Trimmed With Murder (4 page)

C
harlie hung up and stayed at the counter for a minute, as if wondering what to do next. Finally he walked back to the group near the fireplace and sat down in front of his uneaten omelet. He looked up, almost apologetically. “Do any of you know someone named Esther Gibson?”

Without waiting for an answer, he dug into Ben's moist omelet and closed his eyes with a look of pure pleasure.

Nell looked at Ben, then Izzy. Why was he asking about the police dispatcher?

“Of course we know Esther,” Izzy said. “Everyone in town knows her. Why? She's the police dispatcher. Are you in trouble?”

Charlie shook his head, his mouth full of eggs. Finally he talked around them. “I guess she's bringing my phone over. And apparently there's a pair of gloves in my car she needs.”

“Esther needs your gloves?” Ben leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

“Hey, sorry, I'm not making a lot of sense.”

Finally he looked up and tried to explain about the hitchhiker he'd picked up on the way into town. “It was a frigging mess out there,” he said. “And this girl—woman, I guess—appeared on the side of the road. She was thumbing her way into Sea Harbor.

“I let her off—and apparently my cell phone, too—in town. Seems she left her gloves in my car and wants them back in exchange for the phone.”

The short explanation brought a bevy of questions—who was the woman? Why was she coming to Sea Harbor? Where had she gone when he dropped her off?

And Charlie hadn't touched on Esther Gibson at all—and how she figured into his hitchhiker story.

Before they could pin him down, the doorbell rang.

Nell walked to the front hall to let Esther in. She loved her nephew, but suspected that the police dispatcher would be able to explain the cell phone and gloves and hitchhiker in a far more coherent way than Charlie was doing.

But the woman Nell led back into the family room was definitely not Esther Gibson.

Even Abby turned her blond curls to look at the stranger walking up behind her.

“Charlie, your friend is here. Everyone, this is Amber Harper.”

“Esther dropped me off,” Amber said to Nell, as if somehow it explained everything. “She's a crazy driver.”

The others filled in the awkwardness with hellos, their greetings coming in a rush, with furtive glances flitting from Amber to Charlie and back again.

Ben pulled up another chair and insisted she sit. “I make the best Bloody Mary in Sea Harbor. It's a great antidote after a ride in Esther's truck.”

Amber allowed a slight smile, then nodded to the others self-consciously. Finally her look settled more comfortably on the one familiar face in the room. “Hey,” she said, her bravado of the day before muted by the circle of strangers. She held out a cell phone. “I guess this is yours.”

Charlie leaned forward and took it from her. He examined it, shaking his head. “Yep, you're right, it's mine. Did you take anything else?” he asked.

“Nope. Sorry about that. And I want my gloves back. This town is cold.”

“Fair exchange, I guess.”

She laughed, a kind of nervous laugh, and the others joined in, trying to put the slender woman at ease.

Birdie was sitting closest to the fireplace, her glasses perched on her nose. She looked intently at the woman with the pale complexion and long brown hair. It was swept back into a ponytail, but several strands had tugged free and she hooked them back behind one ear. She had high cheekbones that gave some definition to her face. Her nose was straight and slightly angled at the end, but not in an unpleasing way. There was a promise of beauty there, but one disguised behind suspicious eyes and the set of her narrow jaw.

Nell glanced at Birdie, wondering what was going on inside her head. She was usually the first to make a newcomer feel welcome. But today she was noticeably quiet, as if examining the woman before she spoke.

“Are you a relative of Esther's?” Izzy asked, breaking the uncomfortable lull.

Nell had wondered the same thing. Esther had given Amber her phone number—and she had dropped her off. There was a connection there.

Amber murmured something about passing through town but not staying long. Then she shook her head, as if scolding herself for being rude, and explained that she was staying at Esther's. “Esther used to . . .”

The thought dangled, unfinished. Finally Amber said, “Esther said she thought Charlie might be here.” She laughed self-consciously. “I'd forgotten how people in this place know everyone else's business. And how everyone seems to tell Esther everything.”

It might have been the mention of Esther again, or the familiarity with which Amber said it, that pushed Birdie forward in her chair, then to rise from it to get a closer look at the visitor.

“Amber Harper,” she said, repeating the name, infusing life into it. She walked around the couch to where Amber sat. Then she touched her lightly on the shoulder and Amber looked up into her face. “I should have recognized your name, Amber. I'm Birdie Favazza. How nice to see you.”

A blush crawled up Amber's neck to her cheeks. She smiled at Birdie, but the expression on her face made it clear that she wasn't sure who she was.

Birdie patted Amber on the shoulder again and smiled. “It's all right, dear, you can't be expected to remember someone from all those years ago. Besides, we probably only met a few times. But Esther Gibson is a dear friend of mine.”

