Trimmed With Murder (9 page)

“He played in college, too,” Sam said.

Charlie nodded. “Oh, yeah, for a while.” He got up then and excused himself, heading for the restrooms.

“That's one way to avoid being the center of attention,” Izzy said.

Nell watched her nephew disappear. Yes, that was one way. Easier, for sure, than the other way Charlie had tried—quitting college, disappearing into his own world.

Sam watched Charlie, too. His eyebrows pulled together as his mind crawled back into time. He remembered how strong the youthful Charlie was, powerful. On and off the field. He didn't see it now, not in his stature, his manner. Not good or bad. But different. Charlie was different.

The memory slipped away as Charlie returned to the table. His demeanor was lighter, back on an even keel. Ben suggested more coffee or after-dinner drinks.

His offer was suddenly interrupted by the howl of a coyote.

Charlie grimaced, a blush coloring his chiseled profile. “Got to change that text tone,” he mumbled, and dug his cell phone out of his pocket.

He read the message, then looked up, shaking his head. “Looks like my princess needs a chariot or whatever.”

Before questions intervened, he grabbed his jacket, gave Nell a hug, and thanked Ben for the dinner. Then, with an athlete's grace, he moved across the crowded dining room to the parking lot exit.

Ben watched him walk away. “So much for an early night.”

“It's the ‘whatever' in his comment that bothers me,” Izzy said.

“He barely knows her,” Cass said. “What, five, six days? Is that how long since they met?”

“I fell in love with Sonny the day I met him,” Birdie said. Her head tilted to one side, her eyes bright and thoughtful as she spoke of a love that had lasted fifty years and was still going strong, untarnished by her husband's death years before.

“You did, too, Cass—come on, admit it,” Danny teased.

They all laughed at the unexpected blush that crept up Cass's cheeks.

“See?” Ben said. “Love doesn't wear a watch.”

Nell studied Ben's face and knew he had more to say. He wanted to take the attention off Charlie. Ben felt strongly that the last thing their nephew needed was interference in his life. He'd disappeared from them once. They didn't want it to happen again.

N
ell turned the wheel and rounded the corner onto Harbor Road too quickly, hoping one of Tommy Porter's squad wasn't around. She scolded herself mentally and slowed down as she neared Harry Garozzo's deli. She had planned her day carefully, allowing just enough time after a meeting at the museum to pick up a loaf of bread, then was going home to finish off the casserole for the evening knitting session.

Every Thursday knitting session was important, but when emotional clouds as heavy and ponderous as a nor'easter weighed over all of them, the gatherings took on even more urgency. They were utterly necessary.

A parking place opened up a few steps down from Harry's deli and Nell maneuvered her car into the space. She had gathered up her bag and her keys, and started walking toward the deli, when she stopped suddenly.

The wide display windows of the Italian deli were filled today with elves and reindeer and baskets of Italian bread, but what caused Nell's slowdown was the unlikely couple exiting through the glass door.

Helen Cummings moved through the door, then looked briefly at the younger woman directly behind her, who was holding the door open for the older woman. Helen was walking straight and stiff, as if she'd injured her back. But when she turned and Nell glimpsed her face, she knew it wasn't her back that was bothering her.

It was the woman holding the door.

Amber stood still, her face impassive, her eyes locked in to Helen's.

Helen raised one arm, her gloved hand spreading open, her fingers tight together, as if she wanted to slap someone.

The younger woman didn't move, although her expression changed slightly, a look of defiance settling in.

Finally Helen dropped her arm and spun around, then walked away so quickly that her boots nearly slipped out from beneath her. She regained her composure quickly and without a backward glance hurried down the street, oblivious of Nell's presence.

Amber let the door close behind her and stood on the sidewalk briefly, looking at Harry's imaginative display window. Then she shifted the deli bag from one arm to the other and took off in the opposite direction, a slight spring to her step.

Nell leaned back against her car, processing what she'd seen. Finally she remembered her schedule, hastily got out of the car, and walked into the deli.

As always, the aromas alone awakened her senses. Sweet and pungent odors of garlicky tomato sauce, pickles and peppers, freshly baked bread.

“Nellie, my love,” Harry greeted her from behind the counter, stretching his beefy hand across the glass case to grab her hand. “And what can I tempt you with today—Margaret's saltimbocca? Her mother's own recipe.” He kissed his fingers and lifted them into the air.
“Magnifico.”

Nell laughed and pointed to a plump loaf of rustic Italian bread. “Thursday night at Izzy's yarn shop,” she explained.

Harry slapped the side of his balding head. “I shoulda known. You don't need Harry's specials tonight.”

