A Crime of a Different Stripe, page 18
Cass looked over at Danny. His eyes were on the road; his face was relaxed. But there was a look behind those glasses, a look that she saw there when she knew he was thinking only of her. Not of how tired he was, or of a book that had a deadline soon. A look that warmed her inside and out, even on very cold days.
She touched his arm, squeezed it lightly, while silently giving thanks for the gazillionth time that this amazing man had let her talk him into marrying her.
Danny growled at her, his smile growing.
* * *
Don Wooten, owner of the Ocean’s Edge, welcomed his friends, wrapping Cass in a hug as best he could, and wisely refraining from saying a word about her due date. Instead, he smiled broadly and said he had a wicked brownie delight with her name on it. “On the house,” he added.
They sat at a favorite table near the lounge, tucked in a corner behind several ficus trees with tiny lights wrapped around them. They looked out windows and doors that stretched across the back of the restaurant and opened to the deck in warm weather and to the ocean beyond. In one direction the view spanned the water and moved up to the Ravenswood neighborhood and Birdie’s estate, high on the hill.
Cass looked in that direction, then smiled as she thought of her close friend, home by now and probably already tucked into her high bed, dreaming of her Sonny. But were she standing in the den at that moment, she’d be able to aim her telescope and check out their dessert. In the other direction the inner harbor slowly curved around for as far as they could see. The shore bending past the fishing piers and the green space where Santa would arrive in his lobster boat in a couple of months, the Harbor Road shops and restaurants, the museum and the corner park near Izzy’s shop, until it slowly wound along the sea to the Halloran Lobster Company offices and the Canary Cove Art Colony, and all the way to the cozy neighborhood beyond it, where she and Danny—and soon their baby—lived.
“A peaceful night,” Cass said, settling back in her chair.
“But not so peaceful in Izzy’s yarn shop tonight, I’m guessing.” Danny turned his head, then motioned to the waitress for a beer and a pot of tea.
“Nope. Heavy discussion. But you brought it back, Brandley. Peace, I mean.” For a few minutes, anyway. After the waitress brought the tea for Cass and a beer for Danny, the peace gave way to talk of a plastic box containing a piece of their friend Sam Perry’s life.
After Cass had told Danny about the award-winning photo that had been stolen from Sam—which was how Cass thought of it—and the photo of a mysterious gorgeous woman, the waitress brought to their table a mountain of chocolate: a thick, moist brownie covered with caramel fudge sauce, strawberries, and mounds of whipped cream. Two spoons were set beside the gigantic crystal bowl.
Danny hadn’t said much but had listened intently as he always did, his mind absorbing, thinking things through. “How was Izzy when she left the shop?”
“Anxious to see Sam. Needing to see Sam.”
Danny nodded. “Sam knew what Harrison did.”
Danny wasn’t asking, Cass knew. And Sam hadn’t shared this truth with him. But Danny was one of Sam’s closest friends, and he knew the way Sam’s mind worked, in a way that maybe even Izzy didn’t. It always amazed Cass how perceptive her husband was. She had decided years before never to throw the man a surprise party. He would know about it before the planning ever began. And he wouldn’t like it.
“We all suspected that he knew, I think. Even Izzy. Though no one said it out loud. Mostly because we wished he hadn’t known. There are way too many questions for him to answer if he’d known.”
“Sam can answer questions. What you were really worried about is that if he knew about the plagiarism, there would be a giant motive for murder jumping right out of that box.”
“Something like that.” Telling Danny that Sam could no more have killed the photographer than sung Aida was meaningless. Danny knew that. And as she looked over at his intelligent eyes, knowing his mind was processing everything they’d talked about, she had a sudden realization that none of what they’d talked about surprised Danny in the way it had all of them. Maybe it came from living in the world of fiction. Or maybe it was just Danny. Calmly taking it all in. Then making sense out of it.
Danny picked up his spoon and took a huge mouthful of the brownie dessert.
“It’s going to melt, Cass,” he said.
Cass nodded.
