Murder in Merino (3 page)

N
ell carried the image of Danny and Julia Ainsley with her to the market. She picked through the beans, wondering about the conversation. The two figures, standing there, their bodies leaning in toward each other. They had looked like old friends—the sandy-haired mystery writer and the long-legged runner—sharing something important. Something
intimate
.

Cass had been upset, that was clear. She and Danny were close—closer than Cass had allowed herself to be with any man. Her independent streak had been remarkably softened by the mystery writer, causing Cass’s Irish mother to light even more vigil lights at Our Lady of Safe Seas in her relentless pursuit of grandchildren.

Nell pushed her cart down the produce aisle in the busy store, trying to imagine Ben in an intimate conversation with a beautiful woman, someone she didn’t know well, maybe not at all. She dropped several tomatoes and peppers into the cart and moved slowly down toward the lettuce, the odd scenario playing out in her mind like a movie.

And then she stopped short, her hands tight on the handle rung. What was she thinking? She and Ben were about to celebrate forty years of marriage, but for that split second Nell had felt an uncomfortable pang. An emotion that made her want to confront the imaginary woman, made her want to look her squarely in the eyes and tell her that Ben—
her
Ben—was her best friend, her lover, her husband of decades. She wanted to tell her to go away.

So silly!
she thought, and held back an embarrassed half smile at the crazy sensation that had taken hold of her, then left just as quickly. Yes, silly for her, but maybe not so silly for Cass, who had only recently been open about her feelings for Danny and was suddenly faced with Julia Ainsley—bright and beautiful and with that confident glow that many women around forty exhibited. No matter how innocent the encounter on Harbor Road had been, it was not something Cass would take lightly.

“The asparagus is great today. The manager is buying from a local farm over near Rockport.”

Nell pulled herself from her thoughts and smiled into the face of Karen Hanson. She was holding up a bundle of slender green asparagus.

“You caught me daydreaming, Karen—sorry.” She pushed away the curious sensation that her thoughts might have spilled directly out of her head and were hanging there, right in front of the lettuce and tomatoes, for everyone to see. Including the mayor’s wife.

“Don’t apologize for daydreaming. I do it frequently.”

“You probably have it down to a fine art. I would if I had to attend all the dinners and events you and Stan get invited to.”

“Yes, there’s that—lots of fried-chicken dinners in campaigning, at least in this campaign.” She glanced over Nell’s shoulder, then took a step closer and lowered her voice. “I believe in the democratic process, but campaigns were easier when Stan was only running against himself. Madame Scaglia is a challenge.”

The edge to her voice caused Nell to turn and look across the aisle. Beatrice Scaglia, dressed in heels and a fitted orange-and-pink dress and jacket, stood nearby. Her eyes were focused on bins of lettuce and fennel and ripe tomatoes, but her body language seemed more tuned in to picking up conversations around her, particularly Karen and Nell’s.

“She’s putting her heart and soul into beating Stan,” Karen said. “Although ‘heart’ may be a misnomer in this case.” Her jaw was set, her fingers wrapped tightly around a set of car keys.

At that moment Beatrice lifted her head and, as if surprised to see her, greeted Nell with a broad smile and a friendly hello. She ignored Karen Hanson.

Karen disregarded the snub and dropped a bag of lemons into her cart. Her understated slacks, silk blouse, and diamond stud earrings were the direct opposite of Beatrice’s attire, piece for piece. Karen’s appearance spoke of old money; Beatrice’s glittery earrings, expensive heels, and bright-colored attire called out for attention.

“It goes with the territory, I suppose,” Nell said to Karen, slightly surprised at Beatrice’s behavior.

But the look on Karen’s face showed little concern with Beatrice’s manners. Instead, the usually mild-mannered woman’s expression surprised Nell. The public smile was gone and in its place Nell saw a confident woman up for a fight—one she was sure she’d win.

They watched Beatrice move down the grocery aisle, smiling at other shoppers along the way as she campaigned her way to the bakery department.

“Beatrice can ignore me all she wants,” Karen muttered. “But a single word against Stan and she will be gone. I won’t stand for that.”

“I don’t think she would do that,” Nell said. But her words were hollow, spoken more to soften Beatrice’s rudeness to Karen. Beatrice was ambitious—a fact everyone in Sea Harbor was aware of. She’d been on the city council forever and desperately wanted to put Stan Hanson out of office.

