Death by Cashmere (14 page)

"Archie knows everything. I think his store has its own set of ears sometimes. Did you find some interesting reading?"

Sam nodded. "Some books about the area that Ben recommended to me.
Hammers on Stone,
those kinds of books. The more I know about something I'm photographing, the more focused my images seem to be. I'm not sure how all that works, but it seems to be true."

Nell stepped slightly to the side as George Gideon walked down the street, his familiar backpack slung over one shoulder. He turned into the alley next to the bookstore and lifted one hand in hello. His hair was slicked back and he wore a heavy gold chain around his neck.

Nell returned the greeting and introduced the security guard to Sam.

"Gideon tried to keep the Harbor Road shops secure," she said.

Gideon's response was gruff, as if he thought Nell was chiding him. "I don't hear complaints. I work hard. Keep things in order."

Order, Nell knew, meant making sure security lights were replaced and doors stayed locked. Gideon was strong, his arms muscular, and he had a broad chest--but Nell suspected it came from activities other than keeping things secure. "I meant only that with Angie's death, it feels a little less safe around the harbor, " Nell said. "And we're glad you're on the job, Gideon."

Gideon nodded but kept his body stiff. He looked up at the closed apartment windows. "She was a looker," he said.

Nell frowned, suddenly uncomfortable.

An odd smile flitted across Gideon's face, his eyes still on the apartment. As Nell watched him, the smile morphed into a smirk. "She had a way about her, little Miss Archer did. I miss seeing her around."

Nell bit back the words that sprang to her lips. Gideon made her uncomfortable. When the shopkeepers hired him, she'd suggested they might find someone less gruff. But she had no real reason, only instinct, to object. She agreed with Izzy that he was better than no one. And he was the only one who applied for the job, Izzy'd said.

Gideon shifted beneath the weight of his backpack. "You don't need to worry yourself," he said to Nell. "I watch over Izzy good."

The words had an edge to them that caused hairs to lift on Nell's arms.

She saw that he was watching her, playing with her, enjoying her nervousness.

"So for now, you can count on me. But maybe not for long."

"Oh?" Nell said.

Gideon looked over his shoulder as if someone might be hiding in the shadows, listening. He turned back to Nell and Sam and lowered his voice. "Yes, ma'am. My ship is comin' in. Not quite here, but it's on its way." He laughed as if he had said something funny, and then, with one large hand, he shifted the weight of his backpack and sauntered down the alley toward the water.

Nell watched him walk away. "He's a strange man," she said to Sam. "I can never quite connect with him. Sometimes I wonder what he carries in that big pack of his. I hope it's not a bottle that gets him through the long night rather than patrolling the shops. Someone got in Angie's apartment quite easily without him knowing it. Frankly, I wouldn't be at all sad if he moved on to another job."

"It sounds like that's what he's planning," Sam said, watching Gideon stop at the edge of the water. "I know you worry about it, Nell--especially with your niece's store being here. But I've seen a million Gideons. Cocky and probably not the kind of guy you'd trust house-sitting or bringing in your mail. But harmless in the long run. And I have to tell you, coming from big cities, this little town seems like one of the safest places I've been."

"I've always felt that way, too. But Angie's murder has changed things."

"But it's a
good
place, Nell. I feel that, and I can see it in my photos. In some cultures, people think a photograph steals a part of the soul. I don't know about that, but I do think photographs glimpse a part of the soul. And the ones I've taken here in Sea Harbor show me that good, decent people live here."

Nell felt some comfort in Sam's words. It was one of the reasons she and Ben had moved here--the decent people. "You're right, Sam. But the disconcerting thing is that someone in the mix murdered Angie. Until we figure out some things, it won't be right."

Sam nodded. "Sure. I can see Izzy thinks about it, too."

"Izzy moves methodically. Her stint as a lawyer taught her that. She's about putting puzzle pieces together carefully, just like the beautiful pieces she knits."

"Yes, that's Izzy. I think my coming to Sea Harbor jarred her methodical ways. Made her a little uncomfortable, a chunk of her childhood coming back."

