Murder Wears Mittens

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Cass felt a peculiar twist in her stomach, an unexpected pang that something was wrong. Then just as quickly, realization dawned and she tried to lighten up. Well sure. A busy mom ran out of change and found a creative solution—Cass’s dryer was going strong so she had tossed in her own items, probably thinking she’d be back before Cass. Creative, Cass thought, something she herself had done once or twice in college. But the poor woman was in for a surprise if that pretty pink sweater ended up making her daughter smell like a lobster.

  The imagined scenario somewhat easing the tension she felt, Cass mounded all the damp clothes back into the dryer and slipped a couple more quarters into the slot. She listened for the familiar tumbling of the net hooks against the dryer drum, and stretched her toned shoulders back, working out the kinks. Though Cass did little exercise, lifting lobster traps and machinery kept her lean and trim—and strong—a fact new members of her crusty fishermen crew figured out quickly when they’d find themselves misled by her lovely Irish face with its long lashes and prominent cheekbones. She headed for a chair across the room and sat down, stretching her legs out in front of her. Buy new jeans, she thought, the permanent saltwater stains at the edges of her jeans looking shiny in the glare of the fluorescent light.

  A large clock near the washing machines reminded her of how late it was. They’d all be as hungry as she was. She sent Izzy a message to go on without her, but her friend refused.

  Don’t be a martyr, Izzy replied. I’ll wait. Birdie’s coming too, and bringing wine and Ella’s brownies. Something about a surprise.

  Ella’s brownies? Cass’s stomach reacted instantly. Buttermilk, Valrhona chocolate, rich, gooey frosting. Birdie Favazza had stopped cooking long before her seventy-fifth—or was it her eightieth?—birthday, but her amazing housekeeper, Ella, spared no calories or expense in making perfect brownies. Only when Cass had exhausted the mental taste of the brownies did she consider the rest of the message.

  A surprise? What is that about? Good news, she supposed, which would account for the champagne, though Izzy seemed slightly rattled, if one could be rattled in a text. Maybe she was just hungry, too.

  Cass stretched her legs out in front of her, leaned her head against the wall, and closed her eyes briefly, her attention going back to the noisy dryer and the delicate sweater inside, vying with the menacing lobster nets. She had a sudden urge to take it out, rescue it, keep it safe for a little girl who liked pink. Then she rolled her head against the wall and scolded herself for conjuring up a story about nothing.

  Outside branches slapped against the front windows. Cass looked over, hoping to see a woman in exercise clothes race in, maybe leaving a kid in a soccer uniform sitting in the back of the car. She’d scoop out her clothes and head home to the rest of her family. The thought comforted Cass briefly, but she couldn’t completely push away the irrational worry that the sweater was lost, tumbling around in a stranger’s dryer.

  And the troubled thoughts wouldn’t go away. Would a mother come all the way to the Laundromat with so few clothes and on such a crummy night? And all kids’ clothes, no tights or underwear or . . .

  Still she hoped for the mom, but no one rushed through the front door settling Cass’s crazy thoughts. All she saw through the windows were swaying branches on the pear tree at the curb and a flickering of lamplights.

  She glanced again at the clock and thought about her waiting friends. Okay, Halloran, think about surprises, not some stranger’s laundry. What surprise is huge enough to explain the flurry of texts? Her mind went blank. It wasn’t that they didn’t have their share of good news—even some that merited bubbly beverages. They’d had champagne when Danny sold his first mystery, when Cass opened her new lobster warehouse and office. When Izzy’s yarn shop had its first profitable year. And other times, too.

  But none of those events were actually surprises—simply celebrations of good happenings. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last surprise any of them had pulled on the others—unless it was that December night not so long ago when she had knelt down in a patch of snow and proposed to Danny Brandley in front of her friends and practically the whole town. All of them had been surprised that night—even the one who did the proposing, Cass admitted.

  The hollow sound of the wind, chilled air, and the slamming of a door jerked her from the flood of memory. Next, footsteps and the click of nails on the linoleum floor echoed in the large room. Cass opened her eyes and sat up. A slender figure came into view behind the line of vending machines. The mom, Cass thought, surprising herself at the relief that swept through her.

