Murder in Merino (15 page)

Jane appeared beside her, her long skirt creating a breeze. “Coleslaw time,” she announced, and took the heavy bowl from the refrigerator. Nell turned the oven on to low.

Time to warm up the apple pie.

In minutes the outdoor table was lined with pizza and plates and bowls for Jane’s juicy slaw. Nell lit a row of hurricane lamps while Birdie uncorked more wine. It was going to be buffet, Nell declared. Although most Friday nights were spent sitting around the old deck table, shoulders touching, voices overlapping and tangling and layered on top of one another, tonight called for moving around. There were too many emotions hovering in the night air and she didn’t want anyone to feel trapped. A comfortable chaise or overstuffed wicker chair with room to spread out would be fine.

The pizza was as good as Harry claimed, and Jane’s coleslaw a perfect match, much to nearly everyone’s surprise. The jalapeno and fresh ginger added the perfect tang to the dressing; the radishes, carrots, and scallions gave a nice crunch to the slivered cabbage. “A success,” Birdie declared, and Jane said, “Of course.”

Nell was in and out, slicing additional pizzas, refilling wineglasses.

She paused at the doorway, taking in the activity around the deck.

Willow and Pete seemed to have adopted Jules, pulling her into a conversation with Ham Brewster about his and Jane’s early years as Berkeley hippies.

Jules was quieter than Nell had seen her be in the preceding days, the days before her life had changed. The days when she happily met strangers on Harbor Road, charmed shopkeepers with her smile, jogged through town in the early morning, unaware of the male admirers watching her from behind the windows of the deli or coffee shop. When she seemed to have her life under control.

Nell wondered what she was thinking now that she’d lost at least some of that control. Sometimes even people proclaiming their innocence were sent to prison.

How would Jules weather this storm?

On another side of the deck, close to where Nell stood, Ben and Izzy were doing the unthinkable: asking Danny how his next book was coming along. Danny’s good nature took the question all writers dread hearing in stride, and then he told Ben he owed him another martini. “Immediately would be good,” he added.

There was laughter and serious talk. And the quiet swaying of shoulders on the deck when Aretha Franklin’s unstoppable voice took over their senses with her “Soul Serenade.”

From everything Nell could see, Jules had been accepted into their gathering. Even Cass’s chill had warmed a degree, although she kept her distance from the newcomer, and from Danny, too.

By the time Birdie brought out the warm pie, the night sky was studded with stars and the mood was as mellow as the breeze.

Nell looked around at the candlelit faces of the people she trusted and loved and walked over to Ben’s side. He stood at the portable bar, handing out brandies or coffee, water or small glasses of juice.

“A nice evening,” she murmured.

“An unexpected one,” he said, watching her watch the others.

“The lull before the storm?” Nell’s eyes went from group to group, reading their faces, their eyes, trying to see into their souls. “Do they believe Jules?”

His arm went up around her shoulders and she could feel Ben’s heart, the gentle beat, the deep breathing.

Jules was slightly removed from the others, sitting off to the side, her face unreadable.

“Do you?” Ben asked.

Around the deck a few people got up from their chairs and began collecting pie plates and coffee mugs.

“Yes.”

“Yes,” Ben agreed, reading her face. “Yes, but . . .”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? Yes, but if she didn’t do it, who did?”

N
ell carried a carafe of coffee and a plate of cinnamon toast across the backyard to the guesthouse. The cottage faced what the locals called the Endicott Woods—a thick acre of pine, birch, and maple trees that separated the back of the property from the beach road. A path, worn smooth by generations of children and neighbors taking a shortcut to the beach, wound through the woods.

Although Jules had mentioned that she was usually up with the birds, it was only the sound of birds that greeted Nell as she walked around to the front of the cottage. The front window was open a crack with the curtains pulled back, and she looked in. On the small table beneath the window, a white card was propped up against a vase of flowers on the dining table.

Nell knocked, then opened the door. Inside, all was bright and airy, skylights painting rectangles of light on the old pine floor. A white slipcovered chair near the corner windows held an open book, and the light beside the high four-poster bed was still on, signs of life. The guesthouse was a cozy, welcoming haven, a quiet spot away from the noisy Endicott clan, who had gathered there for decades each summer. And it continued to be exactly that. Nell suspected it had been the perfect place for Jules to be last night.

