The Herringbone Harbor Mystery

Book 7: Seaside Knitters Society

by Sally Goldenbaum

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Craft & Hobby Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

It’s beginning to feel a lot like tourist season in Sea Harbor, Massachusetts, and beachside shopkeepers are getting ready for the annual wave of visitors. But even before the season starts, the heat is on to find a killer . . .

The Yarn Studio’s Seaside Knitters have their hands full designing new classes for vacationers, as well as testing each other’s originality by creating a single blanket together. Birdie’s teenage granddaughter is also visiting for the season, and soon has plans with her friend Daisy to start a dog-walking business. Meanwhile, the Lazy Lobster and Soup Café’s local fare is gaining newfound attention with the addition of a well-known Boston chef. It’s sure to be another beautiful, busy time in their tightknit town . . . 

Until Birdie spots a huge blaze from her balcony one evening, frighteningly close to knitter Cass’s lobster business. But the morning brings news that it was a house in small Fisherman’s Cove, and a familiar fisherman is found dead inside. Not only did the young women walk his beloved sheepdog, Squid, they may have been the last people to see him alive.  

When questions surface about the actual timing of the man’s death, it turns out something is more than fishy. As suspicion rocks usually placid Sea Harbor, knitters Izzy, Birdie, Cass, and Nell must pick apart tangled secrets and wrap up false accusations—before the killer hooks another victim . . .

Release date: November 26, 2024

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

A week of rain had turned Sea Harbor into a garden of green. Even the bricks lining the streets in the neighborhood known to the locals as Fishermen’s Village held a sheen of new life.

Nick Cabot felt the pleasant vibe as he stepped out on his deck. The morning was balmy, the sun a rosy haze over the water. Early summer or late spring. He wasn’t sure. It was perfect.

From his deck, he could see the whole harbor, the huge houses along the eastern point on one end, the backs of taverns and restaurants and shops along Harbor Road on the other. The tops of small houses that cradled the cove shoreline, where mothers would soon be taking their young kids to swim.

And the place where he lived—Fishermen’s Village, his birthplace and that of other Cabots before him—was where the history of Sea Harbor began to have roots.

It wasn’t a real village, but it felt like it was to the fishermen families who lived in the neighborhood. Nick Cabot loved every inch of it.

Most of the homes in the neighborhood were small, but age had finally taken its toll on the Cabots’ small frame house, where Nick, his sister, and his dad, before them, were born. It was one of Nick Senior’s final wishes that if the house was someday beyond repair, his son would keep the land, at least, and build something new. He’d done that, he thought.

He’d kept the spirit of the old: the old wooden table he and Nancy had carved names and hearts and comic figures into. The old milk box from his grandmother’s days was fixed into a new kitchen wall. The sleeping porch had become a den, with eight panes in the bow window that looked over all his pop’s favorite fishing spots. And his mom’s candleholder collection? Candles and holders collected from the area’s amazing artists had a home. Finally. A home, at last. Shelves built right into the wall with a glass door to keep them dust free. The whole house was wood and glass, open and airy. With a dock that he could still see his pop sitting on. It stretched out far into the waters, into the deep. Deep enough that his sailboat could anchor at the very end.

Noise below brought Nick’s attention back to the beach. Two retired fishermen were lumbering along the narrow rocky span of beach between Nick’s deck and the water. It was part of Cabot property, but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone, least of all Nick.

One of the men spotted Nick and hollered up to him. “Hey, Nicko, whatta you doing, spying on us?”

“Spying on you? What’s there to see, Wally?” Nick called back. “Couple old geezers, that’s all I see.”

Wally laughed, his belly moving beneath his stained POND ICE tee. “Hey, is it true what I’ve been hearing?”

“Probably not, Wally.”

“Just heard a couple words yesterday in one of our fine establishments.” He held up one arm and wagged a finger back and forth.

Nick laughed. “What fine place was that? The Pickled Plover?”

“Well, okay, yah, young man. Also down at the state pier. People talk.”

“Well, you know what they say, Wally. All fishermen are liars.”

Wally guffawed, too loudly, and Nick wondered how many neighbors were out on their decks, listening. He hoped Wally and his buddy Sly would hold back on the cusswords. Fishermen wives got up early.

