Charlie and Nell sat in near silence on the drive home, processing separately what they’d seen. Or heard.
They’d waited on the trail just long enough to know there was nothing they could do to help, and that making their presence known would be intruding on a fiercely private moment. Then they had quietly turned and walked back to the car and driven off. Only when they were well on their way to drop the others off did Charlie turn and tell Izzy, Cass, and Birdie what they’d seen.
Or what they thought they’d seen.
“Someone was crying at Ellie’s grave?” Izzy repeated.
“Who?”
“It was dark,” Charlie said. “And we only saw the back. Everyone kinda looks alike in the winter anyway. Big jackets. Hoods. Hats.”
Nell was silent. The sound still echoed in her head. It had been raw and frightening, and she worked with it now, trying to interpret it. Grief and anger, the deep anguish of guilt or sin—strong emotions sometimes collided and twisted together. They were often difficult to separate.
She turned into Birdie’s circle drive and idled near the front door.
“Nell, you couldn’t tell who it was, either?” Cass said. “You should have sent Birdie to look. She knows everyone.”
“With these eyes I might have mistaken him for Ellie’s tombstone,” she said, climbing out of the car. She waved good-bye, said she’d go get gussied up and see them in a couple of hours, and disappeared up the steps.
• • •
After dropping off Cass and Izzy, Nell and Charlie headed up Sandswept Lane.
Nell was relieved to see the house lit up; Ben sometimes overdid it, but tonight the glow inside warmed her before she even opened the door.
Charlie headed for the guest cottage, promising to meet them later.
Nell waved him off, then glanced at her phone as she walked through the door. An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
Nell answered to hear the friendly voice of Georgia, the nurse they’d met earlier that day at Ocean View.
“I hope you don’t mind the call,” Georgia said. “I got your number from Carly Schultz and needed to get something off my mind.”
Nell assured her it was fine, but Georgia’s tone puzzled her.
“I didn’t mention this today, but I had talked to Amber Harper when she came to Ocean View. I recognized her right away. She looked a lot like sweet Ellie.”
She went on then, quickly, as if her break was about to be over and she needed to get something out.
“I’m worried that I might have caused her distress, or encouraged her in a way I shouldn’t have. But no one was paying attention to her, answering any questions—probably because they didn’t have any answers. I might not have had any answers, either, but I had an opinion and I shared it with her. I was on duty the night that Ellie died. I checked on her at eight o’clock that night. Her color was good, her breathing, her vital signs. In fact, she seemed in better shape than she had a couple weeks earlier, when she looked a little sallow. So I told Amber what I told the doctor and the director, the priest—and anyone else who asked me about that night. I told her that her mother was in fine shape—for Ellie, anyway. And that I agreed with her that there was no reason her mother should have died.”
Nell’s mouth dropped open, but before she could say anything in response, Georgia thanked her for listening, then politely excused herself, saying she had to get back to work and hung up.
• • •
Ben was on a call when Nell finally took off her coat. She was glad for the opportunity to collect herself, to jump in the shower, and to be alone for a few minutes as she tried to process Georgia’s call.
At first she wasn’t clear on what the nurse’s message was. But as water sprayed down on her face, she replayed it in her head without her own emotions intruding. It was something she sometimes found difficult to do.
Georgia’s only regret in speaking openly with Amber seemed to be that she might have caused her distress. Could she have? Charlie had talked about Amber becoming obsessed with her mother’s death, and she wondered briefly if Georgia’s talk might have contributed to that obsession. Opinions can be bolstered by numbers, certainly. And if she had done that, it was clear the nurse was sad—and sorry. Nell hoped that the nurse would forget about the incident—she certainly had nothing to do with Amber’s being killed.
But her call had added clarity to what might well have ended Ellie’s daughter’s life.
• • •
From downstairs she heard the sounds of Ben shaking a martini. She glanced at the bedside clock. Good planning. They’d have a little quiet time together—before a not so quiet evening. She dried her hair, dressed quickly in a soft blue dress, and hurried down the back stairs.
“What’s all this?” Ben greeted her, motioning to the things littering the island. “A man can barely make a martini in the middle of this mess.” He kissed her on the cheek.
“You’ll manage.” Nell kissed him back.
“Hmm,” Ben said, then handed her a martini and pulled out a stool for each of them. “I suspect there are things sitting here that we need to talk about?”
Nell looked at the box and realized suddenly that she didn’t know where to start. So much had happened. But Ben Endicott was the best listener in the world, and now and then, he even had the amazing ability to straighten out strands of purple yarn.
Nell pointed to the yellow pad and the summary sheet Cass had given each of them and started in. She’d taken the big stack home for Danny to see, but would bring it over the next day for Ben to take a look at.
When Nell had finished, Ben had a look of quiet disbelief on his face.
