A Finely Knit Murder (8 page)

Angelo shook his head. “The goddess wants Elizabeth gone. I think it’s a power thing. I don’t quite know what to do about it.” His voice was angry and sad and determined, all at once. “I knew a couple of the Westerland men, y’ know. Used to do some work for
them, fixing things up. Her granddad—he was a powerful man. And her father, too, always trying to one-up his brothers. Power-hungry. That’s what they were.

“They’re all gone now, except for her—she’s the last of the Westerlands. Ha. Someone should write a book about it. She needs to be gone, too, like the rest of them, before she does more damage to the good folks around this place.” The last words were mumbled, intended for himself. Then he turned away without ceremony or a good-bye and stomped over to talk to a discreet clump of security guards, hired by the school to monitor parking lot traffic and keep the grounds safe and secure.

Before Nell and Birdie had a chance to react to Angelo’s outburst, a school bell announced that the first course was being delivered to tables. The jazz combo picked up its beat, and guests moved to the rhythm and found their places.

Father Northcutt moved to the wide fan of steps and Laura handed him the microphone. He hushed the crowd with arms spread wide, then offered up a thank-you to the Almighty “for the finest, tastiest food known to man.” He smiled in his inimitable way and suggested a toast to the fine evening they were about to enjoy.

Glasses were lifted, cheers filled the air, and trays of tiny lobster rolls were passed around the tables.

“This whole evening is magical,” Birdie said as she settled down next to Ben and accepted the glass of wine he offered her. She looked at the tray of Gracie’s rolls. “Father Larry got it right—the finest food on the Cape. Not only is Laura making sure everyone eats well and sees every inch of this magnificent property, but she’s giving us a chance to walk off our calories in between. Such a wise young woman.”

In addition to Gracie’s rolls, baskets of calamari, with the Ocean’s Edge restaurant special buttermilk coating—were eagerly emptied. A medley of sauces dotted the table.

Nell glanced over at Cass, sitting next to Sam. “Did we scare
Harry off?” she asked, glancing at the empty seat between her and Cass.

“Yes, you are plenty scary, Nell.” She looked over her shoulder, then swiveled in the other direction. “He was around here not too long ago. He probably spotted some guy he knew or something. He’s been stopped a couple times by some of his parents’ old friends, though most of them don’t connect him with the fresh-faced kid he used to be—not with all that hair on his face. Anyway, he’ll be back.”

Cass was right. Harry returned a short while later and sat next to Nell, his eyes going immediately to the baskets of calamari and lobster rolls.

Nell suggested he take his fill before Cass noticed that there were some left.

On his other side, Cass was talking to Sam about some photos he’d taken of her new lobster boat, and Harry seemed content to not be talking at all. Instead he sat back, enjoying the food. He shifted in the chair, watching the crowd, his eyes moving from group to group. One foot tapped the stone floor, a slight nervous movement that Nell could feel.

“Are you running into people you know?” Nell asked, leaning closer to be heard over the crowd noise.

Startled out of his reverie, Harry jerked his head toward her. “Know?” he stammered.

“Cass mentioned you might know some people here. Old friends?”

The question seemed to confuse Harry, and Nell briefly regretted her attempt at drawing him out. She tried again, turning the attention away from him. “Many people come back here—like homing pigeons, I guess. It’s addictive. Ben and I are perfect examples. His family had a vacation place here for more years than any of us remember. I fell in love with it the first time Ben brought me up. Sea Harbor summers are memorable.

“And when circumstances allowed, we moved up here
permanently. My niece is the same way. Izzy used to spend every summer here, from the time she was a teenager. It’s how she and Cass became friends for life. It’s where she learned to sail. Experienced her first kiss.”

She was talking too much, she knew. But there was something about Harry that made her nervous, perhaps because he seemed distracted. Or nervous. Or at least that was what the tapping foot said to her. She slowed down her chatter. Smiled. “I don’t mean to sound like I work for the Chamber of Commerce. I simply like it here.”

Harry had recovered. “Sure, I get that,” he said. “I didn’t spend too many summers here. But I kinda remember hanging out on those boulders down near the boathouse. It was a good fishing spot.”

Cass turned from Ben and leaned into the conversation. “Want to go revisit it? See if it’s changed? Catch a fish or two?”