  But when her eyes focused, it wasn’t a woman—or a dad. It was a young boy—followed closely by a shaggy wet dog. The boy was focused, his eyes straight ahead. Strands of wet hair fell across his forehead and he looked cold in a thin T-shirt, no jacket.

  There was only one dryer with clothes in it—hers—and Cass watched as he headed directly for it. He jerked the door open and leaned in, elbow deep, then pulled out a handful of clothes and roughly separated his own from Cass’s tangled towels and nets, throwing those back inside. The dog sat at his side, keeping guard.

  Cass glanced through the front windows, squinting to see a car parked at the curb, headlights on and the engine running, a mom behind the wheel waiting for her young son. But all she could see was the silhouette of an old bike leaning against the glass.

  She felt the twist in her stomach return. A cold black night. A dog, a bike, and a kid.

  She started to get up, the movement immediately turning the dog’s head toward her. One ear stood erect as its eyes locked into hers. It assessed her with a soft growl, throaty and not very threatening, much to Cass’s relief. The boy, intent on his task, seemed to not have noticed.

  Cass took a deep breath and started to get up again, slowly and quietly, not wanting to scare the boy. She wanted to assure him it was okay to use her dryer—she’d done it herself once or twice. But hey, she’d tell him, she had a truck parked in the alley. How about a ride home? The dog, too? No problem.

  But at the movement the dog bounded across the room in a blur of gold, its nails clattering on the linoleum floor, until it landed squarely in front of Cass.

  The young boy dropped the clothes and stared across the room.

  Cass let the dog smell her hand, then spoke softly to it, its floppy tail assuring her they could be friends. But her eyes were on the frightened boy across the room, his dark eyes staring, his mouth set. A deer in headlights.

  Finally, the boy broke his stare and looked at the clothes he had pulled out of the dryer drum, then back to Cass. His brow was furrowed now, his thin body stretched tight.

  Cass stood up, leaning over slightly as she kneaded the dog’s ears. “Hey,” she said, her voice friendly, nonthreatening. “It’s cool that you used the dryer. Not to wor—”

  But the boy seemed unmoved by her smile or affection for his dog and turned abruptly back to the dryer, pulling out a few more pieces of clothes.

  “Let me help,” Cass said. Help? She wasn’t sure how or what kind. There was something desperate about the boy. “I could—”

  But the end of her sentence fell flat as the boy stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled to the dog, then shoved the clothes into his backpack as if his life depended on it. He turned once more toward the dog, yelled, “Shep, come,” and headed toward the exit.

  Before Cass could react, he disappeared through the open door, the dog at his heels.

  Cass yelled after him as she ran, too, then tripped over her clothes basket. She regained her balance and caught the door a second before it closed. Stepping on to the sidewalk, she peered down the street.

  But all she could see was a disappearing backpack strapped to a boy’s shoulders as he pedaled wildly down the Harbor Road sidewalk. The dog kept pace, a tail flying in the wind.

  “Stop!” Cass yelled. But her words were blown away by the wind as a boy and a dog were quickly swallowed up by the dark night.

&n
bsp; Fleeing whatever danger they might have imagined they’d left behind.

  Chapter 3

  “About time.”

  Sam Perry was waiting at the front door of the Endicotts’ home, one foot holding it open, a bottle of Sam Adams in one hand and the other pulling Izzy into a hug. He had a strange grin on his face.

  Izzy slipped from beneath his arm and took a step away, examining her husband’s face. “Okay, you, what’re you up to? What’s with the big surprise? Cass and I are starving.”

  Her teasing voice wasn’t entirely pleasant. The weather had been weird, the shop busier than usual, and Sam had texted several times that their daughter, Abby, had been fussy all day. The two-year-old was the peaceful heart of the Perry family—but for some reason, as if expecting strange things to be happening, Abby had been as unpredictable as the weather.

  Before Sam could answer, Cass stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her.

  Sam looked at her. “You’re a mess, Cass. The polar plunge isn’t until January.”

