Patterns in the Sand

by Sally Goldenbaum

  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. Déjà 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.”

  Izzy looked around the room and spotted another identical sack, exactly like the one Natalie held. She pulled it open and saw several skeins of yarn. “Here it is.”

  Natalie looked relieved. “I couldn’t finish my hat without it.”

  “How are you doing, Natalie?” Birdie asked. She set the beginnings of the hoodie on her lap and pushed her glasses into her hair.

  “I’m better, thank you. The police are finally finished messing up my gallery. Now I can get in and sort through things. Make sense out of it all. Brendan, bless him, is helping me. And Billy’s cousin Jackie will come tomorrow, too, though I’ll have to keep an eye on him.”

  Nell frowned. “Why is that?”

  “I’m afraid he’ll sneak off and find someplace to gamble. They seem to smell it—him and Billy both. It’s in their blood.” Natalie sat herself down on an empty chair, her sack of yarn and purse on the floor beside her.

  “I know you have a lot on your mind, Natalie, but I’ve a favor to ask.”

  “Of course. If I can do something for you, I will certainly do it. You’ve been kind to me. All of you have.”

  “Do you think I could come by the gallery to see the James paintings before you crate them up? This may be my only chance to see them unless they show up in a museum somewhere—and I’m intrigued.”

  “Of course you can. Others have asked to see them as well. The Brewsters. My neighbor. Such a good idea, Nell. Does tomorrow sound good? Maybe noon?” She looked at the others. “You’re all welcome. Billy would surely like you to see them. They’re beautiful. Such amazing scenery. He was a true artist.”

  Natalie spoke proudly, as if she were personally responsible for the dead painter’s talent. Then she spotted the half-empty wineglasses on the table and looked suggestively at Izzy.

  Izzy got up, poured her a glass, and set it on the coffee table in front of her.

  “Why, Izzy, dear. Thank you.” Natalie picked up the glass and winked at her hostess. “This is a lovely idea, Nell. A viewing. A cocktail party.”

  A party? Nell thought. And wondered briefly if Billy Sobel was turning over in his grave. She suspected he just might be. “I think there might be others, too. Ellen mentioned wanting to see the paintings.”

  “Of course. The Marks girls. They appreciate fine art. And speaking of Rebecca . . .” Natalie shifted in her chair and looked over at Nell. “Billy’s cousin arrived today. He says that Rebecca’s Uncle August has rallied. He’s not on death’s door anymore, though probably not too far away. Now isn’t that one for the books?”

  “Rebecca and Ellen’s uncle in New Jersey,” Nell explained to the others. “The one who had been ill.”

  “No,” Natalie corrected. “He’s Rebecca’s uncle, not Ellen’s. The old man just isn’t very nice, Billy said. He would cut Rebecca out of the will in a split second if he knew about her and Ellen.”

  Cass looked up. “Back up, Natalie. If he’s Rebecca’s uncle, then he’s Ellen’s uncle. I’m confused.”

  Natalie looked puzzled for a minute. And then the confused look disappeared and a look of amusement filled her face.

  “You think Ellen and Rebecca Marks are sisters? No, no. Rebecca was Rebecca Early before she was Marks. Ellen and Rebecca went off to Connecticut two years ago and got married.”

  Chapter 30

  Ben was still up when Nell got home. “Somehow I figured you might need to talk, my love,” he said, and Nell followed him out to the deck.

  At first they sat in silence, Nell collecting her thoughts, sorting through the maze of stray facts, some that fit together, many that didn’t.

  “We were determined to straighten things out,” she began, welcoming the cup of tea that Ben handed her. “To sort through the past two weeks and see what’s missing. Among the five of us, we thought we’d see holes and irregularities—things that didn’t line up quite right. Inconsistencies. And now there’s this development, this gambling debt.”

  Ben sat with his feet up, drinking a brandy and taking in Nell’s news of the night about Rebecca and Ellen. “I suppose when Billy told Natalie all this, he expected she would keep his confidence,” he mused. “Not to mention Ellen’s confidence.”

  “But she’s no longer bound by that,” Nell said. “Or at least in her mind, she isn’t. And I suppose now that the uncle isn’t dead, it doesn’t matter anyway—all their secrets were aimed at making sure they got the inheritance.”

  “But it’s still an issue of privacy,” Ben said. “If Ellen and Rebecca moved here for privacy for whatever reason, that’s what they should get. We all want that, and Natalie shouldn’t be disturbing that.”

  Nell agreed. “The inheritance is sizable, Natalie said. And the old man would pull it if he knew about Ellen and Rebecca. They established a legal relationship in Connecticut a couple years ago. But before they had told anyone, they found out about the uncle’s will. Even back then, he was ‘scheduled to die any day,’ as Natalie put it. And they’d be the benefactors. Or at least Rebecca would.”

  “But only if she stayed in her uncle’s good graces. I guess that’s why they moved up here, out of the line of fire.”

