Sal stood on the boat, tugging at the stern lines. Trying to ignore the pounding of the waves and the screaming of the woman he knew he couldn’t live without. “Come with me, Bea,” he pleaded.
Birdie and Cass reached Beatrice and held her tight.
“He’s crazy. He’ll kill himself,” she said. She broke free and ran to the end of the dock with Nell close behind. She reached over and grabbed the edge of the boat railing, holding tight. “I can’t swim, Sal. I hate water. If you try to move this boat, I will fall in the water and drown. I swear I will. Is that what you want? Now get off this damn boat.”
In the distance, heavy footsteps made their way to the dock.
Sal looked startled at the lights shining from flashlights, the heavy footsteps.
And in the time it took for Nell and Cass to pull Beatrice back on dry land, Tommy Porter had jumped on the boat and read Sal Scaglia his rights.
For killing his mistress, Beverly Walden.
And Francis Finnegan.
“Beatrice’s sister is with her,” Nell said. “And Father Northcutt. She’s a strong lady. She’ll be fine. It’s Sal who won’t be. I don’t know if he can exist without her, a fact that Beverly Walden never understood.”
It was early evening and the rain had left the town soaked in the wonderful freshness of summer. The doors to the deck were open, bringing in the smell of roses and evergreens, of new grass and ocean breezes. The coffee was on; martinis were mixed.
“It’s intoxicating,” Nick Marietti said, looking out over the yard. “It’s like the color has come back.”
Beside him, Birdie nodded.
The weight of sadness that settled on the town was lightened by the knowledge that it was over. At last.
The siege on their summer was no more.
Jane Brewster looked over at the painting, still leaning against the wall. “The painting was like Beverly’s coming-out announcement. Her way of telling the world that she and Sal loved each other.”
“An announcement Sal could never have let her make,” Nell said.
They turned toward the bright, happy painting of the sea. And riding the waves like a chariot was a magnificent yacht, sharply angled with strong, broad strokes, but as recognizable as the photos they’d seen the night before. A brilliant boat with a deep metallic blue sheen, and painted on the side was its new name: BEVERLY.
“Do you think Sal loved her?” Nell wondered out loud. She’d been grappling with it for hours. Such complicated relationships. Beatrice was Sal’s anchor. He would never have left the one stronghold in his life that kept him safe.
“I think Beverly loved him desperately, and needed him in a way Beatrice didn’t,” Birdie said. “Her love was total and adoring, and it made him feel vigorous and important and manly. So, in a way, I think he did. Certainly he loved being needed. He never had that role before. It’s not uncommon. But he’d never have left Beatrice. He couldn’t. He was too dependent on her.”
“And he truly loved her, I think,” Nell said. “Maybe not in the normal husband-and-wife way. But he did love her.”
“I feel sorry for Beverly,” Cass said. “I didn’t think I’d ever say that, but the woman had rotten breaks.”
“She also had a temper,” Ben said. “Kind of a Jekyll and Hyde. And my guess is that after she lost the inheritance, she was desperate. She knew Sal and Beatrice were wealthy, and thought that having her own would equal the playing field. But once that was gone, she was frantic. All she had left were threats to tell Beatrice. Sal couldn’t stand for that, and it pushed him right over the edge. Just like Finnegan pushed him when he said he was going to tell Beatrice about the affair. For Finn, Sal’s infidelity was the worst sin of all.”
“Davey Delaney had me fooled,” Ham said. “That guy is scary sometimes. I thought he did it.”
Izzy nodded. “Scary, but I’m beginning to think he’s a teddy bear underneath.”
“We’ve Gabby to thank for steering us away from Davey. It was the broken lens she found with her sea glass,” Nell said. “Her throwaway piece.”
“Sal’s broken glasses,” Birdie said. “He told us he’d lost them, but he didn’t say it was on the island where he and Beverly would meet each night.”