The puzzlement began to disappear and Amber's face softened. “Birdie,” she said softly. “Sure, Birdie, Esther's friend. I sort of remember.”

“And you've come to see Esther? I'm sure she's thrilled.”

“She asked me to come to sign some papers. To pick up some things. I'm just here for a day or so.”

The others sat up straighter, listening, curious, but it was Charlie who was the most intent. He leaned forward on the couch, his elbows on his knees, and his attention completely focused on Amber and Birdie's conversation.

“Hey, you all need to eat,” Amber said, shaking loose of Birdie's look. She stood up so quickly her coffee spilled onto the napkin Ben had given her. “Oh, I'm so sorry.” Quickly she wiped the few drops that had made it to the coffee table. “I really need to go.” She looked over at Charlie. “I need my gloves—it's freezing out there. I left them in your Bimmer.”

Without waiting for an answer, she offered another thank-you to Nell and Ben, nodded toward the others, and headed toward the door.

Ben looked over at his nephew. “Charlie, she's right. It's freezing. If she needs a ride somewhere—” he began.

But Charlie had already gotten off the couch, eyes lingering briefly on the remains of his omelet. He nodded to Ben, then looked over at Izzy and Sam and Nell and Ben and Birdie, as if he'd brought yet another interruption into their lives. “Hey—I'm sorry about this—”

“Go, Charlie,” Nell said. “We'll have days to catch up.”
Days to make up for years. Days to heal old wounds.
She felt Izzy's eyes on her as she spoke.

Charlie nodded, his eyes on Izzy.

“Go,” Izzy said.

“It's . . .” He looked flustered, as if whatever he might say would require more than a few words.

Finally he grabbed his jacket, pulled his car keys from the pocket, and hurried out the door after his fleeing hitchhiker.

“T
here's nothing like a little excitement to get our juices flowing on a Saturday morning,” Birdie said as the sound of Charlie's BMW finally disappeared into the cold Saturday air. She picked up her knitting again and smoothed out the cable stitches.

Sam got up and began refilling coffee cups. “You seem to be the only one in the loop, Birdie. Who is that gal?”

Birdie was still looking toward the door, her fingers moving the needles as she worked to place Amber Harper exactly in the right pocket of her memory. Finally she rested her knitting in her lap and stirred cream into her coffee. “Amber Harper is the late Lydia Cummings's granddaughter.” She waited while the news settled in, and then set down her cup and held up her Bloody Mary glass, suggesting Ben refresh it a bit. It might make Amber's story flow more easily.

“The Cummings Nurseries,” Ben said out loud, his mind trying to piece the puzzle together.

“Yes. Amber was born out of wedlock, as some folks referred to it back then. Her mother was a waitress at Jake Risso's Gull. Jake had a soft spot for the girl and his wife, Marie, took her under her wing, Esther said.”

Ben was frowning. “Stuart Cummings had a child?”

Birdie shook her head. “No, no. Patrick Cummings was Amber's father—the youngest of Lydia Cummings's children.”

Recollection flooded Ben's face. “Oh, sure. Patrick. My parents talked about him, about what happened to him—”

“Esther was Patrick's godmother. He was a surprise baby, enough younger than Barbara and Stu to almost be an only child. He was the joy of his mother's life—handsome, brilliant. A Rhodes scholar. He was just on the brink of beginning his adult life when he died in a terrible accident.”

“So the waitress—Ellie Harper—was Patrick's girlfriend?” Nell asked.

Birdie said yes. “When she got pregnant, she hid it from everyone, even Patrick for a while. Finally the two of them went to tell Lydia about the pregnancy, knowing they wanted to get married. Lydia was shocked. She knew nothing about his relationship with Ellie until that night—I think Stu and the Rissos were the only ones Patrick and Ellie confided in.”

“Lydia must have been happy at the thought of a grandchild.” Nell looked over at Abby.

“No. She was furious. She had so many plans for Patrick, and none of them included a waitress from the Gull. Of course Patrick was distraught over his mother's reaction, and drowned his emotion in a few too many beers. So Ellie drove when they left the bar that night. They were out on 128. A pickup truck crossed over the line, and Patrick was killed instantly.”

The story settled around the room as if it were fresh and poignant, bearing relevance a thirty-year-old news story wouldn't have.

“Ellie was hurt badly, but she survived. The baby was delivered prematurely and she also survived.”

“Amber.” Izzy's word escaped on a hushed breath. She picked up a sleepy Abby and cuddled her close, as if to shield her from life's tragedies. Then she carried her upstairs for a nap.

“Lydia's husband had died a year or two earlier.”

