A Holiday Yarn (22 page)

"I suppose that makes sense," Izzy said.

"Maybe we need to revisit that night," Nell said, anxious to move away from the ladder. Maybe there was something else they'd heard but hadn't tended to. Perhaps in the repetition something would magically appear.

"Mary and Nancy both left early the night of the murder. And Mary was late getting back."
And if she hadn't been late . . .
The thought stuck there, uncomfortable.
Why was Mary late getting back?
Nell tried to remember. Dinner at the Gull. A bottle of wine. The restaurant was probably busy that night, with all the college kids home. Thursdays were party nights.

There it was again, the uncomfortable feeling of looking at something right in front of you and not seeing it.

"Troy was alone here when the ladder broke," Cass said. "Convenient. In case he didn't die from the fall, there'd be no one there to get him emergency help."

"We have all the threads," Izzy said, "but we're not working them right. They're still tangled. We need to know more about the man who died, the one who was obsessed with Pamela. Think outside the box. Think outside the bed-and-breakfast."

But the man was dead--a dead-end road. And yet it didn't feel that way. Nell thought back to the night Pamela was killed, the "I'm sorry" written in the snow. Someone wrote that message for her. They wanted Pamela to be sorry. For what . . . ?

"Pamela had a restraining order issued against the man. But it disappeared from the records, Tommy said. In a small town like this, you wouldn't want people to think someone had taken out a restraining order on you. The guy had friends protecting him, maybe? So perhaps that's the path we follow. Someone who is holding a grudge."

"But why kill her?"

"Why, indeed. It sounds flimsy, doesn't it? But maybe it's not."

"It doesn't
feel
flimsy," Izzy said. "We need to find out who this man was. His family. Siblings."

"And why did the restraining order disappear?" Nell was uncomfortable. She sensed the others were, too. She suspected they were all protesting the direction in which they were going, examining friends and neighbors, people they worked with. And the uncertainty of what they'd find, whom they might hurt.

The clicking of knitting needles echoed loudly in the room.

"We're an inch away," Izzy said.

"Sometimes those inches are the most difficult."

Especially when it meant a life.

"I wonder if Esther Gibson remembers any of this," Nell said. The longtime police dispatcher had enough Sea Harbor happenings stored away in her memory to fill a dozen movies. Some probably X-rated. "I'll talk to her."

A short while later, Birdie left to teach her tap-dancing class at the retirement home. Maybe a visit to Dolores Pisano in the adjoining nursing home was in order. "She has some lucid moments," she said.

"Good idea. But I need a sleuthing hiatus for a couple days," Cass said. "Pete and I have the honor of bringing Santa into the harbor tomorrow on the
Lady Lobster
. You'll all be there to greet us, I hope?"

Nell put her knitting away. "We all need a bit of Santa. We'll be there--right in the middle of those sweet happy little folks."

And maybe Santa would read the big folks' thoughts and bring them a wish. An end to this turmoil. Even if that meant hurting people in her life. Even then.

Nell gathered her things and walked over to the back windows, looking out at the harbor. Sailboats bobbed in the cold sea, tiny Christmas lights outlining the sails. Fishermen lumbered along the wharf, dragging nets and hauling traps with practiced ease. Across the harbor, up on the bluff, the children's park was filled with Santas big enough to climb on. A sleigh and reindeer alongside the snow-covered swings and monkey bars.

Familiar and comfortable. Carefree.

Izzy came up behind her. "It looks like a dozen other holiday seasons," she said. "It just doesn't feel that way."

Nell nodded.

"We haven't had time to talk much the last couple days. Alone, I mean."

"No."

"I'm proud of you, Aunt Nell. I know it's killing you not to ask about Sam."

Nell smiled. "You mean since committing your first felony in his home?"

"You're presuming that mail tampering was my first?"

Nell chuckled. "I suppose I can't be sure."

Izzy moved closer, her arm brushing Nell's. "Sam and I haven't had much time to talk, either--he was gone yesterday--Boston again. But I told him about being at the house. I apologized for looking through his mail. Told him I'd seen something from a hospital."

"And?"

"He asked if I had opened anything, and I said no--that I wanted to but didn't. He laughed, and then he hugged me and told me he wouldn't have me arrested if I'd make him those burritos he loves."

"That was it?"