“Do you think Beatrice knew . . . maybe suspected?” Izzy asked.
Birdie sipped the martini Ben handed her. “I don’t think she’ll ever tell us—and I don’t think we need to know.”
But Nell remembered the scrap of paper, something Beatrice probably found in Sal’s pocket early on. She was no one’s fool. Maybe she knew and the affair was all right with her. As long as it was quiet and discreet. Maybe she’d torn the sheets out of the sign-in book—or insisted Sal did it.
“And Sam is a hero, too,” Izzy said proudly. “No wonder that Sal turned white when he saw your great photographs.”
“I didn’t think anything of that big, white sisal hat, except that it made an interesting object in the photo,” Sam said. “Just like the two wineglasses. It was the four of you who put it all together.”
“Beatrice never set foot on the boat, so the hat couldn’t have been hers,” Birdie said.
“Beverly wore it several times in Canary Cove. She must have forgotten it on the boat the morning that we ran into Sal at the club.”
“And the rigging knives—Beverly and Beatrice both probably bought them as gifts for Sal—never dreaming one would be used to kill Finnegan,” Nell said.
“We’ve answered lots of questions,” Jane said. “But not all . . .”
“Right. The big one.” Ben’s eyes were laughing.
They all looked at Cass.
Cass looked like a new person. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed. The weeks had taken a toll on her. But tonight, in the midst of all the sadness that the murders had wrought, there was new life in her eyes.
“Me?” she said innocently. “What’s the question?” And then she laughed. “Ah, the land—Finnegan’s wonderful land . . .” She looked over at Danny, whose eyes hadn’t left her face. “Danny is helping me sort through it all. Sort of my sounding board.”
“Meaning Cass talks and I listen,” Danny said, his eyes still locked on hers, a look of pure pleasure on his face.
“But it takes a lot of trust to bare your soul to a writer,” Cass said. “A lot. Trust, Brandley.”
“Trust,” Danny repeated. He nodded and moved closer, his hand reaching out and capturing hers.
“The land?” Izzy prompted,
Plans were taking shape. Ideas coming in. It would make Finnegan proud, Cass promised.
First, a cleanup. And then a memorial for Moira and Finn—with statues made by the Canary Cove artists and surrounded by yellow rosebushes. The statues would look out over the harbor, in the very spot where Finn had visited his wife’s grave every single day.
Moira’s favorite place on earth.
Laura Danvers was researching a small park for kids. Maybe even a hot dog stand, like in the old days. A couple of new galleries—one of children’s art? A beginning, for sure.
The trust fund was more than enough to put the Halloran Lobster business back on its feet, and Pete was already hiring help to take some of the work off Cass.
She’d also turned in her rental notice to Izzy. She wouldn’t need her friend’s house any longer.
Finnegan’s old house on the hill was being renovated and brought back to its original glory with lots of big windows framing the sea.
Cass’ mother was in charge. Mary Halloran had insisted on making the corner room on the second floor into an office for Danny Brandley—“Just in case,” she said, without explaining herself further. It had four large windows that looked out over the water, the perfect spot for a writer, she’d said. If a writer should be in need of such a spot.
“Just in case, Ma?” Cass had asked. “In case of what?”
But she offered no objections.
And Mary Halloran was overjoyed.
Chapter 40
&
nbsp; The Garden Celebration was set for Sunday morning, one that dawned with promises of a glorious day. Even the carrots and kale and beans were cooperating, poking up through the moist soil.
Much to Ben’s delight, Annabelle Palazola had promised to have a booth down at the garden site so his Sunday morning would be complete—quiche and frittatas to go, she promised. Along with carafes of dark-roast coffee from Coffee’s.
But as they came around the bend in Canary Cove Road and passed the entrance to Finnegan’s place—already mowed and with the rusty fence removed—the biggest surprise was not Annabelle’s booth or the green beans and spinach, or the music coming from Pete’s Fractured Fish band.