“And then the accident ripped her youngest son from her life,” Sam said.

“How awful.” Nell sat back against the chair cushions. “I never suspected Lydia had suffered such tragedy in her life. She always seemed to be in charge, in control.”

“Oh, I think she was in control. Always,” Birdie said. “But Patrick's death changed her. I even noticed it, though I wasn't aware of all the reasons. She refused the compassion people offered, preferring to handle it all in her own way. One of the few people she let in besides Esther was Father Northcutt—he helped her tremendously.”

“So Ellie recovered?” Izzy asked.

Birdie leaned back in the chair and pulled at the threads of her memory. “Ellie wasn't even thought about much during those difficult days. No one asked about her. It was as if Patrick had been in the car alone. The town's attention was on the grieving Cummings family—on Lydia, Barbara, Stuart, and his young wife, Helen—not on Ellie, much less a baby. Both of them were taken to a hospital in Boston and there were rumors that Ellie was recovering, her broken bones healing. But then weeks or maybe it was months later, she had a setback—an embolism or something, I believe—and she ended up in a persistent vegetative state. She never recovered from it.”

“What became of the baby?” Izzy asked.

Birdie looked out the window, trying to remember. The story was still slightly muddled in her head, a story that had been buried, then slowly resurrected, but appearing now with broken parts—or perhaps parts that had remained shielded from the public. “Lydia assumed responsibility,” she said finally. “Ellie had no family.”

Nell thought about the stately Cummings matriarch, already a powerful figure in Sea Harbor when Ben and Nell moved there to make it their permanent home. She was tall, always dressed elegantly but simply—black cashmere sweaters, tailored slacks. She was a pillar of society, and also a pillar of Our Lady of Safe Seas Church, deeply generous to all of Father Northcutt's causes. Her recent funeral had been one of the biggest he had ever presided over, the parish priest had admitted. It was planned by her children. Very showy. Something he himself thought Lydia would have hated.

But the thing Nell remembered most about the times she had been in the presence of Lydia Cummings was the sadness that darkened her eyes, never completely hidden behind her powerful demeanor. And now she knew why.

The impact of Ellie Harper's story came gradually to those in the room, like a lazy wave on the shores of the beach, etching in the sand a realization of lives irrevocably changed by young love, a pregnancy, a death.

“Lydia's granddaughter,” Ben said, mulling over the information. He put a palm to his forehead, as if patting the facts in place.

Prominent families in Sea Harbor were usually open books as far as their lineage went, especially when a family business was integral to the unit. Ben and Nell knew the Cummingses. Until her illness, Lydia had been highly visible in the community. Formidable, but generous, as were Barbara and Stuart, her adult children. The only grandchild they knew about was a son of Stu's, now a banker in Boston.

But Lydia having another, little-known grandchild was a surprise.

“What happened to Amber's mother?” Sam asked.

“Ellie Harper lived, and died, at the Ocean View Nursing Home. Not too long ago, in fact. Two or three years ago, I believe.”

“Ocean View is a beautiful place,” Nell said.

“And expensive,” Izzy added.

“It's very upscale—with wonderful care in the assisted-living section. And charming homes for those who are able but choose to live in a community with its own gardeners and maintenance men. My husband, Sonny, was on the board in the early days,” Birdie said.

It was Abby who was able to change the serious mood of the morning in an instant. Her cheerful wake-up giggles echoed through the house from the small speaker on the counter and in short order she was sitting on the floor, front and center, gleefully knocking down colorful blocks and insisting with a wave of her pudgy hands that they be restacked immediately.

Nell watched her from the kitchen sink as she and Danny rinsed plates and mugs and filled up the dishwasher.

“A child has such power,” Danny said, following her look. “It makes me wonder about Amber Harper's childhood. Did she have any power like our Abby? Was she ever the child who sat in the middle of a circle of attentive, loving adults?”

The question hung there in the air without an answer, a question that would be revisited often in the days to come.

It was much later that day, long after Birdie's driver, Harold, had picked her up for a dentist appointment, after Sam and Izzy had taken Red and Abby home, that the real reason Amber Harper had come back to town began to make sense.

•   •   •

“This is the perfect getaway,” Don Wooten said, pulling out his wife Rachel's chair as they settled into a small seaside restaurant in Gloucester.

“Is that what we're celebrating?” Nell asked, taking the inside chair near the bank of windows. Don and Rachel had invited them to dinner weeks before to celebrate something or another, though Nell had confessed to Ben on the way over that she couldn't remember what it was. But it didn't matter—Duckworth's Bistrot was one of their favorite restaurants and they needed no nudging or excuse to say yes. It was where they'd dined the night Ben had proposed to Nell, where they'd taken Izzy to celebrate the opening of the Seaside Knitting Studio, where they had toasted Izzy and Sam's engagement.