“Anyway,” Wally said, “Mayor Cabot. Those were the words, and I’m like, like, liking the sound of it, ya know? You’d be just like your granddad. Finest mayor we’ve ever had, I’d swear to it. It’d be great to have things come full circle like that. Nice and neat. I like things that way. Think about it, Nicko. It’d make your old man proud.”

Nick laughed and looked at the other man, obviously the quieter of the two. “Hey, Sly, has this guy been drinking at this hour of the day? You need to take better care of him.”

“Ah, none of that, Nicky. He’s dry as a bone.”

Nick laughed. “Just kidding you, Sly. But he’s now all yours. You take this guy and his mouth out of my backyard, will you? He’s going to wake the dead.”

“You got it, Nicky boy. Matter of fact, we were just about to mosey along.” He bent his arm and poked an elbow into Wally’s side, nearly knocking him off balance. “This fool talks too much.”

They both laughed and gave a wave. Nick waved back, watching the two men move on. He loved these old guys. And if he could bet on it, he’d bet they wouldn’t go far.

He watched.

A few more yards took them to the step onto Nick’s wide dock. They took the step, then ambled to the very end of the long dock, side by side.

He kept watching them—as good a way as any to start the day.

He knew exactly how it would play out. First they’d put their poles down on the deck floor. Next they’d arrange a couple of coolers side by side beside their rods, the smaller cooler filled with bait, and the other chilling an ample supply of Sam Adams, with maybe a couple of sardine sandwiches squeezed in between the cans. Finally they’d pull out two of Nick’s short-legged folding chairs from a wooden chest, and they’d arrange their bodies in them, rocking side by side until they were comfortable. Then Nick would hear them sigh, maybe pull out a smoke, or sometimes not. And finally they’d get serious, throwing out their lines and hoping they’d catch a few. Maybe go home at the end of the day with a catch of striped bass or gray trout, enough for a decent dinner.

Often, when Nick and his dog came back from a morning run, they’d go over and talk to the old guys, listening to their exaggerated fish tales that seemed to gain weight and substance with each telling. Some of the stories included Nick’s own father and grandfather—which maybe explained why they felt privy to Nick’s property. His dad would have been down there with them—that was Nick’s memory—a fisherman to the core.

A bark at the large glass door told him his dog had seen the fishermen. The goofy dog loved the old guys as much as he did.

He went over and opened the glass door, letting the dog out. “But you can’t go down there, buddy. Your charming dog walkers will be here soon. Those old guys can’t hold a candle to Daisy and Gabby.”

As if he’d understood every word, Squid thumped his tail on the deck, then jumped up on a chaise lounge and settled down.

Nick carried his coffee mug over and sat on the chaise next to his dog, not sure which one of them was in charge.

His bare legs were hot from the sun, but cooled by the breeze. Nick watched the tide coming in, the shore disappearing, as mesmerizing as watching a fire. His morning meditation.

He picked up his phone and checked the calendar. Today: He’d head to the office in Ipswich and catch up on things. Then touch base with his friend Gracie Santos to help her with a couple tricky work issues that she was having at her Lazy Lobster and Soup Café. Hiring the wrong people can mess up a kitchen. It might be an easy fix.

A quick dinner at the Sea Harbor Yacht Club, to see his longtime friend Liz and her husband, Alphonso. And a trip to the Y to sweat out the idea of running for mayor. He was surprised it was already riding the gossip train. When approached by a few guys on the council, asking if he’d ever thought about running for mayor, he’d been honest. No, never, he’d said. But once the thought was in there, it had stayed.

The thought of having to convince people you were better, smarter, more qualified than someone else appealed to him about as much as eating octopus (about which he’d read many books and now abstained).

But in one ear, he could hear his pop saying, Old Wally is wiser than he looks, Nicky. I’d be damn proud of you, son.

Nicholas Cabot Senior had forgiven his son on many fronts: for not following the family tradition of going into fishing. At least, not exactly. Instead, he’d started a fishing supply company that was now all over the state, supplying hundreds of jobs. And he’d excused his son for not giving him grandbabies and carrying on the family name. At least, sort of.

