Murder in Merino

by Sally Goldenbaum

  • • •

  Birdie and Cass were walking up the steps to the Ocean’s Edge as Nell approached from the other side.

  Nell forced a smile to her face and tried to push aside her conversation with Danny. As Ben reminded her with some regularity, there were some things that weren’t within her control.

  “Is Mary here yet?” she asked. She glanced automatically over to the bar. It was dotted with customers, some stopping for a drink on their way home, others finishing up a meeting in the comfortable lounge. Tyler Gibson was behind the bar mixing a drink. He looked over and waved.

  Tyler was one person to be crossed off the list of those having had a problem with Jeffrey. They liked each other, even if they had a few differences, which Esther Gibson wasn’t shy talking about. She said Jeffrey was good for her grandson, a good role model.

  Ryan Arcado was there, too, near the bar, dark hair flopping across his forehead. Several customers at round bar tables vied for his attention, but Ryan had his back turned, a grin on his face as he scrolled through texts, neglecting his waiter duties. Nell looked around, half expecting to see Jeffrey coming around the corner to scold the young man. But no one came, and Ryan continued to text.

  I coulda killed the guy. The words echoed in Nell’s head. It’s what Ryan had said right after the funeral when talking about Jeffrey tossing his cell phone in the Dumpster. And Zack Levin hadn’t praised Jeffrey, either.

  “It’s not the same, is it?” Nell looked over at Cass and Birdie.

  They looked at the bar and nodded. It wasn’t. It wouldn’t be. Jeffrey’s familiar figure, his warm hugs, would not be back.

  But hopefully justice would be, and soon.

  “Mary Pisano is waiting for you in the outdoor lounge,” a hostess told them, walking across the entry with menus in her hands. “It’s chilly today, but we turned on the heaters and lit a fire. It smells like fall.” She smiled and led them through the nearly empty restaurant to the deck.

  Mary sat at a tall round table, her feet barely touching the rungs of the stool. Beside her sat Karen Hanson, her fingers tapping on a yellow pad.

  “I’ve ordered something for us to taste called a cucumber fizz,” Mary said, bypassing hellos. “It might be nice to have a refreshing drink at the party.”

  Karen looked indulgently at her. They were an odd couple, the mayor’s wife and Mary. Both had husbands with demanding jobs that often kept them away from home—one a fisherman and the other a city official. Perhaps that’s what made their relationship work.

  Nell sat on one of the stools and looked over at Karen. “I just ran into Stan.”

  “Stan?” Karen looked surprised. “Where? He was speaking at the hospital guild volunteer event today. Were you there?”

  “No. He was in the bookstore, on his way to the office, when I saw him. He didn’t mention giving a talk.” But he mentioned not giving talks. Nell wondered whether he had forgotten it, something that never sat well with voters. From the look on Karen’s face, she was thinking the same thing.

  “Sometimes Stan gets his priorities mixed up. I lined this talk up weeks ago,” Karen said. She checked her phone, as if expecting an explanation—an apology?—on the small screen. Then she slipped it into her purse and concentrated on the waitress passing around five tall cucumber fizzes. “Enjoy,” she said, then disappeared back inside.

  Nell watched Garrett Barros walk out, his shirt straining slightly over his wide chest. Their eyes met briefly and he offered a tentative smile, then followed it with a nod. It was meant to be friendly, she thought, but there was something that added an edge to it, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to be smiling at her.

  “Nell, does three weeks from now sound good to you? It will be the actual week of your anniversary, and the back of the inn will be beautiful then, the leaves just starting to turn. The swamp maples will be brilliant—the beeches and oaks, also. And we’ll keep it simple; I promise,” Mary began.

  Nell pushed her doubts away and simply smiled. Ben had told her that business at the bed-and-breakfast was a little slow, and having a party there would remind all their friends that Ravenswood by the Sea was the perfect place to put up visitors and hold events. It was the least they could do for Mary.

