Patterns in the Sand (34 page)

She unfolded the large sheet of paper and set it down on the table. “This somehow made it into my store. It actually has Nell’s name on the top.”

 

 

Beneath Nell’s name, were the words, printed in neat, exact letters:

 

 

Choose one
:

 

 

1.
MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.

 

 

2.
KNIT ONE, PURL TWO, KILL THREE?

 

 

“Izzy!” Nell’s hand flew to her mouth. “How? Where did you find this?” A slice of fear as wide as the ocean cut through her.

 

 

“It was in one of our own bags—of which there are a million others. It’s plain and white with little handles. It was sitting on the floor near the computer. There were a jillion people in here today, and identical sacks like this were coming and going. So it didn’t stand out in any way. We almost threw it away because it was slightly torn on the edge.”

 

 

“I wonder if whoever did it knew we’d all be here tonight.”

 

 

“Maybe. And that’s half the town.”

 

 

“But it had to be someone who came in the store,” Cass said. “That narrows it a little.”

 

 

“Not necessarily. It could have been left outside and the mail-man brought it in. Or someone handed it to someone coming in. It could even have hung on the doorknob and someone brought it in,” Birdie said.

 

 

“Birdie’s right. When we’re busy, we don’t know who’s coming or going.”

 

 

“But it tells us one thing, and that’s that the murderer is still out there. The police can say what they want to say, but our intuition is right.” Nell started dipping the ladle into the tureen and filling the bowls that Izzy had set out. She would be much better if her hands were kept busy. The sight of the threat was searing and awful.

 

 

Willow sat still as a statue on the couch, her face pale. “This is awful. If I hadn’t come here . . . ,” she began.

 

 

“Then there’d only be four of us trying to figure this mess out.” Cass filled a platter with the cheese and bread. “Don’t talk nonsense, Willow. You didn’t do this.”

 

 

“I think we will spill this amazing chowder if we don’t gather around the table,” Birdie said, trying to lighten the mood. “And maybe it will help us think better, kind of like being in school. This is a whole new development, Isabel, and a frightening one.” She turned and looked at Willow. “And Cass is absolutely right. Regrets and self-recriminations are not helpful. Save your energy for better things. Now come eat.”

 

 

They all agreed to Birdie’s directive, and while Izzy gathered up the knitting sundries and set them on the bookcase, the others pulled out chairs, grabbed napkins and spoons, and settled in.

 

 

“I say we start with a hypothesis until we have facts that invalidate it,” Nell said.

 

 

The others nodded, content to be silent and savor the creamy deliciousness of Nell’s clam chowder.

 

 

“And what’s the hypothesis?” Cass managed between spoonfuls.

 

 

“That the same person killed Aidan and Billy would be one,” Nell said.

 

 

“Fair enough,” Birdie spoke for the others.

 

 

“I know our hearts have gone out to Natalie Sobel, but I don’t think we can discount her. She didn’t like Aidan one bit because he was making it difficult for Billy to have his exhibit. She wanted the money those paintings would bring. Money is quite important to Natalie.”

 

 

“But Billy? I think Natalie really loved him,” Willow said. “She wouldn’t kill him, I don’t think.”

 

 

“Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t. I agree with you emotionally, but for the sake of exploring all possibilities, consider that Natalie has moved on pretty quickly, even taking a knitting class today, according to Mae. She’s been to the beauty parlor, is making plans—she even got highlights in her hair. And she’s anxious to get the studio cleaned out. She’s ready to move on. All that, and Billy has only been dead four days. She told me herself that Billy didn’t always agree with her on how she wanted to spend money. With Billy gone, the money is hers. And the spending of it is hers, too.”

 

 

“That’s logical,” Izzy said. She picked up a cracker and a slice of smoky Spanish cheese. “But the fact that Natalie was with us the night Billy died gives her an alibi.”

 

 

“At least a ‘maybe’ alibi, anyway,” Birdie said. “I can’t imagine that distraught woman going out again after we left her that night.”

 

 

They sat in silence, nibbling on bread and savoring the chowder, trying to put the puzzle pieces together in their minds.

