Death by Cashmere (22 page)

Nell walked the Wootens to the door a short while later and thanked them for coming.

"Did your talk with Sal go okay, Nell?" Rachel asked. "I know he can be difficult to talk to. I think he's so scared of his wife he avoids talking to most women. Angie was an exception."

Nell paused, unsure of what to say. She didn't want people who worked in the same building with Sal to think poorly of him. She chose her words carefully. "Actually, he didn't have much to say. I think his mind was on other things. He seemed very busy."

Rachel looked puzzled. "Sal? I don't think Sal ever gets really busy. There's an administrative assistant who works in the next office, and I think she does the bulk of the work. I don't know if it's entirely fair, but people think Sal was appointed to that job because of Beatrice's connections with the city council and the chamber. She wields a lot of power over there. And she likes the title, Registrar of Deeds."

"Well, he had a stack of papers on his desk and I think he was anxious to get back to work, for whatever reason. But basically he said he didn't know Angie well. So he wasn't the best person to talk to anyway."

Rachel's brows lifted and she looked up at her husband, Don, then back to Nell. She hesitated for a moment before she spoke.

"I don't know how well Sal really knew Angie, Nell, but just between you, me, and a whole bunch of people who work at the county offices, Sal Scaglia was head over heels in love with Angie Archer."

Chapter 22

At first, no one knew who the dead man was. His body was smashed up against a pole on a narrow gravel road north of town. He had no wallet on him and his face was badly disfigured, making identification difficult.

But what was of greater interest wasn't the man's name or his address. What grabbed the attention of the early beach-bound joggers who found him and the policemen and ambulance driver who were called to the scene were the scurrying lobsters emerging from the thick rubber sack.

"He h-h-had a whole rubber sackful of 'em," Tommy Porter told Izzy as they stood in line at Coffee's early Saturday morning. "Must have been a dozen keepers trapped in that sack."

Nell and Izzy stood in line waiting for their order, listening to Tommy talk, and to three other conversations going on simultaneously in the busy coffee shop, most about the strange man who was found dead on Lighthouse Road.

"Do you think he was the poacher?" Izzy asked.

"Sure wasn't dressed like a lobsterman. And there wasn't a boat a sight," Tommy said, in a feeble attempt at humor. His excitement seemed to ease the stuttering, and it was only an occasional word that came out in stops and starts. "We don't know who it was yet. Sometimes those poachers move around from one little town to another. Probably no one we know."

"How did he die, Tommy?"

"Someone slammed into h-h-him. His own fault, probably. H-HE had on a black wet suit. No one could have seen him, not on a dark road in the middle of the n-n-night."

"It was that old lighthouse road near the breakwater?"

Tommy nodded.

"Who hit him?" Nell asked.

"Don't know. Whoever it was didn't stay around. Maybe somebody who doesn't like poachers, which would be about the whole town."

"Is that what people think?" Nell asked.

Tommy shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe a fella with a few too many pints under his belt."

"Nevertheless, it's an awful way for someone to die."

"Maybe. But it's b-been a rough time for Cass and Pete and the others. At least they can get back to lobstering."

"I guess that's right."

"Two decaf lattes," the girl behind the counter called out.

Izzy looked over Tommy's shoulder and held up her hand. "That's us."

Tommy looked crestfallen, as if his big chance in life had been crushed by a decaf latte. "See you, Izzy."

Izzy smiled brightly and picked up the lattes. She and Nell wove their way through the crowded store and out the door.

"I can't imagine anyone would intentionally kill someone for stealing lobsters," Izzy said. "People talk that way, but they don't mean it."

Nell drank the steamy latte, then brushed a line of foam from her lip. Of course people didn't mean it, at least not Cass, who'd been very vocal in her threat to string the poachers up by her own pot warp if given the chance. But who knew what one might be capable of if a livelihood was being threatened? Sometimes you had to walk in those shoes, she thought, before answers were crystal clear.