He had lots of friends who were women. Sometimes who were more than just friends. But it was always comfortable. Until recently.

He pushed aside the thought that both parents might have known more than he did. But it refused to disappear completely.

Maybe it was his birthday. Some of his friends were moved by that landmark to get fancy cars or season tickets to the Celtics. But that wasn’t what Nick was feeling. This was different. Unexpected. And he liked it. Love? He wondered, wishing his mom were alive to help him sort through his feelings. A partner for life?

A sudden bark broke through the morning quiet and scattered Nick’s thoughts. He glanced at his watch, then swung his legs to the deck floor, pulling himself off the chaise. “Good dog,” he said, realizing he hadn’t needed a doorbell since the day he’d found the shaggy dog. The two had bonded like peanut butter and jelly, and Nick was secretly happy his honest pursuits to find the dog’s owner failed. He was crazy about Squid, the name the dog had accepted politely when Nick pinned it on him.

“That will be your amazing dog walkers, pal,” Nick said.

Squid barked, thumping his tail against the chaise, his gentle way of telling Nick to move it.

“Yeah, I know. You’re one lucky mutt, you know that? Those two teens are making you the talk of the park—the whole neighborhood, in fact. If your luck holds out, you may even get to have more overnights with Gabby soon. I got the feeling your short stay over there was as comfortable as my time away was.”

The dog followed Nick through the light-filled living area, with a fireplace filling one wall, and to the entryway. He got ready to leap as Nick opened the front door. But when the door opened, Nick’s subdued greeting caused the dog’s tail to still.

A man of average height and a muscular build stood on the doorstep. He wore running shorts and a Red Sox hat with a smiley face. The cap sat crookedly on a head of thick damp hair. The man’s face was contorted in anger, turning his handsome looks into dangerous ones.

It was clearly not the vision Squid was expecting to see. The dog sat stiffly beside Nick.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Nick asked, surprised. “Want to come—”

“You scumbag,” the man yelled, cutting off Nick’s words, his face twisted in anger as he punctuated his insult with a clenched fist pounding the air. “What are you trying to do? Kill me? Kill her? Kill the restaurant? Can you sink any lower? You should be shot.”

“Ouch,” Nick said, grimacing. “Hey, bud, give it a rest. You’re acting crazy.”

His comment was met with a string of expletives, so loud they drowned out a lawn mower down the street.

Squid’s body froze, his ears back. A low growl escaped from deep in his throat.

Nick took a step back as the man’s closed fist moved closer to his face. It was then he noticed movement on the sidewalk: two sixteen-year-olds, standing next to his mailbox at the curb. They held water bottles and wore T-shirts declaring it was A PAWFECT DAY. A finely groomed poodle and another unidentifiable, but friendly-looking, dog sat beside them, the dogs’ leashes dangling from the girls’ hands.

One of the girls was standing with her mouth open, her eyes wide as she stared at the two men. The other seemed to be looking at a lawn mower racket down the street.

Nick took a deep breath, then waved to the dog walkers. All was okay, his wave assured them.

He looked back at the man in front of him and lowered his voice. “What the hell is going on with you, pal? Calm down. I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. But whatever it is, you got it all wrong. She’s fine. The place is fine. Or it will be. It’ll all work out. I give my help to friends when it’s needed. You know that as well as anyone. You’ll both figure this out—”

“Figure it out? Figure me out, you mean. Once you ruin me and my reputation and succeed in driving me out of town? Is that how it’ll be figured out? You’re a liar and a sleazeball, Cabot.”

Nick’s attempt to quiet the man failed again. He gave up, waiting for the well to run dry. Soon, he hoped.

The man wasn’t through. “You’re trying to ruin my life, my work. Other people’s lives. You with your easy life. You ever work, Cabot? Like real work? Things are always so easy for big Nick Cabot.”

Nick stuck out one hand. “Hey, stop right there. Where’d all this come from? I don’t get it. Come on inside if you want and we’ll figure out whatever’s turning you into a crazy man. You could use a glass of water. A beer?”

Seeming to get a second breath, the man’s voice rumbled like an oncoming nor’easter.