“Not tonight,” Nell said with a smile. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should mind her own business. But anything connected to Amber these days seemed a family matter, fair game, somehow. “Harry, I just saw Amber Harper walking out of here with Helen Cummings—”

Harry wrapped the bread quickly and then walked around the counter to the steamy window, rubbing it clear with stubby fingers.

When assured the women were no longer in sight, he sidled up close to Nell and lowered his head, his voice as quiet as Harry could get it. “Okay, now, what gives with those two?” he asked Nell. “Amber comes in for one of my wicked-good paninis today—she got an extra one for Izzy's brother, she said. She's in the money now, you know, with the Cummings inheritance.”

Nell nodded, always amazed at how quickly private matters became public in a small town. “So Amber and Helen weren't here together?”

Harry guffawed. “Not till hell freezes over. It was a chance encounter, I suppose you'd say. Helen comes in here often, late lunches with a friend after a tennis game or what have you, has a glass of wine—she loves my lambrusco—then she heads for early drinks down the street at the Ocean's Edge or wherever. Or so I hear.” He shrugged. “Today she was alone, just sat there at her favorite table, chatting with my wife, enjoying the lambrusco.”

“It looked like she and Amber left together.”

“That they did. Amber was at the counter, waiting while I packed up her sandwiches. That's when Helen walks up front, wrapping her scarf around her neck, heading for the door.”

Nell held her breath, feeling suddenly protective of Amber and hoping she hadn't said something awful to Helen Cummings. Insulting a quiet, genteel woman who was the wife of the Cummingses' CEO wouldn't fare well as it traveled around town. “I hope Amber didn't say anything. I know she has a temper, but this has been a trying week for her—”

“Amber? Oh, no, Nellie, you got it wrong. I don't think Amber even noticed Helen. But Helen noticed
her
, right away. Bam, just like that. And that usually nice face hardened like granite. She walked over to her—scared Amber, she did—and began scolding her. Like a schoolmarm, at first. Accused her of causing unnecessary problems for the company. She needed to leave them alone, to leave town, something like that. And then she mentioned something about Ocean View.”

“Ocean View?” Nell said.

“Don't know what that was about. She said Amber should be grateful for all Lydia Cummings did for her and her mother instead of minding other people's business.”

“That's odd.”

“Well, Nellie, the whole exchange was odd, if you ask me.”

“What did Amber do?”

“She ignored her at first, and that made Helen mad. So she poked at Amber with her finger to get her attention. Surprised my wife, who came around the corner and walked over to Helen, trying to calm her down. Margaret and Helen are friends. But neither of us had seen her like this. Poor lady was shaking. She just wants things to be good for Stu, I think, but Margaret thought maybe it was the lambrusco.

“I handed Amber her bag of sandwiches and she had turned to go when Helen followed her, telling her that she had to stop meddling or she'd be very sorry. The Cummingses weren't people who wanted interference,” she said. “She was warning her for her own good. ‘Stay away or else,' she said.

“Amber was at the door by then, holding it open, and Helen walked right on through, her head high, without even a good-bye to Margaret and me. Just like that. And I suppose that's what you saw—them coming through the door together.”

Harry took a deep breath, feeling the exertion of his monologue. He wiped his forehead and shook his head. “Damnedest thing I ever saw. That young woman held herself tight, though. Never a bad word said back to Helen. Not one word.”

•   •   •

Esther Gibson and Nell happened to arrive at the Seaside Knitting Studio at exactly the same moment. Seeing that Nell's hands were full, Esther held open the door with her hip, using her cane as a stopper. Nell thanked her and walked through, carefully balancing a foil-wrapped casserole dish.

“Crab?” Esther asked, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening as they fanned back into thinning white hair.

Nell laughed. “Is it that smelly?” Nell set it down for a minute on a nearby display table.

“Smelly is not the appropriate word,” Esther said, wrapping Nell in a soft plump hug. “Not by a long shot.”

It was a stronger hug than usual. Something was on Esther's mind. Nell looked over at Mae, standing behind the computer tabulating the day's receipts. Mae shrugged. She didn't know why Esther was there, either. She already had enough yarn in her house to start her own shop. “Tell Izzy I'm locking up in a few,” Mae said. “Birdie's here and Cass is on the way.”

Nell picked up the casserole dish as Esther relieved her of the bag hanging from her arm.

“Come, dearie,” Esther said. “Let me help you carry it to the back room.”

The Thursday night knitting group—along with the meals Nell brought to the gatherings—was known to anyone who shopped in Izzy's yarn shop, or who happened by the shop on warmer days, when the smells of garlic and wine and fresh herbs would float through the front door and out onto the street. The store always closed early on Thursdays, another clue.

It was that special sacrosanct time each week that Izzy and Birdie, Nell and Cass shared food and friendship, laughter, and sometimes tears, all while bamboo needles worked soft luscious yarns into spirit-soothing hats and sweaters.

