Trimmed With Murder

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Helen drank the last of her martini and looked at her husband’s discomfort. “Yes,” she said politely, her face suggesting nothing more needed to be said. She fingered a broach on her lapel nervously.

  “Please let us know if there’s anything Ben and I can do—” Nell said.

  Stu wiped his forehead with the napkin and forced a smile in place. “Thanks. Father Northcutt asked about a memorial service down the road, but we’re not sure that’s for the best. It might simply be prolonging a sad time. The family has already felt closure, I think.”

  “I don’t know if any of us will feel closure until the person who did this is caught,” Nell said. “It’s tragic for a life to end that way, and awful for the whole town—the fear, the rumors, the way people look at each other. Chief Thompson is working day and night, but until he finds who killed Amber, we will all be in a kind of limbo.”

  Later, Nell wasn’t sure what part of what she said had upset the usually genial Stu, but as she talked, his eyes narrowed and his voice rose a decibel louder than comfortable in the tasteful restaurant. “It better be soon, Nell,” he said. “I hope the police know what they’re doing. I have a business to run and they’re everywhere, upsetting my staff, crawling all over the nurseries, as if the girl ever even set foot in them. It’s upsetting. And makes no good sense. My unflappable sister, Barbara, is about ready to explode. She can barely get her work done, and says the files are a mess now. Garrett O’Neal is working fourteen-hour days getting things back in order.”

  Helen sat quietly beside him, a worried look on her face, but Nell noticed one strong hand reach out and rest on her husband’s arm, as if calming him, protecting him from being too excited, wanting the conversation to end. Her grip was firm, and Stu finally sat back in the chair and took a drink from the water glass Helen pressed into his hand.

  Nell was relieved when he stopped talking, aware that others sitting nearby could hear him.

  But Stu wasn’t finished. “You have to understand the upset this has caused to everyone in our family, Nell. We’re wondering why they aren’t out looking at Amber Harper’s associates or friends. Who knows what kind of ruffians she knew? What kind of trouble she might have gotten herself into? That’s where the focus should be, not at upstanding members of the community. I’ll tell you this much: if they don’t start looking, I will.”

  “Stu,” Helen said, “your heart.”

  Nell lowered her voice, hoping Stu’s blood pressure would lower along with it. She spoke calmly. “Of, course, Stu. Investigations are hard on everyone. And Jerry doesn’t leave stones unturned. You know that. It’s not just your employees. He’s talked to all of us.”

  Stu took another deep breath and shook his head. “Sure, you’re right, Nell. I know it’s hard on you, everyone else. I know your nephew was her friend and they’re probably checking him out good and hard. But sure, the police chief is a good man, like you said. All I’m saying is it’s wicked hard on the staff, the landscapers, that’s all. I just thank the good Lord my mother wasn’t here to see the way the Cummings name is being bandied about, connected to a murder like this. She’d be mortified. Humiliated.”

  Helen looked up at Nell, a slight rebuke in her tone at upsetting Stu. “It’s taking a toll on us. Tempers are short.”

  “Of course,” Nell said. “And it’s especially difficult for those who knew Amber.” The conversation was uncomfortable, the focus not what Nell had expected it to be. She hastily repeated her offer to help—although it seemed a meaningless gesture now—then excused herself and walked away.

  But the conversation stayed with her as she walked out to claim her coat—and it would linger into the day. Amber was Stu and Barbara’s niece. Flesh and blood. A fact that seemed to somehow be missing in their distress over the tragic events. She thought of Izzy, Charlie, and their older brother, Jack. How intimate her tie was to each of them and would always be, no matter what they did or where they were. It didn’t matter. They were family.

  Charlie and Izzy were waiting at the front door, bundled up and ready to go.

  The parking lot was busy, and they walked their way around the moving and parked vehicles slowly.

  “Hey, there’s my twin,” Charlie said as they neared a crowded row of cars. He pointed to a shiny silver BMW, then admitted, “Well, not exactly a twin. Mine’s used, rebuilt, a few years older. But hey, they say Bimmers are like fine wine—they get better with age.”