  Cass looked down. Her jacket was soaked, and wet strands of hair fell across her face. She’d started down the street after the boy, instinctively afraid. But she had no idea of what, so she’d finally gone back inside the Laundromat and tried to think ahead to brownies and lasagna.

  “It’s nasty out there,” was all she said to Sam. “So what gives around here? Surprises usually herald nine months without wine. You pregnant, Sam?”

  Sam laughed. “Not after dealing with our angel baby all day, while Izzy here fiddled around in her yarn shop, free as a bird. Ten-minute nap, that was it. But she’s asleep now in Nell’s guest room—so don’t either of you gals go hootin’ and hollerin’ and waking her up.”

  “My goddaughter, Abigail Kathleen, is perfect.” Cass shook off her jacket and hung it on a hook beside the door. “But there’s a strange vibe in the air today along with the crappy weather. There was this kid—I can’t get him off my mind—”

  Sam interrupted. “I agree. Crazy vibes. Strange things are happening here, too. Just you wait.”

  Cass looked at Izzy, then back to Sam. She forced her own worry aside. “What?”

  “Okay, out with it,” Izzy said. They both looked down the hallway toward the back of the house.

  The house was unusually quiet, but they supposed people were talking softly for sleeping Abby’s sake. In the distance, music was playing, but not as loud as usual. Some Phil Collins or Stevie Wonder eighties music—which meant Sam had plugged his music in first.

  “Come on, come, come,” Sam urged. They followed him through the entry that opened up into the long airy room running along the entire back of the Endicott house. It was framed in windows and French doors and filled with comfortable slip-covered furniture around a fireplace at one end. At the other was an open kitchen with an enormous island that seemed to center their lives and hosted important announcements—good and bad.

  Tonight was no exception.

  On the island stood the bottle of champagne, with glasses neatly lined up around it. A stack of dinner plates behind it, the smell of lasagna wafting from the oven. And standing center stage—flanked on either side by Ben and Nell, the diminutive, silvery-haired Birdie Favazza, and Danny Brandley—was the surprise.

  “Hey, beautiful ladies,” the tall, floppy-haired man said. “Long time no see.”

  “Charlie!” Izzy dropped her bag and flew across the pine floor. Charlie Chambers’s arms opened wide to embrace his older sister. Izzy squeezed his broad shoulders hard, and when she finally released him, Cass moved in and did the same.

  “Wow. Now this is a surprise,” Cass said, and pummeled him with a tumble of questions: “How long are you staying? When did you come? Why didn’t you let us know, you big jerk?”

  “You look great,” Izzy finally said, her voice husky. She grabbed a tissue from the counter.

  Charlie brushed a thick strand of dark blond hair off her cheek. “Hey, you too.”

  Nell watched her nephew and niece’s reunion with a flood of memories—summers on the ranch watching them squabble and giggle with their older brother, Jack—the three Chambers kids running wild, their skin turning bronze beneath the Kansas sky. Charlie always had a football in his hand those long-ago summers, Jack a book, while Izzy was more interested in horses and not having to wear a dress for three months. But the Chambers’s only daughter had eventually shed her pigtails and grown tall and graceful, heading off to an east coast law school, impressing her professors and associates who remembered Isabel Chambers long after meeting her. Maybe not her name, but they remembered the enormous brown eyes that filled her face, the dimples that punctuated a wide smile in her fine-boned face, and the tall figure of a woman whose slightly irregular features fit together in an intriguing way.

  Charlie, the family jock, had taken a different path, dropping in and out of the family’s life for a while. But he’d come back a while ago, and now here he was again, standing right in front of them. Safe and whole.

  Cass was the first to move beyond the welcome. She eyed the champagne, then looked at Charlie. “Hey, this is a great surprise, Charlie. But a champagne surprise? You don’t even like champagne.”

  “You think maybe I’m just a beer-level surprise?” Charlie asked.

  “Something else is going on here, dude. I know you too well. Out with it.” Cass stuck her hands on her hips, her eyes holding him to an answer.