“I don’t know how to reply to all this, what to say first. You’ve covered a lot of ground today.”
“Ground” didn’t begin to describe it in Nell’s mind.
“Nellie—” he began, a familiar look appearing in his eyes.
She nodded. “It’s okay, Ben. Don’t worry. We’re not going to get hurt. That’s already been done.”
Ben swirled the liquid in his glass. He glanced over at Cass’s notes. “Do you think Amber’s next step before she was killed was to confront the Cummingses about what she’d found? Maybe take this to the police?”
“I don’t know. She almost seemed to lose interest once she’d figured it out and moved on to something else. I think it was more than that. There was a reason she became so interested in Ocean View.
“Amber was goal-oriented,” Nell went on. “We thought all along that walking in her footsteps would lead us to her murderer. And I think that’s what is happening. The problem is she walked to two different places and we’ve been trying to find the connection between the two. We’re getting close, but maybe not in the way we thought.” She paused and considered her words. Maybe not in the way we thought. Of course. That’s exactly it.
She shook her head. It happened like this so often—just thinking out loud to Ben made something that had seemed murky to her earlier suddenly become crystal clear in the telling.
Ben looked over at the box that held Ellie Harper’s material possessions. And a lot more. It was a whole story in a box.
“Ben.” Nell pulled his attention back to the yellow pad. “Do you think what Amber discovered at Cummings Northshore would be a motive for murder?”
Ben nursed his martini for a while, thinking of the company he’d known to be strong and solvent and successful. The accounting problems had been a surprise. The reasons for them an even bigger one.
Finally he said, “A motive? Maybe. Do I think that’s why she was murdered?”
They both thought of what that meant. And who the players were.
“These findings show that there is something going on over there that shouldn’t be. It’s definitely troublesome. But it’s not clear how it would all pan out.”
“So,” Nell said.
Ben laughed. “So what you’re asking me to do, Nellie, is to concur with you. You already know what you think. And you probably know what I think, and you knew it even before we began this back-and-forth.”
“Of course,” she said. The comfort of knowing Ben’s thoughts and inclinations matched hers was dimmed only by the fact that they still didn’t have all the panels matched up. But they were only one small stitch away.
• • •
Ben went out to heat up the car while Nell put on her coat and gloves.
As she clicked off the lights and walked out to the car, she realized she hadn’t mentioned the man at Ellie’s grave site to Ben.
She stood with her hand on the car door for a minute, glancing up at the sliver of moon. The same moon that had lighted the way to Ellie’s grave a few hours earlier. She remembered the sound, hearing it all over again, the awful anguish that echoed in her head.
Maybe she hadn’t said anything to Ben because it was too hard to describe.
But maybe it was because she simply wasn’t ready to talk about it.
No matter how dark and cold it was, Nell was certain about whom she had seen kneeling at Ellie Harper’s grave.
And finally, at last, she understood who had killed Amber Harper—and why.
• • •
They solved the parking problem by texting Danny and Sam that they could all park in the alley next to Izzy’s yarn shop. The redbrick historical museum was just across Harbor Road and a short walk through the small corner park.
“We certainly clean up nicely,” Birdie said, stepping out of the backseat of Danny’s car. She looked admiringly at Cass’s slinky, short dress. “You won’t catch many lobsters in that, Catherine.”
“Or maybe she will?” Danny said, his eyes doing a Groucho Marx imitation.
Izzy and Sam drove up a few minutes later, pulling up next to Archie’s bookstore. “Sitter problems,” Sam explained. “Izzy had forgotten to run the sitter’s résumé past Homeland Security.”
Izzy smiled smugly, knowing her husband was very impressed with the fact that she’d transformed her tired, frumpy body into a tall, shapely one in a holiday red blouse and formfitting skirt. “I look great,” she’d said to him. “And I know it. Eat your heart out, Sam Chambers.”
Charlie stood next to Sam, laughing the hardest. Getting to know a grown-up sister was even more fun than he had imagined it could be.
Nell watched them all, enjoying their antics and glad they had come. No matter what they were wearing, she thought, or how tired they were, this might be exactly what they needed. A touch of Christmas. One evening of setting aside what they knew to be true: that a murderer was about to be taken off the streets.
But in the process lives would be turned upside down.
And when she pulled Birdie, Cass, and Izzy aside, and they walked together through the small park so close that people thought they were trying to keep warm, Nell told them the whole truth about the figure at the grave site that day.
• • •
Like so many homes on Cape Ann, the Sea Harbor Historical Museum had been built a century before for a wealthy sea captain. Over the years it had been many things before finally being added to the historic registry and resuming its Colonial roots. It now housed exhibits, an impressive library, staff offices, and a paneled hall for events, where tonight’s party would be held.
“It’s a Christmas jewel,” Birdie said, looking up at the electric candles in each window and the garlands that circled the pillars beside the door.
