They tried to imagine the reactions from organizations when Dolores sent out her annual anonymous donations. The haves and the have-nots. Some small organizations could be in dire straits, even fold, if they didn’t make the grade. And the anonymous factor meant the directors couldn’t even wine and dine the mysterious benefactor to gain favor.
“Maybe it’s that group at the bottom that we should start with,” Nell said. “Let’s each take a few sheets, study them, look for anything suspicious, patterns, and we’ll get together tomorrow to see what we’ve come up with.” She flipped through several printouts, pulled out one in particular and slipped it, along with two or three others, into her bag. Izzy had spoken a stark truth in getting them to focus, even when doing so might be unpleasant down the road.
It had brought about a definite shift in the room that they all felt. Loose ends were still there, but once you had a focus—someone or something you were headed toward—it was far easier to tie them off.
Cass had felt it, too, and looked at a few of the lists. “It won’t take long to go through these and it’s interesting. I for one feel a desperate need to get this settled so I . . . so we, so all of us, can get on with our lives.”
Izzy looked over at her. Nell was looking, too. Cass’s words were cryptic, slightly mysterious.
“Stop looking at me,” she said with a small laugh. “All I’m saying is that there is more here than numbers. I can feel it.”
“We just have to find it,” Nell said.
“And we will,” Cass said definitively. “Maybe we already have. We just need to put on our glasses.”
“And remember,” Izzy said, “we agreed it’s a long shot that some nonprofit director would murder a benefactor because of not receiving a donation for the organization. There has to be more to it. Think about it. Would you—would anyone—kill Santa Claus because he didn’t bring the present you wanted?”
They laughed—and welcomed the lightness it brought into the room.
And they purposefully ignored the fact that people had probably killed for far less.
Chapter 31
The late September night was nearly perfect. A crisp, cool breeze blew in off the ocean and a full moon spilled its light on the Ocean’s Edge Restaurant, warming the porches and decks and large thick windows.
The owner himself held open the door for the four women coming up the steps.
“Ladies, we’ve been expecting you,” Don Wooten said with a slight bow, as if greeting royalty.
Nell gave him a hug and laughed as she looked over at the crowded bar and the dining area beyond. “Us and how many dozen others?”
“Nope. Just you four are special tonight. Ben said you needed a night away from it all. We’re here to see that you get it. Your table is almost ready, my special friends.” He left them with a smile as he turned to greet a new group of diners coming up the steps.
They moved toward the bar, a long curved slab of mahogany that ran along the front of the restaurant. Nell stood back for a few moments, looking into the restaurant proper, the white-clothed tables and curved booths. She wondered if Kayla Stewart was on duty, but the busy bar area blocked her view.
There was no sight of her, but as she looked over to the hostess station, she spotted someone else. Joe Duncan stood talking to the hostess, his arms cradling a large white bag. He noticed her watching him, nodded solemnly, then turned and headed toward the front door. Don Wooten held it open, greeting him warmly. He said something to Don that brought a laugh. Don patted him on the back and sent him off with a warm good-bye.
Nell walked over to Don as the door swung closed. “That was Joe Duncan, right?”
“Sure was. My most faithful diner.”
“He eats here every Sunday? Alone? Those looked like a lot of leftovers he was carrying.”
Don laughed. “No, he doesn’t eat here ever, alone or otherwise. Every Saturday night of the year he comes in to get fried clams, the lobster penne, and a chocolate mousse. Every week without fail. He takes it home to his ‘bride,’ as he calls Marlene, and they eat together by candlelight.” Don shook his head, smiling. “Tonight was Marlene’s birthday so he came in again, even though it’s Sunday. She gets two candlelight dinners this weekend, one with a cake. Dunc’s a character. It took him a while to warm up to us, but now he sits at the bar and has a beer while we get his dinners ready. He talks the bartender’s ear off. Or mine.”
“I’ve met Marlene. She’s housebound, Joe said.”
