A Holiday Yarn (20 page)

Chapter 24

C
offee's was thinning out, the early-morning drinkers already gone and the lunch crowd not yet lining up. Nell searched over the tops of heads for Cass' black hair. She held a jumbo-sized cup of Coffee's special brew in her hand.

Monday was always a holiday for Cass, even during the thick of lobster fishing. She liked the tenor of a day that found most people heading back to work. She could own her own leisure, she said, rather than succumb to weekend special events dictated by the newspaper.

Summers found her parked on the patio, a sixteen-ounce triple cappuccino with real whipped cream sitting in front of her, her feet up on a bench, looking at the sky or a magazine or a book.

In winter she sat in front of the fire, her feet on the stone hearth, windows behind her. It was her chair, she declared to Clarence Lanigan, and the owner dutifully tried to shoo others away if he knew Cass was coming.

"Saved for you," Cass said as Nell approached. She lifted a stack of magazines from a chair and put her feet on the floor.

"I don't imagine you endear yourself to people waiting for a place to sit," Nell said, looking around.

Cass laughed, unbothered. "Izzy's joining us for our private tour."

Birdie's dramatic description of Enzo Pisano's bedroom had intrigued Izzy and Cass. They begged for a tour, and Mary would love the distraction.

Cass' brows lifted, and her eyes focused on a spot behind Nell. She waved.

Nell turned and looked up at Tommy Porter.

"Hey, Tommy," Cass said. "Looks like you're off today?" She eyed his jeans and heavy suede jacket. "Join us."

"Just off for the morning," he said. "It's crazy around the station. The chief has us all giving up some off time."

"You've got a mess on your hands."

Tommy nodded. He pulled up a chair and straddled it. "A royal mess. But I don't mind. It's my job."

Tommy Porter had never left Sea Harbor except for two years at Northern Essex Community College. The first policeman in a family of fishermen, he loved his work passionately, was proud of his degree in law enforcement, and according to Chief Thompson, was doing a crackerjack job. Nell smiled at him. "Any new developments?"

"Still trying to pull apart this DeLuca mess. No fingerprints, nuthin'. People here weren't crazy about the guy, but no one knew him well enough to kill him, far as we can tell."

"Could it have been an accident?"

"Not likely. The rungs were cut. An easy thing to do, and no one would notice. Cut on a slant, they fit back together just like normal. I suppose it could have been intended for someone else. But Mary says that ladder isn't used much. The workmen brought their own."

"Any motives?"

Tommy shook his head. "I wanted him to be the guy that killed--"

Footsteps interrupted his words. He looked up. "Hey, Izzy."

Izzy pulled up a chair. "Tommy, you look like you could use some sleep."

"Yeah, I guess. It's nuts. If we could keep Mrs. O'Neal away from that place, it'd be a little easier maybe."

"What's she done now?"

"Just the usual. Today she put up new posters. There's one over there on Coffee's bulletin board. It has photos of the spot where Pamela Pisano died and one where DeLuca fell. It says, "Would you want a friend or relative to sleep in this house?"

Nell sighed. "That's got to stop."

"Free speech," Tommy muttered. "She sure has somethin' stuck in her craw."

"It seems that way," Nell said.

"Did any of you know Pamela very well?" Tommy asked.

"Kind of like everyone else. Not well. But since she dated Eddie--you probably knew her better," Izzy said.

"Not so much. That was a while ago. What I remember from that summer is the other guy, like I said. The guy who was nuts about her."

"What do you remember?" Nell asked.

"It was brought up again at the station when she was murdered. Some of the guys talked about how the guy was obsessed, but it's not relevant to this case. . . . " He paused, as if to say more, then thought better of it and took a drink of his coffee.

"Why do you suppose everyone in town knew Pamela was hanging out with your brother, but the other affair was kept secret?" Izzy asked.

"Easy, Iz. As my mom says, money can cover all kinds of sin."

"Money?"

"They said the guy had money. He arranged it so things were kept under the radar. All quiet. Maybe his business might have been hurt if people knew? I dunno. Had a fancy vacation house somewhere up north, too, I heard, so he could get away from here with her."