Two college-aged girls dressed in elf costumes opened the double doors and welcomed them inside.
Immediately they were swallowed up in the fairyland the committee had created—a giant tree that reached nearly to the ceiling, filled with lights and ornaments. Instead of bringing toys to the event, everyone filled out donation cards to purchase new toys and placed them on the tree—already heavy with the red and green envelopes.
Passing out the cards were Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, sitting in red velvet chairs and looking every bit the regal beneficent pair. The gentle and congenial Gibsons. Nell laughed and she and Birdie immediately headed over to Esther, not nearly as anonymous as she thought she was in her well-used costume.
“How did you know it was me?” she said as Nell leaned over and gave her a hug.
Birdie answered. “Maybe because you’ve worn the same Mrs. Claus dress at every Christmas event for the last twenty years, my dear?” She turned to Richard and gave him a hug, then frowned. “Santa, that beard has to go. It smells like mothballs. Surely you can afford a new one.”
Richard laughed heartily, practicing his ho-ho-hos.
And then Nell had a niggling thought—a piece of the yarn that hadn’t been woven into the whole quite snugly enough. Intuition had given them an answer that afternoon, but knowing it factually would tighten the stitch. And, as Izzy often said, criminals weren’t convicted on women’s intuition. Maybe they should be, but it didn’t often stand up in court.
“Speaking of money,” she said. “I hope we didn’t ruin your poker game the other day.”
“How can you ruin a poker game? I robbed Alan blind—eighteen dollars and fifty-two cents. And then he turned around and robbed me right back. Claire and Esther gave up on us.”
Nell and Birdie laughed.
“So, how does family room poker compare to the Reno casinos? That’s big-time, Richard,” Nell said.
Esther broke in. “It’s the redeeming piece in all of this poker and slots and blackjack thing. We go twice a year, something we can only do because one of Richard’s local casino buddies lets us use his place. It’s a small world, Nell.” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Always assume someone you know is around the corner because they probably are. Imagine, finding someone from Sea Harbor right there in Reno.”
Esther described the house and its generous owner, and said it was a wonderful opportunity. They should all go together sometime. They might even want to try the slots.
And the house is magnificent, Esther said: four bedrooms and three baths. And an amazing deck that overlooks the mountains and is close to their favorite casino. Imagine that.
Imagine that. Nell felt another piece of the puzzle slip into place. It landed with such an echoing thud she was sure Esther and Richard must have heard it.
The stitch was pulled tight. And without asking, though Esther called it out to them as they walked away, they knew who owned the magnificent home. “Friends of yours,” Esther said, who would be happy to have them as guests, even if they didn’t like the casinos all that much.
Nell and Birdie bottled up the conversation and carried it across the room where the well-dressed elves were now passing out tiny sausage and shrimp puffs and champagne. Nell wasn’t shocked or even completely surprised at Esther’s revelation, nor was Birdie.
But they at least understood a “why” that had been floating around for days. Although Esther and Richard, Claire, and Alan Hamilton played poker for eighteen dollars and fifty-two cents, for others it could be a dangerous addiction. An addiction that could ruin people’s lives—or make them do unsavory things to pay their gambling debts. It was something people sometimes died from—or even killed for.
While Birdie went off to greet an old neighbor, Nell stood alone, enjoying the quiet in the middle of a jovial, noisy crowd. Sometimes it was the best kind of quiet, being surrounded by noise and not being a part of it.
She noticed Barbara Cummings, her red tailored suit a nod to the season, standing beneath one of many sprigs of mistletoe that hung from the ceiling. Several women, including Mrs. Esther Gibson Claus, stood with her, talking. Nell noticed Garrett O’Neal seeking Barbara out, spotting her, then standing back against the wall close to the group of women. His red bow tie was perfectly tied, his hair carefully combed, rimmed glasses hiding thoughts and emotion. Finally he moved to Barbara’s side, one arm grazing hers.
Barbara seemed not to notice his presence, her posture erect and still.
A convenient couple, someone had called them. Perhaps that’s what it was, at least for one of them.
But the thought made Nell enormously sad.
She looked beyond them and spotted Stu Cummings and Ben standing together, talking quietly. Stu looked worn, his congenial smile seeming to be an effort. When people crowded in, the two men moved away to a quieter spot behind the enormous Christmas tree.
In the next minute, as if somehow planned, Jerry Thompson joined them.
Birdie was back and handed Nell a glass of champagne. “Sam and Izzy are heating up the dance floor,” she said. “I think all the tensions of today are being exorcised effectively.”
Nell nodded. Exorcised but not gone. She nodded across the room to where Beatrice Scaglia, Barbara, and Helen Cummings stood with a group of council members. A waitress passed by, accepting their empty glasses and replacing them. Helen reached for another as Barbara looked over, spotted Nell, and nodded in a brief hello, then turned away.