"Yes. He said that things would work out, and that instead of worrying about imaginary things, I should concentrate on what I'm getting him for Christmas. So I've backed off. I want to get through Christmas. Then I can deal with this better. His secrecy--his personal life. I hate it, and I will have to deal with it. Just not right now."

Secrecy
. A looming presence in their lives these days. Nell slipped an arm around her niece's waist and they stood together for a long time, wanting to think about nothing more complicated than the noses of harbor seals poking through the icy waters and watching the harbor life play out before them.

A calm and ordinary day.

Chapter 26

E
ach town did it in its own unique way, but Sea Harbor was sure its way was the best. As soon as new calendars appeared in kitchens, the Wednesday before Christmas was circled in red, right along with birthdays and anniversaries.

It was a special day--the day Santa Claus came to town.

The festivities began at twilight, when Fire Chief Alex Arcado arrived in his truck and together with his stalwart team prepared the fire pit on the harbor green. They lit the first log to great cheering from a crowd of children, bundled up like Eskimos and waiting patiently with sticks and marshmallows. Families stood at the ready, their eyes peeled for the first sighting of the jolly man in red.

Pete Halloran's Fractured Fish band entertained with numerous rounds of "Frosty the Snowman" and "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," the kids and grown-ups joining in, stomping boots and clapping mittened hands. Vendors passed out hot dogs and cups of chowder, lobster rolls, hot chocolate, and fish sandwiches on warm buttered hoagies.

Ben and Nell walked through the crowd toward the bonfire. They spotted Mary Pisano with Henrietta on her arm and waved them over. Agnes, dressed in a brilliant blue puffy coat, was on Henrietta's other side. Her hair hung loose and full to her shoulders.

She looked ten years younger, Nell told her.

Agnes brushed away Nell's compliments. "The magazine staff in New York isn't shy about commenting on clothes or hair-styles. This is my one concession to keep them quiet and force them back to real work. And I told them as much. I'm not in this to look beautiful. I'm in it to publish a beautiful magazine."

"Well, for whatever reason, you look like you're enjoying yourself, Agnes," Ben said. "And that's as it should be." He waved at a vendor and walked off to collect a tray of hot chocolate.

"Thank you. I've been back and forth this week, and I am enjoying the work. But frankly, there's too much unfinished business here with my family to completely enjoy anything. These murders are sucking the life out of us." Worry shadowed her face. "Pamela was family--and for better or worse, we were connected to Troy, too." She looked up at the sky as if trying to put words to her emotions. "I was supposed to meet with him Saturday down in New York to talk about his fashion shoot. He was thrilled about it, and then he never showed up. At first I was angry, that I'd gone out on a limb for him and he blew us off. Then Mary called with the awful news that he was dead. Murdered. And in Grandfather's backyard. It leaves you wondering why this is all happening to us . . . or who's next."

"No one is next," Birdie said with authority. "This is the end of it."

Nell agreed. "It's too close to all of us."

"And there are too many coincidences, things that, looking back, must have been planned carefully," Birdie said.

Agnes frowned. "Like what?"

Nell picked up the conversation. "The bed-and-breakfast had people in and out all the time. Yet those two times, the house was empty. Was it chance? How would the murderer have known that it'd be empty?"

Mary nodded. "I've thought about that, too. Whoever did this planned it carefully--but it wouldn't have been difficult to find out that information. You keep your eyes and ears open, you find things out."

You keep your eyes and ears open . . .

An innocent comment, but both Mary and Nell were acutely aware that too many innocent comments were pointing the wrong way.

They were pointing to the kitchen at Ravenswood-by-the-Sea. Pointing to Kevin Sullivan.

"Everyone is so focused on Ravenswood-by-the-Sea," Mary said. "The murders may have happened there, but I think we need to look beyond the Pisano family meeting and the kitchen help to find this murderer," Mary said with conviction.

But Nell didn't need convincing. She believed that to be true. It had to be true, or a very nice man was guilty of a horrible crime.

Clapping and laughter and hundreds of small cheering voices drew their attention to a sturdy white and maroon lobster boat, slowly making its way toward the pier. Bells jingled on the sides of the boat, and a group of playful elves atop the boat's cabin were kicking their red-tipped shoes and shaking tambourines in the air.

At the site of the boat, Pete and the Fractured Fish broke out into their own raucous rendition of "Here Comes Santa Claus."