Tommy checked his watch, then stood and slung a backpack over one shoulder. "I'm taking my girl to lunch at Harry's Deli. Good to see you guys."

"Tommy." Nell stopped him with a touch to his sleeve. "There's one thing that mystifies me."

"What's that?" Tommy lifted his brows.

"Why would someone who was obsessed with Pamela Pisano, had an affair with her, and who lives right here in Sea Harbor not be singled out as a prime suspect in her murder?"

"Oh, that's easy," Tommy said. He looked around at the three women and started to walk away as his words traveled back over his shoulder. "The guy's dead."

A short while later, Izzy, Cass, and Nell piled into Nell's car for the short ride to Ravenswood-by-the-Sea. They turned Tommy's comments inside out, but the facts were clear, even Nell had to admit. A dead man could not have murdered Pamela.

"But there's still something fishy there," she said as she pulled into the drive. "We can't give up on this."

"I agree," Izzy said. "At first I couldn't figure out how something from her past figured in. But a man obsessed. That gives me the creeps. Remember
Fatal Attraction
? So scary. I think there's more to the story."

"Like, why did the guy want the affair kept secret?" Cass said. "Pamela Pisano was a catch. Eddie Porter had no trouble being seen with her."

"And why was an affair a hot topic at the police station?" Izzy added. "It's not exactly a crime. You'd think they had better things to do."

The renewed energy in the car was electric, and Nell felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through her. Her heartbeat quickened. The light at the tunnel's end beamed brighter. She wasn't sure how they'd get to it. But it was there, luring them on.

Nell pulled up beside Mary's parked car, and they got out, each lost in her own thoughts, playing with strands of yarn and trying to make them fit.

It might take some head scratching, but they'd figure it out.

And Nell had a good idea where they could start.

Birdie was in the kitchen with Mary, keeping her company. They'd put on a pot of coffee and heated up a plate of Kevin's cinnamon rolls. "No tour is worth its salt without a touch of cinnamon," Birdie said cheerfully.

"Is Kevin here?" Nell asked.

"He's at the restaurant today," Mary told her. "He's been on edge. It's good he's busy. But he's moved into the carriage house. It's a relief to have someone spending nights here until this is all resolved."

Nell wondered if Kevin had shared his conversation with them with Mary. She guessed not, and wondered briefly if that's why he was on edge. But she'd ask Birdie later. "Resolved?"

"I met with the lawyer and the insurance company this morning. The consensus is that we find the murderer before we officially open the doors to guests. Start fresh, was how they put it."

Mary's voice was resigned.

"So you'll let the masses in as soon as we wind this up," Cass said, licking sugar off her fingertips. "It's not going to take long. My mother's huge family will be here for Christmas. She always insists on putting Uncle Clancy and his crazy wife, Sheila, in my apartment. This year they are staying at Ravenswood-by-the-Sea. Or, better yet, maybe I'll stay here. So, friends, let's move it."

Cass left no room for argument, and all around the kitchen silent resolutions were made. The lights of Ravenswood-by-the-Sea would be shining brightly, welcoming guests, before Father Northcutt's joyful bells beckoned his flock to Midnight Mass.

They laughed their way up the winding staircase, Cass insisting on trying out the electric seat fastened to the wall.

"I'm glad someone is using it." Mary laughed. "I never saw Grandfather use it. He managed these stairs like a teenager."

Nell walked behind Mary. The lightness in her step was refreshing. This was the tonic she needed today. Something that required no thought, just good friends and a dose of laughter.

Izzy and Cass swooned when the doors to the suite opened.

"Wow. Talk about a bed," Cass murmured, running her hands across the top of the walnut headboard. "This is a whole tree house. An entire family could sleep here."

"He had this little stool built to help him up."

The small walnut stool stood at the side of the bed. Nell had missed it last time she was here. Swirling carved lines ran down its sides, fanning out like birds' wings and outlined in gold. She looked closely at the stool. The craftsmanship was remarkable--and familiar. She'd seen it somewhere. . . .

"Here's the famous heart," Izzy said. "Cass, come see."

The two leaned close to the headboard, fingers tracing along the carving.

"Oh, Enzo, you fox, you," Cass whispered, her fingers dancing along the surface.

