Read Online A Finely Knit Murder by Sally Goldenbaum - Free Book Online Page B

realizing that the more Cass loved him, the more she felt she was losing something in herself was probably nearly impossible for him to understand.”
    “Of course it was,” Izzy said. “I don’t completely get it myself. I kind of do—Cass is complicated. But to push away someone who loves you—and someone you love right back—just because you might feel jealous sometimes or might miss him and need him—or all those other emotions that sometimes get mixed up in a relationship—that’s hard to understand.”
    “I think seeing her own mom be devastated when her father died at sea affected Cass greatly,” Birdie said. “It was an awful time for the whole family, and maybe Cass feels pushing Danny away will save her from ever going through that great hurt.”
    “But it won’t work,” Izzy said. “I’m sure of it. Cass loves Danny. She’ll come around.”
    Birdie agreed. “But let’s allow Cass her privacy, too. She’ll be here in a second—her truck pulled into the alley as Harold was dropping me off.”
    “So stop talking about me,” Cass said, her words tumbling down the three steps just seconds before she appeared in the arched opening. In one large leap she was at the bottom.
    “What makes you think you’re that special?” Izzy said, bringing her iPod to life and turning the music up a little louder thannecessary. In seconds Laila Biali’s rich vocals filled the air and Izzy floated over to Cass, then twirled her around, joining her own voice to the artist’s as she sang out, “Let’s go down, down to the river to pray.”
    Cass laughed. “Now you want me to pray? You’re a crazy lady.”
    Izzy threw back her head and laughed, her thick, streaked hair floating in slow motion. Then she moved away and wrinkled her nose. “And you smell like fish. Were you out on the boats today?”
    “Briefly. Someone wanted to see our lobster operation, so I did a little tour thing for the guy.” Then her words sped up and she leaned over the table. “Hey, what’s in the magic bowl, Nell?”
    Before Nell could answer, Cass went on. “No, don’t tell me. Crab, a splash of wine, ginger, lemon butter, and . . . uh . . . pasta?”
    “Close. It’s scooped into potato nests. My mother used to make them. And in case you think we missed it, that was an excellent job of changing the subject.”
    “It was, wasn’t it?” Cass took the glass of wine Birdie offered her and, with the other hand, pushed a handful of hair behind one ear, a nervous gesture they all knew well. “It’s no big deal. We’re just getting to know each other. I don’t mean to seem mysterious.”
    Izzy set the butter dish down beside the rolls and began rolling the silverware inside napkins. Nell tossed the arugula pecan salad.
    Birdie filled the remaining glasses with wine.
    As routine and natural as breathing.
    In the background the jazz artist was singing an old song Birdie knew well, “The Best Is Yet to Come.”
    And they waited.
    “His name is Harry Winthrop.”
    “Okay, so, what happened when Harry met Cass . . . ?” Izzy lined the rolled napkins up next to the plates.
    “They drank beer,” Cass said, ignoring Izzy’s tease.
    “Another Harry?” Nell said. “We have so many Harrys in our lives.”
    “He’s not in
our
lives,” Cass reminded them, “unless you’vebeen in the backseat and I missed seeing you. But he’s okay. Smart enough. Great-looking. And he took me to a good restaurant in Boston a couple days ago. Sometimes a change of place is good.”
    “Boston?”
    “He has a house there. It’s where he lives in real life.”
    “Winthrop . . . ,” Birdie said, drawing the word from her memory and searching for a connection.
    “He sounds rich,” Izzy said.
    Cass filled her plate and walked over to the fireplace. “He is. A Winthrop. And rich, too. He doesn’t seem to be concerned about money, anyway.”
    “His folks were summer people,” Birdie said. “Yes, now I remember.”
    Cass