And picked up her spoon.
A vibration from her phone interrupted her first spoonful of ice cream. She dug in her purse, while Danny continued making a dent in the rich mountain of chocolate and cream. Cass gave him a look, then looked down at the text message.
Where is she?
That was it. Cass frowned. No name, but she knew whom it was from. No employee escaped Cass’s contact list, much to their chagrin.
She texted Marco Costa back.
I don’t know, Marco.
She slipped her phone back into her purse and vied with Danny for the next scoop. She briefly wondered where Elena could be. She didn’t drive, and the night was pleasant enough. She loved to walk along the water, she’d told Cass. And sometimes into town. But she was pregnant. And Marco would worry if he didn’t know where she was, just like Danny would.
The dessert soon worked its magic, and Danny called for the check. “You’re bushed, Cass. I’m getting you home before you fall asleep on me.”
He paid the check and helped Cass into her coat. “I’ll bring the car around. Don’t run off on me.”
Cass picked up her purse and walked along the window side of the restaurant, watching the tide move in, the waves grow, light from the moon catching the frothy caps that crashed against the granite wall. Awesome, she said silently, opening herself to the calm that the sea brought to her. It was especially welcome tonight.
Cass joked with her mother sometimes that the ocean was her church, that watching the tides, the movement of the water, sinking into the simple sounds of the sea, was a spiritual experience for her. Calming.
“I read somewhere that I have a blue mind,” she’d told Mary Halloran.
“A blue mind is a mindful one, a spiritual one,” her mother had said.
Cass had only scanned the article and wasn’t sure what it meant, just that it had felt right to her. But her mother had walked off with a pleased smile on her face.
She turned away from the windows now, looked back at the dining area. A few tables were being served dessert; a few people were in the lounge, near the water, listening to a string trio. Cass made her way toward the entrance, her thoughts turning back to the day, to knitting, to friends.
She waved at a waiter who lived down the street from her, then paused as she heard a familiar voice coming from one of the booths tucked behind a row of potted plants. She looked over,
Harmony Fairchild was resting her head against the high-backed booth, a smile on her face, as a waiter refilled her wineglass. A half-eaten piece of pie sat on the table in front of her. It wasn’t until the waiter moved away that Cass was able to see the yoga teacher’s companion.
Elena Costa was nearly dwarfed by the large red-leather booth, but her smile matched its size.
Cass stood for a minute, watching the two women, considering walking over to say hello. But they were having a good time. Like friends—a thought she had had in the yoga studio, too. She stood to the side as several people walked by. Then moved a step closer and stood in the shadow of one of the plants.
Friendship . . . yet it didn’t look exactly like that. Something was slightly off. She certainly knew from her own life that the least important things in friendship were age and age differences. That wasn’t it. It was something she couldn’t put her finger on. Harmony seemed a bit more solicitous, maybe.
But whatever the it was, it wasn’t preventing them from enjoying being together tonight, and that was nice to see.
A waitress hovered near their booth, a coffeepot in her hands. Harmony smiled up at her. A pleasant, happy look on her face.
As Cass watched, Harmony took out her camera and handed it to the waitress. Then she moved around to the other side of the table and sat down next to Elena. The waitress took a photo of the two women.
A wave from the restaurant owner pulled Cass’s attention away. Don Wooten nodded toward the front door, beyond which she could see Danny waiting in the car. She glanced once more at the two women in the booth. Harmony had moved back to her side of the booth and was leaning in to hear something Elena was saying. They looked comfortable and happy in each other’s company.
She remembered Marco’s text. For one minute she considered answering it. No, less than a minute. She was not about to insert herself in Marco and Elena’s life. Not in that way, anyway.
Then she turned away and hurried outside to a waiting Danny. To home. And to bed, with Danny beside her, helping her feel the world would soon be back on its axis. It had to be. Didn’t the world know it needed to welcome a new baby Brandley into its fold?
