The Wedding Shawl

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “The police are shifting gears on Tiffany’s murder,” Birdie said. “Old Angus McPherran fished her computer out of the ocean when he was hoping for carp this afternoon. Now, why would any robber worth his salt throw the one valuable thing he took away? Her phone is probably down there somewhere, too, swimming with the fishes.”

  “So they’re thinking someone wanted Tiff dead. They’re looking at people who knew her,” Andy said.

  “That would be everyone who had their hair done at M.J.’s,” Nell said, uncomfortable with the direction in which they were going.

  “But we’d known each other a long time, Tiff and me. Much longer than the folks who get their hair done. Harmony Farrow was my friend, too, as anyone who reads the Sea Harbor Gazette now knows. And she was Tiff’s best friend. So some people think that a tight trio like that has to mean something, especially when two out of the three are dead.” Andy tried to keep his voice neutral, calm, but his words were coated with sadness.

  And fear, Nell thought. A sliver of fear.

  “Birdie, why were you at the police station?” Ben asked.

  “Harold got another speeding ticket—not me, Ben. I was talking it over with that sweet Judge Simpson. For a man who moves with the interminable slowness of a turtle, Harold is a regular Dario Franchitti behind the wheel of my Lincoln. I suspect there may be a driver’s ed course in his future.” She shook her head at the thought and went on. “I visited with Tommy Porter while I was there. He told me that they had invited you down to talk, Andy, and I told him exactly what I thought of that.”

  Andy managed a smile. “Thanks, Miz Birdie.”

  “You’re too old for that now. Call me Birdie. When you were a tot, your mother, bless her soul, liked for you to be formal. But ‘Birdie’ will do nicely now.”

  “My mom liked you a lot.”

  Birdie nodded. “And I liked her. She was a lovely woman. I also know that no son of Marie Risso would ever be connected to a murder.”

  Nell thought she saw tears collecting in Andy’s eyes, but just as quickly he clenched his jaw and looked each of them straight in the eye. His voice was as firm as the manchego cheese Izzy was slicing. “No, he couldn’t. Not then. Not now.”

  “It was a new guy on the force who called. Tommy Porter would know not to interrupt band practice,” Pete said, attempting to lighten the mood.

  “What did he say?” Ben asked.

  “Just that they wanted to talk to me,” Andy answered. “He wanted me to come down to the station right then, but when I hesitated, he backed off and said tomorrow morning would be okay.”

  Nell issued a sigh of relief. “Well, that doesn’t mean anything, Andy. They will talk to everyone. Merry, Pete. Everyone who knew Tiffany. M.J. and I have already been to the station once. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were called back.”

  Andy nodded, though he wasn’t convinced, Nell knew. Maybe the hardest part of this for him was that he’d been through it all before. He knew what it would be like. It was a remembered pain that had never really gone away, and now it was an anticipated one.

  As if by magic, plates and napkins appeared, and platters of bread, cheese, ham, and salmon crowded the island. Nell’s dill sandwich sauce and Ben’s array of French mustards filled a lazy Susan, and Ben busied himself with martinis for those with that bent. It had become a bit of a drama, Ben and his silver bullets, and he used it now to entertain, to push thoughts of murder to the edges of their lives so they could enjoy cheese and smoked salmon.

  “I’ve never had a martini,” Andy confessed.

  Ben laughed and told him that then this would be a night for learning. He didn’t need to drink it, but he needed to appreciate it. “Now, I’m a guy who likes mine very dry,” Ben began with great pomp. “The vermouth just wants the gin to know he’s thinking about him. It’s the gin’s show, after all.”

  Nell watched for a minute, smiling at Ben’s antics, then stepped out onto the deck. What she wanted to see was a guest cabin filled with lights. To see movement behind the thin curtains.

  But it was dark. And nothing had moved. Not the wheelbarrow, the rake beneath the tree. The pile of mulch she’d left there earlier, knowing Claire wouldn’t want it left out and would move it the minute she saw it. Though the sky still held light, the sun had disappeared and shadows fell heavily across the yard. It looked suddenly sad to her.

