Patterns in the Sand (26 page)

 

 

“Billy Sobel drowned off the Canary Cove dock last night,” Nell said. She paused for a moment as her words sunk in, and then continued. “We don’t know if it was an accident or suicide. There’s talk that he might have been depressed.”

 

 

Willow’s shoes dropped to the sand. “He drowned . . . last night?”

 

 

“We don’t know exactly when.”

 

 

“While we were looking for him?”

 

 

That thought had come to Izzy and Nell as well. When had Billy died? While they were in the parking lot, just above the dock, looking for him?

 

 

“Why would Billy commit suicide?” Brendan asked, his arm going around Willow instinctively. “I saw him yesterday morning in the gallery. He seemed okay—a little strange, maybe, but okay. Natalie had been after him about the books. Since she started keeping them, Billy had to toe the mark a little more.”

 

 

Willow shook her head back and forth slowly. She pulled off her headband and dropped it to the sand, looking at Nell as if she could change her words. “Not another death.”

 

 

“Some people think Billy killed your father. And he was despondent because of that, so he killed himself.”

 

 

Nell didn’t say what surely passed through all their minds—that if the police believed this story, Willow would no longer be a suspect, and at last she could go on with her life. They wouldn’t say it out loud out of respect for Billy, but the fact that Billy’s suicide—if, indeed, it was—would prove to be a good thing for Willow couldn’t be too far from their thoughts.

 

 

“I sure never imagined Billy a murderer,” Brendan said. “He had a temper—everyone around Canary Cove knew that—and he had it in for Aidan this summer. They seemed to disagree on most things going on around the cove. But murder? That’s a whole different bag. And suicide? But I guess when you’re drinking, you’re not thinking straight.”

 

 

“Maybe it was an accident,” Izzy said.

 

 

“Is there a note?” Willow asked. “Isn’t there supposed to be a note when someone commits suicide? Maybe it was a sad, unfortunate accident. And now that poor woman will be berating herself for being so mad at him last night. How awful for her.”

 

 

Brendan looked confused. “What woman?”

 

 

“His wife. We drove her around in the storm last night,” Willow said. “She was looking for her husband.”

 

 

“Did you see Billy? Where did you look?”

 

 

“No, we never saw him,” Nell said. “We followed his trail as far as the Artist’s Palate, but it was raining so hard that Natalie decided to just go back home and wait for him.”

 

 

They filled Brendan in on the events of the evening. But none of the discussion lead anywhere, accept for the devastating awareness that the five women might have been just a few yards from where Billy Sobel sat on the dock, drinking a bottle of bourbon. And about to die.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 23

 

“T
he whole town is talking about it,” Mae said. “Imagine, Billy Sobel killing Aidan. He had a temper, sure, but goodness gracious, getting mad enough to kill someone? Now that amazes me. And suicide? Billy Sobel?”

 

 

Mae took a credit card from a customer and ran it through her machine, then handed the woman a sack of merino wool and a sock pattern—along with her usual pinch of advice. “Use the kitchener stitch on the toes and you’ll be a happy camper,” she encouraged the customer.

 

 

While Mae was occupied, Nell checked the messages on her cell phone.

 

 

Willow would be a few minutes late meeting her and Izzy in Canary Cove.

 

 

Ben was heading to Gloucester for a late-afternoon meeting.

 

 

And from Birdie, an announcement that Natalie was cremating Billy and burying him in New Jersey. Now what did she think about that?

 

 

Mae’s glasses had slipped down to the slight bump on her long nose and she pushed them back in place with one finger. “What do you make of it, Nell?”

 

 

For a second, Nell had to unscramble her thoughts and messages to figure out what Mae was talking about.
Billy. Murder. Suicide
. When she spoke, she surprised herself at the robust belief behind her words.

 

 

“I don’t think Billy killed Aidan Peabody. And I don’t think Billy committed suicide.”