It was Willow Adams’ and Gabrielle Marietti’s transformation of the community garden site.
“We bombed it!” Gabby yelled with great glee.
People were clapping and cheering. Oohs and aahs were everywhere.
“Indeed, you have,” Birdie said. She looked around, her smile widening with each new discovery.
Yarn graffiti surrounded the area, dressing up the garden posts, the streetlights, the garden benches. Rakes and shovels—even the solar lights dotting the raised plots—had bright knit coverings. They were all decked out in every color of the rainbow. Stripes, polka dots, fancy knit neckties. At the entrance to the garden sat a lovely mermaid, completely covered in blue, green, and pink yarn, with neat ribbing outlining her form. A bright green crocheted beanie with an orange flower in front sat on her head.
“Aidan’s mermaid,” Nell said, emotion coating her words. It was Willow’s father’s wood sculpture, dressed completely in yarn, winsomely guarding the tomatoes and spinach.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Ben said.
“And it explains where all my leftover yarn has gone,” Izzy said in awe.
“And my often-missing granddaughter,” Birdie added. Nick stood right behind her, his eyes on his niece. They were leaving the next day, a short trip to Maine. But at Gabby’s insistence, they’d stop back on their way to New York. After all, she needed to check her garden. Her friends.
Her nonna.
And they’d be back often, both of them, Nick promised, every chance he got. Gabby needed Birdie, and the feeling was more than mutual.
Nick was considering a part-time position at Dana-Farber in Boston. That way he’d be halfway between the two most important women in his life. Not a bad place to be, he thought.
The graffiti artists, Willow and Gabby, stood side by side, collecting the comments and laughter and surprised exclamations happily. Willow looked at Gabby as the garden family gathered around the entrance, their mouths dropping open at each new graffiti discovery, their eyes as big as Gabby’s.
“Should we confess everything?” Willow whispered.
Gabby’s head bobbed, and they climbed up on the concrete garden bench, now festooned in lovely knit garters and leggings. They looked over to the edge of the crowd where Danny Brandley stood quietly next to Mary Halloran, watching the happy crowd. Gabby held both of her hands out to him.
“Our assistant!” she cried.
All eyes turned toward Danny, who laughed, then took a short bow, his face coloring.
“Danny was our chief helper,” Willow told the crowd. “He can only knit, not purl, but he did a great job with the light post’s garter and the fire hydrant’s orange cape.”
“Not to mention seven neckties,” Gabby added.
Cass came up behind Danny. She pressed into his side, one arm looping around his waist. “I want one of those,” she said, and pointed to the garter.
He kissed the top of her head.
Father Northcutt sobered the crowd, acknowledging the fruits of the garden with a short blessing. And then reminded the small group near him that the Moira would leave at noon.
And at noon, it did. The Moira—complete with its flagpole wrapped in Gabby’s handiwork and filled from port to starboard with Francis Finnegan’s friends.
Cass and Gabby stood at the bow as Pete propelled them out into the open waters, a blinding white path of sunlight guiding them.
Gabby climbed up on the step where the railings came together and threw her arms wide, miming the famous scene from Titanic, and those behind her laughed in relief as Cass pulled her back.
Their faces lifted to the sky, the puffs of cloud moving along with them, as if Finnegan were up there, leading the way.
It was Finnegan and Moira’s grand hurrah, their ashes joined in a ceramic container that Ham Brewster fired for the occasion.
Pete, with Willow as first mate, took the boat out to a quiet spot beyond the breakwater, and Nick helped lower the anchor. The Moira rocked gently to lilting Irish lyrics spilling from Izzy’s iPod.
Angus McPherran, standing with Sam, Ben, and Danny, stood up, thrusting a thick stein into the air. “Frolic in the deep, my friend,” he said.
“To the Finnegans.” The response rose in the air as glasses of iced tea and beer caught the sunlight and cast a kaleidoscope of white light across the deck.
