A Finely Knit Murder (20 page)

“But it was there when you painted it?” Izzy said.

He shrugged and looked back at the painting, as if maybe the answer was there in the light and shadow. Finally he said, “I felt romantic when I painted it, sort of. It wasn’t exactly a romance, more a fling—but sure, there was that kind of explosion that comes when a man and woman are together. When a beautiful woman pursues you.”

He stopped, looking more closely at the painting as if remembering the spot in an intimate way. When he looked back to Nell and Izzy, there was a play of amusement in his green eyes. “It’s kind of fun for a while, having a woman take charge, the flirting, arranging dangerous rendezvous spots like that boathouse.” His chin lifted, nodding toward the painting. “But it was crazy from the start. What reputable teacher fools around at his school? Damn foolish. I wasn’t running on full batteries, and definitely not thinking with my head.”

“You met a woman in the boathouse?” Izzy asked.

“It was her choice, not mine. I just followed orders.”

“Blythe Westerland,” Nell said slowly, the name coming out on a long breath as the pieces fit together.

“She was the wicked witch of the west.” He stared at the painting. “Ironic, isn’t it, that the witch in
The Wizard of Oz
melted when water was poured on her? This one died covered with water and weeds.”

“What was it with you and Blythe? A relationship?”

He took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “No, not really. She was dangerous, Blythe was. She’d come by when I had kids painting down at the shore. She always had a reason for being around, a meeting or whatever. She’d make me uncomfortable with sly flirts that I was always afraid the kids would see, but I couldn’t stop her. She was a master at it. Did just enough to send me into a spin, but always keeping her own cool. She was like a femme fatale. Like a black widow spider. Snaring things. No one’s going to talk about it now that she’s murdered, but she was a force of nature. I think she loved the danger and the fact that she held all the power.
She was in command. It’s like she wanted to dominate men. And she did a damn good job of it. I wasn’t her only prey, believe me.”

“Why . . . how . . . did it end with her? What went wrong?” Izzy asked.

“Me, that’s what went wrong . . . or right, as the case may be. I started to think with my head instead of body parts and I broke it off with her. I liked my students. I liked my job. And I didn’t like being a toy. I told her I’d go to Dr. Hartley if she didn’t leave me alone.”

Nell looked back at the painting. There was a lifetime between the origin of the painting and what had happened in that spot a week ago. “So you broke it off. And she was fine with that?”

“Fine? Not exactly. I made one big mistake. I should have let her think it was her idea—then she would have been fine. No man hath seen such fury as that day.” His laugh was short, humorless. “It wasn’t because she wanted me. I had no illusions there. It was because she had lost control. I’d taken over and she hated that.” He scratched his head, staring back at the painting. “I knew she’d have the last say. I just didn’t know how or when the shoe would drop. All I knew for sure was that it would.”

And it did. The day Josh Babson was fired.

S
omehow the fact that it was Friday and that she’d probably have a houseful of hungry people on her deck that night hadn’t registered with Nell in any meaningful way. Instead it was the Friday that she and Izzy had a revealing discussion with Josh Babson, artist. They were burrowing closer to Blythe Westerland’s soul.

And maybe her killer.

When they left the gallery, Jane walked with them down to the parking lot, pushing Abby while Nell and Izzy talked about Josh Babson.

Jane was mostly silent, listening.

“I suppose this doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Blythe,” Izzy said. “In fact, his story gives him even more motivation for doing it.”

“But . . . ?” Nell said.

Jane spoke up. “I don’t think he did it. He wouldn’t have been so brutally honest with both of you if he had. He didn’t have to tell anyone about his connection to Blythe. No one would have known.”

“That’s true. But he
could
have done it, no matter what we think,” Nell said. “He’s a suspect—at least until we find out he couldn’t have done it. Just like a whole group of other people that we like and want to believe they couldn’t have done it.”

“The police have talked to Josh already,” Jane said. “Twice, I think. They had a photo of the yellow circles he painted on the lawn—and the one with Blythe’s initials in the middle, so elegantly
slashed out. They didn’t arrest him, of course—but they told him to stick around. He thought that was funny. ‘Where do they think I’d go?’ was his response to Ham and me. He seemed complacent about the whole thing. Certainly not worried.”

“How did he get to the party that night?” Nell asked.

“Josh rode over with us that night. He doesn’t have a car. Ham laid out that fact for Tommy Porter loud and clear. And, more important, he rode home with us. We left a little early, and sure, he could have hopped on his bike and gone back to murder Blythe, but somehow I don’t think so.”

“Birdie and I watched him for a while the night of the party,” Nell said. “He looked like he was looking for someone, and he was clearly angry.”

“He probably wanted to give Blythe a piece of his mind. Maybe even embarrass her. Can you blame him? He lost a job he liked because of her,” Jane said. “Though I’m not sure if given the chance he would have done even that. The guy looks defensive and antisocial, angry, even—but it’s a front, I think. He’s like a lot of artists Ham and I know. He protects himself and his work, and sometimes that comes across as defensive. But I’ve watched him around the studio. I think he’s shy.”

