Nell laughed. “It’s symbolic, Cass. She pushed her sunglasses into her salt-and-pepper hair. “On with your story—you have worry written all across your face.”
Cass took a drink of coffee and began, relieved to have the chance to talk about the boy who had troubled her dreams the night before.
“The thing is,” she said, as the story wound down, “it was nasty out last night—you all know that—and too late for a little kid to be out doing laundry. His T-shirt was torn, and he didn’t even have a jacket on. It was just him and his dog.” She tried to lighten the mood and looked at Izzy. “A cute dog, though. He looked like you, Iz. His fur was wild and crazy, all different colors. Yellow streaks with some brown tossed in.”
Izzy shook her golden streaks proudly.
“Anyway, there wasn’t anyone waiting for him, no car, only a bike. There was something about the whole thing that wasn’t right. He pedaled away like a madman, as if he thought I was going to call Tommy Porter and have him arrested for using my dryer or something. He was clearly afraid of me. Or of something. I can’t get him off my mind.”
“I’ve seen kids in the Laundromat before, helping their moms—” Izzy began.
“Sure, me too.” Cass interrupted. “But there was no mom last night. That’s the point. He was alone. But anyway, the kid ran out so fast he left these things behind. I want to return them. It’s the same uniform I wore a thousand years ago. Our Lady of Safe Seas Elementary School. I used to get in trouble when I wore the wrong color sweater or pinned my skirt up too short. His sister will need her uniform.”
“His sister?” Nell asked.
Cass welcomed the waitress’s interruption and sat back as the young woman placed heaping plates of omelets in front of each of them.
“Annabelle said this is what I should bring you,” the waitress said, new to her job and clearly uncomfortable bringing a meal that hadn’t been ordered.
Birdie smiled away her discomfort. “Annabelle always knows exactly what we want. This is perfect. Thank you, dear.”
The waitress smiled gratefully, refreshed their coffee, and disappeared.
Cass eyed the omelet. There was always some amazing surprise folded into Annabelle’s eggs—Gruyere cheese, herbs, pine nuts, even spinach could be transformed beneath her masterful hands. Unable to wait, she scooped up a forkful and murmured something indecipherable. Then she got back to business. “Okay, so about this little boy—”
“Have you seen him before?” Nell asked. She’d seen Cass deal with poachers and recalcitrant fishing crews with a single glance. Seeing her now so suddenly taken in by a child’s lost clothing was curious.
“I don’t think so. All I know is the dog’s name is Shep. He shouldn’t be hard to find, though. His mom wrote initials on the inside of the clothes, just like my ma used to do on mine. That’ll help.”
“Wouldn’t Father Northcutt know? Or maybe Sister—” Nell paused.
“You can say her name out loud. Sister Fiona. It won’t make me lose my appetite.” Cass took another biscuit and broke it apart while she talked. “And you’re right. My Aunt Fiona knows everything, so I called her, but she wasn’t answering her cell. She was probably still in church lighting candles for me. But somehow we need to figure out where the kids live so we can return the clothes.”
“All of us? They’re that heavy?” Izzy’s fork wiggled midair.
“I know it’s crazy, but I have this weird feeling that something might be wrong. The only way to get rid of that feeling is to take the clothes back, have the boy’s mom thank us, and be on our way. But if there is something wrong . . .”
Nell put down her fork and wiped a trace of sour cream from the corner of her mouth. “Cass, it isn’t like you to worry about something like this.”
“I know. Crazy, huh? But it doesn’t matter. The clothes still have to go back. And your clear thinking is why I need you all to go with me. If his parents are home when we drop off the clothes and none of you sense any kind of problem, then I’ll forget about the boy and his dog and move to easier problems—like finding out if the dagnabbit engine on the new trawler needs replacing. But at least the kids will have their clothes back and they won’t have to face Sister Mary Fiona Halloran’s wrath at being out of uniform tomorrow morning.”