Chapter 24
Sam’s meeting at the police station wasn’t until midmorning, and no, he didn’t want Izzy to go with him. When he’d been called to the principal’s office in high school, he’d always gone alone. No need to change the pattern now.
But he did volunteer to get Abby to preschool so Izzy could get in an early morning run. “A run would be good today,” he said to her.
Sam was right. She needed that time to be alone, to let her head clear and her emotions reset.
By the time she and Sam had finally gone to bed the night before, Izzy had felt some sense of peace and calm. Sam had held her close and made her feel that way, convincing her he was fine. And she and Abby were fine, too. Everyone they loved and cared about was fine. Things would be fine.
But along with being calm, Izzy’s resolve had deepened into a force, like a seed inside her, growing mightily. Everyone needed a clean bill of health, and that would happen only when Harrison Grant, whoever he was, was out of their lives for good. And it would be soon, she had promised herself.
She and Sam had talked for a long time, trying to put themselves in Harrison Grant’s head. Wondering who he was when he came back to Sea Harbor, carrying a box from years ago that revealed a dishonorable man. Was he the same man that Sam had known those years ago?
Sam had said he and Harrison hadn’t talked much on the short drive from the Gloucester hotel. But Grant had said he’d like some time with Sam while he was in Sea Harbor. Maybe during the week to follow. There were some things he’d like to talk to him about.
At the time, Sam had told Izzy he had thought little of the comment. It could have simply been a polite gesture, since they’d known each other way back when. Or maybe it had had something to do with photography, with the lecture series. And if it, whatever it was, had been something that would be helpful to Jane and Ham and Canary Cove, Sam would have helped as best he could.
But in hindsight, both Izzy and Sam suspected those weren’t the issues Grant wanted to talk about. A plastic storage box that held the past had changed Sam’s perspective.
Izzy went alone on her run, leaving Red behind, her head filled with thoughts of a long-ago affair, a jealous Eddie Porter. A beautiful young woman rejected? Or an old man who had eliminated Harrison Grant’s face from a brochure? Or from his life . . . ?
But once she hit the smooth sand on the beach, she settled into her run and tugged the thoughts from her head, then threw them out to the ocean breeze, where they were caught and pulled apart like tissue. Until they disappeared.
She picked up her speed, enjoying the nearly empty beach. She felt the rush of the run, her body and spirit lifted. A dozen gulls foraging for food along the water’s edge caught her attention; then she looked over at the rise in the road that led to the mansions on the hill. She half expected to see Rico and Frodo lumbering toward her. Although she wasn’t sure what she would say if she met them. She and Sam had agreed that it would be better not to mention the flyer. It didn’t mean much all by itself. And they hadn’t been able to come up with any good that would come from it, at least not now. But an explanation would be nice, Izzy had thought.
Thoughts of Rico and Frodo made her slow down near the end of the sand, where the ocean’s edge curved around.
She wasn’t ready yet to run around that bend, along the narrow beach and the many hillside steps that led up to the beautiful cliffside homes. She wasn’t ready to come face-to-face with images of a dead body staring up at the blue sky.
Eventually, she would, but not today.
She looked up the road again and thought again about Rico and her resolve the night before to talk to him again. She thought of Frodo, too. Had his wound healed? Had Rico done what the veterinarian recommended? And then she wondered if he had even followed through and called the veterinarian.
With that thought in mind, and without a real plan except to avoid the place where she had so recently found a dead body, Izzy started running again, a slow gait that took her away from the beach. She headed up the road to the Cliffside neighborhood.
She had no idea if Rico would let her in, but somehow it didn’t matter. When she made it to his driveway, she stopped, leaned down, her hands on her knees, and took deep breaths. She looked up at the house for signs of life but realized that was foolish. Rico’s house never changed, day or night, summer or winter. It always looked empty. And sad.
The slight tap of a horn behind her caused her to back to one side of the drive. She smiled in surprise at Tegan Johnson, the new veterinarian in town. Tegan was a pretty, cheerful woman and had already made a name for herself in Sea Harbor. She got out of the car and greeted Izzy warmly.