“Well, sort of. More property bound, than house.” Don chuckled. “But old Dunc came up with a way around it, a way to expand her horizons at least a little and get her some exercise. Marlene thinks they own the Cardozo property now and he lets her believe it, so at the least he can get her out walking around the quarry and prowling around the old Cardozo house. She needed exercise, he said, and with this plan, she’s already lost five pounds. Joe checked it all out with Sister Fiona, since she’s the rightful owner now. She told him to go for it. Dolores believed in exercise, the good sister told Joe. She’d be tickled with Dunc’s clever solution to the problem.”
Don looked out again as Dunc moved slowly to his car. “He’s a good man,” he said. “He was in here the Saturday night Dolores Cardozo was murdered. He had had a few extra at the bar that night and I ended up driving him home—though he told Marlene some story about his truck having problems, blaming the delay on Shelby Pickard. He told me later that maybe, had he been home on time, he’d have heard something, seen something—even been able to save Dolores. It chewed him up for a while.”
Nell listened carefully to every word, holding back her surprise. She felt relief and sadness at once: sadness that they had met Joe Duncan, talked to him a couple times, but hadn’t looked deep enough. They hadn’t seen that a thoughtful and kind man lived behind the binoculars and the rifle. It pleased her more deeply than she would have expected.
It wouldn’t hurt to walk in all kinds of people’s shoes now and then.
“Yoo-hoo, Nell,” Birdie called over with a wave. “Come, dear.”
The bartender had set wineglasses in front of them and was filling each with Prosecco, but it was the man in the middle of her friends that Nell noticed more than the sparkling wine Don had ordered for them.
“Charlie,” she said, surprised.
“Aunt Nell.” He stepped over and hugged her.
“Are you meeting someone? Can you join us for dinner?”
He shook his head, a shock of hair falling across his forehead. Nell refrained from pushing it back or suggesting her nephew get a haircut. Then she noticed the set to his jaw. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, things are okay. I had a little free time so I came by to see Kayla. She’s somewhere around here, but the babysitter said she gets off soon. I’ll see if she needs a lift.” He drummed his fingers on the surface of the bar next to an empty beer bottle and craned his neck to see over Nell’s shoulder.
“My gallant brother,” Izzy said, but she said it softly, aware that Charlie wasn’t in a teasing mood. Nor was he being gallant.
“I’m assuming Kayla is all right,” Birdie said. The tone of her voice was the same that had coaxed worry out of all of them at one time or another.
Charlie managed a half smile, looking around as he talked. “Yeah, sure. I think so. I finally realized something about her that had been niggling me for days. I need to talk to her about it, is all. It’ll be fine.”
At that moment the muscles in his neck knotted. He took a quick, audible breath and glared at a man who had walked into the lounge area.
Richie Pisano, a wide smile on his face, lifted a hand in a wave as he spotted the women. He walked their way.
Nell glanced at Charlie. She put one hand on his arm, suddenly unsure of the emotion in his eyes. “Charlie?”
“I’m okay. I don’t like the guy, is all,” he mumbled. “I’m out of here.”
He slipped away before they could say anything, and in time to avoid one mom
ent with the reporter, who was now greeting the four women as if they were longtime friends.
“I thought I saw Charlie boy over here,” Richie said, his voice upbeat. He laughed. “Hope I didn’t scare him off.”
“Charlie’s hard to scare,” Izzy said with clipped pleasantry.
“Hey, I was just kidding. Charlie’s a good dude. We’re friends.” Richie laughed again and made small talk, much of it describing several events he was covering and writing about, including another charity event that included the who’s who of everyone. “Awesome” was his evaluation.
Standing slightly behind him, Cass rolled her eyes.
Birdie filled in the pause. “I suppose meeting important and wealthy people is a chance for you to make connections, Richie. Perhaps provide career opportunities.”
“For me?” He laughed. “Nah. I don’t need them. I’ve got a good thing going—or will soon.”
Nell swore he winked before stepping out of her direct sight, allowing a group headed for the bar to pass in front of him. She cringed.