  Karen slipped Nell a sheet of paper with a menu written in her neat printing style—a distinctive combination of block and script that was utterly legible. Nell found reading Karen’s thank-you notes pure pleasure, simply because of the handwriting. She read through the list with Cass and Birdie peering at it from either side of her.

  It was all the things Nell and Ben loved—Gracie’s lobster rolls, Harry’s pasta salads with fresh grilled vegetables. Lots of finger food—calamari and sea salt shrimp and tiny crab sandwiches with sprinkles of the Cheese Closet’s feta on top. It read like a menu Nell would plan herself, a gift to her friends.

  A river of relief passed through her, followed almost immediately by gratitude and a twinge of guilt at her reticence in letting Mary take over the celebration. Her friend was saving her from details that wouldn’t fit easily into her life right now. Not until Jules Ainsley was released from the cloud of suspicion smothering her—and until a murderer was safely behind bars.

  She looked at Mary again, this small dynamo of a woman sitting quietly with a smug smile on her face. “Didn’t I tell you I’d treat you and Ben right? Especially Ben. I plan on marrying him after you and my Eddie are gone.”

  They laughed at the image of the not-quite-five-foot Mary Pisano alongside Ben Endicott, his six-four frame belying the fact that the only basketball he ever played was Sunday pickup games at the Y.

  “I asked Karen to contact the purveyors of this fine menu, and in her persuasive way she has brought everyone on board.”

  “But Mary has everything else organized, which is how it needs to be. I have a full plate right now, helping Stan with his campaign. He needs me by his side.”

  Nell looked up. The words were said with a tone that Karen didn’t often use. She thought of the expression on Stan’s face in the bookstore. In hindsight, it wasn’t a tired look at all. Instead, it was the look of someone distracted, someone grappling with a difficult decision that had no good answer.

  “Of course Stan needs you,” Birdie was saying. “I told Mary a million times, I’m just across the street and I will be on call for anything you need.”

  “That’s nice, Birdie,” Mary said, “but you have a few other things on your mind.”

  “I suppose we all do,” Birdie said. “It’s difficult when friends are in pain.”

  Nell caught the word “friends,” and realized that included Jules as well as Don Wooten, Maeve, the chief, and others so affected by Jeffrey’s death. Perhaps that’s what she had seen on the mayor’s face. Grief for an old friend. Worry about a murderer walking freely somewhere. A shared anguish that they needed to bring to an end—soon.

  Mary motioned to the waitress for the bill. “How do you think Jules is doing? She stopped by today and mentioned the support you’ve given her. Thank you for that. I feel a little bit like I took her in when things were happy, then abandoned her.”

  “Of course you didn’t. And she knows that. This house was important to her. It’s a good place for her to be right now,” Nell said.

  “She told me about the painting,” Mary said.

  “Painting?” Karen looked up.

  They had all decided the night before that it had taken great courage for Jules to share her life with them. It wasn’t intended for the rumor mill. Nell wondered now how much she had told Mary about her life. As much as they all loved her, holding confidences wasn’t Mary’s long suit.

  Mary went on, explaining to Karen, “She came across a painting that resembled the house on Ridge Road. She loved the painting, and when she saw the house, it seemed like kind of an omen to her. A vacation place here would be a nice investment, I told her
, and fixing up that place might help her get through all this mess.”

  So Jules had been cautious in talking to Mary. They would be cautious, too. “That’s a good thought,” Nell said. “She certainly has a lot on her mind. But she’s a strong woman, and she will somehow survive all this.”

  Karen leaned in, her voice lowered. “How is she really doing? She used to run through town daily, but not lately. The article in the paper yesterday shocked all of us. It’s started a barrage of rumors all over town. People are talking about the garden glove as if it has put the nail in the coffin for her. People can be cruel. I can’t believe that what they’re saying is true.”

  “It’s not true,” Mary said. Her words were definitive. “And someone will find something that proves it.” She stared at Nell, Birdie, and Cass as if to ask them what they were waiting for.

