Moon Spinners

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “Liz Palazola is having a baby. Alphonso is the father.”

  “Did Liz want that in the paper? Isn’t that an awfully intimate item for your column?”

  “Now calm down, Nell.” Mary cut her muffin in half and pushed a piece over to Nell on a napkin. “Eat this. It will make you feel better.” She took a sip of coffee and continued. “You know as well as anyone that I don’t hurt people. At least not intentionally. That is not who I am.”

  “Of course I know that. That’s why this bothers me and I—”

  Mary lifted a hand in the air. “Shh. I’ll explain. When I heard the rumor at Stop & Shop yesterday, I immediately made reservations for lunch at the club.”

  “Go on.”

  “I asked Liz if she would take her break with me. Poor thing looked like she was about to fall down. So I got her some tea and crackers and we sat on the deck in a cool breeze. That perked her up.”

  “Did you bring up the pregnancy?”

  “That was why I was there, you see. To ask her about it, since people in the grocery checkout lane were taking it home with them, right along with their carrots and hot dogs. I thought she should know. Sometimes it’s easier to manage things early on, don’t you think?”

  Nell took a sip of the strong coffee and nibbled on Mary’s cranberry muffin. What she thought was that for all her snoopiness, sometimes Mary Pisano wisely got right to the heart of things. And used her heart to get there.

  “She got a little teary, but she seemed relieved to have someone to talk to who would be happy with her. Having a baby is a joyful time. Liz is such a sweet thing, so pretty and smart. She told me how much she loved Alphonso. How ecstatic they are about the baby, how she hopes it’s a boy to carry on the fine name of the Santos family.”

  “So they don’t mind everyone knowing?”

  “I asked her that point-blank. She was quiet for a minute, thinking about it. Then she looked down at her phone, as if she might call the baby’s father and ask him what he thought. But finally she decided for herself. She put the phone away and told me that she wanted everyone to know how happy she was. Sublimely happy, she said. And she thought I was just the person to let people know that in a discreet, lovely way.”

  A grant-writing conference call and follow-up meeting filled the rest of Nell’s Tuesday. It was the next day before she had a chance to rethink her conversation with Mary Pisano and Mary’s contention that things were a bit chaotic out at the community center site. Nell had no clear sense that it had anything to do with Sophia’s murder—but it seemed Davey Delaney’s name came up far too often to dismiss his connection to it out of hand. Perhaps a hike in Anja Angelina Park was in order.

  Birdie was going to the orthopedist with Harold. And Cass was out on the water with Pete, checking lobster traps. But Izzy said she had newfound freedom with the Anderson twins wanting to work every chance they got, and she would love a short hike at Anja Angelina Park with Nell. She’d like to see how the community center was coming along.

  Nell put on long shorts and slipped on her sneakers. Then she pulled things out of her refrigerator and piled sprouts, sliced turkey, tomatoes, cheese, and a tangy horseradish sauce onto crusty sourdough rolls and packed them tightly in wrap. She added fresh peaches and bottled water to her sack, ensuring that she and Izzy wouldn’t get hungry—and it might give them more time to talk. And then, just as a precautionary measure, she tossed together a third sandwich. Sometimes Izzy ate far more than her slim frame would lead one to believe.

  “So why the hike, Aunt Nell? Ulterior motive, or did you feel an overwhelming need to spend time with your niece? And was Mary Pisano smoking pot when she wrote yesterday’s column? What was she thinking?” Izzy’s words tumbled out as Nell drove north toward the edge of town.

  Just before the city limits, Nell turned onto Angus Road, newly named after a favorite Sea Harbor man, Angus McPherran, who had deeded the land to the city. The narrow tree-lined road went only one place, and that was through the land now known as Anja Angelina Park, all the way to the point where a new community center was rising.

  Nell opened her window a crack and ocean air filled the car. “I always have an overwhelming urge to be with you, Izzy. And I don’t think Mary was smoking anything, though I didn’t ask.”