Birdie chuckled, then said gently, her silver cap of hair moving with her words, “Your aunt isn’t a bad person, Cass. She’s doing wonderful things for the parish. I’ve known Fiona a long time. She’s a good woman.”
Nell held back a smile, knowing Cass’s complaints about her aunt were strictly personal and the kind only one family member can give another.
“So she wants you and Danny to get married,” Izzy said, hitting at the heart of it all. “That’s not such a bad thing.”
Cass glared at her.
Birdie and Nell listened without offering opinions. Mostly because they wouldn’t mind at all if Danny and Cass got married. But they understood Cass’s emotional reaction, too, especially after they heard Sister Fiona tell her niece one day that long engagements were the work of the devil.
“Back to the business at hand,” Cass said. “So let’s find out where the kid lives and be on with it.” She looked at each of them over the rim of her coffee mug.
“I think the answer to that just walked onto the deck.” Nell lifted her chin and looked over Cass’s head. She lifted one hand in a wave.
A round, ample man with thinning gray hair, his shoulders slightly hunched, followed the hostess onto the deck. His gait was slow but his blue eyes sparkled as he greeted parishioners along the way. He caught Nell’s wave, and returned it.
“Sunday Mass must be over,” Nell said. “Our font of information has arrived.”
They paid their check and walked to the other end of the deck, gathering around the man who had been Our Lady of Safe Seas’s pastor for as long as any of them could remember. Cass pushed aside the salt and pepper shakers and spread the uniform skirt, the sweater, and the jeans on the table and waited while he perched his glasses on the end of his bulbous nose. He checked the black markings inside the clothing while Cass explained how they’d come into her possession. The priest’s head nodded as he looked at the initials inside.
He held up the delicate pink sweater and looked at Cass. “We used to only allow navy blue sweaters, remember that, Catherine?”
She nodded. “It was okay with me. Pink was never my color.”
“Well, this little skirt and the sweater belong to Sarah Grace Stewart. I believe Sister Fiona said she and her mother knit it for the little girl. And the jeans must belong to her brother, Christopher.” Father Larry smiled. “She’s mighty fond of those two little ones. Sure and they’re lovely children. Christopher can be a bit rambunctious at times, but it’s understandable, considering the li—” the priest paused for a minute, then shook away the rest of his sentence and took a bite out of his second fried biscuit. “Their mum will be grateful to get these items back, I am sure of it.”
He pulled a church bulletin from his pocket and scribbled an address along with squiggly lines. “Your good mother and Sister Fiona will be joining me shortly,” he said to Cass.
With that, Cass brought the conversation to a swift close and headed toward the parking lot steps. The others urged Father Larry to order Annabelle’s Sunday special, and quickly followed.
* * *
“He rode all this way?” Cass said. She was sitting in the backseat of Nell’s car, watching the blocks go by. She had taken the scribbled map from Nell and checked for the next turn.
“I sometimes run over here,” Izzy said. “There are a couple shortcuts he probably took. But you’re right. His parents must have been worried about him.”
“I wonder if they knew he was gone,” Nell said.
Birdie glanced out the window. “I don’t think the lad would have been sneaking out to do laundry without his mother’s knowing it, do you? But no matter, I’m sure everyone will be happy to have the clothes bac
k. It’s thoughtful of you, Cass.”
Cass leaned back into the seat.
Izzy looked at her sideways. “You still think something’s wrong, don’t you? Is there something you’re not telling us?”
“No, nothing. So I’m crazy, right?” Cass said. “But there’s this irrational prickling I get on the back of my neck sometimes. It’s probably nothing. Maybe I just looked scary and that’s what caused the look on his face.”
But she didn’t convince anyone. They believed strongly in intuition—and that included strange pricklings at the back of a neck. And they knew such things could trump reason in a big way.
Following Cass’s directions, Nell made a right turn onto Elm Street into a quiet residential neighborhood. Covering most of the corner was the old shoe factory that now housed at least a dozen affordable apartments. Across the street several teenagers pitched to each other on a dusty diamond. Two dogs circled a screaming gull near a half-eaten sandwich until it finally abandoned its prey and flew off.