 

 

Nell put her spoon down and sat back in the chair. “I still think D. J. Delaney has strong motives. He wanted Aidan’s property and wasn’t going to get it from him—that was clear. Someone inheriting it—whoever that might have been—was a much better bet.”

 

 

“Especially if the heir could be convicted of the murder and sent off to prison for the rest of her life.” It was Willow, speaking softly but clearly.

 

 

The thought of someone framing Willow for the murder hadn’t occurred to Nell, but she thought about it now. And if not D. J. Delaney, whoever committed the crime might want to do the exact same thing.

 

 

“Billy had filed a suit against D.J. for the faulty construction on his house—not to mention that Billy and Natalie badmouthed him to anyone who came within listening distance, certainly not a good thing for business.” Cass helped herself to another piece of the warm herb bread and smeared softened honey butter over the surface. “Pete says Billy expounded regularly in the Gull about D.J.—and Jake had to stop more than one fight over it.”

 

 

“Natalie let him have it at Annabelle’s in front of the whole world. I’m sure D. J. hated Billy. He probably thought that without Billy around, Natalie wouldn’t go through with the lawsuit—and in the best of all worlds, would leave town.” Izzy poured herself a glass of water.

 

 

“Ellen and Rebecca?” Nell proposed. She repeated the talk she had had with Rebecca.

 

 

“Billy told me he loaned them money to get started, but that was a while ago—when they first opened the shop,” Birdie said.

 

 

“Besides, they’ve paid it back. And if Natalie has her story straight, Rebecca and Ellen will soon be getting a sizable inheritance.” She repeated the story of the dying uncle that Natalie told them the night before.

 

 

“It’s a small world—that’s for sure,” Cass said. “You never know who will know your family secrets.”

 

 

“I have this feeling that there’s something right there in front of us, something we’re not seeing.” Nell felt like she was surrounded by annoying gnats. And she couldn’t swat them away—little tidbits of disjointed facts that didn’t add up to murder. Artists feuding, Billy’s gambling days, unhappy construction workers, and an exhibit of paintings that might never happen.

 

 

Izzy began cleaning away the bowls, while the others cleaned up the crumbs and washed their hands, moving from table to more comfortable seating and knitting bags.

 

 

“Nell is absolutely right. We’re missing something important here. It’s being lost in this clutter of facts, things we’ve repeated dozens of times over the past days.” Birdie pulled out her knitting. She’d finished her socks and had begun a bright red zippered hoodie for her housekeeper, Ella. Izzy had ordered the perfect yarn for it, a blend of soft wool and angora, guaranteed to help keep Ella’s arthritis at bay during harsh winter days.

 

 

“What we’re missing is the link. Something that would give one person the same strong reason to kill both Aidan and Billy. Aidan was killed because of X. And Billy knew about it. So whoever else knew of X, or wanted X, or didn’t want anyone else to know about X—
that
is our murderer.”

 

 

“I can’t think in Xs, Birdie. You’re giving me a headache.” Cass wrinkled her forehead in mock protest.

 

 

“I don’t think the money Billy lent the Markses is a motive, especially since we know it was paid back. And even if it hadn’t been, it would have been excused.” Nell repeated the odd provision to Billy’s will.

 

 

“What a sweet man. My Sonny did the same thing. Maybe it’s some kind of custom.”

 

 

“Billy lent money to plenty of people. But Natalie says there’s only one big loan that wasn’t paid back before he died. And now it will never be.”

 

 

They all fell silent, their needles matching the rhythm of their thoughts.

 

 

Nell lifted Willow’s sweater from her bag. She had enough worked to appreciate the diamond and zigzag patterns that would adorn the soft cardigan. Once again, Izzy had picked the perfect yarn for the perfect design.

 

 

Across from her, Willow reached out and ran one finger over the intricate design. “I won’t ever take this sweater off.” The smile that reached Nell was completely without reserve. Warm and gracious and familiar.