Nell, Izzy, and Birdie stood behind Cass and Gabby at the railing, listening to the toasts behind them.
Gabby looked up at the sky. “To my best friend, Finn,” she whispered.
Father Northcutt came over and handed her the brightly colored urn.
With Cass’ arm steadying her, Gabby tossed the ashes into the sea.
“God be with you, dear friends,” Father Northcutt whispered behind them. “Go in peace.”
“In peace,” Cass and Izzy, Nell and Birdie repeated, their eyes blurred and their hearts full.
In peace.
At last.
Gabby’s Purple Cardigan
Designed for Gabby Marietti by Cheryl Erlandson
24 size 7 needles
40” size 7 to magic loop sleeves, or 7 DPN’s
(5)(6) skeins of Aslan Trends Pima Classico (111 yds worsted weight cotton)
Stitch Markers
Button(s); sweater can be made with two small or one large button
Gauge: 4.5 stitches to 1
Size
8–10, 10–12
Cast on 122 (128) stitches
Row 1: K2 P1 rib to end, ending with K2.
Row 2: P2 K1 rib to end, ending with P2.
Repeat for two more rows if you are using the larger button.
For two small buttons, work rows 1 and 2, and on row 3 knit to last 4 sts, K2 tog YO K2
Work three rows, and on next right-side row, repeat buttonhole again.
The next two rows are the set up for the large buttonhole.
Row 5: Work K2 P1 rib to last 7 sts, and bind off 4 stitches for buttonhole and finish in rib pattern.
Row 6: Continue in established rib pattern, and cast on 4 stitches over buttonhole and pattern to the end.
Repeat rows 1 and 2 for 2” from cast on edge, ending on WS.
Next row: Work in rib pattern to last 12 stitches, and bind off 11 stitches.
Next row: Bind off 11 stitches and continue in rib to end. 100 (122) stitches
Separation for body and sleeves worked in stockinette stitch.
Knit 20 (21) stitches and place marker, knit 10 (12) stitches, place marker, knit 40 (40) stitches, place marker, knit 10 (12) stitches, place marker, knit 20 (21) stitches.
Next row: (Increase row) knit to one stitch before marker and KFB, slip marker, KFB, and continue increasing one stitch before and after each marker in this manner.
Next row: Purl all stitches.
Next row: Repeat increase row.
Repeat these two rows until you have 15 (16) increases
{35 (37) sts for the fronts, 40 (44 ) sts for both sleeves, 70 (72) sts for the back}
Next RS row: Knit to first marker, remove marker, place sleeve stitches on waste yarn, cast on 3 (4) stitches with backward loop cast on method, remove marker, and knit across back. Remove marker, place sleeve stitches on waste yarn, cast on 3 (4) stitches in same manner as before, knit to end. (146,152) stitches
Continue in stockinette stitch until piece measures 17” or desired length, from cast-on edge and bind off on knit row.
Remove first sleeve from waste yarn; join yarn and knit to end, pick up and knit 2 (4) stitches from cast-on stitches, omitting the center stitch, and join in round.
Continue in stockinette stitch for 5”, and work 2X1 ribbing for 16 rows, and bind off loosely in pattern on the next row. (Use a needle one size up if you tend to bind off too tightly.)
Work second sleeve the same as the first.
Right front band: Pick up stitches along front edge with right sides facing, approximately stitch for stitch, making sure that the number of stitches are easily divisible by 3, and work 2x1 ribbing for 10 rows. Next row bind off loosely in pattern. Attach bound-off neck edge to band.
Repeat for left front band.
Weave in ends. Block and sew on button(s).
Add one adorable little girl, and enjoy.
Author’s note: For more designs, visit http://keepyourneedleshappy.com/shop/.
And for more about the Seaside Knitters, go to sallygoldenbaum.com and visit Sally on Facebook and Twitter.
A Fatal Fleece: A Seaside Knitters Mystery Page 32