  Then she filled Izzy in on her conversation the day before. “I thought the same thing you did, Izzy. I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. She redeemed herself nicely, but I have vague uncomfortable feelings about Liz’s decision to have Mary reveal it. Frankly, I think Mary wondered, too, but it was news, and she had permission, so she put it in the column. You can’t blame her for that.”

  “I can’t imagine doing that without Alphonso knowing.”

  “I had a fleeting feeling that Liz did it intentionally, though I have no way of knowing that.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Izzy said. She looked through the windshield as they drove through the wooded area, pondering Liz’s action.

  From the narrow, winding road, hiking trails wound back through thick stands of pine and willow to the old quarries, once alive with the sounds of hammers pounding on stone as men worked the granite. But now they were as quiet as the bottom of the sea, the deep quarries filled with water and surrounded by scrub brush and wildflowers.

  Nell drove slowly, the peace of her surroundings a contrast to her thoughts. “I suppose once the world knows Liz is carrying this baby, Alphonso has to deal with it,” Nell said.

  “So if he was dragging his feet,” Izzy said, “those days are over. It smacks a little bit of forcing an issue.”

  “But only if Alphonso was dragging his feet. And we don’t know that.” Nell drove around a bend. Up ahead, where the finger of land was surrounded on three sides by water, was the beginning of the new community center.

  Angus McPherran had constructed a small lodge on the point that served as a temporary office and held hiking maps, bottled water, and postcards. Angus himself was often inside to tell stories of the land and the quarries and the granite industry to anyone who cared to listen.

  A large parking lot was half-filled on the sunny day. The land was wide open here, with mowed lawns, fire pits, picnic tables, benches, and new play equipment. In the distance, meandering through magnificent garden areas, were tended pathways to the sea.

  “This place is a bit of heaven,” Izzy said, climbing out of the car. “Breathe in the smell, Aunt Nell.” She stretched her arms above her head, then pulled her sun-streaked hair back and bound it with a scrunchie. “The magical mix of salt and sea and sunshine. Invigorating. What’s first? Food?”

  Nell laughed. “How did you know I brought food?”

  “Because you’d never invite me anywhere and not have food. At least not usually.” Izzy turned toward the community center. “It’s going to be beautiful.”

  The five-sided building was low to the ground with windows everywhere. The frame was natural pine and granite, and Nell immediately felt she was at camp in the northern Minnesota woods. It had a wonderful feeling about it—natural and healthy and good.

  “Imagine what this will means to kids,” Nell said.

  “Hey, you two, wait up!” Willow Adams’ voice floated across the parking lot.

  “What are you doing here?” Willow asked, stopping to catch her breath.

  “We brought lunch,” Nell said. “Can you join us?”

  “Did you make it?” Willow asked. Her brows lifted.

  Nell laughed. “It’s just sandwiches.”

  “Sandwiches-by-Nell? There’s no ‘just’ in that.”

  “There’s a free picnic table over there,” Izzy said. “Let’s grab it. We can hike later.”

  The table was near the construction site, but they could see the ocean waves crashing against the shore in the distance.

  “It’s beautiful down on the beach today,” Willow said. “Big whitecaps crashing against the rocks. I’ve been taking photographs for inspiration. And I got a great idea for a series of fiber-
art pieces that feature waves and the sea. These photos guide me. It’s going to be for the new center,” she said with a touch of pride.

  “That’s terrific, Willow,” Izzy said.

  “And Jane tells me your gallery is going gangbusters.”

  Willow knocked on the table. “So far so good. I think my dad’s carved mermaids are what keep me going. So what are you two doing here besides feeding me?”

  Nell pulled out the sandwiches and fruit and passed them around. “I’ve been wanting to see this.” Nell’s look took in the gardens and building under construction.

  “Fantastic, isn’t it? I’ve been hanging around—the guys even gave me my own hard hat. I want my art to be integral to the architecture and materials used in the building. I love what they’ve done.”

  “So the construction is going well? No fistfights that you’ve seen?”

