Murder Wears Mittens

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “Was the dream frightening?” Nell asked. Dreaming about a murdered woman was closer to a nightmare, and not the kind she’d want her niece to be dealing with.

  “No. It was sad and touching, but not frightening at all. The memory was of me, jogging with Abby, who was happily bouncing along in her Bob—”

  Birdie’s white brows lifted.

  “Bob—that’s our jogging stroller,” Izzy explained. “We were out at Halibut Point and we spotted Dolores walking in front of us on one of the trails. She must have heard us behind her because she stopped walking until we caught up. That part really happened. Abby was infatuated with her and with her wonderful walking stick. Dolores seemed every bit as infatuated with Abby. She crouched down in front of the stroller, her fingers wrapped around the sides, and talked to her quietly, as if the two of them were old friends having a private conversation. I told her Abby’s name, and she nodded, but she must have misunderstood and called her a different name. Shelly, I think she said. She touched Abby’s face with the tip of her finger and it was magical. Like it was lit up at the end. Abby reached for it, wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed it tight, and then . . . then she told Dolores that she loved her.”

  Izzy’s words caught in her throat. She cleared it with a drink of coffee and went on quickly, covering up the emotion. “I mean, you know how Abby does that sometimes, that little ‘wuv you’ that comes out of her like a sneeze. But Dolores—and this I remember now so clearly—Dolores got tears in her eyes. And then she leaned on her stick and pushed herself up straight, turned back toward the ocean, and went on walking until she disappeared in a mist.”

  Izzy stopped. She bit down on her lip, staring into her coffee mug.

  They all sat in silence, not sure what to say or where Izzy was going with her story. Or if that was the end of it.

  Finally, Cass leaned over and gave Izzy a hug.

  Izzy gave a lopsided smile. “Goofy, huh? Most of that really happened. Somehow it took the dream to bring it back. Maybe not the E.T.-like finger, but meeting her on the trail that day, Abby’s response, that happened.

  “And that’s the lady that someone brutally murdered. Maybe someone we know, someone who comes into the shop. I can’t let go of that.... We can’t, we just can’t let that be.”

  They refilled coffee mugs and talked more about Dolores Cardozo, a woman they were coming to know better in death than life—and about the twists and turns that defined one short week in their lives, events and suspicions that were slowly building a resolve to get to know Dolores Cardozo even better. And to find out who murdered her.

  “Getting to know her better is the only way her murderer will ever be found,” Birdie said. “We need more memories, more dreams, Izzy.” Her veined hand moved across the island to cover Izzy’s. “We need to walk in Dolores’s shoes.”

  “And carry her walking stick,” Nell said.

  * * *

  A short while later all the coffee mugs were drained and they were about to head out when Cass brought up Charlie and his evening with the Stewarts.

  A topic they’d left hanging when the deck lights had finally gone out the night before.

  “We walked out to our cars together and he told me that he has this strange attraction to her,” Cass said.

  “That seems obvious,” Izzy said, a hint of concern in her voice. “Passing fancies, as Birdie would say.”

  “Well, maybe not. Maybe he’s attracted to her as a woman—and if so, that would be fine, right?”

  “I guess,” Izzy said. “And I suppose one can be attracted to someone else quickly. It happened that way with Sam—”

  “Even though you’d known him since you were three,” her aunt said.

  They all laughed. Izzy had thought little about her older brother Jack’s best friend. Not until happenstance brought him to Sea Harbor as a visiting fine arts photographer. And then it had truly been immediate. Bing, like a light went on.

  “Maybe it’s just that I don’t know Kayla,” Izzy said.

  Cass patted her friend’s hand like a mother would, holding back the “there there,” and Izzy laughed.

  “I think it’s more complicated with Charlie and this woman,” Cass said. “He told me he’s almost certain he’s seen her before. Somehow that seems really important to your brother, Iz.”

  “Where would he have seen her?”

  “It could have been a lot of places,” Nell said. “Charlie traveled all over after leaving here a few years ago.”