“The boathouse?” Harry asked.

“Sure. The calamari is gone. I think I ate half a basket by myself. I need to walk it off.”

Harry shrugged and pushed out his chair, nearly colliding with Laura Danvers.

Laura laughed it off, excusing herself for sneaking up on him. She greeted everyone at the table with her hostess charm, urged them to visit the bar, thanked them profusely for coming, and moved on to the next table.

Blythe Westerland was just steps behind her, not wanting to be outdone in the hostess category. Her shimmering dress caught the table’s candlelight. She moved to Ben’s side and greeted him with a warm hug, then repeated Laura’s gracious welcome, moving around the table, trying with difficulty to keep her champagne from sloshing out of the glass.

Nell remembered Elizabeth’s request and mentioned to Blythe that the headmistress had been looking for her. “It’s a great crowd, but it’s difficult to find people.”

Blythe seemed to toss off Nell’s message and instead laughed
and chatted on about the enormous turnout, the money raised, and her plans to suggest some changes to the board about how the money was spent. Travel was one idea, she said. “Maybe trips to Paris for the older girls.”

Nell held her silence, imagining the board discussions looming in the future. Travels to France would definitely not be how Elizabeth wanted the foundation money spent. It wasn’t at all what she had in mind when she proposed additional scholarships or more community involvement.

But Blythe had already turned her attention to greeting Cass, touching her arm for attention, nodding a hello.

Harry stepped away from the table. “Ready, Cass?” he said.

Blythe stepped back in surprise. “Well, now. I thought for a minute you were Danny Brandley,” she said. Her head leaned to one side, a curious smile on her lips. Her fingers touched her chin as if she, too, had a carefully trimmed beard. “Hmm. Nice beard.”

Cass put her hand on Harry’s arm and began to move away. “Sorry, Blythe. He’s not Danny,” she said, edging backward toward the terrace steps. Harry rested one hand on her lower back.

Nell half expected his foot to start tapping.

Blythe stayed still but watched the couple with an amused look, as if assessing the combination. She sipped her champagne, her eyes steady over the rim. As they moved away, she lifted one hand and wiggled her fingers in a wave. “Be good, you two,” she said.

Cass didn’t answer.

Blythe smiled. “Later,” she called out. Several people turned to look, wondering to whom the shimmering Blythe was talking.

Cass adeptly ignored her and quickened her step.

Nell held back a smile.
Later
for Cass would most certainly mean
never
.

Harry turned back once, then lowered his head to listen to Cass as they started to disappear in the crowd.

Nell felt the brief wave of tension. There wasn’t any love lost between Blythe and Cass.

But Blythe seemed impervious to it. She watched Cass walk away, an amused expression on her face. “I must need glasses. How could I have confused him with Danny Brandley? There are no similarities whatsoever between those two. Nada.” She chuckled, then said, “So . . . exactly where
is
our Danny boy?” The question was meant for no one. A random thought that found its way into words.

Nell watched the expression linger on her face. Was she surprised that Danny Brandley wasn’t there next to Cass? Blythe Westerland was impossible to read. Nell wondered if she played poker. She would be good at it.

Blythe seemed to feel Nell and Izzy watching her and pulled her attention back to the table. “Silly,” she said matter-of-factly. “The man looks good in a mustache, doesn’t he?” And then she turned toward Ben and engaged him in yacht club talk.

“She left just in time,” Izzy said. “I was ready to bop her. Cass would curse us all if she thought we were talking about her personal life with Blythe Westerland.”

Nell agreed. She looked over Izzy’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of Cass and Harry, stopping near the flagpole to talk to Jane and Ham Brewster.

She didn’t know what to make of Harry. Blythe was right—he looked good in a mustache, and he seemed nice enough. A little nervous, maybe. He was good-looking, in a movie star way. But there was something about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He seemed to treat Cass fine. So perhaps that was all that mattered. And the fact that he intended to turn the old and weathered beach home into something pleasant was also a good thing for Sea Harbor. No one liked seeing run-down cottages along the shore.

Blythe began walking away, then turned back. “Cass looks good tonight, don’t you think? Her boyfriend, too. Is that what he is?”