"Well, she won't hold that against you forever."

"Good to hear."

"But you're right that the unrest here bothers her. And even more so because we knew Angie the way we did. It brings it so close to home."

"So that's Izzy's store?" Sam nodded toward the small shop with the wide green awnings over the windows. "It looks like her. I think I'd have picked it out even if you hadn't mentioned it."

"People love her shop. They walk through those doors and even if they've never held a knitting needle, they sit and stay a while. It's magical and cozy--very much like its owner."

Sam continued to look at the shop, the flowering hibiscus plants on each side of the front door, planted in large earthenware pots, the colorful window display. "Jack said Izzy didn't stay with the law firm long," he said.

"No."

Sam's silence told Nell he was hoping she'd say more, maybe fill him in on the abrupt move Izzy had made that had disturbed her family. Instead, she smiled and said, "And that's another thing about small-town people, Sam. Even if they know your secrets, they don't always share them readily."

The crooked smile she'd seen before came back. "I shouldn't be prying, anyway, Nell, but I always liked Iz." Sam looked up at the windows over the store. They were closed tightly. "I wonder what she'll do with the apartment now."

Nell nodded. "I'm not sure. Renting it helps with the mortgage,but I don't think she's thinking about that right now, not after all that's happened."

"I can understand that. I wonder if she'd consider something less formal than a rent arrangement. Maybe it wouldn't seem so intrusive right now. Like letting an old friend stay there for a couple months. But for money."

Nell was still. She bit back the "of course she would" answer that sprang to her lips. Nell had no idea how Izzy would feel about Sam staying above the shop. And the fact that she herself would sleep better shouldn't play into the decision.
Back off, Nell,
she heard Ben say.

"Ham and Jane are putting me up for the summer," Sam went on. "They're great hosts. But their place is small, and I know a body as big as mine is an imposition on their privacy, though they'd never say so. I looked at a cottage south of town, but this is closer to the galleries and the art academy classes."

"I don't know," Nell said finally, her voice neutral. "You could mention it to her, I suppose."

"I might do that." Sam looked at the knitting studio again, then told Nell he'd better follow Gideon's example and be off to work. He wanted to hit the breakwater before sunset and take some photos of the fishermen and night divers. The light was nearly right. "Lesson plans," he said with a smile.

Nell touched Sam on the sleeve of his T-shirt as he started to turn away. "Sam Perry," she said, "you are the tonic I needed today. In several different ways. Thank you."

"Those are mighty nice words coming from such a lovely woman, Nell. You've added a nice note to my day, too." He tipped his head, shallow dimples forming in his smile, and walked toward his car.

Nell watched him climb into the Volvo. He turned, waved once, then made a U-turn in the middle of the street and headed up the windy road toward the north-end beaches. She watched him until he turned the bend that took him out of sight.

Her eyes moved back to the open parking space. With the Volvo gone, a stone bench in front of the framing store just opposite the Seaside Knitting Studio came into view.

Nell stared. Sitting on the bench, his tie removed and a knit shirt replacing the dress shirt, was Sal Scaglia. His back was bent, his elbows on his knees, and sunglasses shielded his eyes. But there was no doubt that what he was staring at was the apartment above Izzy's shop. Angie's apartment.

Nell lifted one hand, a slight wave, then started across the street to talk to him.

But before she could reach the other side, Sal noticed her approach, rose abruptly from the bench, and hurried down the street in the opposite direction.

Monday dawned gray and rainy on the Cape, the kind of day that blanketed the beaches in quiet and brought bustle and activity into the village. Shopping and eating were the activities du jour--restaurant owners rejoiced and the crews of whale-watching boats stayed home and played with their kids.

Ben Endicott sat at the kitchen table, watching his wife check her calendar for the week. A light rain fell onto the kitchen skylight, the pings rhythmic and oddly comforting. "Will you miss me?" he asked.