“You’re nothing but a jerk with a fancy house. Smoke and mirrors. You’ve fooled some in my family, but you’ll never fool me. So here it is, pal. A warning. Stay away from me, and stay away from her, or I swear, I’ll wring your ugly neck. Someone should have done away with you a long time ago.”

Nick looked around, wondering if his neighbor was on the phone with the police yet. But in the next minute, the man turned and jogged down the walkway like he was on fire. He nearly bumped into Gabby Marietti and Daisy Danvers standing at the curb, their eyes wide and their hands gripping the leashed dogs.

After a muttered apology to the startled young women, the man jogged down the road, his muscular runner’s calves propelling him around the corner and out of sight.

A week or so later, on a quiet knitting night in the backroom of Izzy Perry’s yarn shop, a shaggy-haired dog and teenage girl visited the four knitters, arriving just minutes before they were going to dish up Nell Endicott’s new pasta casserole.

“Hi, guys,” Gabby said, leaping down the three steps, her long, dark braid flying behind her.

A chorus of hellos greeted both of them.

From her place near the fireplace, Birdie put down her knitting, her small face breaking into a smile at the sight of her granddaughter.

“Where are the others?” she asked with some hesitation, her smile fading a bit.

“Others?” Nell said.

Izzy answered her aunt. “Dogs. Gabby and Daisy, Sea Harbor’s Pawfect Day Dog Walkers, now have a fleet of five dogs.”

“You’re walking five dogs now?” Cass said. “Geesh, Gabs. You’re going to need to grow more hands.”

“Exactly what I told her,” Birdie said.

Gabby’s dog had already found his way to Birdie and was pressing tightly against her knees. On her other side, Purl, Izzy’s yarn shop cat, eyed the newcomer cautiously.

“Five is a lot, Gabby,” Nell said. “What if they all head in different directions at the same time?”

Gabby laughed, then stood with one hand on the back of Nell’s chair, leaning slightly forward. “Anyway, Squid is a great pup and truly loves people. We even had a sleepover one night a week or so ago. Squid, I mean, had a sleepover. His guy was in Boston for the weekend and it was too late for him to get someone to stay at the house with Squid. Anyway, Squid spent the night at our house. Well, Nonna’s house.”

“Our house,” Birdie corrected.

Gabby went on. “And since I forgot to bring dog food for breakfast, Ella made him oatmeal. With some bananas and blueberries. She’d googled it somewhere. It’s good for dogs, apparently. Squid thought he’d died and gone to heaven. But I think he loved Nonna even better than the breakfast. He even tried to sleep with her.”

Gabby attempted to smother a laugh at the memory.

The others didn’t even try. The thought of the shaggy dog bouncing onto Birdie’s very high, imported bed brought outright laughter from Nell, Cass, and Izzy—along with a bark from Squid, as if he were taking a bow.

Izzy walked around the low coffee table and crouched down, giving the dog a hug. “You’re a very smart dog, with excellent taste in people and in food,” she murmured. She pushed a thick swatch of dog hair away from the dog’s eyes and looked up. “Do you know his breed, Gabby?”

“Nobody seems to know. He’s just a plain old wonderful dog, that’s what he is. Except the vet says he’s not that old. He loves you, Iz.”

“Of course he does,” Izzy said. “I make homemade doggie treats for him and dish them out every time he and his pals walk by. Which is becoming more and more frequent. Squid’s no dummy.”

“That’s true,” Gabby said. “Your outside water bowl helps, too. It’s always clean, unlike some other Harbor Road shop owners, whose names I won’t mention.”

Izzy sat back on her legs. “He may love us all, but right now Squid is focused on my aunt Nell’s pasta salad.”

Cass, seated on the other side of the low coffee table, immediately leaned forward and moved their Thursday-night dinner to the center of the yarn shop’s coffee table. “Sorry, pal,” she said to the dog.

“I think that’s a sign that we should leave,” Gabby said. “The only reason I’m interrupting your knitting night is to make sure you all had a chance to meet Squid.”

“Which we loved,” Nell said. “Thanks, Gabby.”

“I also had a little time to spare before Daisy meets me. She’s taking Hammer, Gus McGlucken’s dog, home.”