Izzy’s radar pulled her around and her thoughts merged with Nell’s. They didn’t like Blythe talking about Cass, but on the other hand, they couldn’t quite decide if it would be good or bad to have Blythe show an interest in Harry Winthrop.

“He’s nothing like Danny, do you agree?” Blythe said. “Not with all that facial hair, anyway.” She held out her glass as a waiter passed by and waited for a refill.

It was a curious comment, but both Nell and Izzy chose to ignore it. Nothing Blythe said could really surprise them.

Then Sam joined in, “Well, his name
is
Harry—”

Blythe smiled. She looked out again, scanning the groups of partygoers filling the lawn. “We certainly have our share of interesting guests tonight.”

Before Ben or Izzy could respond, the society editor and photographer from the
Boston Globe
beckoned to Blythe. Also waiting for the photo shoot was a well-known senior partner in Elliott Danvers’s Boston law firm, his infatuation with Blythe visible in his waiting smile. Blythe returned it, and was soon standing before the camera, comfortable and happy.

The evening moved on in unending samplings of Sea Harbor restaurants’ most delicious entrées: skewered pork and apples, cucumber soup, roasted fall vegetables, and chunks of succulent sautéed crabmeat.

Blythe Westerland was everywhere, greeting each group of guests as if the school were her elegant home and she were Pearl Mesta, a hostess everyone would remember. Always, it seemed, there was an elegant man at her beck and call.
Hovering
, Cass called it, and suggested that she wore some potent perfume that was probably illegal.

As they reached the last course—generous slices of key lime pie that were being passed around the terrace—Laura Danvers stood on the fan of steps overlooking the partygoers, beaming. Just a year or two younger than Izzy, Laura handled such affairs with the ease and aplomb of someone twice her age. Gracious and smart, she was the go-to person for nearly every charitable event in town—and as she had done tonight, they were all successful.

She tapped her handheld microphone for attention, gathering people to the terrace area. Many were already at their assigned
tables, but others were scattered in happy groups everywhere. “I think the crowd has grown with each course,” Nell murmured to Ben as they sat down next to Izzy and Sam. “I don’t know if we’ll ever see Birdie again—she claims everyone she has ever met in her life is here.”

Cass waved from the bar that she was bringing over a fresh carafe of coffee.

Another tap of the microphone hushed the crowd, and Laura looked out at the crowd, asking for quiet while she thanked the school staff and the myriad of other generous people who had made the evening possible.

First came the restaurateurs who had donated the innovative tapaslike courses they had all enjoyed. The applause was rousing.

“And next, for those of you who don’t know her, Dr. Elizabeth Hartley has pulled our school together and given it new life. If you haven’t met her yet, make sure you do before leaving tonight. You’ll be glad you did.” She looked blindly into the crowd, motioning for Elizabeth to come up to the microphone.

Necks swiveled, seeking out the headmistress. An awkward silence followed, people shifted, and those still standing moved, in case they were blocking her way. At the edge of the terrace, Jerry Thompson stood with a puzzled expression on his face, looking around the crowd.

Laura held her smile and waited patiently.

A door opened, and Elizabeth appeared, hurrying across the flagstone terrace, her face flushed and the sound of her heels magnified in the silence that had fallen over the crowd.

Nell felt her embarrassment.

“It’s like the Academy Awards,” Izzy whispered next to her. “Caught in the bathroom when your name is called.”

At the steps, Laura hugged Elizabeth warmly and thanked her for all she had done—and was doing—for the school and for the whole community. Her words brought great applause from the crowd.

Elizabeth took the microphone and spoke a few words, enough to express her deep love for Sea Harbor Community Day School, for her job, and for the people who had made it all possible. And then she handed the mic back to Laura and wound her way through the crowd until she stood safely at Jerry Thompson’s side.

Next Laura asked all the board members to stand. “These folks are giving enormous amounts of time and energy—not to mention fund-raising—to this school and to the community projects it supports and fosters. Frankly, they’re great,” she said, “and not just because my charming husband is one of them.” She blew a kiss in Elliott’s direction and the crowd laughed. Again necks craned in the direction of shuffling chairs as Nell and Birdie, Barrett Mansfield, Elliott, and half a dozen others stood, nodded, and quickly resumed their seats.