  Willow’s black eyes lit up with laughter. “You read Mary’s column. She seems to think it’s a hotbed out here. There’ve been some heated words, but I’m not sure it has a thing to do with the building.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, a couple weeks ago there was some talk of the Delaney & Sons subcontractors. I don’t think it referred to the center really. Just a general rumor. A reporter had gone to the Delaney plant and asked about projects going over budget and maybe cutting corners, that sort of thing. It sent Davey Delaney to hell and back. He was one furious fella.” Willow waved at a man walking by.

  He lifted his large sunglasses, squinted at the group, then waved and strode over to the table. D.J. Delaney held out a large hand. “Nell, Izzy—good to see you folks. Well, what do you think? Terrific?” His ruddy face was dotted with perspiration.

  “It’s wonderful.” Nell looked over at the half-finished structure. “How is it going, working with the Santos Company?”

  D.J. shrugged. “It’s okay. We’re managing the construction, but Santos sends crews over to help. We both gave materials at cost. The committee that raised the money oversees what’s spent and they are the ones involved with the architect.”

  “That sounds like a decent plan.”

  “It works.”

  A group of workers started up the path to the new building, catching D.J.’s attention. He looked over, then called to one of them. “Davey, over here. We’ve got some visitors.” He waved his son over to the group. “I come out to check on things,” he said to the group. “Santos doesn’t have much time for that sort of thing unless he thinks we’re doing something wrong. Hell, I’ve been in this business as long as he has. Damn rumors can kill a guy.” D.J. shook his head. Then he thought about what he said and retracted it slightly. “Alphonso isn’t half-bad, I suppose, if you can get by the fancy suits and cars. But that wife of his was trouble, at least in recent days. Don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but the way she went about things, she was asking for something bad to happen.”

  Nell saw Davey’s face harden at his father’s words, but he stood politely next to him, his demeanor more that of a young man than a forty-year-old.

  “Why don’t you take these ladies around, Davey? Show them the great work we do. I’m heading back to the office. Joey and I are trying to make sense of the damn figures. It never ends.”

  Nell noticed a shadow fall over Davey’s face and his chin hardened.

  “Take charge, son.”

  “Sure, Pop.” Davey pushed a polite smile in place and motioned for them to follow him over to a trailer. He pulled hard hats out of a box and gave them each one.

  They followed Davey through the opening into the framed building and around stacks of lumber and cutting equipment. The shape of the main lobby and a theater and gymnasium just beyond it were defined. Skylights and a labyrinth of rooms and open spaces would allow a free flow of classes and activities.

  “You can almost hear the kids racing through here, the creative energies unleashed,” Willow said. “I love it.”

  “I hear you’re handling a lot of company responsibilities these days, Davey,” Nell said.

  He shrugged. “We’re the best in the business. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” Davey led them through the back area where an outdoor stage would stretch across the back of the building and seats would be built into the rise of the ground.

  They walked around the outside of the building, then back to where they had begun their tour and stood for a minute, looking up at the structure.

  “But this is a combination of Santos and Delaney, right? A dynamic duo.” Nell kept her words light, conversational.

  Davey stopped walking for a moment. He stood on the rough floor, his feet apart, and stared at Nell.

  Nell went on quickly, easing the moment. “I mean, you’ve all done a wonderful job. It’s such a good thing for the Sea Harbor community.”

  “We always do a good job. It doesn’t matter what the job is, we build strong buildings. We sure don’t need the Santos Company for that.”

  “Of course.”

  Davey stood quiet for a moment, then looked at Nell straight on. “Did you come out here to check up on us?”

  Nell took a step back. “Davey, of course not. We came to see this magnificent community center.”

  Davey’s eyes narrowed. “Did anyone send you?”

  “Send us?”

  “Hey, Davey,” Izzy broke in. “This is a great place. Looks like it’s well built. No one sent us, but if they did, that’s what we would tell them.”