  And that couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t allow it to happen. This was Izzy’s wedding site—and it would be filled with great joy. No matter what.

  Birdie appeared beside her with a martini. “Ben’s about done with Martini 101.” She followed Nell’s gaze toward the back of the yard and frowned.

  Nell felt Birdie’s look before she saw it. “Birdie, I get the feeling that there is more on your mind than martinis,” Nell said. “What really brought you over here tonight?”

  Birdie looked around. Izzy, Cass, and a few others had followed them out into the twilight. Andy stood at the door, talking with Pete about music.

  Birdie hesitated briefly.

  “It’s all right, Birdie; we’ll talk later.”

  “No, it’s fine. This is no longer private information. Tommy Porter told me tonight that another person they want to talk to is Claire Farrow, Harmony’s mother. Chief Thompson tracked down Harmony’s father. He lives in Maine now with a wife and half dozen kids. He’s some kind of a preacher. Richard Farrow told Jerry that Harmony’s mother no longer had a right to the Farrow name and he had insisted she legally change it.”

  “Claire Russell,” Izzy whispered as the pieces fell into place.

  “Yes.” Birdie looked at Nell.

  “What did he mean, that she no longer had a right to the name?” Cass asked.

  “I’m not sure, but they divorced after Harmony died.”

  “What did you say to the police?” Nell asked.

  “Nothing. But I think we need to pass this information along to your houseguest.” She looked back toward the guesthouse. “I think it’d be easier on her to at least be prepared.”

  Nell sighed. “She’s gone, Birdie,” she said.

  Twilight slid into evening, and a huge moon filled the sky and lit the Endicotts’ backyard. Everyone agreed to call it an early night. Sam, Izzy, and Cass were meeting up with Danny and some old friends for a prewedding toast at the Franklin in Gloucester, and Merry had asked Pete and Willow to drop her off at the Artist’s Palate. Hank had called a couple of times, suggesting she come and help him close up.

  Ben said he needed to fill up his gas tank, so he’d take Birdie home. Maybe have a talk with Harold while he was there.

  Birdie wholeheartedly agreed. Keeping Harold out of traffic school—or jail—was beginning to wear on her.

  Andy had his own car, he said. He followed the others through the house, then stopped at the door and looked back.

  “Your keys?” Nell asked from the family room. “Keys or phone. That’s what Pete Halloran always has to come back for.”

  “No. It’s not that. It’s—” He looked back out the front door, then took a deep breath and walked back into the family room. “I heard you talking about Claire, Harmony’s mom.”

  “I didn’t know until today that she was Harmony’s mom. She’s been staying here, helping me get the yard ready for Izzy’s wedding.”

  His lips lifted in a half smile. “I remember. She was really good with flowers. Harmony used to say she had a bright green thumb.”

  “Did you ever see her garden?”

  He shook his head. “I never even saw the inside of their house. It was out on the edge of town. We never went over there because of her dad. He didn’t want guys around. We went to my house instead.”

  “Your mom liked Harmony, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah. Harmony was like a daughter to her. It was sad, because Harmony loved her own mom more than anything, but I barely knew her. I only met her a couple times. Once I was at Shaw’s and I saw Harmony there with her mom. Another time it was at an awards
ceremony at school. And then . . . then there was the service.”

  “Where was that, Andy?”

  “The school did a memorial. The funeral was somewhere else, up in Maine, I think. No one went to the house, not even Tiffany. I guess we were afraid of what her dad would do. But Harmony’s mom came to the school service. No one talked to her, though. I don’t know why. We just didn’t. Dumb kids.”

  He shifted from one large foot to the other, his gentle face mirroring his memories. Finally he looked back at Nell. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and rotated his shoulders like an athlete, as if preparing himself for some feat.

  “But here’s the thing. I heard you say that Claire was gone. I don’t mean to interfere. But I think I might know where she is.”

  They took Andy’s truck, a well-cared-for Toyota Tacoma, perfect for hauling drums and amps, he told Nell. His dad had given it to him a couple years before. A birthday present.