At that moment, while Richie remained invisible, Kayla Stewart walked over and greeted them, telling them their table was ready. Her voice was warm and welcoming, a smile easing her usual somber look. She seemed clearly happy to see them.
Birdie gave her an unexpected embrace. At first she looked surprised, then pleased.
But in the next second Kayla’s lips pressed tight together. The smile was gone, and along with it, all warmth. Her body was rigid.
“Hey, there,” Richie Pisano said, moving back into their circle. “I checked with the hostess. She said you’re off soon? Cool. I’ll give you a ride home. We need to catch up.”
Kayla turned back to the women waiting for their table and forced a smile to her face. “Mr. Wooten picked the best table in the house for you,” she said. “Please follow me.”
By the time they’d wound their way through the dining area to a candle-lit table with a view of the sea, Kayla’s shoulders had loosened slightly, her walk gaining back a semblance of assurance.
But it was clear to all four of them that Richie Pisano was not her boyfriend, not her lover, not someone she wanted to drive her home.
A small arrangement of peach roses, lemon leaf, and seeded eucalyptus leafed out in the middle of their table, along with a white card poking out from sprigs of fall berries.
“I guess Don meant what he said about making the evening special for us,” Izzy said, pulling out the card. She read the names on the card. Then looked up with a smile. “It’s from Ben, Danny, and Sam.”
Cass took the card from her. Her face reddened slightly. “Except it’s Danny’s handwriting. I spotted him in that new florist’s over in Canary Cove when I drove over.”
“Our Danny?” Birdie said. “That fellow is turning into a lovely sentimental man, just like my Sonny. I see it in his beautiful eyes and gestures like these.”
“His eyes?” Cass chuckled. She leaned in to smell a peach rose and to hide a blush of pleasure on her face. Then she happily sat back as a plate of Oysters Rockefeller in half shells was placed in front of each of them. Sprigs of watercress and green onion were sprinkled between the shells.
“Is it the end of the world?” Izzy asked. She sighed. “If only life were plates of Oysters Rockefeller delivered by candlelight. And sweet men sending us love and flowers.”
“It can be. For tonight anyway,” Nell said. She looked up as a shadow fell across the table.
Kayla had returned, this time with her name tag off and a light jacket covering up her crisp white waitress blouse. She stood near Birdie’s chair, apologizing to all of them for interrupting. And then she directed her full attention to Birdie, a worried look now replacing the brief sight they’d had earlier of a more relaxed Kayla. “I need to apologize for not answering your phone calls, and, well, for not meeting with you, Birdie. Please know I’m totally grateful for your kindness and your offer to help with this . . . this will business. This mess. It’s just . . . it’s just that I’m not sure how to fit it into my life. You know. Like, safely.”
Birdie listened carefully, her eyes holding Kayla’s and giving her permission to say whatever was on her mind or in her heart, and with whatever time it took to do it. In the distance, soft classical jazz floated around the softly lit room.
“So, I want what’s best for my children,” Kayla said, her voice choking a little bit. “I want them to have a different kind of life, you know, like from mine. But sometimes it’s complicated. You get that, right?” Her eyes began to fill, but as if turning off a faucet, she managed to stop the tears.
Izzy and Cass were listening, but their eyes were watching a figure standing yards away in the shadow of the kitchen doors.
Richie Pisano’s stare never wavered as he watched Kayla’s back.
And not far beyond him, behind a line of tall plants that separated the dining room from a smaller bar that serviced the outdoor deck, Charlie Chambers sat on a stool, drinking a beer—and watching the whole thing.
Kayla seemed to have suddenly run out of words. She straightened up, then gave them a subdued good-bye, turned, and walked quickly across the dining room.
Richie Pisano moved to her side, car keys dangling from his fingers. They disappeared through the service entrance.
When they looked over to the bar, Charlie was gone, too.
“Drama,” Cass said.
“Strange,” Izzy added. “Charlie probably gave up and went home. He’s not one for confrontation.”
Nell nodded, a slight worry line crossing her forehead. Then she reminded herself, not for the first time, that her nephew was a grown man. A smart and wise grown man.
