Nell turned on the dishwasher and began washing wineglasses.
“I’m feeling discombobulated,” Cass said, picking up a towel. “My mom always used that word when the universe felt off-kilter.”
Izzy sat down at the island, her feet slightly swollen. Her face was drawn. “I think there’s more to all this, and it frightens me. Things are definitely off-kilter.”
“Yes, there’s more to this than finding out there was a side to Justin we didn’t know about. There’s his killer, someone who’s still out there somewhere, someone who took a life,” Birdie said. “And it’s thrown us all off. Izzy, your sixth sense, or seventh, or whatever it is, was on target. Something is not right in the universe.”
Izzy’s hands moved to the shape that now defined her. “I just ache for Janie. She’s a brave gal—but she’s a mess right now. She took Justin into her life. And now—now it’s all shattered.”
“You’re right,” Nell said. She wiped off the island, moving the empty jewelry envelope and several napkins to the side counter. “She’s strong, but she’ll need all her friends.”
“And a break from being questioned by the police. I don’t care if they’re doing their job or not,” Cass said. “That’s enough to break anyone. She’s grieving for the guy, and at the same time she’s furious with him, and then there’s suspicion that she wanted him dead. That’s heavy stuff.”
There was unspoken agreement, and then Birdie spoke again. “We all agree things are off-kilter—and that poor girl can’t begin to put her life together until the person who did this is found. There’s no room in any of our lives for the kind of fear that’s created this black cloud over Sea Harbor. And it’s certainly not the town we want to bring Izzy and Sam’s baby into.”
For a moment the only sounds in the kitchen were the wind, the dishwasher, and the comforting, familiar voices floating in from the deck.
Off-kilter.
Not the kind of world to bring a baby into.
Birdie was the first to speak. “I’m tired, dear ones. But tomorrow I will be bright and chipper, ready to continue this conversation and to knit an entire arm onto the beautiful romper I am knitting for baby Perry. Last night’s knitting session barely counted, and that baby will be wearing jeans and T-shirts before Nell finishes her blanket if we don’t get to it. We need time to knit . . . and we need time to think. Time to breathe fresh air.”
Nell peeled off her gloves and turned around. “Birdie, as usual, is absolutely right.”
“I’m in. Tomorrow?” Cass said.
“Yes, tomorrow,” Birdie said. “On my veranda. Bring your knitting.”
Of course, they all agreed.
Another agreement was made, too, this one in that silent way of old friendships. An agreement confirmed with a look and a nod of the head; as their needles worked magic and soft yarn turned into tiny baby garments, their minds would be working, too—and not on creating new patterns or figuring out a difficult entrelac pattern.
Their minds would be focused on figuring out a murder.
Chapter 16
Birdie’s Ravenswood estate was the perfect place to be, no matter the weather, no matter the occasion. The home was both grandiose and as comfortable as an old friend. And Birdie shared it generously.
Today, a slight afternoon breeze blew in off the ocean while the sun warmed the veranda flagstones. “Like baked Alaska,” Birdie said, opening the veranda doors. “Warm and cold.”
Nell pulled her cardigan around her shoulders and settled into one of Birdie’s steamer chairs, its teak frame polished to a high gloss. The Favazza home, with its gardens and verandas and patios, had the most magnificent view in Sea Harbor. The veranda faced the harbor, and Birdie claimed that on clear days she could see all the way out to the community center and Sunrise Island beyond. At night, one looked out on a sea of lights.
“Ella made her famous chicken salad,” she said, motioning for Cass and Izzy to settle in.
“And Gabby?”
“She’s off somewhere. Said it was a surprise. Gabby is full of surprises these days.”
And her surprises were keeping her nonna young, something her friends loved to see.
“I ran into Tommy on my way over here,” Nell said. She pulled her baby blanket out of the bag and stretched it across her knees. “He’s worried about Janie. But even more worried that the police have hit a dead end.”
“No suspects?” Cass asked.