Jules’s note was gracious, written on the thick stationery Nell left in the desk for guests to use. Tiny embossed shells decorated the corner. She’d gone for a very early run with a friend—her therapy, she wrote in parentheses. But she would be back to properly thank them for their generous hospitality and the best night’s sleep she had had in many days.

It was signed
Affectionately, Jules
.

•   •   •

It wasn’t until she met up with Izzy, Birdie, and Cass on Merry Jackson’s deck later that morning that Nell wondered who Jules was meeting. She was happy that friends had already become a part of Jules’s days in Sea Harbor. It was what the town was all about and something Jules could certainly use right now.

“How is she?” Izzy asked as she made room for Nell on the bench beside her. Birdie echoed concern and even Cass threw out a caring comment. She understood probably better than any of them what Jules was going through.

Nell repeated Jules’s message and said they’d talked little after everyone left the night before. Jules was exhausted. They were in a wait-and-see mode, according to Ben, but he would be getting in touch with attorney friends who might be able to represent Jules if she was formally charged.

“Murder, geesh,” Cass said. “This is a mess. It’s gone on too long.”

Nell agreed. She looked around the deck to see who might be sitting nearby. They often met at Merry’s place on Saturday mornings when the weather was nice. Usually the deck was nearly empty at this time of day, one thing they liked about it. At noon it would be filled with people craving Merry’s burgers and at night it rocked, with area bands performing and Merry’s wall of beer bottles meeting everyone’s taste.

But in the morning hours, the owner didn’t mind if people just came and sat, watching the fog burn off the harbor. Sit, gossip, work on laptops, knit. Merry was fine with any agenda, even those that didn’t include coffee and her homemade granola. Today Izzy and Cass had claimed a table beneath one of the trees that grew up through carved-out holes in the old wooden deck.

But it was always good practice to check out the other tables, a practice that often dictated the flow of the conversation—what to say or not to say, when to keep some things to a whisper. Nell spotted Danny Brandley, and realized with a start that she was happy he was there, and not the friend who was running with Jules. He was sitting at his usual table, tucked away in a corner on the ocean side, right beside the back stairs that led down to an uneven dock that the artists claimed as their own. The coffee break dock, Ham Brewster called it.

Danny was staring at his laptop screen, a large mug of coffee next to it. His writer’s expression was intense behind his glasses. She waved at him, but suspected he wasn’t aware of other living people as he hammered out another chapter or played with a plot.

Several artists waved at them as they gulped down coffee and picked up Merry’s granola-to-go, then hurried back to their galleries to prepare for serious Saturday business. Merry appeared, one blond braid swinging between her narrow shoulder blades. Four coffee mugs hung from the fingers of one hand, and in the other the spirited owner carried a carafe of hot coffee. “Here you go, friends. I’ll be back for gossip later. Have to take a new batch of granola from the oven.” She waved and was off across the deck before they had a chance to say hello.

Izzy took the carafe and filled their mugs with coffee, then pulled out a skein of orange yarn and the beginnings of a pumpkin hat she was making for Abby. She looked at Birdie. “What do you think of Jules?” she asked. The sudden question startled them all to attention.

“That’s a layered question,” Birdie said carefully. “Are you asking me if I believe her when she says she didn’t kill Jeffrey Meara and that someone planted that garden glove in her car?” She reached down and took a half-finished pair of socks from her bag. Her purse project, she called it—soft and completely portable. These were for her granddaughter Gabby, stripes of orange and green and pink in soft sock yarn.

“I guess that’s one of the layers.” Izzy looked around at the others. “It’s the one question that floated around in the air last night. I think each of us was trying to read one another’s mind. Did we buy her story? And if so, why? That glove was probably worn by the murderer. That’s serious stuff.”

“I believe her,” Birdie said. She looked at Izzy. “I believe that’s layer number two.”

Izzy nodded. “I believe her, too. I’m not sure why. But I do.”

Cass thrummed her fingers on the table. She looked across the deck at Danny, then back again.

