understanding where the shoulder seams lined up.

  “So that’s why Davey is angry with you. You were the reporter he talked about.”

  Danny sat quietly on the stool. He nursed the small glass of brandy, looking at Nell. He offered a small smile. “Angry is putting it mildly. And he knew Sophia sent me. So he wasn’t crazy about her either.”

  “But you’re no longer on the story?”

  He smiled. “You probably think I’m a wimp—that Davey scared me off.”

  “It would be understandable.”

  “I’ve been in worse situations. What I was uncomfortable with was uncovering family secrets in my hometown, a place I might even be moving back to.” Danny paused for a minute, took a drink, and then went he went on, his voice quieter. “There was one other thing that was odd about it. I had the feeling Sophia didn’t really care about Delaney & Sons. I think she was using me to get at someone or some information for her own purposes. I’m not sure who or what. But she seemed convinced that billings would show charges for services that were never done. It seemed personal to her. Important. She even mentioned a name to look for. Sheridan Technology something. Consulting, I think.”

  Nell listened carefully, trying to fit Danny’s words into a bigger picture. It was difficult.

  “Long story short, there were five of us working on the construction series—four now—and those four are a talented group. In the end, their series may make the industry safer for people. But they’ll be writing it without me.” Danny rested his elbows on the table. A shock of blond hair fell over his forehead, making him look younger than his years. He grinned. “That’s it. End of story.”

  Nell looked at the man sitting across from her. Of course, he could have made it all up. But somehow she doubted it. She lifted a glass of water and held it up in the air. Danny followed with his brandy.

  “Many happy returns,” Nell said, and clinked his glass with the edge of her own.

  “Nicely put.”

  “And if you’re jotting down reasons to stick around, we’d be pleased if Fridays on the deck, or Ben’s martinis, or both, were on the list.”

  “Right at the top. And Hank and Merry’s Palate deck is next. How lucky can a guy get to have two decks in his life?”

  Nell turned and looked out the window. Birdie was piling glasses and plates on a tray and giving orders to straighten up, her gentle way of saying it was midnight and the chariot was about to lose its wheels.

  “One last thing,” she said hurriedly, before the kitchen filled with helpful bodies. “Does Davey know you’re off the story?”

  Danny shrugged. “That part doesn’t matter to me. I’m okay if he thinks I’m a bad guy. It’s who I think I am that concerns me.”

  “I can tell you who I think you are, Danny Brandley. A nice human being.”

  And a nice human being that she’d prefer to remain safe and happy. Having the oldest Delaney son think you’re out to destroy his family might not be the best way to go about that.

  Chapter 31

  The spinners’ darkening moon Friday night gave way to bright Saturday sunshine. Perfect for crack-of-dawn coffee, as Izzy called it.

  It was too early for tourists to be lining up for whale watching or excursion boats when Izzy, Birdie, and Nell walked down the pier toward Gracie’s café. Fishermen, though, had their own clock, and they waved to the women as their rugged boats chugged out to sea.

  Before leaving Nell’s the night before, they had decided that early coffee would get their day started right. As Birdie had wisely said, “It would be easier to hash things over without a crowd around.” She would bring the breakfast.

  Hashing things over seemed a priority today—certainly usurping cleaning or errands or shopping. And Gracie’s unfinished café would be the perfect out-of-the-way place to do it.

  The door to the café was open and they stepped into the cool interior, then spotted Cass out on the back deck, standing in a pool of sunshine. “Come see the pièce de résistance,” she called.

  The deck was completely finished. Its wide railing was encased in glass and looked out over calm waters and the beach beyond. On the rocky outposts they could see several seals cavorting on the boulders and diving for breakfast.

  In the center of the empty deck was a square picnic table with a bench on each of the four sides. “This is perfect,” Izzy said. “All of it. Every single bit.”

  Gracie walked out with a thermos of coffee and a laptop case hanging over her shoulder. “Isn’t it? I love it. The rest of the tables will be here in a few days.” She looked around with great pride and set the thermos down on the table.