“Apparently lots of them. At least people who had a grudge against Justin. Everyone he stole from, like Gus McClucken, people whose businesses suffered because of him—”
“Like Archie Brandley,” Izzy said.
Nell nodded. “And each day the police come up with new names. They talked to Martin Seltzer late yesterday.”
“Janie said Lily Virgilio was very upset about that,” Izzy said. “She told the police that he couldn’t possibly have done anything to Justin.”
“She probably doesn’t want the clinic drawn into such a mess,” Birdie said. She finished one sleeve on her romper for the baby and smoothed it out with the tip of her finger.
“I understand that. But I saw Martin yesterday,” Nell said, “and he was very vocal about Justin. He thought he deserved what he got.”
“Not very smart of him. That won’t exactly clear him of suspicion,” Izzy said. “Janie said there was terrible friction between those two, and she wasn’t sure why. Dr. Seltzer’s complaints didn’t seem to merit that much hatred.”
Nell replayed Martin’s dagger-throwing look at Justin’s back the day of Izzy’s doctor’s appointment. “And then he mumbled something about Justin not being around for long, or his days being numbered, or something like that.”
“Around the clinic?” Cass said. She put down the small fisherman’s sweater, its cables beginning to take shape. “Janie said he wanted Justin fired.”
“I suppose that’s what he meant. But . . .” But could it have been worse? She remembered the look on his face, and then again at McClucken’s. Martin hated Justin Dorsey and he didn’t care who knew it.
“This is hard for us because we don’t want anyone we know to be guilty of something so awful,” Birdie said. “But someone is. Someone killed Justin, and it might very well have been someone we know.” She paused and looked out at the harbor, the blue of the sky, the billowing sails in the distance. “In fact, it probably is. If there’s been a stranger lurking around here, we’d surely have known it.”
Izzy lifted the edge of Nell’s blanket and rubbed it against her cheek, as if feeling her baby wrapped up in it. The tiny seed stitches were soft against her skin. “Did Tommy mention if they’d questioned Franklin Danvers?”
Birdie frowned. “Franklin . . . ? That’s a little like questioning the mayor or pope, isn’t it?”
“He thought Justin was bothering Tamara—and Tamara confirmed it. She said he frightened her.”
Birdie frowned. “Justin may have been many things, but frightening wasn’t one of them.”
“Izzy has a point. She said Justin touched her. That would make any husband upset. And Franklin is ferocious these days when it comes to protecting his pregnant wife,” Nell said. “Franklin complained to the chief when Tommy didn’t arrest Justin that day on the beach.”
Izzy’s needles clicked away as she talked. She’d finished the booties and was on to a tiny hat, tissue soft and with a wide brim to protect the baby from the sun. “That was silly for Franklin to be so upset. Kind of stupid for Justin to go surfing there, I guess, but still, all the kids do it.”
“Including yourself,” Nell said with a smile.
Izzy laughed. “Tamara said Justin came on to her, but of all the things we’ve heard about him, that one just doesn’t seem right. I truly can’t imagine him coming on to Tamara Danvers.”
“So you think she made it up?” Cass asked.
But why she’d do that was a mystery. “Unless,” Cass answered herself, “she wanted Franklin to think he had. Who kno
ws? Sometimes people do silly things. Maybe jealous husbands buy more jewelry.”
“I think that explanation makes more sense,” Nell said. “I don’t mean to call her a liar, but sometimes she might exaggerate a bit.”
“We’re pummeling poor Tommy with questions,” Cass said, “and while we’re doing that, we’re skipping directly over him.”
“Who?”
“Tommy,” Cass said. “I know—all of us know—that Tommy Porter is the nicest guy around. But he also wanted Justin Dorsey gone from here. Maybe more than any of the others. He hated the way he was screwing with Janie’s life. He had a beer with Danny the other night, and Danny said he was almost obsessed with the guy.”