Behind her, Mary laughed. "He'd love this attention."

Nell examined the heart again. "E.P." and "H" with a large round period. Held together forever in the crudely carved heart. She looked back at Mary. "What was your grandmother Helen's middle name? Odelia, maybe?"

Mary shook her head. "It was
Mary
. The family was big on Mary. Everyone had one somewhere in her name. Pamela Mary Elizabeth. Agnes Elizabeth Mary. Grandmother was Helen Mary Elizabeth Jane."

Izzy traced the letters with the tip of one finger. "I guess his knife slipped and made the period big. But it doesn't change the message. Imagine someone loving you enough to mar a valuable antique."

"That was Grandfather, the great lover," Mary said wistfully. "I wish he were here right now to help me with this mess. He gave me the idea, you know. It was shortly before he died. He said he could just imagine the pleasure people would have spending nights here. And I think he meant pleasure in every sense of the word."

"He'd be proud of you."

"I think he would. He'd like the updating, the freshness. Mostly he'd love life and laughter filling this house."

"It won't be empty," Birdie told Mary. She said it with certainty. "It will open to great fanfare--and soon."

Each of them knew better than to doubt Birdie.

Later, when they piled back into Nell's car, they felt the good vibes of Enzo Pisano's sweet carved heart. A hopeful heart.

Nell turned the key in the ignition. She waited, ramping up the heat and tapping her fingers on the wheel. Thinking about the house, the man who lived there. The carved bed and the lovely stool. A romantic to the core.

Next to her, Birdie's brows were pulled together, searching for something in her head that she was having trouble finding. "That stool was lovely," she said out loud. "It looked so familiar."

Nell nodded. "Carved walnut," she whispered.

Cass leaned forward, her fingers tracing an imaginary line on the back of the front seat. "Are you all thinking we're missing something here?"

"The carving," Izzy said softly. "Of course."

"The initials. I
knew
that darn period was an 'O,' " Cass said.

Slowly, Nell stepped on the gas and began driving down the drive, the air heavy with their thoughts and the enormous satisfaction of puzzle pieces slipping smoothly together. "It fits," she said.

"Perfectly," Izzy added gleefully. "Who would have thought?"

It was like a wonderful complicated cable sweater that looked so confusing, and suddenly, with one stitch, it all fit together and completed the twist in an amazing way.

"Nell, stop the car. Look over there." Birdie pointed toward the Ravenswood-by-the-Sea sign, refinished and free of Henrietta's red paint. The gold letters popped bright in the sunlight.

Nell pulled to the side of the drive.

A few feet in front of the Ravenswood sign stood Henrietta O'Neal, her unbuttoned coat flapping in the cold breeze. A sharp wind whipped blue curls about her head.

She seemed not to notice the car. She stared straight ahead at the house, her gaze frozen in place. In her hand, gripped tightly, was her walnut walking stick.

But it was the expression on Henrietta's face that mesmerized the four women watching her from the car and confirmed what they now knew to be true.

It wasn't the look of someone about to spray-paint a sign or mount inflammatory posters or destroy a neighbor's property.

It was a look of excruciating longing.

A look of someone who had loved deeply and fully--and couldn't bear the thought of it completely disappearing.

Birdie pressed one hand against the dash. "Of course," she said, her voice a whisper. "It's love, not hate, that rules Henrietta's crazy Irish heart."

Henrietta seemed not to mind when they packed her in Nell's car for the short ride to her own home down the street. She seemed to be in another world, a lovely world that she didn't want to leave.

"A cup of tea?" she said when they pulled up in her circle drive.

They all went in, and Izzy rummaged around in the kitchen of the stately old home, finding tea bags and cups, a match to light the six-burner stove, while Cass built a rousing fire in the living room.

They settled Henrietta in front of the fire, a blanket covering her knees. She was chilled to the bone. Nell rubbed her hands between her own, bringing color back into her gnarled fingers.

"This is lovely," Henrietta said. "I should have worn my hat, shouldn't I?"

She didn't ask where they'd come from or why they were there. But her eyes were clear and bright.

Birdie settled in next to her. "You loved Enzo, my dear," Birdie said. "That's lovely."

Henrietta nodded. "He was the greatest love of my life."