  Nell nodded. “Ellen confided in Billy, which bothered Rebecca terribly. And her relationship with Aidan was all for show. Except when Aidan figured it out, he felt used. I can’t say I blame him. It’s the deception that would bother him. Aidan was nothing if not honest, and he expected other people to act the same way.”

  “So Rebecca disliked the fact that Aidan knew.”

  “Apparently. She isn’t the most trusting person. And she hated that he and Billy knew things that could affect her life. It was a power issue. They had power over her. And she was desperately afraid that it would get back to her uncle.”

  “It’s unfortunate,” Ben said. “I wonder how Ellen feels about all this—about putting her life on hold until someone died. It doesn’t seem like her kind of thing.”

  Nell agree
d. Ellen was pleasant—and she loved to knit, certainly in her favor. This must have been difficult for her, all this pretending. “Confiding in Billy may have brought comfort to Ellen. That’s probably why she did it. At the least, she had someone to talk to. Billy had been good to Ellen and Rebecca.”

  Nell told Ben about dropping Natalie off, and the small notebook that held the moneys owed to the couple. “All debts owed were forgiven upon his death. What an interesting man.”

  “A generous gesture,” Ben agreed. “But that information in the wrong hands could get a person killed. Did people know about it?”

  “He didn’t hide it. I called Jane on the way home and she said Billy joked about it sometimes at the council meetings. But they were all friends. No one thought twice about it. Besides, until Natalie came along, Billy never pressured anyone to pay him back, apparently.”

  The breeze off the ocean was cool, and the smell of the mint in her tea wafted up. She held it beneath her chin, the steam rising up and clearing her breathing.

  Clearing her thinking was another matter.

  Natalie had seemed in need of company as much as in need of her yarn, and she was reluctant to go home. She talked on at some length about her life with Billy: how they had met, how he convinced her life with him would be a frolicking ride filled with glamour and success.

  Nell had listened closely, thinking maybe something would slip out that would fit into the disjointed puzzle they’d laid out on the table earlier. No one wanted to talk about the murders in front of Natalie, so instead they concentrated on their knitting and even Cass finished a whole hat as they nodded and smiled at appropriate places.

  Finally, unable to keep her eyes open, Birdie suggested calling it a day.

  Cass agreed—she and Pete had an early morning checking her traps, and all of them could use a good night’s sleep.

  Birdie allowed no discussion from anyone, including Natalie, and they’d cleaned off the table, helped Nell and Izzy lock all the windows, and did, indeed, call it a day.

  Willow had her bike—with the new headlight Ben had insisted on installing. Nell suggested she drive Natalie home. She didn’t know her level of tolerance, but two glasses of wine had gone down rather quickly.

  Nell had pulled the car into the Sobel driveway and idled the engine while Natalie collected her bags. She turned on the seat and looked over at her passenger.

  “Natalie, I have a question about something you said yesterday at the tea shop. You mentioned that you didn’t know the names of the people who owed Billy money. Billy kept that private, but he told you the reasons for the loans, right?”

  Natalie nodded. “He thought that would convince me that we didn’t need to demand payment. But the reasons don’t matter, do they? A loan is a loan is a loan.”

  “Do you remember the reason for the loan that wasn’t repaid before Billy died?”

  Natalie pulled her brows together in the shadowy car, trying to remember. Then she leaned over and opened her large black bag. She rummaged around in it for a minute, then pulled out a small notebook with a rubber band around it.

  “I took notes when Billy and I talked about business matters. It helped me remember the important things.”

  Like who owed you money, Nell thought.

  Natalie clicked on the car’s overhead light, wet her finger, and paged through the notebook. “Yes, here it is as clear as day. It was to repay a gambling debt. One big whopping gambling debt.”

  She looked at Nell gravely. “Gambling,” she said, one thin brow arching. “It’s the worst kind of debt. Sometimes people get killed over things like that.”

  Nell looked over at Ben now. His eyes were closed, but she knew he was still awake. She had told him nearly everything they’d discussed—except for the crude threat that had been left in Izzy’s shop.

  Crude, she thought. That was what it was. It had frightened her at the time, mostly because it had landed in Izzy shop. Had it appeared in her own mailbox, it would not have carried the same weight of worry. But now, sitting beside Ben on her deck, the note itself was less frightening. It wasn’t the work of a trained hit man or organized crime—that was evident. But it brought certainty to her conviction that no matter what the newspaper or the neighbors or the police were saying, nothing was wrapped up.

  Aidan’s and Billy’s murderer was walking around Sea Harbor.

  And that was frightening, indeed.

  Nell awoke early on Friday and reached across the bed, her eyes still half closed. It was empty.

  She pulled herself awake and looked around. The windows were wide-open, and the morning breeze filled the gauzy curtains like sails on a ship. Birds chirped and the horns of fishing boats heading out to the open sea were faint in the background.