“I think you’re right,” Izzy said. “He struck me that way, too—reluctant to talk to me at first. But he warmed up when I didn’t step away. A little, anyway.”

“Nell?” Jane said. “How about you?”

“I don’t know. The biggest thing he has going for him in my mind is that he was sweet with Abby. I watched him go over to her stroller before we left and make funny faces at her, getting her to laugh. In my mind, that goes a long way.”

“Of course it does,” Izzy said. “But then, who could resist Abby?”

She pushed the stroller across the street to the parking lot and opened the trunk to Nell’s car. Izzy lifted Abby from the stroller and collapsed it with a tap of her foot.

Jane took Abby from her mother and fastened her in her car seat. “I agree, no one could resist this darling baby.”

Nell opened the driver’s door and climbed in. Jane leaned down, her elbows on the window edge. “Nell, in addition to being nice to babies, Josh works right next to me in our gallery. He closed up the other night, and has opened the shop for us all week, giving us two more blessed hours of sleep. Sometimes it’s just the two of us working there alone, cataloging prints, tallying receipts, checking inventory. He’s been dependable, on time. So here’s what I think and don’t think.

“I don’t think he murdered Blythe Westerland—but I think the thought might have crossed his mind once or twice. And I, for one, can’t say I blame him.”

She gave Nell a quick peck on the cheek and headed back toward the Brewster Gallery.

*   *   *

Nell and Izzy dropped Abby back home, where the nanny was waiting. “That was an interesting lunch break,” Izzy said. “Though we forgot about lunch.”

“If you have time, I’ll treat you to a salad at the Edge.”

Nell knew Izzy couldn’t refuse the lobster salad at the Ocean’s Edge. It was the best on Cape Ann, lemony and spiced with just the right amount of homemade mayonnaise. And she wanted more time with her niece to help her sort through some conflicting thoughts.

The restaurant’s hostess showed them to a quiet table at the back of the restaurant near the bar. It was past the lunch hour rush and the normally busy restaurant had relaxed to a welcome lull. Iced tea and lobster salads appeared in record time.

“You like Josh, don’t you?” Nell asked.

“Like? Not sure. I don’t know him well enough, but I think he’s interesting. And I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better.”

“That answers my next question. You agree with Jane. You don’t think he could have murdered Blythe.”

Izzy stopped eating, giving the question some thought. “No, I don’t think he did it. But my gut feeling wouldn’t pass Birdie’s test of having proof.”

“So that means we have to find proof that someone
did
it instead of didn’t do it.”

“Is this a private conversation?”

They looked up. Chelsey Mansfield stood a few feet away, her face hesitant. “I don’t want to interrupt—”

“Of course you’re not. Would you like to join us?” Nell asked. The lines of worry on Chelsey’s forehead couldn’t be denied. She hadn’t come over just to say hello.

“Maybe for a moment. Barrett and I were having a rare lunch together today—” She sat and nodded beyond the bar, where they saw the broad back of Barrett Mansfield leaving the restaurant. “He usually leaves for Boston at the crack of dawn, but Chief Thompson wanted to see him at the station this morning.”

“About the Westerland case?”

Chelsey nodded. “It’s so consuming. So intrusive into all our lives. The questions don’t stop. I hope the police close the case soon. Barrett wasn’t sure they were getting anywhere with the investigation, though they’ve questioned all of us. Certainly me and him.”

“Was Barrett able to help?” Izzy asked.

Chelsey looked back across the room, but Barrett was gone. She looked down at her purse as if wondering if she should leave. Then she sat back in her chair, looked at Nell and Izzy, and decided to stay. “I don’t think they were asking for his help. I think they were asking if he could have murdered her.”

Nell and Izzy were silent.

Chelsey continued. “The police are interested in people who had problems with Blythe. That’s no surprise. It makes sense. When they looked through the school’s board notes, they discovered that
Barrett and Blythe locked horns often. Almost from the beginning when Elizabeth was interviewing for the position.” She looked at Nell. “You’re surely aware of this.”

Nell was aware of it, having been privy to some of the heated arguments, but she wondered exactly where Chelsey was going with it.

Chelsey took a deep breath. “We knew Elizabeth Hartley before we moved here and long before she was headmistress. She took a class I taught on law and education when she was getting her doctorate at Harvard. I recognized her potential right away—and the need for what she was interested in. She was specializing in improving learning for children with conditions that make it difficult. Like Anna.”

The waitress appeared with another iced tea. Chelsey wrapped her fingers around the chilled glass as if to steady her hands.

“So that’s how Barrett knew about Elizabeth as a possible candidate,” Nell said. “I remember him saying that he could personally vouch for her expertise. His opinion has always been solid and well respected and it added to her recommendations.”

“Yes. We hired her to work with Anna when our daughter was younger. Elizabeth performed miracles with her. She knows so much about learning and psychology, about calming children or stimulating them when they need it, about how to create a solid learning environment for all kinds of children so they can learn and socialize together, and not be segmented and labeled with Asperger’s syndrome or ADHD or sensory processing disorder—or a myriad of other things. Every child is unique—and with good teachers, children can all learn and not only that, they can learn from each other. That’s what Elizabeth believes. That’s what she makes happen.” Her eyes were alive with conviction and passion. She finally paused to take a breath.