 

 

Birdie had completed the cast-on row for Ella’s sweater and begun the knit-one-purl-one ribbing. “Sometimes it’s right in front of you. And that’s why you can’t see it. It’s like a dropped stitch. As long as the knitting is bunched up on your lap, you’ll never see it.”

 

 

“When I was talking to Aidan that night, the night he died, he brought up Billy’s name. . . .” Nell paused to pull up the memory. It seemed so long ago now. “It was in reference to the James exhibit, I think, though I couldn’t understand him very well. He was sluggish and difficult to understand. But there’s a connection there that we’re missing, I think.”

 

 

Izzy nodded in agreement. “Me, too. We always gloss over it because the edges are too rough.”

 

 

“We know Aidan had a problem with Billy showing them—but I feel we’ve been over that a dozen times.”

 

 

“And then Aidan died. And Billy was going to show the paintings, but then he died.”

 

 

Again, their fingers worked rapidly, looping yarn, knitting and purling.

 

 

Cass stood and walked over to the window. She looked out at the harbor lights. “Who else cared about that exhibit?” she asked.

 

 

“I guess we all cared, in a way. It would have been nice for the artist community.”

 

 

“And Aidan was all about what was good for the community. So . . .”

 

 

So why not this exhibit?
Their thoughts played with the puzzle, mentally shuffling pieces around in the warm night. Nell had been puzzled by it for days. She knew Aidan well. And this was not like him. When she’d talked it over with Jane and Ham, they were equally perplexed.

 

 

“Brendan cared about the exhibit,” Willow offered. “He was helping Billy every chance he got.”

 

 

“Rebecca said the same thing. She reminded me that Brendan was in both shops for weeks now—helping Aidan when he was busy and spending lots of time in the Sobel gallery. He’s worked in Jane and Ham’s gallery, too.”

 

 

“He’s a quiet fellow,” Birdie said. “Smart, but quiet. Maybe that’s why we haven’t thought to ask him. But sometimes still waters run deep. Brendan just may have heard something he doesn’t even know is important.”

 

 

Nell made a mental note to talk with him. Birdie was right. Overhearing scattered conversations, little bits here and there, might help them join some of these strands together.

 

 

The pounding on the front door scattered their thoughts.

 

 

Izzy got up and hurried into the front of the shop.

 

 

Nell followed close behind.

 

 

“You’re just like a mama bear,” Izzy whispered over her shoulder. “Do you think there’s evil out there waiting to pounce on me?”

 

 

“Yes,” Nell answered simply.

 

 

Mae had closed and locked the front door, but the store lights were still on.

 

 

Izzy pulled up the shade on the door window and peered into the lined eyes of Natalie Sobel.

 

 

Izzy opened the door.

 

 

Natalie Sobel stood on the step, a puzzled look on her face. Her hair was slightly mussed, and her cheeks and nose were flushed.

 

 

Oh, dear
, Nell thought.
Déjŕ vu all over again
.

 

 

“Why was your door locked?” Natalie scolded. “I left my yarn here. I need it to finish my hat.”

 

 

“Natalie, we’re closed. That’s why the door was locked.”

 

 

Natalie spotted Nell and stepped past Izzy. “I saw your car, Nell. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

 

 

Before finishing her sentence, Natalie was moving through the store, her heels echoing in the empty rooms. The smell of liquor followed Natalie, though she seemed steady enough on her feet.

 

 

Nell and Izzy looked at each other behind Natalie’s back and shrugged in defeat.

 

 

Natalie paused in the archway to the knitting room and smiled at the rest of the group. “I certainly hope I’m not disturbing you ladies,” she said. “I forgot some things, and I need to keep busy. Keeping busy . . . well, it’s important now.”

 

 

“Of course, Natalie,” Birdie said.

 

 

Natalie looked around the room, then spotted the white paper sack sitting on the bookcase.

 

 

“That’s your bag?” Nell said sharply, following her across the room.

 

 

Natalie pulled it open. “Yes, it’s mine, but it’s empty.”

 

 

“What was in it?”

 

 

“My yarn. My bright blue yarn.” She frowned. “Where is it? I paid for it, Izzy. Mae will tell you.”