 

 

“What are you saying, Nell?” Mae jerked off her glasses and pushed them up into her graying poof of hair. She stared at Nell, ignoring Harriet Brandley’s request for a pair of number eight bamboo needles.

 

 

“I’m saying that someone else killed Aidan. And that Billy either accidentally fell off the end of that dock or . . .”

 

 

She was relieved that Harriet persisted in her pursuit of needles and saved Nell from finishing the sentence
.
Or . . . or
what
, for heaven’s sake? What had she intended to say?

 

 

Izzy appeared at her side and nudged her into the back room. “I don’t know if I can get away right now. Will you and Willow be okay?”

 

 

A group of women was sitting around the table with coffee, yarn, and a dozen half-finished chemo hats in front of them and Izzy nodded in their direction.

 

 

“I need to help a few of the beginning knitters.”

 

 

Before going their separate ways early that morning, Willow had reminded Nell and Izzy that she had the keys to Aidan’s house.

 

 

Standing beside her, Brendan had insisted he would go with her. She shouldn’t be facing this by herself.

 

 

Nell and Izzy agreed that they would go, too, though Brendan made it clear they’d be fine with just the two of them. But Nell insisted. The flux of emotions that Willow was experiencing would only be intensified when she saw her father’s home for the fist time. And the more distractions, the better.

 

 

“That’s fine. Brendan is going to go, too.”

 

 

“He’s been a surprise light in all this. He seems to brighten Willow’s days.”

 

 

Nell nodded. “I don’t know what we’ll do other than poke around a little. But at least Willow won’t be alone. The house is hers now, after all, and she needs to take this first step. And then, in time, discover there what she needs to discover.”

 

 

Nell met Willow at a small tea shop that had recently opened on Canary Road. It had two tables inside and two out on the street. In the summer months people sipped iced tea at the small tables, and in colder weather, hot chowder would be served up with the tea to hungry artists and art lovers. Small teapots decorated the inside shelves and the tables were old, with small, uneven chairs. It reminded Nell of a dollhouse, and she decided the first time she saw it that it wasn’t a place for the Bens and Sams in her life—they would surely break something.

 

 

But Polly Farrell, the new owner, brewed amazing tea, and the crumpets were moist and flavorful.

 

 

When Nell walked up she saw Willow through the window, standing at the counter ordering fresh raspberry tea for the two of them.

 

 

Outside, Rebecca Marks sat at a table by herself. Her elbows were on the tabletop and her head was balanced on her hands, as if the support were needed to hold it in place.

 

 

“Hello, Rebecca.”

 

 

Rebecca looked up, surprised, it seemed to Nell, to hear a voice.

 

 

Nell smiled at the attractive woman in the bright turquoise sundress. Handblown beads, strung on a narrow cord, were looped around her neck and caught the fading sunlight. But her eyes, usually bright and lined like those of a model on a magazine cover, were half closed.

 

 

“I don’t often see you here in Canary Cove at this time of day.”

 

 

“I’m meeting someone.” Nell nodded toward the shop’s interior.

 

 

From inside the store, Willow spotted Nell through the window and waved that she’d be out in a minute.

 

 

“You’re meeting her,” Rebecca said, following the exchange with tired-looking eyes.

 

 

“Willow,” Nell said.

 

 

“Yes, Aidan’s forgotten daughter. It makes one wonder what else he forgot.”

 

 

“Are you all right, Rebecca?”

 

 

“I will be fine. I have the artists’ curse.”

 

 

“Oh?”

 

 

“Insomnia. But Ellen swears I do my best work at three a.m., so I guess it works out okay in the long run.”

 

 

“But it must make the next day quite gruesome.”

 

 

“Sometimes. Today’s not bad. Ellen is helping Jane out at the council, but we have plenty of help in the gallery, and I’m taking it easy. Doc Hamilton helps me out if I must get a full night’s sleep. A little bit of Nembutal does wonders when I need it.”

 

 

Nell nodded.