“Thanks for the new client recommendation, Izzy. Frodo is a sweet dog.”
Izzy laughed. “I noticed you didn’t say that about Frodo’s master.”
Tegan chuckled. “Rico’s an interesting man. Reminds me of my grandpa. But he truly loves Frodo, and in my book, that means there’s good behind that crusty exterior. And by the way, he said some nice things about you.”
“No he didn’t,” Izzy laughed.
Tegan smiled. “Well, maybe it was about your dog, Red. But truly, he was grateful, in a slightly belligerent way, that you suggested I come to see Frodo. You were correct that the wound might well have gotten infected. He said you liked Frodo. And the tone in his voice told me that meant you were okay. He even mentioned your friends, especially Birdie Favazza.”
“I know Rico likes me underneath it all. And my friends, too. It’s just that these past few days he’s been under some kind of pressure. Maybe it’s Frodo.” But Izzy didn’t really think that Frodo was the cause of it. Nor did she want to talk about it with his dog’s vet. Rico had been unusually bothered days before Frodo met up with the motorcycle.
The veterinarian began walking toward the front door, and Izzy followed.
“I was coming over to check on Frodo myself,” Izzy said. “I think I’ll have a better chance of getting past the front door if I’m with you.”
Tegan nodded and knocked on the door.
Much to Izzy’s amazement, it opened an inch on the first knock. “A miracle,” Izzy whispered. “He probably didn’t see me through the side window.”
Then the door opened wider. Rico Silva stood in the space, his feet firmly planted at the door. He looked at Tegan, then at Izzy, then back again. Then he nodded and, with a wave of his hand, ushered both women inside.
Frodo was waiting for them, too. In the kitchen, on his bed, his tail wagging so hard that clouds of dust floated up into the air.
It took just a few minutes for Izzy to greet Frodo and see that he was doing better and would soon be joining Red on the beach. She offered Rico a smile to that effect, and he nodded again. In an almost pleasant way, she thought. Relieved was probably closer to the truth. His dog seemed to be his life these days.
She stepped back, and the older man took his place right behind Tegan, who was now crouched down beside Frodo, speaking softly to the dog. Rico watched the veterinarian’s every movement, her fingers gently probing, then rubbing a salve around the shaved wound. Rico nodded as Tegan worked, as if giving her permission.
“Let’s see how he does outside,” she said to Rico, then looked over at Izzy. “I forgot some sample ointments in my car. I wanted to leave them with Rico. Could you please get them? You might have to rummage through a bag in the back. They have Frodo’s name on them.”
Izzy dashed out to Tegan’s car and found the medicine almost immediately, then quickly came back inside. From the foyer she heard Tegan and Rico talking and then the kitchen door opening and closing as they took Frodo outside for a short walk around the yard.
Izzy closed the front door softly and lingered in the entry, looking around more carefully this time. The foyer was round, with a sweeping staircase curving up and up, until she couldn’t see it anymore. The walls were painted a warm yellow, and the dark hardwood floor was softened by a round rug of rich rusts, light greens, and yellows. The decor looked like it had been influenced by an interior designer with a definite feminine touch, but the mood had probably been dictated by the owner, which surprised Izzy. The colors were rich but warming, and the area was cozy in spite of its size and without the formal feeling of large homes like this. She tried, and failed, to imagine Rico planning the decorations.
Then she remembered that Rico wasn’t always alone in the big house. A woman had lived in it with him.
Several rooms spun off from the foyer, one with glass panes in the door revealing a large dining-room table in the middle of a lovely room. A Persian rug lay on the floor, and a chandelier hung from the tall molded ceiling. Much to Izzy’s surprise, the table was set with porcelain dishes and silver, as if it had been prepared for a dinner party. The table and the plates were covered with a layer of dust; the silver nearly black with tarnish.
On the other side of the hallway, the double doors were solid, intricately carved. One was open a crack, as if the wind might have blown it open.
Izzy walked over to it and opened the door an inch more. And then another.