In the next block a row of small houses lined each side of the street, each one identical to one on either side of it, distinguished only by the toys in the yard, the color of the door, or the numbers on the mailboxes. Modest and tidy, the houses had small front porches and square patches of yard separating them from the sidewalk and the neighbors.
It was a pleasant sight. Doors and windows were wide open, catching the breezes. Children played on front lawns and the sounds of cartoons, lawn mowers, chattering voices, a baby waking up all blended together and wafted across lawns.
Normal. It all seemed normal. Lazy Sunday living. Certainly not fearful.
A group of teenage girls, their young bodies clad in identical skinny jeans and tees, was gathered around a telephone post, laughing and tapping into cell phones.
“It’s on the left, near those valley girls,” Cass said from the backseat.
“The one with the bright green door,” Izzy said in her best Father Larry imitation.
Nell slowed and pulled over to the curb, turned off the engine.
The teenagers glanced over at the car, then quickly lost interest at the sight of four women and went back to their phones.
They looked up at the house with the green door.
It looked like all the others.
But yet was different.
This house had the same patch of lawn, a narrow walkway leading to the front steps. One small tree with a homemade wind chime hanging from a branch.
But on this bright Sea Harbor day, with sounds of life rolling up and down the street, this house sat as lifeless as a tombstone. The porch was empty, the windows were closed, and heavy blinds kept out the sunshine and brisk breezes.
“I think we’re out of luck,” Nell said. “No one’s home.”
Cass nodded, her disappointment clear. “I suppose. But we should check, just in case.” She picked up her backpack and climbed out of the car with Izzy close behind her.
“I really don’t think there’s anyone here, Cass,” Izzy said. Her voice was almost a whisper, as if the house in front of them demanded quiet. “It looks deserted. Maybe for the first time in his life Father Larry was wrong. This doesn’t look like a kid house. Maybe he gave us the wrong directions.”
Nell and Birdie stood on the sidewalk looking up at the closed door.
“It could be the right house, but they’re simply not home,” Birdie said. “But Cass is right—we might as well have a look as long as we’re here. I thought I saw a curtain move, but then these eyes sometimes play tricks on me.”
She wound her fingers around the railing and walked up the steps with the others following. Several knocks on the door were met with silence.
Cass walked over to the front window and cupped her hands against it, peering in. “I can’t see anything through these drapes. They must be an inch thick. It’s like a barricade.”
Cass leaned over the side of the porch. “The bike is here. At least it looks like the one I saw last night.”
Birdie turned the knob. “It’s locked,” she said.
Izzy walked over to the door, her almost five-feet-ten advantage bringing her eye level with a small window near the top. “The hallway’s empty but there’s a room at the end. I can see something back there. It moved. And I hear something.”
And then they all heard it, the loud click-click of paws, followed immediately by rapid barking and a thud as loud as an earthquake hitting the front door, clamoring for it to open.
“Shep, quiet!” It was a boy’s voice, followed by the soft pad of sneakers racing down the hallway.
The four women waited, but the dog had gone quiet and the only sound coming from behind the door was the tugging on a collar as a dog was reluctantly being pulled away.
“Hey, Christopher, wait,” Cass said loudly, her voice carrying down to the curb, where the girls stopped talking and stared up at the women.
Birdie smiled and waved at them, effectively dismissing their interest.
“It’s me,” Cass went on. “The lady from the Laundromat. You forgot some clothes there last night and I thought you’d need them.”
Silence.
Cass shrugged to the others, then tried again. “You know, for school tomorrow? I used to wear a uniform like this and Father Northcutt had a fit if we came to school in plain clothes. And that Sister Fiona? She can be a grouch, right?”
At the mention of the priest’s and nun’s names, the lock slowly turned and the door opened a crack. The boy looked surprised to see the four of them on the step and started to shut the door again, but Cass’s foot moved faster.
“They’re my friends,” she said. “They know Father Larry, too.”