 

 

“I seem to have misplaced the magic pills, though—hence my sleepless night. But no matter. I’ll be fine. On to more interesting things. Where are you and Aidan’s daughter off to?” Rebecca’s tone was flat, clearly making small talk without much interest. “It still baffles my mind that she found him like she did.”

 

 

“I know you didn’t like Aidan, Rebecca,” Nell said, not quite sure where the conversation was going, but uncomfortable with Rebecca’s tone. She hoped it was caused by the lack of sleep. “But I guess I’m not sure why.”

 

 

Rebecca took the question and seemed to play with an answer before she spoke again. “I don’t like it when people try to control everything. Aidan did that with the arts council. He irritated everyone, always seeming to know the answers to things. Ellen, of course, had to go to the council meetings because she’s the only one around here with good business sense—myself included—and she helped with that side of things. I know sometimes Aidan put pressure on her, too, being rigid about reports and insisting that things be done his ways. It didn’t bother Ellen much, but that’s because she wouldn’t let it bother her—that’s just how she is. But Aidan irritated others, I know. And he had a fit when D. J. Delaney suggested an inn on some of that unkempt land Aidan owned. I think D.J. would have outright killed Aidan if he could have.”

 

 

“But you and Aidan were close not so long ago.”

 

 

Rebecca laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. She shrugged. “Aidan was too—I don’t know—too cerebral for me I guess. He wasn’t that much fun, not really. And he had secrets. Take this daughter for example . . .”

 

 

“Whom he might not have known about.”

 

 

Rebecca’s perfectly plucked eyebrows lifted over her tired eyes. “Oh, he knew about her. At least he suspected there might be a child, whatever sex it might be. He told me as much. I think he even tried to find her once.”

 

 

“Are you sure?”

 

 

Rebecca blew off the question. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago. He got drunk one night and talked a little about it. I was only half listening but I knew some girl had said he got her pregnant. That much I know I heard.

 

 

“And my relationship with Aidan was complicated, if that’s what you’re interested in, just like he was complicated. But he couldn’t deal with it. So it ended. And once it was over I realized he hadn’t been a good choice from the beginning.”

 

 

Good choice?
An odd word to use, Nell thought, unless one was picking out fresh tuna from Hennessey’s seafood stand.

 

 

She was relieved when Willow walked through the door, carefully balancing full cups of iced tea.

 

 

Willow handed Nell a tall cup.

 

 

Rebecca had gone back to reading a magazine, seemingly uninterested in further conversation, and didn’t look up when Nell and Willow greeted each other. They’d only gone a few feet when Nell realized there was a topic that she and Rebecca hadn’t addressed.

 

 

“Rebecca,” she said, turning around and raising her voice above the whirr of a scooter racing by. “I’m so sorry about Billy Sobel. Another sad loss for Canary Cove.”

 

 

Rebecca looked up. “I suppose Ellen is the one who needs your condolences on that front. She and Billy have known each other a long time. She’s quite upset. Me? I thought Billy was a poor excuse for an art dealer and should have stuck to gambling. He didn’t know fine art from a hole in the ground, in my opinion.” And with that, she lowered her head and continued to turn the pages of her magazine.

 

 

“Interesting lady,” Willow murmured under her breath.

 

 

Nell attempted a smile and an excuse. “Well, you know artists.”

 

 

Willow looked down the street at the Fishtail Gallery. A carved wooden fish with an enormous tail hung from two iron chains above the locked door. It creaked slightly in the breeze.

 

 

“I wish I did,” she said softly.

 

 

Nell put her arm around Willow and felt a slight quiver pass through her body. “You’ll get to know him, Willow. And I suspect you’ll be enriched by what you learn.”

 

 

Later, Nell would tell Ben about the conversation and confess that she had no idea why she had said those words. But as soon as she had, she believed them with a ferocity that defied contradiction.

 

 

“Is Brendan coming?” Nell asked as they crossed the road.

 

 

“He’ll meet us. He was going to sneak out early—he’s helping Jane and Ham today, then has to check in on Natalie. He kind of feels he needs to keep an eye on her.”