A Holiday Yarn (16 page)

"What about this other man?"

"I had forgotten about that until you mentioned it. But yes, there
was
someone else. Pamela wasn't usually secretive, but she was this time, never mentioning who the guy was. I think he was the reason she tossed Eddie aside. She talked about jewelry, clothes--kind of expensive gifts, so the guy had money. One weekend she asked Agnes and me to check on Aunt Dolores because she was flying off to Maine or somewhere. And then he started calling her. It was intense, almost scary. One night we were having dinner with Grandfather, and Pamela was in the hall, screaming over the phone, telling him to leave her alone or she'd call the police. She seemed genuinely worried. And she went back to New York a couple weeks earlier than planned just to get away from him."

"Who was he?"

"She never said. She showed off the expensive gifts--but that was it."

"Do you think that whoever it was carried a grudge?"

"And killed her?" Mary said, her brows lifting.

"It's possible."

Mary thought for a minute, giving the idea time to percolate. "I don't think she got any strange phone calls these past days, at least none I knew about. And she's been in Sea Harbor often the past couple years, so it seems odd that whoever this guy is would pop up all of a sudden. Nancy or I would have known if anyone strange had been hanging around here, and Pamela stayed here the whole time. But back then, she was spooked; I remember that. He wouldn't let go of her. Frankly, the way she treated men, we were a little surprised it hadn't happened sooner."

"Tommy Porter seemed sure this guy didn't do it, but he didn't explain why."

"If Pamela threatened to call the police, maybe Tommy had an inside track," Birdie said. "He's a policeman--he wouldn't rule out a suspect in a murder case lightly."

Nell nodded. Birdie was right. But right or wrong, it didn't take away the niggling feeling that refused to budge. Tommy might be right. But it was like an out-of-place stitch in a perfectly worked cashmere sweater--one that refused to give up its hold until it was fixed.

Birdie looked outside again. "So Pamela was the only one left here that night?"

"I think so. She was out there smoking when I left."

"There was a pile of cigarette butts on the porch," Birdie said.

Mary nodded. "They were wet from the snow, so the lab couldn't get other prints, if there were any."

"The silence of snow," Nell murmured.

"Mary," Birdie said, her brow pulled tight. "This thing between Kevin and Troy--what was that about? Did it have anything to do with Pamela?"

"They just didn't like each other, that's all. Two very different personalities with next to nothing in common. Pamela had come on to both of them; I suppose they had
that
in common. And both of them ended up disliking her. But that was it. No story there."

The ringing of Mary's phone ended the conversation.

Birdie thought Mary seemed relieved.

"If the phone hadn't rung," Birdie said to Nell on the way home, "she would have figured out another way to end the conversation. Once we started talking about Kevin, she was ready to move on."

Nell agreed. There was definitely something about Troy DeLuca and Kevin Sullivan that Mary didn't want to talk about.

It hadn't been the time to convince Mary it might be useful information, but the weary look in her eyes told Nell that the right time might be just around the corner.

Chapter 19

P
eople wandered over to the Endicotts' home earlier than usual Friday night, bringing in the cold, damp air with them. Izzy--with Sam on her arm--was the first to arrive.

Izzy seemed happy, but guardedly so.

Nell hugged them both.

"How's Boston, Sam?"

"Sin city, Nell," he said. "Stay away."

He had good color, Nell thought. A smile. And he hadn't lost any weight that she could tell. Sam Perry was healthy.

She looked around Sam's broad shoulders to Ben, standing over a tray of trout at the kitchen island, watching his wife.

He looked over the rim of his reading glasses. His eyes said,
See, Nellie?

Earlier, when she'd told him about Harriet Brandley seeing Sam in Boston, Ben had bristled slightly, an unusual reaction from her calm, even-tempered mate. "His business," he'd said. "Not ours. Not even Izzy's, unless Sam makes it so."

Those were Nell's thoughts, too, of course. But seeing them together was the real salve she needed to soothe her mind.

Danny Brandley came in next, carrying a platter of miniature lobster rolls.

"Did you make those?" Izzy asked, her brows lifting. "I know Cass didn't."

"You're right, she didn't, and yes, I did. Ben inspires me. But I'm a failure at catching lobsters. So Cass catches, I cook 'em."

"A match made in lobster heaven," Nell said, putting the platter on the island.

Danny laughed. "Or hell, depending on your take."