  “Are you taking notes, Gracie?” Cass asked, eyeing the computer.

  “Nope. Just thought if there was time I’d run some of my marketing ideas by you. I finally stole my laptop away from Joey,” she said. She slipped the case to the floor. “We weren’t careful about sorting his and her things when we split—he was in such a hurry—somehow he ended up with my laptop.” She climbed over the picnic bench. “And my towels. And all those paintings I bought at Canary Cove. I even have a tiny Aidan Peabody fisherman that I found on Joey’s bookshelf. I told him I’d fight him to the finish for that.”

  “And how does one steal from Joey?” Izzy asked, sitting down at the table. Nell sat down beside her on the bench.

  “I just made him a nice dinner at his place, brought a bottle of wine, and then took whatever I wanted when I left. He probably doesn’t know it’s missing.” She laughed. She glanced at the small laptop curiously. “It’s funny, isn’t it? You live with someone for four years and things merge together. I can hardly remember what was mine and what was his. We shared everything. The computer, though, was definitely mine. He used the ones at work.”

  “So you finally divided it all up?” Cass asked. “You could use some more furniture, Gracie. I hope you took some of the good stuff. Your place is almost as bare as mine.”

  “No one’s place could be as bare as yours, Cass,” Gracie said. “But actually, no, we didn’t divide things up. I just took a couple things I needed, like the computer.” Gracie paused for a minute, an odd look falling across her face. She traced a wavy grain in the wooden table with her finger, then finally looked up again. “Joey and I have been talking a lot these past days, and last night, it was a long one.”

  “A good long talk? A bad long talk?” Cass prodded.

  “Good. At least I think so. Joey’s been dragging his feet about the divorce, as you may have noticed. These past weeks he’s been canceling meetings with the lawyer Sophia got for us, changing the subject, whatever. He thinks we’ve both changed. That circumstances have changed. And that a marriage deserves more than maybe we gave it. Last night we went through it all again—and decided it—our marriage—needed a second chance.”

  “That’s quite a conversation,” Cass said.

  “What do you think, Gracie?” Nell asked.

&
nbsp; Gracie swept her hair over her shoulder. “I tend to forget the things that pulled us apart. That’s the way I am. They’re faded, just cobwebs in my head, or buried somewhere, I don’t know. I know Joey wanted the divorce at first. We both did. Neither of us was getting what we wanted from our marriage. But I also know that I couldn’t have gotten through these recent days without him. He’s been there every inch of the way. Whenever I needed him, there he was. He seems to know before things even happen when I’ll need him. He even shows affection toward Julianne.”

  Nell noticed that Gracie switched back and forth when addressing Julianne. Sometimes it was mother, other times Julianne. Those were all part of the process, she supposed. Knitting anything together took time if you wanted it to last. And sometimes you even had to tear it out and start over. Relationships were no different. She touched Gracie’s hand. “If that’s what you want, Gracie, then we’re one hundred percent behind you.”

  “He wants to meet with the lawyers to make sure everything is in order. He wants me to change my name to Delaney—which I never did. Dot the i’s and cross the t’s is how he puts it. This from a man who six months ago almost fled the apartment before the word ‘separation’ was out of my mouth.”

  Nell listened to the exchange with mixed emotions. More often than not, she’d found that rushing emotional matters didn’t fare well.

  “Will Joey be involved with the restaurant?” Birdie asked.

  “Maybe. Davey would probably be thrilled if Joey disappeared from Delaney & Sons. Joey keeps tabs on how Davey spends money, things like that. Things aren’t too smooth between them right now.” She shrugged. “Family businesses can be difficult.”

  “I’ve never figured out who does what over there,” Birdie said.

  “Joey is over in sales—and he also has been helping Maeve with the books, billings, keeping track of subcontractors and analyzing what’s spent on each project. Davey does the planning, figuring out what each job needs, then making sure the crews are there when needed.”