A rebuff? Nell turned and followed Birdie across the room, her heart heavy, to where Father Northcutt sat alone on a couch, watching a toy train circle a small tree.
“You look like you could use this, Father,” Birdie said, handing him a glass of champagne.
“Now, how did you know I was sitting here thinking about a glass of bubbly?”
“I just knew,” Birdie said.
His smile was sad, but, as always, warm and welcoming.
“One of the nurses told me she met you lovely ladies today at Ocean View,” he said.
Nell nodded. “They think highly of you over there, Father.”
“Oh, my, highly can be overrated, Nellie.”
“Your presence to those patients means a great deal. Even those like Ellie Harper—”
“My sweet Ellie. She was a pleasure to be with, even though her life was not a real life, not lying in that bed for all those years.”
“Not a full life, surely,” Birdie said. “Not like ours. I can’t quite imagine it.”
“It’s hard to understand, isn’t it?” His head nodded, his meaning not clear. But he went on. “Sometimes death is a release. Even when it’s unexpected. I understand how people have trouble with that, a conflict between moral imperatives, now, isn’t it? An ethical dilemma.”
Izzy and Cass had walked up as Father Northcutt was thinking out loud.
Ethical dilemma.
Birdie looked at the others. The words rang out as they listened and heard, not Father Larry’s words, but Amber Harper’s.
Amber’s quandary the night she asked for Birdie’s guidance. Exploring the right thing to do with the information she had.
Birdie gazed at the kindly priest. Finally he looked up and met her eyes. “Sure and we all know it, Birdie. This has to be reconciled. Too many people’s lives are on hold because there is still a crime unsolved, justice unserved. And a motive that may not be honorable.” He looked around the room, then down at his hands, arthritis taking hold of his fingers as the lives of people he cared about took hold of his heart.
A group of parishioners moved in to share a word with their pastor, and the women moved away, taking the priest’s words with them.
“It’s very sad,” Birdie said. “But we’re here tonight for other reasons, not to be sad. There will be time for that.” With forced brightness, she suggested to Cass that they take to the dance floor.
“Birdie Favazza, no one’s asked me to be their dance partner since high school. But let’s go—what’s that crazy thing you say—cut a rug?”
But before they could move through the crowd, a familiar voice called out their names from the other direction. They turned around and looked into the smiling, excited face of Carly Schultz.
Behind her was Andy Risso, lifting his shoulders and palms as if to wonder how this had all happened. How did all these people who were important to him know one another?
Carly looked beautiful, her short blond hair bouncy, a bright green and red dress short and saucy. She hugged all four of them as if they’d been friends for a long time.
“Andy’s my boyfriend,” she said proudly, tilting her head toward him.
“This is the boyfriend?” Nell asked. “Our Andy?”
“Of course. The one who visited Ellie with you sometimes.” Birdie clapped her hands, delighted with the connection.
“We met at Ocean View. All the older patients love Andy, so I said to myself, ‘Hmm, I think those ladies have good taste. Maybe I should give him a look. So I did. And sure enough, they were right.” She laughed, a full and happy sound.
“Well, we like him, too. You have absolutely wonderful taste, Carly,” Nell said.
“Don’t get too full of yourself, Risso,” Cass warned. “I could tell Carly stories, you know.”
Carly giggled. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw all of you across the room.” She looked at Nell. “I was going to have Andy take me to your house on our way home.”
“Oh?” Nell said, but somehow she knew exactly what Carly was going to say.
Carly opened her purse and pulled out a single sheet of paper, folded twice into a small, neat square. “I think it might smell like my perfume,” she said.
Nell assured her that the perfume would only make it sweeter. She took the folded paper and slipped it into her purse. Thank you, Priscilla, she said silently. She patted the purse gently as if pushing a final puzzle piece in place.
Cass watched the couple as they walked away, Andy’s arm holding her tight. “Who knew? Do you think our magic brings these things about?”
“No,” Izzy said. “If it did, you and Danny would be married.” She pointed to the lobby and suggested they find a quiet spot.
“What did she give you?” Cass asked.
“The visitors’ log from Ocean View the day Ellie died.”
“She must have sensed our disappointment earlier today and talked a security guard into letting her into the office,” Birdie said. “She’s a lovely girl. Andy is fortunate.”
Nell took a deep breath and pulled the paper from her purse, then slowly, carefully unfolded it, smoothing out the wrinkles. Izzy took out her cell phone and clicked on the flashlight, carefully scanning the names.
Ellie had had a banner day for visitors the day she died, just as they had been told. Beginning with her doctor in the morning, her priest. And her friends.
And then a final visitor that night. The one who had ended Ellie Harper’s well-tended life with one swift movement.
A plump pillow with tiny embroidered roses placed carefully over her mouth.