Nell looked up. She was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating the question, and then she shook her head. But her smile, her eyes, and the lazy look she gave him said otherwise. She and Ben had awakened early when the rain began, and they had come down to the kitchen for coffee and cereal late. Very late. Of course she would miss him.

But in spite of the house seeming twice as big without Ben in it for the week, sometimes dismissing the routine was required when two people shared meals, a house, and a bed. And Nell had a busy week.

"Your brother isn't all that practical," Nell said. "Why he picked Colorado for the company board retreat when everyone lives in New England is a mystery to me. Such a burden--all that travel," she teased. "You'll be back Friday?"

"In time to grill the dinner of your life. Plan on plump silvery trout." Ben got up and refilled Nell's coffee mug. "
Colorado
trout."

"Of course," Nell said. "All work and no play."

"And you know we Endicotts are never dull." Ben kissed Nell on the top of her head, still damp from her shower. "And now I need to pack, my love," he said, and headed for the stairs.

After Ben drove off in the airport limo, Nell looked at her calendar in earnest. She kept a Sierra Club calendar hanging in the kitchen, with squares big enough to hold all their events. "Use your computer calendar," Izzy had said. "Or get a BlackBerry. Or an iPhone. Be cool, Aunt Nell. You certainly have enough meetings to warrant an organizing toy." But though her computer was well used and she'd be lost without e-mail, Nell liked seeing the dates written in her own handwriting and knowing at a glance where she was supposed to be. She didn't want to power up her laptop each time or discover she'd forgotten to recharge the battery. And she considered the handheld devices as simply intrusive. The thought of something in her pocket sending her e-mail messages as she jogged along the beach or hiked in Ravenswood Park was not appealing. Sometimes aloneness was good.

Nell checked meetings and appointments, then started her daily to-do list. The week held board meetings--the arts council and Historical Society--meetings that would allow her to speak her piece, guide grant endeavors, but mostly to sit quietly, listen dutifully, and work on her sea-yarn scarf. Today's meeting over in Gloucester was with another child advocacy group that needed some advice, and then she'd come back and drop in on Izzy's Frogging with Friends class. "The enthusiastic ripping of stitches" was how Izzy described it on her Web site. Nell was determined to learn how to pull herself out of her mistakes and not have to depend on Izzy each time.

But mostly she needed to talk to Izzy or Cass about Pete.

A phone message from Cass the night before had disturbed Nell, but it had been too late to return the call when she and Ben got home. Hopefully Izzy would have more details.

After his fishing trip, Pete had spent a few hours at the police station, Cass had said. And it hadn't been by choice.

Nell's meeting in Gloucester was over shortly before noon, and she walked out of the building feeling invigorated and proud-- and for a few hours she pushed thoughts of Angie's murder to the back of her mind. Cape Ann was a good place with good people, and groups like this were a testimony to that. The child advocacy group was planning an after-school enrichment series for children in low-income families. Seed money had come from several grants Nell helped funnel through the system, and planning was in full force.

Nell found herself smiling as she walked down Main Street toward her car and the short drive back to Sea Harbor. And people passing her smiled back.

A tapping on a storefront window startled Nell. She stopped and looked toward the sound.

"Nell, darlin'," a round, flushed face in the window of Sugar Magnolia's Cafe mouthed to her. And the small hand beside the face beckoned her in. It wasn't a choice, as was Mary Halloran's way.
Come in now,
was what she was saying.

Nell checked her watch. She had plenty of time before Izzy's class, and seeing Mary Halloran was something she'd been wanting to do for days anyway. Cass and Pete's worries would have passed to her by now, no matter how they tried to protect their mother. Besides, she had settled for coffee and a banana earlier in the day, and her body was more than ready for something substantial.

Nell smiled, nodded back to the bobbing silver head in the window, and turned into the restaurant.

The Gloucester breakfast and lunch restaurant always seemed to be crowded, and today was no exception. But somehow, Cass and Pete's diminutive mother had commandeered the choice window table with a view of everyone who went up or down Main Street. A table that easily held six. And there was one of her.

"Sit, Nell," Mary said.