  “That’s true,” Birdie said. “He told me about some of his travels last night. He called it a kind of pilgrimage. First, spending time with his parents. And then going back to some of the places and people who had been important in his life during those rough years. People who had helped him out, given him new direction. He has interesting stories.”

  “Where did Kayla live before she came to Sea Harbor?” Nell asked.

  But none of them knew.

  In fact, they knew very little about Kayla Stewart, a thought they carried with them as they rinsed out cups, turned the coffeepot off, and drove the short distance to the open-air market on Harbor Road.

  Chapter 19

  In spite of the chilly weather, the Harbor Green was filled with crowds of people bustling in and around the white tents and long tables filled with fall produce. In the distance, hot dog, popcorn, and pastry vendors vied with a high school band playing in the gazebo. It was as if the chill in the weather had pushed them all forward to a grand autumn, filled with pumpkins and Halloween costumes.

  Nell looked across a heaping bin of leafy greens and spotted Elizabeth Hartley standing alone near a tent post. She mouthed to the others that she’d be right back and walked over to say hello. Elizabeth looked worried, like she could use a friend.

  Before Nell got within speaking distance, Jerry Thompson walked over to Elizabeth’s side, a bulging market bag slung over his arm.

  How odd. Saturday or not, it wasn’t where Nell would have expected the chief of police to be in the middle of a murder investigation.

  Her first thought was that maybe things were coming together for the investigation and Jerry could afford to get out and breathe some fresh air.

  But Ben had talked to his friend just that morning. He would have hinted at it, if that’d been the case. Then, as she approached the couple, she saw visible proof that the investigation wasn’t winding down. The strain on Jerry’s face was palpable. His stance formal and inflexible, a rubber band stretched too tightly. The week since Dolores Cardozo had been found lying on the pine floor of her house must seem like a year to him.

  Elizabeth welcomed Nell with a warm smile, relieved, maybe to have the company; Jerry was somewhere else, his eyes directed at things they couldn’t see.

  Elizabeth tapped his arm and his attention came back to the present, the old Jerry back briefly with a half smile and look that said he knew she understood. His world was not a very social one at the moment.

  He excused himself, telling Elizabeth he thought they needed more leafy greens, and headed toward the crowd, his frame tall, his broad forehead filled with thought, his eyes alert and scanning the crowd.

  Watching him, Nell realized immediately why Jerry had left a busy investigation to come to the Sea Harbor market. It wasn’t that things were falling into place and he could relax for an hour.

  Jerry was working. He’d often said that murder was the one crime in which society has a direct interest. Listen to everyone. Somewhere out there on the crowded Harbor Green, among the groaning tables of vegetables, kids throwing Frisbees on the edge of the green, and friends and neighbors and shopkeepers clustered together, sharing news and gossip and perhaps rumors of a woman’s awful death—somewhere out there a murderer might be walking the aisles, stopping to test the ripeness of an eggplant or melon for purchase.

  “It’s not an easy time,” Nell said to Elizabeth, who was also following the chief’s movements, watching now as he was approached by a young man in
jeans and a baseball hat. Jerry turned to him, spoke a few words, then walked on by himself.

  “That’s Richie Pisano,” Nell said, watching the interaction. “He works for the paper. He’s probably bothering Jerry about the case, trying to get a scoop.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I’ve seen him around. But Jerry is used to it. He somehow manages to send them all away, always pleasantly, never offending anyone. I, on the other hand, would like to swat them.”

  Nell smiled, the idea of the headmistress swatting anyone being unimaginable. “These are long days for him.”

  Elizabeth was still following Jerry with her eyes, watching him watch their town. “Jerry says this is the quietest, leanest investigation he can remember. And he doesn’t mean that in a good way.”

  “I suppose it’s one thing when you have friends and associates of the deceased to talk to. People who even unknowingly might offer information. People who actually knew the person.”

  Elizabeth was nodding. “The police can probe only so far without pushing the limits of privacy. No one seems to know anything. And he’s running out of no ones, people, like you said, who were connected to Dolores. And the few that there are—like Kayla Stewart—aren’t being much help.”