Birdie’s eyes were still focused on the dog. She wove her fingers through his shaggy coat. “I think Squid thinks we’re related. We both have plenty of gray and white going for us.”

That drew smiles as they watched Birdie with Squid. They knew without a doubt that Birdie was so happy to have her granddaughter in Sea Harbor for the summer that Gabby could probably bring her whole canine entourage for a sleepover. Birdie would simply smile and make sure Ella had enough fruit and oats for breakfast.

“Are you sure you don’t want some pasta salad, Gabby?” Nell asked. She leaned over and placed a basket of warm pita bread and a pot of butter on the table. “We always have more than enough.”

“No thanks, Nell. But it looks fantastic. You guys go ahead. I don’t want to slow anything down, and I can tell Cass is about to die of starvation.”

“You’re right about that,” Cass said. “Where are you heading from here?”

“Oh, crazy, wild plans, Cass. Daisy and I’ll walk Squid home.”

“And then?” Cass asked. “What’s the postwork plan? Where do you go? I’m not in the loop on what teens do these days.”

“Right, you’re ancient, Cass,” Gabby said. “It must be hard to remember those Stone Age years. After we drop off Squid, we’ll head to the beach for pizza. Did you know Angelo’s delivers down there? Some kids may jump in the water. It’s still too cold for me. Then we’ll hang out. And eventually we’ll find a ride home.”

“Go in the water after dark?” Birdie’s brows lifted, then lowered instantly. Gabby was a teenager. She’d be in college before Birdie blinked. She was no longer the young girl who had showed up unexpectedly in her life those years ago. But even then, when Gabby was living in a New York penthouse with her father most of the year, and recently, a year in a Switzerland school, had made her very independent. She’d grown tall and slender and older, something Birdie had to remind herself of frequently.

“I caught that look, Nonna,” Gabby said. “We won’t do anything stupid.” She picked up Squid’s leash and started to turn toward the steps.

“Wait one sec,” Cass called out, stopping Gabby at the steps. “Did you say Squid lived in Fishermen’s Village? Those are my people, you know. Most of my lobster crew live there.”

Cass got up and looked at Squid, then knelt beside him and looked him in the eyes. “He looks familiar. But I may be thinking of my grandmother’s rag rug—”

Gabby groaned and covered Squid’s ears.

“His owner’s a fisherman?” Nell asked.

“We don’t say owner, Nell,” Gabby said. “Partner is better. Or companion. Squid’s companion is a good guy who rescued Squid. And no, he doesn’t fish. His dad did. His grandfather, too, I think.”

“Does he have a name?” Cass asked.

“Nick. He’s nice. Kind of old, but ‘a looker,’ as Daisy’s mom put it. He’s ‘lovely,’ as you would say, Nonna. Daisy says he has rizz.”

“Rizz?” Cass laughed.

“Well, whatever it is you guys would call a man who looks a little like a Jonas Brother, but has some silvery streaks in his hair that weren’t put there by MJ’s Salon. He knows all you guys. Nick Ca—”

“Nick Cabot,” Cass interrupted with a laugh. “Of course. And you described him to a T, Gabby, except for the ‘old’ part. Nick Cabot is just a few years older than I am. So watch your mouth, young lady.”

“Now you know why Squid is such a wonderful dog,” Gabby said. “Nick Cabot has rubbed off on him.”

“Nick’s dad and mine fished together,” Cass said. “And you’re right, the grandpa was a fisherman, too. Everyone thought Nick would follow in their tracks, because that’s kind of what you do around here. But he went off to college somewhere. Then Harvard Business School, I think. We all figured he’d come back.”

“To become a fisherman with an MBA from Harvard?” Izzy asked.

“Not to fish. He came back because he loves Sea Harbor, and to be close to family. His sister, Nancy, was in Gracie’s and my class.” Cass said. “Nick was always a brainy guy. He and Gracie Santos have been great friends forever. People sometimes think he’s older, I think, because he’s successful and has gone a little gray in the sideburn area.”

“Cass, you’re simply a treasure trove of information,” Birdie said.

Cass laughed. “Yes, I am. My dad knew Nick’s dad, who knew Lord knows who. That’s how it goes around here. Even though he doesn’t fish, Nick knows everything about the industry from both sides, which is why his dad forgave him for not getting down and dirty on the boats.”