  Charlie’s head fell back and he laughed. He looked across the island. “Aunt Nell, if you drag this out any longer, it may backfire. They may all send me back.”

  Ben stepped up, his glass held in the air. “Hold up your glasses, folks. Charlie’s here to stay.” It took less time than it did to down the champagne to explain that Charlie’d be working for the town’s family practitioner, Dr. Glenn Mackenzie.

  Nurse practitioner extraordinaire was how Nell put it. “That’s what Glenn was looking for. I saw the ad and e-mailed it to Charlie, knowing he was the perfect person to fill the bill.”

  Charlie got the job but had asked Ben and Nell to keep it quiet. Just for a while, he’d said.

  The reason for keeping it a secret, they’d both suspected, was so their nephew could change his mind, a possibility not entirely out of character for Charlie.

  But he hadn’t.

  “He’s here to stay.” Nell walked over next to him, looking less tall next to her ex-football-playing nephew. “It’s permanent,” she added, one hand resting on her nephew’s arm. She felt Charlie’s slight shiver at the word permanent.

  And that news, they all agreed, did deserve a celebration. Even champagne.

  Followed by happily filling their plates with cheesy lasagna and hunks of warm Italian bread. They moved around the family room and settled wherever legs could be stretched out, plates balanced on laps and the square coffee table.

  Charlie sat quietly in the middle of it all, his fingers wrapped around a bottle of stout.

  Nell watched from her chair near the fireplace, her mind wandering back over the years of her nephew’s life. Things hadn’t been as easy for Charlie as they had been for Izzy and their older brother, Jack. An accident to a fellow player on the college football field had sent Charlie into a tailspin, one compounded by bad decisions, bad circumstances, bad company. But the most difficult person Charlie had had to deal with had been Charlie himself.

  And it looked like he had done it, defined himself, his goals. At least for now.

  When Charlie looked up, their eyes met. Nell smiled, her hopes for Charlie as clear as if she had spoken them out loud. Happiness, for starters. Some peace in his life.

  Charlie lifted his bottle in a silent toast and managed a smile back.

  He hoped the same.

  Chapter 4

  It was at Cass’s request—more of a command, Izzy said—that the women meet for breakfast the next day.

  The Sweet Petunia, she had texted. We can talk there.

  Cass had been distracted the night before,
but when Nell had asked her what was wrong, she had shaken her head and turned her attention back to Charlie. Cass loved her best friend’s brother almost as much as she did her own. And it was clear she wanted it to be a celebration about Charlie, so Nell had let it rest.

  They all agreed to meet at the restaurant. Annabelle Palazola, the restaurant’s owner and chef, made the best omelets on the North Shore—certainly an added impetus to show up.

  Cass was already camped out at her favorite table when the others arrived—an end table on the deck that ran the length of the café. The view of the Canary Cove Art Colony below was partially hidden today by trees just beginning to release their leaves.

  “What is that you have there, Catherine?” Birdie asked, sitting down across from Cass. She slipped on her reading glasses and reached over with a crooked finger to touch the tiny plaid skirt that Cass had laid out on the table. A little girl’s sweater was beside it.

  Izzy sat down next to Cass, crossing her long legs out beneath the table. She leaned back and smiled up at the waitress while she poured coffee all around.

  A basket of warm fried biscuits and pot of apple butter appeared next.

  Izzy looked at the clothes and asked, “Did you save your grade school uniform, Cass? That’s sweet.”

  Cass didn’t laugh or tease her back. Instead she folded the skirt and sweater and slipped them into her backpack. Her blue eyes lacked the laughter usually held there. Cass was serious.

  Birdie broke the silence, a kindly fan of wrinkles spreading out from her clear gray eyes. The oldest member of the knitting group—no one knew for sure how old—Birdie easily brought focus to conversations. “All right, Cass, dear. You have our attention. Now tell us why you brought a child’s school uniform to breakfast.”

  Cass wiped a dollop of butter from the corner of her mouth. “Thanks. So I would have said something last night, but it was Charlie’s homecoming—a great surprise, by the way. But Nell, you do know that Charlie dislikes champagne as much as I do, right?”