The silence that followed was sobering, as truth often was. Tommy Porter loved Janie, a fact that was clear to every one of them. But his relationship with Janie had been strained by Justin Dorsey’s entry into it. And there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it.
Finally Birdie spoke again. “So our list of people grows,” she said. “But so do the questions. Where was he, who did he talk to that week before he was killed? The day before he was killed? Was he bothered about something? Why did Martin dislike him so? Did he steal from him?”
“Yes!” Nell said suddenly. “Martin Seltzer said exactly that yesterday. He said Justin was a thief, that he took things that weren’t his.”
“So what was it? Janie doesn’t seem to know. I wonder who does. Maybe we could pry something out of Henrietta. She seems to be chumming up nicely to the doctor,” Cass said. “I suppose the police are asking these same questions, but they might not realize that this has to be resolved so baby Perry can be born.”
“Maybe because we know Justin a little better—we certainly saw plenty of him the week before he was killed—our questions will be slightly different,” Nell said.
“And we liked him,” Izzy said. “That brings a different perspective to it. Somehow I feel the answer to all this is right in front of us. So close that it’s frightening.”
“Certainly the police care as deeply about finding the killer as we do,” Birdie said. “But they don’t knit. They don’t look at patterns like we do.”
Nell looked down at her baby blanket and gently touched the tiny seed stitches with the tip of her finger. “They might not see connections the way we do, the loose threads, the surprising way that sometimes a sweater design comes together before your very eyes, but at first you can’t see it.”
“Yes,” Izzy jumped in, warming to the analogy. “So you keep on frogging where you have to, reworking rows. You just need to keep on knitting, and then, voilà! There it is.”
You just need to keep on knitting. Nell picked up her cable needle and began to slip the next group of stitches onto it. She imagined the baby, bundled in the warmth of the soft yarn, tucked in his stroller as Izzy ran behind him over the smooth sand. Carefree. Something that was sorely missing in their lives right now. No one was taking early walks or runs on Paley’s Cove. Not alone. Not now. Not until a murderer had a face and was securely behind bars.
The opening of the veranda’s doors was followed by a breeze and flurry of black hair as Gabby rushed out. She carried a bowl of chicken salad. Behind her, Ella balanced a tray full of plates, forks, and sweet-smelling corn bread.
“I thought you were out and about,” Birdie said, smiling up into Gabby’s face.
“I was out and about.” Gabby gave Birdie a quick kiss and grinned hellos to each of them. She set the bowl down and glanced at Ella, then laughed. “Okay, I’ll come clean. Ella knows all my secrets. She told me she’d hold back some of the chicken salad and save it for me, so I came back for it. She’s amazing, she puts capers and olives and avocados in it. How cool is that?”
“Great. So you’ll stay and eat with us?” Cass scooted over on the chaise. “Come sit, twerp.”
“Nope. Not today, Cass. Ella packed up some salad and corn bread for me, and I’m taking it to my friends.”
“Which friends?” Birdie began spooning the salad onto plates.
But instead of an answer, she got a breezy hug and a grin. Gabby moved toward the door. “Oh, no, you don’t, Nonna. No getting secrets out of me. It’s a surprise. But wait, here’s a clue.” She paused and held up one finger in the air. “I got a new hat today.” Then she wrinkled up her nose until the freckles danced, gave another wave, and was gone, her doelike body sailing through the door, singing something about cowboys, her voice full and happy.
“We need a dash of that,” Nell said, watching her through the window doors. “Gabby knows how to handle life.”
“And death, maybe,” Birdie said. “She has an uncanny way of dealing with it.”
Nell passed around the basket of warm corn bread. Beyond them, out in the harbor, horns were blowing, vying with the gulls for airtime. And farther out in the open sea, a parade of sailboats moved gracefully in the breeze.
“How did it happen that Justin went on that dive?” Cass asked, picking up the conversation. “What did he do that Saturday before?”
They all thought back one week, one short week. A lifetime ago.
“Janie moved the last of her things into the apartment that day,” Izzy said. “And Justin was there, then borrowed her car. But we don’t know what he did before or after she banished him.”