“Did you understand what Kayla was saying, Birdie?” Cass asked.
“I’m not sure,” Birdie said. “I think she’s saying that this inheritance may hurt her life. But Dolores had put things in place to help her with that.”
They concentrated on the oysters, wondering about the power of money.
“And what’s with Richie the reporter showing up like that?” Cass asked.
“That’s strange,” Izzy said. “And a little creepy. I was relieved to see that Charlie saw it, too. Maybe he can do something about it.”
Cass reached for a warm sourdough roll and pulled off a piece to soak up the lemony wine butter pooling on her plate. “I don’t know if it involves Richie, but Charlie definitely had something bothering him tonight.”
Nell looked around the restaurant, half expecting Charlie to reappear and assure them Kayla would be okay. “Speaking of Richie, I nearly forgot something that I think might be important.” She reached down and pulled the folded newspaper from her bag, the creases beginning to fade out some of the newsprint. The scribbled yellow sheet fell to the floor as she unfolded the newspaper. Nell picked it up, glanced at it briefly, then folded it back into her purse and explained to the others where the newspaper had come from. “It’s clear that this is the article that was irritating her. You can see pencil pokes in the column and the headline is circled. But why? And why had she taken it to the library with her?”
They passed the article around, scanning it quickly. It wasn’t earthshaking, or even that interesting, as Nell pointed out. The elegant fund-raiser had been held at the new hotel in Gloucester with several North Shore agencies represented. Some directors had given talks, detailing the needs of their agencies and the ways their donations were used. Mary Pisano and Hannah Swenson had helped plan it, apparently, and Hannah had welcomed everyone with a talk and her plans for improvements to the Seaside Initiative—things that would enable them to help even more North Shore nonprofits. But Richie had seemed more interested in the who’s who of wealthy guests than the efforts of the nonprofits.
“Richie should have stopped with a description of the hotel and left the guests alone,” Birdie observed.
The list of wealthy patrons detailed in the article was impressive—but the reporter had presented it in an offensive manner, sure to ha
ve riled feathers.
“Good grief. Who characterizes a group by adding up their net worth? Do you think that’s what Dolores was upset about? Richie’s offensive writing?” Cass asked.
At first, that was exactly what Nell had thought. But in that moment, as Cass asked the question and pointed out the obvious, she read some things she had missed and she changed her mind.
Richie Pisano’s inappropriate reporting wasn’t what had bothered Dolores Cardozo that day; it was something else he had written. She saw Don Wooten approaching the table and slipped the article back into her purse.
Don carried a bottle of wine he had chosen from the cellar, along with his recommendation for dinner: a small brioche filled with warm truffled lobster, and the chef’s special salmon, bathed in a cardamom and ginger sauce.
Nell sat back and smiled. She looked around the table at the faces she so loved.
The evening, the candlelight, the warm embrace of friendship needed to be savored tonight. And the article burning a whole in her bag needed a small amount of time to ripen and grow into its own.
She would give it that. And give in to the magic of the ladies’ night out that three kind men had arranged for four women they loved.
Chapter 32
Charlie wondered briefly about how it would look to a bystander—the nurse practitioner from the town’s well-respected medical clinic moving as quiet as a cat in the dark. Spying.
Yep. That’s what you’re doing Chambers. You’re spying.
Following Richie Pisano’s Jeep to Sandpiper Beach had, at first, been strictly an impulse action. He had seen the look on Kayla’s face as she walked out of the restaurant. She was angry—but she was also afraid. It was the fear that got to him.
He drove around the bend that brought the ocean in sight and spotted the red Jeep immediately, parked toward the far end of the narrow gravel parking lot that straddled the beach. Several other cars angled along on either side of the Jeep, facing the waves. Music poured out the windows of one, the bass vibrating in the salt air.
The bright moon illuminated the Jeep as he drove by. It was empty. Charlie pulled into a space a few cars down. At this end of the beach an outcropping of boulders created a climbing playground for kids in the daytime. At night their shadows were ominous, hiding folks not wanting to be seen.
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