  “It’s my baby,” he said proudly.

  “It’s beautiful, Andy,” Nell said. She fastened her seat belt, sitting up high beside him. “Is it far, wherever we’re going?”

  “Not far. A few miles.”

  They drove in silence, through the winding neighborhood streets, and soon the lights of Sea Harbor were behind them. “I can’t promise we’ll find her, Nell,” Andy said, his eyes following the curve of the road. “But I know she’s been out here.”

  “Out where, Andy?”

  An oncoming car took their attention for a minute, and then they were alone again, with just the beams of Andy’s headlights lighting the narrow road. He drove smoothly, with the assurance born of familiarity. It was clear to Nell he’d traveled this route before.

  “Just over this hill,” he said. He drove over the hill, then turned onto another road that skirted a thick woods. He glanced over at Nell, then back to the road. “The Markham Quarry.”

  Nell’s breath caught in her chest. “The quarry?”

  He nodded. “I come out here sometimes. I talk to Harmony. Tell her what’s going on. It’s so quiet here. Peaceful, even. Is it awful that I do that? I mean, this is where she died.”

  Nell was silent. What was awful or not awful? It was the last place that Harmony stood, the last place she breathed. If Andy felt her presence here, was that bad?

  “I was out here a couple weeks ago,” Andy said. “Tiffany and I—we were having some problems, and I came out here to talk to Harmony about it. Harmony knew Tiff inside and out.”

  He made a sound, then—a kind of self-deprecating laugh. “I sound crazy, don’t I? I’m a grown man, and acting like a kid.”

  Nell looked at him. “Why? It’s not foolish to want to be close to someone you cared about. And if you can accomplish that, good for you. It’s not crazy at all.”

  Ahead of them, the moon seemed to sink low in the sky, nearly touching the treetops. The forest was lit from above, a black silhouette against a giant yellow ball.

  “That day, I was hiking in to the edge of the quarry, like I always do. It’s a well-marked path now that the county owns it, but back when we were in high school this place was privately owned. Some kids got caught skinny-dipping out here once, and the lady actually had them arrested. Word spread and this place was avoided like the plague. She was crazy, kids thought. Now hikers are welcome, though.” He slowed slightly, glancing over at the woods bordering the road.

  “That day I’d almost gotten to the clearing when I saw that someone was already there. There’s a pile of granite boulders at the edge of the water, big ones to climb and sit on. She was there, this lady. I didn’t know who it was, but I could see from the back, from the way her shoulders were shaking, that she was upset. I figured she needed her privacy. So I turned around and walked back through the woods to my truck.

  “But then I started wondering about it—about who the person was and why she was out there, in my spot. That’s the way I thought about it. My spot. So I sat in my truck and waited. A little while later, she came down the path, and there she was. It nearly knocked the wind out of me. The sun was at her back so her features were blurred, fuzzy, like in a movie. She looked almost ethereal. But mostly, she looked just like Harmony. Like it was Harmony walking toward me in slow motion.

  “Finally my head cleared, and I saw a lady climb into a little blue Volkswagen bug and drive off. I knew right away it was her mom. I didn’t know she was back in Sea Harbor, but I knew for certain that’s who it was.”

  Andy pulled his truck over to the side of the road and parked. “There’s the trail.” He pointed across the road. Then he looked around and pointed again, this time to a gravel strip just deep enough for cars to park and not obstruct traffic. “And there’s her car.”

  Andy didn’t want Nell to walk through the woods to the quarry by herself. “It’s tricky, lots of ruts in the path, and there’s only the moonlight to light the way.” He led the way, through the thick stands of maples and sumac.

  Nell was glad to have his company. They walked slowly through the trees, around bends, through thick patches of wild berries crowding the trail. Several times Nell nearly tripped on gnarled roots that crawled across the path. The night sounds were eerie and deep—a sudden rustling of invisible animals skittering out of their way, the gulls above, and the wind whistling through the high, unseen tops of the trees. She had seen many Cape Ann quarries, but not this one. It was off the beaten path, tucked away near some berry orchards. It was a small quarry, and mostly forgotten.