  It wasn’t until they stopped to admire the shiny new version of Charlie’s car that they noticed Garrett O’Neal and Barbara Cummings standing next to it, talking.

  The two figures were shadowed by a Range Rover, their figures almost invisible in its height. The conversation looked serious, their faces close together. Barbara seemed to be controlling the conversation at first, her face unreadable, her demeanor controlled as always, but her body language registered displeasure. She had lifted her arm, a finger moving slowly in the air, a teacher getting a point across.

  Garrett stood still, listening, nodding. Finally he wound his fingers around her wrist, gently pulling down her arm. He took her gloved hand in both of his, holding it still.

  Barbara looked surprised at first. Then slowly took her hand back.

  Garrett’s voice was measured, his words slow and carried by a wind that whipped up off the water, carrying them the short distance to where Nell, Izzy, and Charlie lingered.

  “I’ve promised you everything would be all right,” he said. “It’s under control, just as it always is. I know numbers backwards and forwards. Nothing gets by me. Nothing. You need to trust me more, have more faith in me.”

  “Faith in you?” Barbara’s expression was curious now, as if she wasn’t sure who this man was who was speaking to her.

  He shrugged and opened the door for her, then stood there for a moment, one hand on the doorframe, looking at her intently through his thick glasses.

  “What?” Barbara asked, frowning. “What is it, Garrett?” She kept her eyes on him as she lowered herself into the car. A boyish sort of smile slipped awkwardly across his face. “I take care of things, Barbara,” he said. “Stu trusts me. Your mother knew I was the best thing to happen to Cummings Northshore. She knew I’d take care of what she built no matter what. I have. And I always will. I take care of things—for everyone. But mostly, I want to take care of them for you.”

  Garrett paused, as if wanting his words to sink in and take on meaning. Then he shifted from one foot to the other, his voice losing the firm tone of a minute ago, and an awkwardness creeping in. He pushed his glasses up his nose and finally spoke. “Barbara, I’m here for you, always. I think it’s time.”

  Barbara looked up at him. “Time?”

  “We should get married,” he said. He moved then, blocking Barbara Cummings from view, closed her door, and walked around the car.

  A minute later the car was off across the parking lot, its driver never checking the rearview mirror to see the three figures standing a few yards away, watching the car disappear in a plume of exhaust.

  Chapter 22

  “What do you make of it?” Nell asked Ben that evening. She uncorked a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass as she repeated the conversations she had had with the owners of Cummings Northshore Nurseries—one that she participated in, and the other overheard.

  “I think all three of you were eavesdroppers, for starters,” Ben said.

  “Yes, besides that.” Nell picked up a tray of cheese and crackers and headed to the fireplace.

  Ben took a drink of wine and followed her across the room. He was always cautious about placing exaggerated significance in ordinary things, a temptation when looking for a murderer they were all desperate to find. At first he didn’t comment when she mentioned Garrett O’Neal’s cryptic comments about taking care of things. Instead he crouched down in front of the fireplace and piled some kindling and pap
er balls on the logs. He struck a match and lit the paper.

  “Okay, here’s what I think.” He pushed himself upright, gazing into the red glow, fascinated as the paper balls exploded into flames. He moved to the couch. “Let’s say that this is an ordinary day and you overheard two people who work together disagreeing about something or worrying about an office matter. I would say it means nothing. And frankly, from what you’ve told me, I’m not even sure it was a disagreement. Just an ordinary back-and-forth.”

  Nell kicked off each shoe and tucked her feet up beneath her. She watched the flames dancing against the blackened brick behind them. “Maybe you’re right, but the thing is, it’s not an ordinary day. No days are ordinary right now.” She made room on the couch for Ben to sink down beside her.

  “Are you thinking the conversation had anything to do with Amber’s murder?” Ben asked.

  “It’s a possibility. Or something related to it. I think that’s how we have to look at everything. Amber was not only related to those people, but she was messing with the business they owned.”