But sometimes, like tonight, someone happened by, whether by design or accident or some mysterious force, that led them through the bright blue door on Harbor Road. And no one was ever turned away. There was always enough food—and plenty of shoulders to lean on, and listening ears, if that be the need.

Tonight Esther made no move to leave. She settled herself in the comfortable couch near the fireplace and gratefully took the glass of wine Birdie offered her. “Thank you, Bernadette,” she said.

“It'll take the chill off, Esther. Enjoy,” Birdie said, and continued filling the remaining glasses.

Nell looked over. The use of Birdie's given name portended something serious on the police dispatcher's mind.

Cass bounded down the three steps to the back room, carrying a recently baked rhubarb pie.

“Cass, you shouldn't have,” Izzy said. “Bet you worked all day on that.”

Cass glanced at Esther on the couch and Birdie sitting across from her. She gave them a wave, then simply wrinkled her nose at Izzy instead of words she might otherwise have said to counter her friend's teasing. Birdie had a way of stopping Cass's more colorful retorts.

The pie, of course, came from Danny Brandley, who found cooking and knitting therapeutic when his mystery plots needed airing out. It was a happy day for the knitters when he finally moved back into Cass's house, up on the hill above Canary Cove, along with his cookbooks and a presence they had missed.

“Hey, Esther,” Cass called over. “How did you know you were exactly the person I wanted to see tonight?”

Esther's laugh was sweet and loud at once. “I love you, Cass. Now come sit beside me, right here.” She patted the cushion next to her.

Cass did as Esther directed, slipping off her tennis shoes and sitting down, legs folded up beneath her. Purl purred her way between the two women. “So, what's going on with you, Esther?”

“Here's what's going on,” Esther said, sipping her wine. “You're all aware that my Amber is back.”

“
Your
Amber?” Izzy looked over.

“Yes. Lydia Cummings did what she was capable of for the girl, but that didn't include love. She left that to me.”

Izzy filled plates for everyone, adding a sprinkling of fresh Parmesan cheese to the creamy, wine-laced crab. She and Nell carried them over to the group around the fireplace.

“Lydia was my dear friend,” Esther went on. “God knows why. She could be a pain in the sweet patootie sometimes. But I loved her the way we women do, in spite of one another's faults.

“She loved her son Patrick more than life itself. He was so like his father, and when Lydia's husband died, all her dreams, every single one, were poured into that boy, whether he wanted them there or not.”

“Stu and Barbara aren't exactly the dregs,” Cass said.

“No, of course not. And I think Stu was a decent older brother to Patrick, though Barbara never gave Patrick the time of day. But Patrick was special to his mother—maybe because he came along so late—who knows? But it was clear to everyone that Patrick was the prince.”

“And then he was gone,” Izzy said softly.

“Yes. And Lydia was never the same.” Esther balanced her plate on her lap and began eating again, deliberately and quietly, as if the food was somehow the reinforcement she needed to go on.

For a while the only sounds were the wine being sipped, the scrape of forks spearing remaining chunks of chunky crab, and the soppy sound of bread soaking up the last remnants of Nell's savory sauce.

Finally Birdie broke the silence. “Esther, why are you here?” she asked.

Esther looked up. Her usual smile was gone as she handed her empty plate to Nell. “Of course you would call me out, Birdie dear. I can never put one over on you. You don't think it's simply to enjoy this magnificent crab casserole?”

She settled back into the cushions as if she was suddenly very tired. “You women have been kind to Amber. She said as much, something she doesn't admit to easily. She's a harsh young woman. I've excused it because she had no role models, at least not consistent ones. Amber was never really a part of that family, not in the way you and I think of family anyway. Richard and I wanted to take her in, relieve Lydia of a baby who only deepened her grief. But she wouldn't have it. Lydia was quite religious, and she tried to keep her commandments intact. Giving away a blood relative would surely be against one of them. But as Amber grew and started looking more like her mom, Lydia allowed me to help, sometimes taking the toddler, and then young child, to see her mother at Ocean View. But as soon as Amber was old enough, Lydia sent her off to boarding school and I only saw her on vacations.”

“That was cool of you, Esther. Did Lydia visit Ellie, too?” Cass asked.

“No, never. Someone told me Stu went over, probably the only family member, though when I mentioned it to him, he said no. But Lydia, for her part, made sure Ellie Harper was in the best facility, got the best care, and she paid for it all. Ellie was a terrible reminder of what she'd lost. In her mind, Ellie shouldn't have been the one who lived. But she did, no matter how limited a life it was.”

“It doesn't make sense,” Izzy said. “Why did she include Amber in her will if she felt that way about her?”