“Chrissie, my uniform,” a small voice squealed from behind the boy.
They all looked down into the smiley face of a curly-haired girl who had wedged herself in between the dog and the boy. Her missing two front teeth accentuated her grin. She pushed the door open wider.
“Are you Sarah Grace?” Birdie asked, her gentle voice doing magic.
Sarah Grace’s head bobbed in agreement. “I wear a uniform,” she said, reaching out for the skirt. “It’s for kindergarten.”
“I used to wear a skirt that looked exactly like yours,” Cass said.
Sarah Grace looked at her own skirt, then back to Cass, a puzzled look on her face. “How did you fit in it?” She pressed one finger against a dimple in her cheek.
Her brother glared down at her. Sarah Grace had pulled the door wide open. She nudged her brother aside and said to her new friends, “You can come in if you want.”
Birdie looked at Cass, then the others. And then she looked down at the little girl and asked, “Why don’t you get your mother instead? Maybe she would rather talk to us out here on your porch. We’ll wait right here.” She looked over at Christopher, not much shorter than herself, waiting for a response.
He met her eyes.
“Why don’t you tell her that we’re here, Christopher?” Birdie said. “We will wait on the porch—”
“And, buddy,” Cass said, “you’re not in trouble, honest. I’d have done the same thing if I needed some dryer time. It was cool.”
Christopher caught his bottom lip between his teeth, but his eyes remained on the small woman with the silvery hair and map of wrinkles defining her face. Finally, he stuttered, “It’s just that, well, she doesn’t wanna see you. Not right now. She’s . . . she’s really busy. She’s—” But the end of his sentence fell to the floor, lost in a choking odor that rolled down the hall like a tumbleweed. In the next second an ear-piercing alarm filled the house and sent Shep howling in distress.
Christopher spun around and raced back down the hall. Four women, a dog, and a tiny blond girl with her fingers stuck in her ears followed close behind.
Nell rushed past Christopher to the stove, where a scorched griddle belched smoke into the kitchen. Coughing, she turned the burner off, grabbed a hot pad, and lifted the heavy pan into the sink, piled with cups
and plates.
Izzy dodged a pile of toys on the floor and threw open the back door.
“Where’s the smoke alarm?” Cass yelled.
Christopher pointed back to the hallway ceiling, and in less than a minute Cass had pulled a chair from the kitchen, climbed up, and disconnected the batteries.
The young boy watched her silently, his eyes damp. A shock of dark hair fell over his eyes. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“Chrissie was making me grilled cheese,” Sarah Grace said. “It’s my favorite. It burned.”
“You have a good brother,” Nell said. “We kept him talking at the door too long and the butter got too hot.”
Sarah Grace shook her curls. “Mommy won’t like it.”
“Are your mommy and daddy here?” Birdie asked, leaning down until her face was eye level with Sarah Grace.
The answer was obvious. Nell looked around, scanning the refrigerator and the counter for a calendar or family schedule that might give them a clue, but all she saw was a pile of envelopes and papers at one end of the counter. Just like home, she thought, checks and bills in a heap.
Sarah Grace looked at Birdie. “My daddy?”
“Hey, I can handle it,” Christopher blurted out, silencing Sarah Grace. “It’s okay. It’s cool. Thanks. I can clean the pan. I clean up all the time.”
Birdie started to say something but stopped short when Sarah Grace’s face broke into a brilliant smile. She and Christopher were both looking beyond Birdie toward the hallway, and for the first time, a small grin lightened the young Christopher’s face, too.
“Hey, kids,” a voice bellowed from the hallway. “What’s going on here? This place looks like the wreck of the Hesperus.”
Chapter 5
Cass spun around. She stared into a set of piercing blue eyes that looked remarkably like her own. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
Sister Mary Fiona Halloran nearly filled the entry. She stood tall with her hands on her hips, her large feet apart, and her clear eyes taking in the messy kitchen, the smoke-filled air, the toys scattered everywhere—and the four women in the small room.
Murder Wears Mittens Page 3