  He stepped back then, his hand clenched at his side, and Nell could see the anger crawl up his thick neck and color his cheeks. “For the record, our condos and houses and shopping centers are the best in this whole area, bar none. We don’t cheat. We’re careful. My dad is the best in the business.”

  His eyes narrowed and he looked at the three women as if they were coconspirators in a B movie. One stout finger waved at them. His words shot out like bullets.

  “And as for inferior subcontractors or whatever . . . that miserable, conniving poor excuse for a woman was dead wrong. She was out to destroy us. Drove around in that Ferrari like she was some hot thing. What did she know about Ferraris? Nothing, that’s what. Didn’t know a Brembo brake from the gas pedal. And she tried to tell us we didn’t know our business. Hah.” Davey took a step away, as if he’d said his piece, done his duty. His temples throbbed. And then he started in again, his brows nearly touching each other and his eyes closing to narrow slits.

  “She was hateful. And thank the Lord that the god of Ferraris sent her straight to hell. May she rest in the pile of trouble she made for herself.”

  His words still hanging in the air, Davey Delaney turned and stomped off toward the workers’ trailer, shouting back over his shoulder to leave the hard hats on the steps. They were the property of D.J. Delaney & Sons.

  Chapter 25

  The day began easily enough, sunny and warm as predicted, but the peace that hovered over Nell’s first cup of coffee was not to last.

  Birdie’s call came at eight, just minutes before Nell planned to run by Father Northcutt’s church with some canned goods for his soup kitchen.

  “Nell, dear, can you please run on over here?” Birdie asked.

  Nell frowned at the sound of Birdie’s voice.

  “It’s Ella,” she said. “Harold said she never came home last night.”

  Nell didn’t get a ticket, but she knew it was because Tommy Porter would have been embarrassed to stop her. She spotted him out of the corner of her eye, waved as if she were obeying the law, and sped on to Birdie’s house.

  Birdie was out in the drive when she pulled in.

  “She never came home? Where did she go?” Nell slid from behind the wheel.

  “She went for a walk,” Harold said, hobbling up beside Birdie. His haggard face spoke of a sleepless night.

  “Stella came today to help. She’s out looking for her.”

  “Where is she looking?”

  “The woods, the cove, up the road. Wherever she could
walk from here.”

  Harold looked down the long driveway. “She left while I was watching Jeopardy. She was on her phone for a bit. Then she left, like she was going outside to read, and I thought that was okay because she doesn’t like television so much. She likes to sit on that little patio out near the garden where I put the gaslights in. She’s there a lot, reading that book of her friend’s.”

  Her friend. The words stood out from the rest. Even beneath his worry, Harold’s feelings about Sophia Santos rose to the surface.

  “I thought that was a good thing,” Harold said. “If she was reading, maybe she’d stop being so obsessed with finding the murderer. She thinks she’s the next Sherlock Holmes.” He tried to mask his feelings with a play of anger.

  “Who was she talking to on the phone?” Birdie asked.

  “I don’t know. I thought it was you, Miss Birdie.”

  “No, she didn’t call me.”

  Nell looked around. In the distance she could hear Stella’s voice calling out Ella’s name. And from farther away, Jake Risso’s voice bellowed out. Stella had gathered reinforcements. Good for her. As unpleasant as Ella had been to her, Stella was not going to hold a grudge.

  “She did this once or twice before so I wasn’t too worried at first. She wouldn’t come back up to our apartment because she was mad at me about something. Mostly because of her friend. Ella never got mad at me before.”

  “That’s true,” Birdie agreed. “She’d sleep in that small spare bedroom near the kitchen. I already checked there. The bed hasn’t been touched.”

  “What about the other apartment you have above the gardening shed? Or the garage?”

  Nell felt she was grasping at straws. But as she talked, she walked across the pebbled drive to the main garage. “Your garages are nice enough to live in,” she called back to Birdie. “Maybe she just wanted to be alone, or fell asleep.”

  Birdie stayed put and shook her head. “Ella never went in the garage. She considered that Harold’s domain. She didn’t like the smell of grease.”