What Beatrice would do to win an election was anyone’s guess.

“On to more pleasant things,” Karen said. “I’ve been helping Mary Pisano liven up some rooms in her bed-and-breakfast—I noticed when we had guests stay there how shabby it was looking. I’m ordering some things that will help.”

Karen Siegel Hanson’s grandfather had invested a fortune in high-end furniture stores that catered to the very wealthy—and had doubled the family fortune. As the only remaining heir, Karen dabbled in the business herself when the spirit moved her. “We’ll have it looking better in time for the party,” she said carefully.

Nell laughed. “The anniversary party, I guess you mean. You know, she’s using you, Karen. Who would have more connections than the mayor’s wife to help her with the event? But you need to know it’s not exactly what Ben and I had planned.”

“I know, I know.” Karen stopped Nell’s words with a shake of her head. “Mary sometimes inserts herself into things. But actually, she’s right, Nell. You shouldn’t have to plan your own anniversary party.”

“It doesn’t seem I have a choice. But since you’ve been recruited to help, I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course.”

“Mary listens to you. Please restrain her and keep this thing simple. Ben and I refuse to have a fancy, elegant party—it’s not who we are. It didn’t really need planning to start with.”

“You have my word. I will keep her in check. It’s something I’m very good at. I practice on my husband daily.”

They had neared the front of the store and looked up to see Beatrice handing a balloon to a little boy.

Karen watched her husband’s competition in silence, her chin set and her eyes steely. Then she looked at Nell, lifted one brow, and whispered, “I don’t suppose I have control over the guest list for your party, do I? There are definitely some people I’d happily eliminate.”

•   •   •

The weatherman predicted an evening that would be almost sinfully beautiful, and Ben had gone all out with his fish for the Endicotts’ weekly dinner on the deck. The salmon he’d brought home was truly majestic.
King
salmon, Ben announced.

“It might be our last fresh salmon before winter,” he said, pulling it out of the refrigerator.

“It’s gorgeous, Ben—and there’s enough to feed at least half of Sea Harbor.” Nell absently whisked wine into the ginger and brown sugar marinade, mentally planning the salad she’d make with the leftovers the next day.

“Any idea who’s coming?” Ben asked.

“Oh, who knows? Izzy and Sam will be here—they know I need my daily Abigail fix. Cass said she would be here. She wasn’t sure about Danny. Birdie, of course. And I don’t think Jane and Ham have ever missed a Friday night since Ham talked you into doing it. Pete’s Fractured Fish band has a gig tonight, so he and Willow won’t be here.” Nell poured a thin stream of olive oil into the pan, mentally going through a list of friends and neighbors. “I don’t know about the Wootens.”

Friday-night dinner at the Endicotts’ was an open invitation, with the regulars nearly always there and sometimes neighbors or friends Ben or Nell happened to run into that day.
Come one, come all
was the standing mantra.

Ben took a drink of iced tea, then pulled his grilling tools from a lower cabinet. “Sam and I were washing down the boat this afternoon and Jules Ainsley jogged by. She’s a friendly gal, even offered to help us out. Before we knew it, she was checking the hull and engine cases and discovered some rust we’d missed. Impressive. She used to sail on Lake Michigan, she said. Anyway, we invited her to drop by tonight if she didn’t have plans. I told her Birdie lived right across from the B and B and she could hitch a ride with her if she wanted to. She was gracious but didn’t commit.”

Julia Ainsley again
. Nell’s mind went back to the scene at Coffee’s and the look on Cass Halloran’s face. She lifted the pot off the stove and set it on a hot pad.
She knits, she’s smart, she’s beautiful . . . and she sails
. Nell held her silence.

“I think she’ll fit right in with our friends,” Ben said, talking over his shoulder as he moved to the liquor cabinet in the family room. The Endicotts’ kitchen and family room flowed together, making a comfortable, bright, and airy space. They’d done the remodeling when Ben inherited the house from his parents, and this area—the whole back section of the house—was a dream come true for Nell. Her ideal kitchen and family room, with space for friends to help cut and stir, gather in groups, play music, and sit around the stone fireplace on cold winter nights.

Ben took the martini glasses from the cabinet and lined them up on a tray.

“I don’t know her well,” Nell said. “But she seems to be everything you said—and attractive, for sure.”