Gabby started laughing. “You all sound like a fan club. But anyway, you’re right about him doing good things for people. Like Daisy and me, for example.”

“How’s that?” Cass asked.

“He told us we weren’t charging enough. Can you believe that?”

“And what did you and Daisy say?” Nell asked.

“Well, so, we didn’t say anything. We kind of laughed. We assumed he was just giving us a compliment. But then when we left Squid off at the end of the first week, we looked at his check, and it was over three times what we’d asked for.”

Gabby shook her head. “It’s crazy, right? I mean, who does that? And you say he has a business degree, Cass? He must have skipped an accounting class along the way. Anyway, we thought about giving it back, but that didn’t seem right, either. So here we are, the best-paid dog walkers on the North Shore. I may have enough to buy a car at the end of the summer.”

Birdie looked up. “A car?”

“Well, yes. Anyway, in addition to all those other good things, Nick adores his dog. That says everything there is to say about him, in my humble opinion.”

Gabby smiled at Squid as if he were listening and agreeing with her words. She started to turn again toward the stairs. Then turned around again.

“Oh, all this nice talk about Nick reminds me of a weird thing that happened. As much as you are all fans of Nick Cabot, he’s not a saint. At least, not everyone thinks so.”

“Well, none of us are, dear,” Birdie said.

“Right. But anyway, a week or so ago, this guy came to Nick’s house and—”

A racket at the front door broke into Gabby’s sentence. She and Squid looked toward the archway as a voice called out Gabby’s name.

“Sorry. That’s Daisy. We’re out of here,” Gabby said.

“Someone came where? Did what?” Birdie asked, suddenly alert.

“Oh, it has nothing to do with Daisy and me, Nonna. No big deal. I’ll fill you in later.” With a quick hug for Birdie, and a wave to the others, Gabby and the shaggy dog took the three steps to the shop’s main floor in a single leap. In the next second, the front door slammed shut and the shop was filled with quiet so big it filled the whole shop.

They sat back in their chairs, quiet for a moment, looking at the empty space left by a lively teenager and a sweet dog. And feeling the life that was left in their wake.

Finally Birdie spoke, her eyes still on the now-vacant steps. “Goodness. What life she brings into the room.”

“And to those in the room, too,” Nell said.

Birdie chuckled and passed around a stack of napkins. “She’s amazing, if I do say so myself.”

“Yes, she is.” Izzy leaned forward and filled four wineglasses.

Birdie held hers aloft. “Here’s to Gabby and Squid, and to life. And to dear friends. How I love you all.”

The others raised their glasses in unison. A gesture they’d made nearly every Thursday night for years as they settled into the yarn shop knitting room, wrapping themselves in friendship, food, and soft, comforting fibers. And tonight, in fondness for a sweet dog and deep love for a wonderful dog walker.

“And, not to diminish the additional nourishment,” Cass said, “here’s to the greatest chicken salad known to man.” She set her wineglass down and immediately lifted a forkful of salad with her other, reciting the ingredients: “Arugula, spinach, roasted pine nuts, wine, and . . . and . . .” She struggled with one more ingredient.

Nell chuckled at Cass’s amazing sense of taste and smell. Although the lobsterwoman wasn’t known for making anything more complicated than grilled cheese and canned tomato soup, her taste buds and sense of smell were worthy of their own Michelin award. “You missed the—”

“Shush. I got it.” Cass held up a hand, then said victoriously: “Ginger. Freshly grated.”

“Simply amazing.” Nell shook her head.

Izzy passed the basket of warm pita around, fiddled with an app on her phone, then sat down next to Cass. “Another night in paradise.”

The quiet that followed was comfortable and satisfying and spoke of deep friendship.

It wasn’t long before Cass helped herself to more salad, wineglasses were topped off, and the quiet gave way to murmurs of satisfaction.

Between bites, asked Nell. “Hey, how’s Elizabeth Hartley doing, now that she’s back in town?”

“Fine, I think. Ben and I had dinner with her not too long ago. It was one of those charity dinners and we were assigned to the same table. Ben and Nick had shuffled place cards so that we were able to hear each other. It e. . .