  The more immediate noises were the whirr of the coffee bean grinder and voices. Several voices.

  Nell slipped out of bed and into a hoody and light sweatpants.

  Izzy and Willow sat on stools at the kitchen island in running shorts, their hair damp and scrunchies wrapped around their wrists like bracelets.

  Ben poured each of them a cup of strong coffee.

  “What’s up?” Nell asked. “Is Ben’s coffee so good that you got up at dawn for it?”

  “Just couldn’t sleep, is all,” Izzy said. “Willow and I hit the beach at the same time, so we ran together.”

  “You’ve had trouble sleeping for a few days, Izzy,” Nell said, concerned.

  “Just too many things going on.”

  Willow dug into the pocket of her sweatpants and tugged out a small envelope. She set it on the island. “Here, Iz. Magic Nembutal. Sleep like a baby. At least that’s what Brendan says.”

  Nell frowned. “That’s not aspirin, you know. Be smart about medicine, Willow.”

  Willow assured her that she would. “I’m overly cautious about things like this.”

  Izzy smiled. “Me, too. I think I’ll try yoga.”

  “So what do you make of the Rebecca and Ellen story?” Izzy finally asked.

  Nell took the cup of coffee that Ben offered her. “I think it was a kind of mystery that was out there—and it led us down the wrong path. We sensed the secrets, so we tried to figure them out. There were disconnects, so we automatically connected it to the murders of Aidan and Billy.”

  “Nellie, I think you’re right,” Ben said. “It’s interesting. Here’s what I make of it. I think all of Rebecca’s worries, all of Ellen’s cover-ups, all the differing messages we’ve gotten by attending that story line, if you will, have simply pulled attention away from what was really going on in Canary Cove.

  “Rebecca didn’t like Billy and Aidan, and that’s that. She probably doesn’t like me, either. Apparently she’s not crazy about Natalie Sobel. Some people don’t like other people. But Rebecca’s not going to kill me over it, nor Natalie, just like she didn’t kill Aidan and Billy. I’d stake my life on it.”

  Hearing Ben speak so frankly and clearly brought such relief to Nell that she broke out in a huge smile, leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek.

  “What’s that for?” Ben asked.

  “Just for doing that thing you do. Sorting through things so clearly. I think you’d be a great knitter, Ben. You can certainly get rid of straggly ends.”

  Izzy agreed. “It’s huge, Uncle Ben. Like finishing that first cleansing edit of a law school paper.”

  “Come on, you two, this is going to go to my head.”

  “But the hard part is ahead of us,” Nell said. “So who’s left? D.J. is still out there with motive and opportunity.”

  They all nodded.

  Ben shook his head. “He’s almost too obvious. Jerry told me D.J. is clean when it comes to following the law. Just barely, but he manages to walk the line. Not even a parking ticket. He knows the law well enough to stay just this side of it. I don’t think he fits the profile. He’s talked people out of property for years and probably has had a fair number of lawsuits brought against him, but he’s never murder
ed anyone for land. So why now?” Ben paused and took a drink of coffee, thinking through what he’d just said.

  Then he went on. “But I’d be the first to admit that that isn’t proof. It’s a gut feeling with a few facts tossed in. And you’re probably right to keep him on the list. Jerry Thompson is probably doing the same. Profiles don’t always prove true.”

  “My instincts are with Ben’s,” Nell said to Willow and Izzy. “I think we need to look at the original problem between Aidan and Billy. That’s where we’ve messed up. We stumble over it every time we talk about this. So what are we missing?”

  “We know that Aidan wouldn’t have objected to something that would have helped Billy succeed. He was all about helping the other artists and gallery owners. So their little feud—if that’s what it was—didn’t make sense. So we need to focus on that, and try to make it make sense.”

  “Well, on that topic, Brendan says the paintings are amazing,” Willow said. “He says it’s the best work James has ever done.”

  “These paintings have been hovering over these murders somehow, and none of us has seen them. Odd, isn’t it? I’m looking forward to stopping by today. Is everyone going?”

  “I’d like to see them,” Willow said immediately. “Definitely. Brendan showed me a glimpse of one. It’s really kind of a mess over there, so don’t expect a grand showing. A lot of the work has fallen on Brendan. It’s making him cranky, but it’ll soon be over.”

  “I imagine he’s a big help to her. And he knows a lot about the paintings, being an art teacher and an artist himself.”

  Willow nodded. “Brendan talks about the paintings a lot. He will be a good docent to have. And speaking of paintings,” she said, looking over the island at Nell, “Brendan and I stopped by Aidan’s—he wanted to look something up in that book on New England artists that Aidan had. I told him you borrowed it, and he was kind of anxious to borrow it back.”

  “Of course,” Nell said, and made a mental note to pass the book along after she’d had a chance to read the chapter on the James paintings. “I’ll look at it this morning and bring it to the gallery. Will that work?”