Nell watched her thoughtful face. Cass was honest through and through, a trait that sometimes caused her great grief in a business where poachers were plentiful and lobster traps pilfered, where lines might be cut one day and the truth clouded over easily.

“Yeah,” Cass said finally. “I don’t think she did it. She might be guilty of other things, but not murdering Jeffrey Meara. I’m not sure why I believe her, either, but there it is, for what it’s worth.”

“If we knew more about her, we might not only believe her but be more sympathetic,” Nell said. “And if we’re going to help her out of this mess, maybe that’s the first thing we need to do.”

Cass cleared her throat to get attention and Nell looked up.

Jules Ainsley and Rebecca Early were walking up the steps to the deck, both in running gear and hair held back with wide headbands. Together, they were striking—the flyaway, dark-haired Jules, oblivious to her looks, and Rebecca Early, her platinum hair smooth as glass and nearly blinding in the morning sunlight. She looked around and spotted the table littered with yarn, nudged Jules and pointed, and together they headed toward the table.

The blown-glass artist had come to Sea Harbor several years before and had barely set up Lampworks Gallery when she began winning awards for her amazing pieces. It was Nell’s favorite place to shop for birthday and holiday gifts, and over the years she had become fond of the platinum-haired woman, too, even though her temperament sometimes put her at odds with others working in Canary Cove. She was simply opinionated, Ben said. And certainly nice to look at.

Today, in running shorts and a bright pink Lululemon Bitty Bracer, Rebecca was turning heads. And, unlike the woman beside her wiping away the perspiration from her forehead, she was enjoying the attention.

“It’s time for Jules to try Merry’s homemade granola,” Rebecca announced. “She needs to eat better.” Her words came out in starts and stops as she caught her breath. She looked at Jules. “Okay, I’m off to shower and open the gallery. The granola is on its way—you need the protein right now.” She paused, then said softly, “You’ll call me if you need anything?”

Nell heard the concern in her voice and watched Jules nod as Rebecca headed across the deck. Though younger than Jules by a few years, Rebecca had clearly taken charge, and her concern for Jules’s plight was nice to see.

“How did you sleep?” Nell scooted over on the bench so Jules could sit down.

Before she could answer, Merry appeared with granola, a spoon, and another cup of coffee. “You’ll love it, Jules,” she said, and hurried off.

“I didn’t think I would sleep much. But that breeze off the water and the most amazing bed I’ve ever slept in were pure tonic. Images of police warrants and garden gloves flew out the window the instant I hit those down pillows.”

“That’s good—and not a surprise,” Birdie said. “Nell’s little cottage has magical powers.”

Jules’s smile was weak, and the sleep she claimed to have gotten didn’t erase the exhaustion in her eyes. “I need some magic,” she said, fiddling with her necklace chain. The tiny embossed seashell on the charm would be rubbed smooth soon if things didn’t settle down. The confident woman who had jogged the streets of Sea Harbor and put strangers under the spell of her smile had been swallowed whole in less than a day. Even finding Jeffrey’s dead body hadn’t done to her what a garden glove had accomplished.

They heard Danny’s voice before they saw him. “Any coffee left in that carafe?” An empty mug appeared next to Birdie’s shoulder.

She patted the bench beside her. “Sit with us, Danny.” She filled his mug while he swung one long leg over the bench, straddling it. He dropped his backpack on the floor and looked across the table at Jules. “How are you feeling today?”

“Unraveled,” she said quietly, her dark brows lifting with her words.

“Sure,” Danny said. “Stands to reason.”

“I came here with such good intentions, and now here I am, a mess. So that’s how I feel, as if my life has become a messy ball of yarn.”

“What were those good intentions?” Nell asked. Her voice was soft, unthreatening, but holding a question they’d all been reluctant to ask. “Most people come to Sea Harbor to relax, to enjoy the beaches, the ocean, the sea air. Why did you come?”

Danny’s eyes remained on Jules’s, holding her to Nell’s question. She returned his gaze, almost as if asking his opinion. Then she nodded, as if it were time she took charge of her own intentions—especially with people who had offered her support.

“I came here to find out who I really am. I came here to find my father,” she said.