  Kayla and Dolores. Both women with few discernible ties to Sea Harbor life. But ties to one another. Kayla was a regular visitor at the Cardozo house. A delivery person, was how Kayla described it when she was asked. But Nell knew it was more than that. She knew Fiona wanted the two women to know one another. To like each other. It wasn’t the way one would describe a relationship with a food delivery person.

  She wondered now if they had liked each other, if Fiona’s matchmaking had been successful. Or if it had backfired, and for unknown reasons, Kayla had developed a distaste for the woman. Maybe disliked her terribly. Hated her . . .

  Hannah Swenson walked up, her face showing concern. “I’m walking into a web of worry, I can feel it. I don’t mean to interrupt, but you both look as if a bottom has fallen out of something. Is there any way I can help?”

  Elizabeth shook her head and welcomed Hannah with a smile. “You’re not interrupting,” she said, then changed the subject. “I’m glad you’re here so I can thank you in Jerry’s stead. You’ve been a wonderful support, Hannah. Thank you.”

  She turned to Nell. “Twice this week Hannah has dropped off casseroles at Jerry’s house, somehow aware that the man forgets to eat when things are pressing on him.”

  A thoughtful thing to do. Nell hoped her smile covered up her surprise. It wasn’t that Hannah wasn’t generous and kind. But Hannah Swenson had never impressed her as being a homebody, much less one who cooked up meals for folks in need. If Mary Pisano was right in her bit of gossip, one of Mary’s own bed-and-breakfast caterers was recently employed part-time by Hannah to fill her freezer and cater her occasional cocktail parties.

  “Okay,” Hannah said with a kind laugh. “I can read your face, Nell, and I know we’ve talked about this. You know that my idea of preparing a meal is making a reservation at Duckworth’s.”

  Nell chuckled. “Nonetheless, it was very thoughtful of you.”

  “And nice of Harry Garozzo to prepare it,” Hannah admitted.

  Elizabeth thanked Hannah again, assured her it didn’t matter who cooked it, it was Hannah’s gesture that counted. Then excused herself to both of them, heading off to find Jerry in the crush of people.

  “Jerry is lucky to have her by his side,” Hannah said, watching Elizabeth walk away.

  “I think it goes both ways. Our chief is a good man,” Nell said.

  “A good man, indeed,” Hannah said.

  Nell looked sideways and caught a fleeting glimpse of envy on Hannah’s face, and then it was gone. Hannah’s own relationship hadn’t been so amicable, she knew, an acrimonious marital split that left her alone with a son to raise. Izzy had talked about it at the time, the ugliness of it, the gossip among the knitting groups in the back room. Hannah’s talk of affairs and cruelty.

  “It must have been difficult raising Jason on your own,” she said.

  Hannah’s answer was immediate. “My ex-husband gave Jason and me nothing. He was a fake and a failure, pretending to be wealthy, running around. Then running off for good. I am far better off now than when I was married to him, without a doubt and for all sorts of reasons. I’ve finally figured out how to take care of myself and my son and I do it better than he ever pretended to do.” There was a note of pride in her voice.

  The answer surprised Nell in its forcefulness, but its message was understandable. Bad marriages left baggage and emotions, and Hannah Swenson wouldn’t be the first person who had to take charge of her life. And she seemed to have done exactly that, building a very comfortable life for herself and her son.

  Nell was sorry she had brought up a painful topic for Hannah and she changed the subject, thanking her for her thoughtfulness to Jerry and Elizabeth. Then she excused herself and headed over to the Russell Orchard stand, where Cass and Izzy were helping Birdie fill up a cloth bag with apples.

  “Where are you meeting Kayla?” Izzy asked Birdie, scanning the crowd for Sam and Abby.

  Before Birdie could answer, a familiar shaggy dog bounded toward them, heading directly for Cass, then rising up and planting his furry paws on her chest.

  “Oh, Sheppy, nonono.” It was Sarah Grace, racing over to grab the loose leash and laughing delightedly at the spectacle. Christopher followed more slowly behind, next to his mother. Protecting her was how it looked to Nell. The thought saddened her. He was too young to assume that role.