  He would lead Nell to the quarry, Andy said, but he wouldn’t stay. It didn’t seem right for him to meet Harmony’s mother in this place. It would be awkward, hard for her. And she’d be able to give Nell a lift home, though he’d wait in his truck if she wanted him to. He stopped in the path and turned toward Nell. “Do you know what I mean?”

  She did. She didn’t completely understand the emotions filling the space between Claire Russell and Harmony’s friends. But whatever it was, forcing an uncomfortable encounter in such a private, emotionally charged place didn’t seem wise.

  At the edge of the clearing, they stopped. Nell pulled some thistles from her jeans and looked into the open space. In the distance was the quarry, and next to it a large mound of granite boulders, just as Andy had described.

  He pointed in that direction.

  The still silhouette of a woman sat at the top of a granite pile.

  It was unmistakably Claire. Her head was held back to the sky, and her arms were wrapped around her knees, holding her steady on the boulder. Moonlight bathed the contours of her face.

  Andy looked at Nell, his expression an amalgam of regret and sadness. He lifted one hand, a silent wave, then turned and walked back into the woods.

  Nell waited a minute, then took a few steps closer, quietly calling out Claire’s name.

  Claire turned toward the voice and smiled. She didn’t seem surprised to see Nell. She gripped the craggy boulder and edged herself down from the pile of rocks. Shivering, she rubbed her arms. “It’s chilly. It was warm when I came out.”

  Nell smiled. “It was daylight. Sunny.”

  “Yes.” She walked slowly to the edge of the quarry, and Nell followed. Together they stood on the high bluff and looked down into the bottomless quarry. It was breathtaking. A pristine, bottomless sea surrounded by slabs of granite, magnificently carved by the joined forces of nature and man. Catbrier, bayberry, and shadbush grew in patches along the ledges, and here and there a tiny pine tree sprouted, clinging for survival. The center of the quarry held the moon’s perfect reflection, a white globe suspended, as if by an invisible hand, in the still water.

  The pure water that had swallowed up the body of a beautiful young girl.

  Nell took off her sweater and wrapped it around Claire’s shoulders.

  Together, without the intrusion of words, they turned and walked away from the Markham Quarry.

  They rode together in Claire’s small VW, back along the narrow road and into town. Claire didn’t ask Ne
ll how she’d gotten to the quarry or why she’d come. It didn’t seem to matter, and the quiet that filled the car was comfortable.

  Ben was waiting at the door when they pulled into the driveway. The lights were on, giving a soft glow to the house, warm and welcoming.

  “Time for a nightcap?” Ben said, holding open the screen door and peering into the darkness.

  Nell could see that Claire was tired. She was beginning to understand the kind of emotional retreat that the gardener had subjected herself to that day.

  But Claire surprised her.

  “Yes,” she said to Ben. “I’d like that. A glass of wine . . . and the company of friends. A good combination.”

  The raw grief that had defined the features of her face that morning was softer now, tucked inside and replaced with the haunting beauty that Nell had been drawn to the first time she saw Claire at the nursery. Her brown hair hung loose to her shoulders, and her slender body, in slim jeans and a light cotton blouse, appeared far younger than her fifty years.

  Ben had turned on lights near the fireplace, and they cast soft shadows across the cherry floor and sisal rugs. It was a lived-in area with comfortable green and beige upholstered furniture, soft lights, and built-in bookcases around the smooth stone fireplace. It was a room that beckoned people to come in and stay a while. To be with friends. To be safe.

  Claire took the glass of wine Ben offered and sat beside Nell, looking around. “This room reflects you both,” she said. “It’s warm and lovely at once. And if a room can be kind, well, then that, too.”

  Ben chuckled and set a bowl of nuts down on the table. He sat across from the two women and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You’ve had a hell of a day, Claire. I wouldn’t have set that newspaper on the step if I’d known. You know that.”

  “Of course I know that—you were being kind and hospitable.” She managed a smile and turned to Nell. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I know you were expecting me in the garden.”

  “I worried, I suppose. I tend to do that.”