Cass followed close behind, her cheeks wind chapped and her strong arms and body nearly buried in a thick green fisherman's sweater Izzy had made for her. She carried two bottles of wine. "I don't think I will ever be warm again," she said. "It was so cold on the water this morning."

She walked over and pulled one of Danny's arms around her shoulders.

"Brazen hussy," he said, and pulled her close. "Is that all I'm good for?"

Cass lifted her dark brows and shrugged. "You tell me, mystery man."

Danny Brandley had moved back to Sea Harbor to write a mystery novel. But rather than turn into a writing recluse, he'd succumbed nicely to Cass' advances and had effortlessly become a part of all their lives. Mary Halloran was thrilled with her daughter's interest in Danny and had exchanged her pleading prayer novenas at Our Lady of the Seas to ones of thanksgiving.

Cass pulled free to give Nell a hug. "Where's Birdie?"

"Harold is driving her over. He doesn't have enough work to keep him busy, and driving Birdie's monstrous Lincoln around town seems to fill a need." Nell wasn't quite sure what Birdie's gardener did these days, even in the summer, but he and his Ella had lived in the cozy carriage house over the Favazza garage for so long, they were a part of the family. They would have a home there forever--Birdie made that abundantly clear.

Jane and Ham Brewster came in, followed closely by the Wootens. Don Wooten carried two cherry pies and a container of rum ice cream.

Rachel and Jane headed for the fireplace, rubbing the life back into their hands. Nell followed with a tray of martinis. "Ben's cold remedy," she said, handing one to each of them.

Jane fingered a hand-carved angel tucked into the pine branches on top of the mantel. She breathed in the smell of Christmas. "Any news on the Pisano case?"

Rachel sighed. "Poor Mary. Not only is she dealing with the police and a murder, she has Henrietta O'Neal on her hands. She just won't give up. She's at my office door nearly every day." As a lawyer for the city, Rachel was in the middle of everything from property squabbles to new development.

"She plastered our galleries with posters a few days ago before we got to work. She's on a mission," Jane said.

"In an odd way, she's a welcome distraction," Rachel said. "Her antics are far more benign than searching for a murderer."

Cass wedged her way into the group with a small plate of lobster rolls. "Speaking of murderers, tell me what you make of this: Danny and I went to the Ocean's Edge last night for a late drink in a quiet place. But it was not to be. There sat Troy DeLuca, holding court and peeling dollar bills off a huge wad. He was treating everyone, even us. He said it was his swan song, that he was leaving Sea Harbor--tomorrow, I think he said."

Nell felt it again--that mixture of relief and dismay at Troy's leaving. Relief that the unpleasant man wouldn't be around. But were they letting a murderer get away?

"Apparently Troy has plans," Jane said. "Agnes Pisano came in the gallery yesterday to buy some art for an apartment she's leased in New York while she gets the magazine under control. She mentioned that she was having Troy do a photo shoot in
Fashion Monthly
."

"So she's really going to hire Troy?" Cass grimaced.

"I think she's sorry for the way Pamela treated him."

"Which might have been reason to kill her," Rachel said quietly. "I'm surprised Agnes isn't more tuned in to that. Pamela was her cousin, after all. If there was any indication at all that Troy'd been there that night, I think he'd be sitting in jail, not entertaining people in a bar."

There. Rachel had put it out there. A thought they were all toying with.

"And if he didn't do it," Nell said, "I can't shake the feeling that he's somehow connected to it." And if Troy disappeared, would they ever find out the truth?

"Agnes has benefited from her cousin's death," Jane said. "She probably doesn't want to rock the boat. I think she's keeping herself as far away from the investigation as possible."

They all stood sipping their drinks in silence, pondering the unimaginable--that anyone they knew, anyone they saw every day, an acquaintance, a relative, could possibly have put a gun to Pamela Pisano's head.

"Where do you suppose Troy got the cash?" Cass asked, breaking the silence. "Could he have taken it from Pamela?"

"He couldn't have stolen enough to make a down payment on that silver Z he's been riding around town. Unless--"

Unless what?

No one had an answer. Troy had gotten money from somewhere, and they all knew it wasn't from painting Mary Pisano's bed-and-breakfast.

Ben's booming voice from the kitchen announced that grilled trout was waiting.

"Food!" Cass said with an exuberance that broke the group into laughter, shifting the mood in an instant. They filed into the dining room and gathered around the old oak table, its thick surface rough with nicks and carvings that spoke of the lives lived around it.