  “Frankly,” she went on, “it was a coward who leaked that information to the newspaper. I mean, think about it. It would have had to be someone who actually saw her put the glove in her car, because—according to Esther Gibson—the information didn’t come from the police. And if someone had seen Jules put it there, don’t you think they’d have run to the police with the information to speed up the investigation? Good grief. We need this solved so everyone can stop looking over shoulders and around corners and double locking their doors at night.”

  Mary stopped, but only because she needed to breathe. Her cheeks were red and the vehemence of her belief was spread out over the Ocean’s Edge lounge. Several people looked their way. Beyond the bar, Nell spotted Don Wooten, his forehead creased as he watched the heated exchange. Normally at this time of day, his lounge was quiet with people drinking Chablis and sherry and not looking for a fight.

  “I think you said it very nicely—and you’re right,” Birdie said. “Finding the glove in Jules’s car was to be kept confidential. The information didn’t come from the police.”

  Birdie tapped her pencil on the yellow pad. “We have three weeks.”

  “To get ready for the party?” Karen said. “That’s more than enough time.”

  Mary stared at her. “Three weeks to find a murderer. I refuse to have the Endicott anniversary party clouded by a murderer on the loose.”

  • • •

  They left the lounge a short time later, judging the cucumber fizz a must for the anniversary party—as long as they had plenty of beer, wine, and coffee. They filed back through the restaurant, which was now filling up with early diners.

  As they passed the swinging doors to the kitchen, Garrett Barros walked out, a white apron tied around his waist. He walked immediately their way, as if he’d been looking through the small window in the kitchen door, waiting for them. He stood directly in front of them, blocking them from moving forward.

  “Hello, Garrett,” Nell said.

  “Miz Endicott, Miz Favazza,” he said. His eyes flitted over Karen, then moved on to Cass. He frowned. “I remember you. You used to live next door to me.” He paused, then said, “I’m glad you don’t live in that house anymore.”

  “Me, too, Garrett. Your binoculars got the better of me.”

  “Binoculars?” Karen asked, trying hard to follow the conversation.

  Garrett glared at Cass. “You should be nice like your ma. I watch birds.”

  “That’s wonderful, Garrett.” Nell’s voice was kind. “That’s a noble pastime. But watching people in their houses or yards with binoculars isn’t noble.”

  Garrett jerked his head around and looked at Nell, his face clouded. “I don’t do that. Sometimes people get in the way of my birds.”

  Don Wooten walked over, but Garrett held his ground. “Jules is a nice girl. I don’t watch her.”

  “What’s going on, Garrett?” Don asked. His voice was even, but his frown caused Garrett to shift from one foot to the other before answering.

  “Nothing, Mr. Wooten. We were talking about my neighbor. Her name is Julia.”

  Don nodded. “Julia,” he said. “Julia Ainsley?”

  Garrett nodded.

  Don looked at Nell. “Is there a new development? Has she been arrested?”

  The wording offended Nell, and then she realized that it was what the town was thinking—that Jules Ainsley was quite possibly a murderer. They wanted more information. They especially wanted her to be in jail. Many people didn’t know Jules, at least not beyond her name and face, and what they read in the paper or heard on Coffee’s patio, the Gull Tavern, or at the Ocean’s Edge bar was what they knew to be true. Jules wasn’t “one of them,” after all. Nell shouldn’t blame Don for being on alert, just like the rest of the town.

  Ben called it unintentional viciousness. The longer that the rumors churned and gained weight and substance, the more difficult life was going to be for Jules. And that thought was awful.

  Don Wooten took Garrett aside and talked to him briefly, then watched him while he walked back into the kitchen. Then Don turned back to the group of women. “What’s going on?”

  The kitchen door opened again almost immediately and Garrett came out. “I know Julia didn’t murder Jeffrey Meara,” he said, his words clear and his expression one of absolute certainty.

  He spoke as if he knew Jules didn’t murder the Bartender—because he knew who did.

  Chapter 28

  Before anyone could utter a word, Garrett turned around and walked back into the kitchen.