“He called me,” Birdie said. “And after that, he met with someone. A ‘business transaction.’”
“And later, he came to the Ocean’s Edge,” Nell said. “And brought along a roll of bills.”
“You said he was talking to Tyler at the bar?” Birdie said.
Nell nodded. “And there seemed to be more to their conversation than just a friendly hello. He was telling him something.”
“Tyler was a part of the dive group,” Cass said. “Maybe they were coordinating or Justin was asking for a ride, or whatever.”
“No, he had Janie’s car. But maybe he needed a place to stay?” Izzy suggested.
The thought of Justin spending time under Esther Gibson’s roof somehow made them all laugh.
While they were enjoying the scenario, Ella came out to collect the salad plates and announced that Chief Jerry Thompson was in the front hallway, looking fine and handsome in his uniform.
Would Birdie like her to serve coffee and lemon bars while they all chatted?
Chapter 17
Ella’s announcement brought with it a scurrying of bodies, as if the chief of the Sea Harbor police was about to catch the women at something nefarious. What they felt, they admitted later, was guilt. They were, after all, trying to do his job.
But by the time Jerry walked through the doors, they were calm and collected, with yarn scattered everywhere and needles clicking.
“Sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he said, forking his fingers through his graying hair. “I was on my way home and had to pass right by here. I should have called first, I know, but Ben thought it’d be okay to just drop by.”
“Ben?” Nell frowned. Ben and Sam went out early that morning, something to do with the sailing class they were going to teach later in the summer. “Checking locations,” Ben had told her.
“He and Sam came down to the station this morning.” Jerry nodded at Izzy. “That’s how I knew you’d all be over here at Birdie’s fine place.” He looked around the veranda and back at the house, and shook his head. “Birdie, this is an amazing place you have here. Beautiful. Sonny Favazza must have loved his lady exceedingly to build so grand a place for her.”
Everyone in Sea Harbor knew the story of Sonny and Birdie’s romance and the home he built for her. When the young Sonny swept Birdie off her feet all those years ago, he used the family land high on the hill as the place to begin their life together.
“Thank you, Jerry. Coffee and a lemon bar?” She handed him the plate.
When Jerry was finally settled with the plate balanced on his knees and a cup of Ella’s strong coffee beside him, he launched into the reason he’d come.
“It
’s the Dorsey murder,” he began. And for the next twenty minutes, while the knitters sat uncharacteristically quiet, he gave them a report of all the hours and work that had already gone into finding Justin’s killer.
The list of folks interviewed was a long one. And the list of alibis short, but that was understandable. “The equipment had been checked Saturday morning. Gus and Andy dropped it off in the storage shed Saturday night around dinnertime. They locked it up and left. So that leaves the gear unattended in Gus’ store that day—and during the night when it was locked in the shed.”
Nell frowned. “So you’re not sure when it was tampered with?”
“Although we haven’t made it public, we think it was at night.” He looked around, then went on. “That left lots of time for some- one to go down and fiddle with the dive tanks before the early-morning dive. Most people were asleep for some of those hours. But we’re looking at it from all angles. And we have our arms around it pretty tight. We will find the guy who did this. That’s a promise.”
“Jerry, why are you telling us this?” Nell asked. The fact that he’d been with Ben was not a good sign. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
Jerry took the last bite of his lemon bar and declared it the best he’d ever had. Then he said, “It’s not confidential, what I’ve told you. You’ll read it in the paper. People want to know what’s going on. They have a right to that.
“And yes, you’re right. There’s more. But before we get into that, I’m here because you’ve got people caring about you who think you may be wading off into waters that aren’t yours to wade in. This is murder. It’s serious business—we try to calm people down in the reports that get printed, but it can be dangerous, and I wanted to tell you that myself because . . . well, because I know each one of you. And I know you want this to all be over as much as I do and . . . well, and sometimes you think you can speed it up a little.”
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