And standing up on the bow of Cass' beautiful
Lady Lobster
was the man they'd been waiting for--Santa Claus in full dress, his thick white beard blowing in the breeze, his wide black belt circling his middle. August McClucken outdid himself, his "ho ho's" rolling all the way from ship to shore. Standing beside him was a new and welcome addition. Waving her heart out, her round cheeks as red as her stocking hat, was Mrs. Claus.

Ben lifted his binoculars. He lowered them and smiled broadly. "It's our own Esther Gibson."

Esther was grinning, her white hair billowing about her. Round rimless glasses defined her clear eyes, and a red velvet cape trimmed in white was pulled tight across her ample breasts.

Cass guided the boat in, then killed the engine as they neared the dock and looped ropes over the post. The elves--some of Esther's grandchildren--paraded off first, and next came Mr. and Mrs. Claus, patting children on the head as they made their way to a giant throne set up near the Fractured Fish band.

For the next hour, Santa listened and smiled, lifting little bodies on and off his wide knee. Esther sat dutifully at his side, handing out small bags of candy and toys.

As the fire died down and the firemen covered the glowing embers with sand, the temperature dropped sharply and parents scooped up happy children and hurried them off to bed.

A small group of friends stood around the fire rim, their attention focused on Izzy, her arms filled by a baby.

"Do you want to keep her for the next few days until all my shopping is done?" Laura Danvers teased. "She's much quieter in your arms."

Izzy grinned down at the chubby baby girl. "I'd keep her in a heartbeat."

Laura laughed and took the baby, settling her in a carrier while her husband gathered up the older children. "You need at least six of these, Izzy," she said.

Izzy smiled.

A year ago she would have had a comeback, some quick, clever retort. Tonight, at least in her aunt's eyes, she was hiding something that looked suspiciously like yearning.

"There you are, dearies; how did I do?"

Esther Gibson walked over to the group, swinging her red cape dramatically. A knit stocking cap was pulled over her gray hair.

"The real McCoy," Ben said.

"The kids loved you, Esther."

"And I didn't even need a costume, though I don't know if that's such a good thing." She patted her middle.

"I'll bring the car around," Ben called out as he and Sam made their way across the harbor grounds.

Izzy and Nell walked slowly on either side of Esther, helping her over the snow-packed ground.

"Is there anything new on the Ravenswood Road murders?" Nell asked.

Esther shook her head. "My poor men are working like Trojan horses, but I think it might become one of those cold cases like on TV. Nothing leads very far. Poor Kevin Sullivan's name is tossed about like a ship on an angry sea, but I tell them exactly what I think of that. I don't mince words with the men. That's how you have to treat them."

"Esther, do you remember a few summers ago--just before Jerry became chief--when Pamela Pisano was here helping her mother move into the nursing home?"

Esther thought back. "Poor Dolores," she said, her memory clearing. "She just couldn't handle it in that big house any longer. She was forgetting things, wandering off."

"Pamela had a problem with a man that summer, I understand."

"Yes," Esther said. "One she brought on herself, but a problem nevertheless."

"Mary remembers a restraining order."

"Yes."

"It was kept quiet."

Esther nodded.

"Why?" Izzy asked. "When I got my first speeding ticket over on Eastern Avenue, the entire town knew it before I got back to Aunt Nell's."

"I remember that," Esther said with a wise nod of her head. "Forty-five miles when you should have been going under thirty, dearie. But this other situation, well, sometimes things need to remain private. Pamela had put a spell on this man--or whatever it was she did that made men follow her around like puppy dogs. The chief told us he was a respectable and generous man who simply went crazy over her, head over heels. He was obsessed with Pamela Pisano; that was the word the chief used."

There was that word again. But Nell could tell from Esther's tone that she had far more sympathy for the obsessed man than for Pamela Pisano.

"That still doesn't explain the need to keep it so quiet."

"It was old Chief Roberts, God rest his soul. He was a kind old man, too old for the job but a good family man. His heart was in the right place."

They had reached the curb on Harbor Road, and Esther's husband, Richard, sat behind the wheel of his truck, tapping the horn.

"So the chief kept it secret? Got rid of the records?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Izzy asked.

Esther frowned at Izzy and Nell as if they had missed part of the conversation. She turned and told her husband to hold his horses. Then she looked back, shaking her head sadly.

"He did it because he was a gentleman. The man asked him to do it. He wanted to protect his innocent wife."