“Getting away is a fine thing to celebrate,” Rachel said, her tiredness of the evening before gone.

“And sometimes that means getting out of Dodge,” Don said, and they all agreed.

Although the drive from Sea Harbor to Gloucester wasn't a long one, the cozy restaurant was filled with holiday cheer and felt far removed from mundane concerns. And, as Don said, the chances of his wife running into a disgruntled city employee or someone wanting legal advice were far less likely than if they were dining at the Ocean's Edge, his own Sea Harbor restaurant.

“I'm going to assume by the relaxed look on your face that you're also making headway on the Cummings estate,” Ben said. He settled down next to Nell and put on his reading glasses, looking over at Rachel before glancing down at the menu.

“Yes,” she answered. She smiled up at the friendly waitress as Don ordered a bottle of wine for the table. “I have Esther Gibson to thank for some of that. She is a miracle worker.”

“Esther?”

“Lydia's will wasn't as complicated as you'd expect, considering the size of it, mostly because Cummings Nurseries is a family business and Lydia wanted to keep it that way. There were some little things—well, not so little. To no one's surprise, she made a sizable endowment to Our Lady of Safe Seas. Their food pantry and other causes will be in fine shape for the rest of their life. She asked, though, that the family section of her will be held back until I could get the family together—like they used to do in the old days. And I had some trouble locating everyone.”

Nell looked up, startled, a piece suddenly falling in place. “You must mean Amber Harper,” she said.

Rachel laughed. “No secrets in a small town. Do you know Amber?”

“No,” Ben said. “But we've met her, thanks to Izzy's brother, Charlie. Amber was hitchhiking out on 128 last night and he gave her a lift into town.”

“I didn't know Izzy had a younger brother,” Don said. He sat back while the waitress uncorked the bottle of wine and offered him a taste.

Nell stopped short of saying that there were times Izzy wasn't sure she had a younger brother, either, at least not one who communicated with her. Instead she said, “Charlie is an interesting guy.
Man
, actually, though I sometimes have difficulty realizing my niece and nephews are amazing grown-ups. He's here to work at Lily Virgilio's free clinic. They're ramping up their vaccination program and Charlie is putting his nursing degree to good use by helping out.”

“We haven't seen Charlie in a while. Having him here for the holidays is a welcome surprise,” Ben added. “He'll stay at least through the new year.”

“Amber was the second surprise,” Nell said. “She left something in Charlie's car last night and showed up at our house this morning to claim it.”

“Small world,” Don said, lifting his glass. “Here's to yuletide finds and surprises. Rachel has found the long-lost Amber and you've found a nephew.”

The others lifted their glasses, candlelight reflecting off the crystal.

Outside, a beastly wind howled in the black night. Nell glanced through the tall windows that fronted East Main Street. Scattered snowflakes and bits of paper danced across the street, glinting in the headlights of passing cars. Horns honked. But inside, all was warm and softly lit. She brought her attention back to the table. “To discoveries,” she repeated. “May they bring us joy.”

The catch in her voice was followed by a flutter deep inside her chest, unexpected, and for a moment, startling. Nell took a sip of wine and swallowed it slowly, only then realizing that the feeling had not been a pleasant one but one touched with a deep frisson of foreboding.

None of the others seemed to notice Nell's discomfort. The taste of the fine Cabernet Don had ordered was a far more pleasant focus. She half listened as Ben expanded on their brief encounter with Amber and the bit of history Birdie had supplied.

“You're a step ahead of me,” Rachel said when Ben had finished. “I have yet to meet her in person, although I talked to her briefly today.”

“But you knew she existed,” Don said.

They paused while the waitress wrote down their dinner choices and disappeared.

“I did, although Lydia rarely talked about her granddaughter,” Rachel said, “and when she did, it was with a coldness that surprised me.”

“It's interesting that Amber carries her mother's name,” Ben said.

“Father Northcutt told me that Amber's mother had named her daughter and filed her birth certificate from the hospital, before she became incapacitated. I suppose Lydia could have changed the last name if she had wanted to, once she had confirmed the baby's paternity, but she didn't. She said if I had any questions when settling the will, Esther or Father Larry might have the answers. Esther apparently kept in touch with Amber—or at least tried to—after she left Sea Harbor.”

“There's something very sad about it all,” Nell said. “This is such a small town and the Cummings family is so well known. And yet Amber appears almost as a ghost, an outsider.” She thought about the woman with the angry eyes, but someone who softened almost immediately by simple acts of kindness, a cup of coffee. Birdie's gentle touch on her shoulder.