  In jeans and a sweatshirt that could have come from a junior clothing department, Kayla looked like a kid herself. Her bandage had been reduced to a small white square, and she’d tugged spikes of her dark hair down as far as she could to cover it.

  She was clearly chagrined at the muddy footprints left on Cass’s sweatshirt.

  “These are our friends, Mommy,” Sarah Grace announced happily.

  Kayla stood a few feet back but looked toward Nell, nodding a hello.

  Nell smiled warmly, then introduced her to the others, moving from one to the other, from Birdie to Izzy to Cass.

  Kayla followed the introductions, slightly wary, but meeting the eyes of each of them, acknowledging the connections as Nell said their names. Birdie, whom she’d talked to on the phone. Izzy—You’re Charlie’s sister. When Nell got to Cass, Kayla paused.

  “Cass,” she repeated. “Cass. You’re the one who found Sarah Grace’s clothes. He shouldn’t have been there that night. He did that because he thought he was helping me out, saving me from a trip when I got home.” Her voice was sincere, but defensive, the words coming out quickly. Then she stopped and looked at Cass again, more closely, her eyes narrowing. “It’s you, isn’t it? You were at the kids’ school that day. . . .” Her eyes indicated what day it had been. The day she’d hung on a fence, her heart nearly broken in two.

  Cass nodded. Then she softened the moment with a smile and a light tone. “Hey, Kayla, I didn’t know it was you that day. Not then, anyway. I was out walking and stopped at the fence. I went to that school a hundred years ago. Hasn’t changed a bit. I thought maybe I’d see the kids out at recess, check out the uniforms, make sure we got our money’s worth in the Laundromat.” She smiled crookedly. “If I had known it was you, I’d have told you right then and there what really great kids you have, responsible. I like ’em a lot. But then, well you must know how great they are. You raised them.”

  Kayla nodded a couple of times. Then she allowed a smile that changed her face—the edges softened, the wariness faded into a shadow, and her large eyes brightened. Accepting.

  Christopher looked up at his mother, and when he saw her face, he smiled, too, as if permission had been granted.

  “Now, you dear things,” Birdie said to the kids, hunching over until they were eye to eye. “I told your mom that this is the day for a special treat. They have something at the market called a special
market fritter. And I couldn’t believe my ears when your mother said you’d never had one. Is that true?”

  Sarah Grace and Christopher nodded, their eyes bright.

  “Oh, my. From now on it will be our special tradition. You two and me. Are you in?” The two children giggled and nodded again. Shep slapped his tail on the ground.

  In minutes Birdie had explained to them everything they’d ever need to know about the St. Joseph’s Day fritters that her dear friend Harry Garozzo made in his deli practically every day of the year, even though St. Joseph’s Day was March 19, the day the pastries were traditionally served. Harry seemed to ignore that small detail, saying St. Joe wouldn’t care a bit.

  “Zeppole di San Giuseppe-delizioso,” she whispered into Christopher’s ear with just enough of an accent and the squeezing together of two fingers, her eyebrows pulling together tightly, to elicit a lovely laugh from the dark-haired boy.

  “How about we take the kids over to meet Harry and his fritters while you and Kayla talk?” Nell suggested.

  Kayla looked surprised at the child-care offer, then worried, then looked sheepish at worrying. “Sure. Of course. Thank you,” she said.

  * * *

  Birdie picked up two plastic cups of apple cider from the nearby Russell Orchard’s apple stand and led Kayla over to a bench near one of the pine trees at the edge of the market.

  Again, Kayla was uncomfortable, not at all sure why Birdie Favazza wanted to give her kids treats, much less talk to her. The words of Sister Fiona, though, rang in her ear. “Next to the pope,” she had said, “there’s no finer.”

  Birdie began with easy talk, telling her again about meeting Sarah Grace and Christopher that Sunday, and how responsible and sweet they’d been. “You are a good mom, Kayla,” she said. “I see it in the sparkle in their eyes.”

  Kayla began to relax.

  Then Birdie talked a bit about knitting, suggesting Kayla come into the shop some day, maybe join the young mothers’ knitting group. “Izzy has the grandest toy room for kids, everything from trucks and dolls to mini foosball games.”