  “The business she owned, too,” Ben reminded her.

  “Exactly. And wouldn’t it have benefited them if Amber was dead?” Nell said. “I know Stu seemed convinced last week that she’d sell it back to them. Now she’s dead—and he seemed worried about things. But with Amber dead, he and Barbara are sole owners, right?”

  “That’d be true if Amber didn’t have a will. Then the property goes to next of kin. As sad as it may seem, that’s Barbara and Stu. But if Amber had a will of her own, then that would dictate what happens to her share in the Cummings company.”

  “Did she have a will?”

  “Rachel Wooten has someone looking into it.”

  “So alive, Amber wasn’t a threat because Stu was sure he could buy Amber’s share back. Let’s assume he was right, although I don’t think he really had any idea what Amber Harper was going to do.”

  “I’m with you there,” Ben laughed. “But the truth is, even if Amber didn’t sell it back, Cummings Northshore Nurseries is thriving. That company is making enough money to support half this town. It wouldn’t have hurt them if she’d hung on to it. And Garrett is so tight with the books, I doubt if she could have done anything to harm the company. Besides, Barbara and her poker face would eventually have kept Amber in her place, don’t you think?”

  Nell didn’t think that at all. “Amber was strong and opinionated. She might have wanted to change the way they did things, to somehow have a voice—even Esther was afraid she might want to do damage to the company.”

  Ben sat back, stretching one arm along the back of the couch, his fingers playing with her hair. He tugged a strand. “You’re good at this, Nellie.”

  Nell smiled. In Ben’s mind, she was good at trying to find motives and murderers as long as she was sitting in front of a fire with him at her side, both of them playing the armchair detective game. If she took it any further, he would have a problem with it. Nell left the muddy motive question wallowing on the coffee table. “You still haven’t addressed my original question, Ben. Barbara rarely shows emotion. She’s so levelheaded, composed.”

  Ben nodded. “True. She’s a respected businesswoman. Careful and discreet when it comes to business affairs. And not very social. She keeps to herself.”

  “Yet she was displeased, and in a public place.” She thought back over the conversation as she sipped her wine, then said with a chuckle, “I’m not sure which part of the conversation intrigued me the most—the beginning or the end.” She filled Ben in on Garrett’s parting words.

  Ben’s eyebrows lifted. “Now, that is a surprise.”

  “It was odd—I can’t tell you why, exactly, but definitely odd. I almost felt sorry for him. I think he finally felt he had the right to ask.”

  “It almost sounds like a business proposal,” Ben said. “People have wondered about that relationship behind closed doors for a while. Garrett is a huge asset to the company. He’s quiet, but smart. And exceptionally good at what he does. What do they call the quiet Scorpios—the gray Lizard? I wouldn’t be surprised if his birthday was in November. He knows financial reports backwards and forwards. In fact, that may have been what you were hearing. Barbara was concerned about something, maybe a late report or new insurance, taxes. Garrett was assuring her he had it all under control, just like he always does.”

  Nell thought about what he was saying. As always, it was logical. But was murder logical? Aloud, she said, “Ben, what happens next with the inheritance?”

  “Rachel asked Father Larry and me to sit in on a late-afternoon meeting with Stu and a couple of others. So they’ll talk about what we’ve talked about, but maybe have actual facts to lay on the table. Maybe they’ll have found a will—or not.”

  She rolled her head on the couch cushion and looked sideways at Ben, and she could see that thoughts of wills and inheritances were leaving his mind with each sip of his wine.

  She decided to do the same, finishing her wine and setting the glass on the table. She leaned her head against Ben’s chest and snuggled there, her eyes on the fire, its warmth easing the tension of the week.

  Ben’s interpretation floated around in her drowsy thoughts. He almost always made sense. And he was known for his logic. But something was missing in his reasoning tonight—a missing or false premise? Or maybe he just had other things on his mind, like relaxing with his wife in front of the fire, going to bed early.