Nell spoke. “The board saw that—her range of expertise and her passion.” Her voice was calm, soothing. “And I understand now how important hiring her was to you and your husband.”

“But not just to us. To all children.”

The three women sat in silence for a moment, the only sound that of ice cubes clinking against glasses—and Chelsey’s breathing.

Finally Izzy broke the silence. “You moved here a couple years before Elizabeth was hired, right?” She remembered her surprise when her old law professor became a regular customer in the yarn shop.

Chelsey nodded. “We knew Sea Harbor would be a good place to raise Anna. Large, noisy environments, even the traffic in Boston, can all be difficult for kids who have trouble with sensory processing, which was Anna’s problem. We fell in love with this town, but we kept in touch with Elizabeth. And then, when she was looking for a job and this one opened up, it seemed like some kind of karma.”

“It sounds like it was perfect timing for Elizabeth. Perhaps it was exactly that—karma.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it was Barrett’s determination to do everything in his power to give Anna what she needed—and me, too. He’s always wanted the very best for his family and has done everything possible to create a wonderful life for us. He’s an amazing man. I am so fortunate.” Her voice cracked slightly.

“That kind of thing usually goes both ways,” Nell said.

Izzy took a forkful of salad, stabbing a juicy chunk of lobster. She chewed it thoughtfully, trying to organize the conversation in her head. “What happened when Elizabeth applied for the position at the school?” she finally asked. She looked at both Nell and Chelsey.

Chelsey said, “Barrett said people were impressed. She was imminently qualified. After she got her degree she worked at a private school for a couple years and received sterling reviews. She was young, but so talented.”

“Blythe Westerland put up a fuss,” Nell said. She picked at her salad as she tried to remember what arguments surfaced over the interviews and hiring. Elizabeth was too young, some of the board
members had said. But it seemed rather an old-fashioned criticism in light of female CEOs of the same age. She remembered Birdie speaking up, wondering if the board was getting lost in the Brontë version of headmistresses and not moving ahead with the times. As always when Birdie spoke, people listened.

“Yes, Blythe made an awful fuss,” Chelsey said.

Nell watched her carefully. Chelsey seemed nervous, fidgety when she talked about Blythe. Perhaps it related to her admission that Blythe’s death brought relief.

Nell handed her a bowl of lemon slices.

She squeezed a bit into her tea. “Blythe was unfair. Quite awful, really, and Barrett came home so angry after those meetings.”

“Were the other applicants less qualified?” Izzy asked.

Nell knew where Izzy was going with the question. Perhaps the Mansfields were thinking too much of their own child and not considering who was the best candidate for the whole school. But thinking back, she didn’t remember it that way. She remembered considering Elizabeth’s qualification carefully. And she had been impressed. She couldn’t remember the other candidates at all. “What I remember is that Elizabeth was truly the best applicant for the job. In fact, I don’t think the others came close.”

But it was absolutely true that Blythe Westerland put up roadblocks every inch of the way, none of which convinced the rest of the board, although she gained a few allies with some of her comments, including her support for a distant relative for the post.

“Blythe tried to discredit Elizabeth, and she used Barrett as her weapon,” Chelsey said softly.

Nell and Izzy leaned in to hear. Her voice was quiet, but coated with distaste for the woman so recently murdered.

“Barrett missed one of the monthly meetings around that time—I had the flu and he was reluctant to leave Anna and me. Blythe jumped at the opportunity and used that night to make a scurrilous attack on his integrity.”

The meeting came back to Nell suddenly, perhaps because of Chelsey’s strained voice and the pain reflected in her eyes. Blythe had insinuated that Barrett’s reasons for hiring someone he knew so intimately had little to do with the betterment of the school. He wanted to keep his “mistress” close at hand. It was a horrendous accusation.

Nell had almost forgotten about the incident, though with Chelsey sitting there in front of her, it came back in bold relief. Blythe’s unfounded accusation had upset the board, but not in the way Blythe intended. People were angry at the tawdry element she had insinuated into their serious discussion. She had nothing to back her claims, and the board hired Elizabeth soon after that. Blythe went off to Boston or Europe or somewhere for a couple of months while things cooled off, and when she came back, she slipped back into her emeritus position on the board and back into her usual posturing, now focusing on the terrible job that Elizabeth was doing. The event was nearly forgotten—but certainly not by Chelsey Mansfield.

The waitress refilled their drinks and brought the check.

“This was presumptuous of me. I didn’t intend to take up your whole lunch with my woes.” Chelsey leaned down and picked her bag up from the floor. “I’m not sure why I unloaded like this on you both. It’s not like me, but I don’t have many friends in Sea Harbor, and you’ve always been warm and accepting. I guess that’s what I needed—someone to listen, and not to judge. All of this has put so much stress on Barrett, all the questioning by the police, dissecting rumors and innuendoes, and some of the things Blythe tried to destroy in her wake . . .”