A cold breeze from the front door was followed by Birdie, breathless as she hung up her coat, slipped out of her boots, and rushed into the room.

"Now the party can truly begin," Ben greeted her as Sam pulled out a chair between himself and Ham Brewster.

"Thank heavens I didn't miss the food. And you better have saved me a martini, Ben Endicott." She shook her finger for emphasis.

The group shuffled around while Ben did her bidding, returning as Birdie finished explaining her late arrival.

"We're late because I insisted Harold drive up and around the bed-and-breakfast, just to be sure Henrietta wasn't lurking out in the cold somewhere. This campaign of hers will be the death of her."

"Was she?" Nell said, worried. The temperature had dipped and the wind was picking up. Henrietta seemed to be oblivious to weather.

"No, thank heavens. Mary hasn't been staying there, so I thought it was worth checking. After all the racket over the weeks, it seems ominous when it's quiet over there."

She smiled and took the martini Ben handed her. "Bless you, sweet Ben."

"So all was quiet. That's good."

Birdie nodded. "Troy's fancy car was in the drive, so he may have been finishing up some work for Mary."

"Were there other cars around?" Kevin said Troy had a key. A sudden image of a wild farewell party in Mary's beautiful estate flashed across Nell's mind.

"No. It was peaceful. Troy wasn't burning the house down or anything."

Ben tapped his glass, and the room fell silent. His eyes found Nell's. He lifted his glass and his eyes locked into hers, the way he began all toasts.

"Peace," he said. "To friends and to family."

"Hear, hear."

Glasses chimed as they sipped their wine and unfolded napkins across laps.

"And to the beginning of a lovely holiday season," Birdie added.

The beginning . . .

Nell looked around the table at the faces of people she loved, lit softly by flickering candlelight. They all hoped for that beginning--the lifting of suspicion and ugliness that mingled right alongside the festive trees and carolers and bells. She looked over at Birdie, at Izzy and Cass. She could read their expressions nearly as well as Ben's, as her own mind. Their hope as bright as the stars all over town.

Ben carried in a platter of Colorado trout, brushed with lemon juice, soy sauce, and ginger. He had grilled it outside, and the fragrance of sizzling coals wafted in behind him.

"Perfection, dear Ben," Birdie said. "Absolute perfection."

Bowls of jasmine rice followed, its nutty flavor enhanced with roasted red peppers, capers, and bits of bright green arugula.

Izzy brought in loaves of crisp French bread and a platter of roasted asparagus in a buttery dill sauce, then turned up a CD of Nat King Cole's, his warm voice filling the room with "O Tannenbaum." The next CD, Nell knew, would be livelier. Izzy gave in to Nell's sentimental holiday music but liked it best when followed by something with more beat and rhythm.

The evening went by in a flash, far too quickly, Jane Brewster observed as they sorted through coats and boots in Ben's den and prepared to go into the dark, cold night. "This is what we need more of--friends, Ben's martinis, good food, Christmas cheer."

They all agreed, and Nell and Ben stood at the door waving them off, watching until their taillights disappeared down the hill.

It was late. Most Christmas lights were out, save for the ones in the Endicotts' own yard. Moonlight filtered through the bare tree branches, turning the snowy yard into a blue landscape.

Ben wrapped one arm around her waist and locked the door with the other.

"Izzy and Sam seemed okay," he said, whispering into her neck.

Nell nodded, her head moving against his chest. "A little quiet, perhaps."

They walked into the dim light of the kitchen, bodies still close. "He wants to meet me for coffee next week."

"Sam? Why?"

"I don't know. To talk to me about something."

Harriet Brandley's words, as if waiting for an excuse, tumbled back into Nell's head. "He isn't sick," she said softly. She was sure of it.

But something wasn't right. They didn't have the old Sam back yet. But he was going to talk to Ben, a good thing. At least, if there was something on his mind, he'd be sharing it with the wisest person she knew.

Ben switched off the overhead lights and started up the stairs. "Coming?"

"In a minute." Nell stood at the kitchen window, looking out into the profound darkness of night, to places beyond her vision.

Her thoughts were pulled to Ravenswood-by-the-Sea, imagining the beautiful estate, peaceful. Quiet. A sudden chill ran up and down her arms, and she turned toward the stairs and the comfort of Ben's strong arms and warm body.

Peaceful. Quiet
. Just the way it had been the night they'd found Pamela Pisano's body in the snow.