  Ben had described Barbara Cummings as a discreet businessperson, a private woman. Nell suspected that to be true both in her personal and in her business life.

  But no matter what Ben said, she felt certain the conversation reflected something more significant than insurance policies.

  Nell felt sure of it, but she held her silence. For now, she willingly gave her mind and body over to the fire and to Ben’s warm breath on her neck, to his arm around her—to the sound of his heartbeat against her ear, its slow regular beat hypnotizing her, blocking out all other thoughts.

  • • •

  Izzy had called the late-afternoon knitting class Holiday Help—and she made sure people knew that even those who only used fat needles and limited techniques were welcome. It was Izzy’s Christmas gift to her customers.

  With the help of our holiday elves, the e-mail they had sent to customers read, you’ll receive expert assistance on how to finish your holiday gifts before finding yourselves adrift in the New Year with yarn still dangling from your fingertips.

  “Elves?” Nell said to Birdie. She shook her head in mock dismay as she maneuvered the CRV out of Birdie’s driveway and onto Ravenswood Road. “Did she really call us elves?”

  “It was Mae,” Birdie chuckled. “I’d recognize her purple prose anywhere.”

  “I hope some live bodies show up,” Nell said. “Izzy said attendance has dropped off, especially at night. The same is true at the bookstore and other shops up and down Harbor Road. One of the busiest shopping seasons—and instead people are staying home behind locked doors watching reality television shows or ordering gifts online.”

  Birdie looked out the window as they approached the harbor area. Lovely festive decorations everywhere—but only a scattering of shoppers enjoying the twinkling lights. “Fear has power. Awful power,” she said. “Nell, I know Jerry has a fine police force, but I think the investigation has stagnated. No wonder people are staying home. Someone is getting away with murder—and it might be someone who isn’t finished with what he started.”

  The thought was sobering and uncomfortable, but Nell agreed. “Ben won’t exactly come out and say that, but I think he feels the same way. The chief is under a great deal of pressure from all sides to put someone behind bars. Anyone, just to get rid of the awful fear. To have a face, a name, someone—” She stopped, her words stilled by worry.

  Birdie followed the path of Nell’s though
ts and stopped her. “Jerry Thompson is a thorough and fair man, we know that. He isn’t going to arrest someone simply because he needs to put a town’s collective mind to rest. Especially someone we know is clearly not guilty.”

  They drove in silence for a while, their thoughts wrapping Charlie Chambers in a protective shield and their minds jumping ahead, planning.

  As they neared the yarn shop, Birdie rested one hand on Nell’s arm and said aloud what she knew they were both thinking. “Nell, we’re as close as Jerry to what is going on here, or closer. And we have a vested interest that transcends all sorts of rules. We need to put our thoughts out on the table and knit them together, see where they take us—and stop worrying about stepping on toes.”

  Relief spread through Nell instantly. Birdie’s words unleashed feelings that had been bottled up for days now, ever since Amber had died and Charlie’s life had changed. They’d all been doing the same thing, quietly, alone. Watching people, listening, coming up with conjectures that they’d held in the silence of their heads. It was time to say them out loud.

  Nell pulled into the alley behind Izzy’s car and turned off the ignition. She gave Birdie a long hug.

  • • •

  The shopwindows were lit up like Santa’s Workshop, the light pouring from them warm and welcoming. A large display window in front matched the festive feeling. Mae’s nieces had gone all out, creating a winter scene with mounds of snowy fleece covering the floor of the window, crocheted Christmas trees planted on the hilly surface. And across the “sky” above flew Santa’s sleigh, pulled by reindeer wearing hand-knit hats in every color of the season.

  COME KNIT WITH US, a sign planted in the “snow” read. Behind it stood a jolly elf, his green knit outfit decorated with tiny red snowballs.

  Birdie focused on the elf. “Izzy didn’t mention we needed to wear costumes. I suppose I could have dug up something.”

  Nell laughed and tucked her arm through Birdie’s, guiding her through the bright blue door.