“
A looker
, as one of the kids down at the dock put it. He guessed her age at thirty—a decade off, she said.”

The infectious sound of a baby’s laugh preceded Abigail Kathleen Perry into the room, stopping all talk.

Sam swung Abby’s infant seat with one hand, and with each swing the baby’s high squeals filled the air.

Nell wiped her hands on a dishcloth and hurried toward her grandniece, leaving all thoughts of Jules Ainsley behind.

Izzy followed, carrying a basket with loaves of French bread peeking out from beneath a checkered cloth. Bringing up the rear was Red, Abigail’s constant companion and bodyguard. The golden retriever seemed to have recaptured his youth with the baby’s arrival. He left her side long enough to bound around the room, accepting everyone’s pats, then dutifully returned to Abby, now cuddled in Nell’s arms.

Cass and Danny, carrying a covered pan, arrived next, with Jane and Ham Brewster following in Danny’s sweet-smelling trail.

“What do I smell?” Jane asked, depositing a fresh salad on the island and sidling up to Danny. “My nose tells me it’s magnificent and will add an inch to my waistline.”

“Apple crisp. I picked the apples over at Russell Orchards. You’ll love it, Janie.”

He leaned over and gave the artist a hug, something people seemed to do automatically to Jane Brewster. She and Ham were onetime hippies who had come upon Sea Harbor by accident in the early seventies and never left. The Endicotts’ closest friends, the two artists had single-handedly founded Canary Cove, the art colony that hugged the shores of Sea Harbor, and their largesse had given many young artists their start.

“Of course I’ll love it.” She looked around and spotted Nell. “And now it’s my turn with that baby, Nell.” Jane hugged Abby close to her pleasantly ample breasts, then danced the blue-eyed baby to the opposite end of the family room and the Bose dock, where in minutes she’d be twirling Abby to a Beatles or Billy Joel or Joni Mitchell tune.

Nell looked around for Cass. She was out on the deck with Ben, sticking toothpicks into olives as Ben prepared a batch of his martinis. Nell watched them for a minute, the image pleasing her, as it always did. Cass found comfort in Ben’s presence, even when she wasn’t seeking advice for her lobster company or about an inheritance, or needing help towing a truck. Nell suspected Ben somehow filled a void in Cass, one created when her own fisherman father was killed at sea. She wondered absently whether Cass was seeking comfort now—or simply helping Ben make drinks for the group and poke coals to life.

Danny walked up behind her. “Seen Cass?”

Nell nodded toward the open doors to the deck.

Danny looked outside. “She seems to disappear from my presence quickly these days. I think something’s on her mind.” The sandy-haired writer had finally resorted to wearing glasses, and he fiddled with the stem now, his eyes on Cass.

The glasses only added to his looks, a fact not lost on a whole parade of Sea Harbor single women. Perhaps Jules Ainsley had also joined that club. But the good news was that it was clear to Nell that Danny had no idea why Cass was acting strange. And surely that signified a man without guilt. They sometimes joked about Danny’s being oblivious, his thoughts elsewhere—solving a murder or planting red herrings in his head, all fodder for a future book. Even though he had certainly seen the seamy side of life when he was a prize-winning reporter, he approached people openly and kindly and with great interest. He had probably bumped into Jules Ainsley the same way Sam and Ben had at the yacht club. Or Harry Garozzo had in front of his deli. Or any of them, for that matter. Jules was friendly. They were making mountains out of molehills.

At that moment the front screen door blew open and shut and Birdie breezed into the room, a gigantic bowl of a sweet-smelling quinoa salad in her arms. “From Ella, of course—not me. My dear housekeeper is going all healthy on me, insisting on things like kale and quinoa and what have you. You’ll love it, Nell. You, too, Isabel. And I will learn to like it.” She allowed Sam to take it from her. “Even our sweet angel Abby will love it, once it reaches her via her mom.”

Nell half expected Jules to be following Birdie into the room. She released a sigh of relief that her friend was alone.

Sam noticed, too, and asked whether Birdie had heard from her neighbor across the road. “Ben and I thought Jules Ainsley might be coming with you.”

“Jules? Mary’s guest? Oh, dear. Was I supposed to invite her? I swear, this head of mine must be shrinking. It doesn’t hold as much—though you ask me what my Sonny and I did fifty years ago and I’ll be able to tell you down to the wine we drank.” Her tiny frame moved with laughter.