  Don looked at the swinging door, then back to the women. “I’m sorry if there’s been a problem out here. I’ll talk to Garrett.”

  “There isn’t any problem, Don,” Nell said. “You don’t need to talk to him.”

  “Except for the binoculars,” Mary Pisano said, standing as tall as her wedge sandals allowed. “What was that about, Nell?”

  “He uses binoculars to spy?” Karen said, her voice laced with concern.

  Don asked, “What binoculars?”

  Mary looked at Cass. “You lived next to him for a while. What do you think?”

  Cass shrugged. “Garrett likes to use binoculars. I’d see him outside all the time, night and day. Looking at birds, he’d tell me, though it struck me as odd that he’d be out there at midnight. Don’t birds sleep at night?”

  “A Peeping Tom,” Karen said.

  Don stared at the kitchen door. “Binoculars?” he repeated, as if unsure of the word.

  Nell spoke up. She wasn’t sure what was motivating her—maybe that Don Wooten seemed to think there was something menacing about Garrett Barros having a pair of binoculars. Without his being there to defend himself, it seemed unfair to him. He had struck a surprising chord in her today, especially since just two days before the same man had frightened her as he stood behind the bank of pine trees with binoculars in his hand—and with Rebecca Early and Jules just a few yards away.

  Today was different and she had no earthly idea why. But somehow, for some reason, she believed him.

  She looked at Don. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Jules isn’t worried about Garrett.”

  “But he’s watching her house with binoculars?” Karen asked. She looked at Cass. “He’s been doing this for a long time?”

  “We don’t know that,” Nell answered. “Maybe he simply likes to keep an eye on what’s going on in his neighborhood, along with the birds, and in a good way. Not to hurt anyone. Jules is probably safer being next door to him than anywhere else in town right now.”

  With that, Nell reminded Birdie and Cass that she needed to stop by Izzy’s shop before the store closed. A new shipment of wool had come in. Perfect for winter projects.

  • • •

  “I’m not sure what to make of all that,” Birdie said, climbing into the front seat. “But I think a talk with Garrett Barros outside his place of employment might be worthwhile. He’s an interesting young man, not what I expected. But then, I’ve never
spoken with him before.”

  Birdie thought about what she had said. “That’s a shame, isn’t it? To form an opinion of someone without really knowing who they are, except for the way they smile or the way they walk or their mannerisms. Without letting them reveal themselves.”

  Nell started the car, Birdie’s words hanging there in front of the steering wheel. Yes, it was a shame, and she’d done the same thing—how many times?—without even being conscious of it.

  “Do you think the police have talked to Garrett?” Cass asked from the backseat. “Could he have been home the day Jeffrey was killed? He seemed pretty sure Jules didn’t do it.”

  “They must have talked to all the neighbors,” Nell said. “But I’m not sure he would have mentioned bird-watching in a police interview. Or even his binoculars. We could easily find out if he was working that day.”

  “And what we’re assuming is that he might have seen something, not that he might have done something . . .” Cass’s words lingered there, syphoned out of everyone’s thoughts.

  Nell thought back to the Ocean’s Edge staff that had stood outside the church that day. According to one of the hostesses, some of the staff had snuck out of the funeral service as soon as they could. Maybe just stayed inside the church until their boss noticed their presence. Garrett was there. Was he one of those who had fled? More important, probably, was whether he was one of those who had been fired and carried a grudge against Jeffrey Meara.

  “Doesn’t your Ella bird-watch?” she asked Birdie. Birdie’s housekeeper had some interesting hobbies and, if Nell remembered correctly, bird-watching was one of them. “Maybe she knows Garrett.”

  Don Wooten sounded skeptical about the bird-watching explanation. Karen Hanson didn’t buy it, either. Were they being naive?

  “I was thinking the same thing, Nell. If he is in any way serious about getting to know our fine feathered friends—which, by the way, is the name of Ella’s bird-watching club—Ella will know it.”