"Lots of gossip around Coffee's today," Izzy said. "The poor guy who was killed, Margarethe's gala tonight. The horrible and the extravagant. But at least it's kept people from talking about the break-in above my shop."

"I think the consensus was that some beach bum wanted a place to bunk for a while, and an empty apartment was fair game." Nell took the paper cup from Izzy and the two began to walk down Harbor Road.

"That's ridiculous."

"Yes," Nell said and sipped her latte. The news of the hit-and-run victim had served as a distraction, but not enough to block out Rachel Wooten's parting words the night before. "Izzy," she asked suddenly, "did you ever notice Sal Scaglia hanging around the shop?"

Izzy thought for a minute. "Well, there was the other day when his wife insisted he come over to clean Angie's apartment--"

"But not while Angie was alive?"

"I don't think so, Nell. Why?"

Nell told her what Rachel had said.

"Nell, that's so surprising, that shy man, in love with Angie?"

"Rachel seemed sure of it. Or at least he was infatuated with her. But somehow Angie made quite an impression on Sal Scaglia."

"What do you make of it?"

"I don't know, Izzy. But I think it's something we all need to talk about. It throws another person into the picture, for better or for worse."

"Nell, now that you mention it, I guess I did see Sal across the street a couple times, but I never thought anything of it. If you look out my shop windows long enough, you'll see just about everyone in Sea Harbor."

"Speaking of people hanging out around your shop." Nell paused and pointed across the street to the front door of the knitting studio.

Izzy started to laugh, and then she and Nell crossed the street to the shop.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" Izzy asked.

Sam Perry sat on the front step, two duffel bags, a cardboard box of books, and several camera cases piled on the step beside him. His long legs were stretched out across the sidewalk, and his elbows rested on the step above. Orange Top-Siders brought attention to a pair of long feet, and an angled Sox cap and sunglasses kept the early-morning sun out of his eyes.

"Good morning, ladies," Sam said, his face breaking into a smile. "I thought you'd never get here. Shouldn't a knitting shop be open by now?" He glanced at his watch, an exaggerated frown creasing his forehead.

"Geez, Sam, it's eight a.m.," Izzy said. "I'm only here because Nell and I are going to finish up her scarf before the store opens."

"Well, here's the thing. You told me I could move in today." Sam lifted himself up from the step and stood beside her. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head.

"
Today
has barely begun, Sam. Hold this." Izzy thrust her coffee cup into his hand and fumbled in her large bag for a set of keys.

Sam took a drink of the latte and wrinkled his nose. "Don't they have just plain coffee around here?"

Nell sighed. "You and Ben. Give him a Dunkin' Donuts coffee any day. He's hopeless."

Sam held the door open for Izzy and Nell, then grabbed his camera bags and followed them inside. "Just give me the keys, Iz, and I'll be out of your hair."

"Don't be so macho. We'll help you get that stuff upstairs."

Together the three of them collected Sam's belongings and made their way out the back door and up the steps to the apartment. Nell paused at the top step, suddenly afraid to move. She'd found too many surprises on the other side of that door since Angie died. And she didn't want to face another.

But Izzy didn't hesitate, and turning the new key in the polished brass lock, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. She and Nell had left the windows open a crack, a gesture Ben and Sam had not understood and protested loudly. But Izzy and Nell felt an intense desire to rid the rooms of any scent or reminder of the unknown person who had torn the rooms apart with such abandon.

Fresh air helped enormously.

Nell smiled. The rooms were clean and airy, and ready for Sam. She and Izzy had made the bed before leaving last night. Except for refilling the refrigerator, all was ready.

Sam set his camera bags down near the couch and walked around the room, opening windows. "I love this place," he said. He walked into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and peering into the empty interior as if he'd lived there for years. Then he closed it and smiled. "I feel good about being here, good vibes. Thanks, Izzy."

Izzy stood still, holding the ring of keys. She smiled.