Free Murder in Merino by Sally Goldenbaum

Abby’s soft gurgles were a welcome relief. Quickly she turned and pushed the stroller away from the bridge and down Harbor Road, toward friendly faces and conversations she was meant to be a part of.
    “Nell, you’re just the person I want to see.” Mae Anderson rushed from behind the checkout counter as Nell pushed the stroller into Izzy’s yarn shop.
    “You don’t fool me for a minute. It’s Abigail Kathleen you want. I am simply the means to your end.”
    Mae laughed and leaned her needle-thin body down to peer into the stroller. Abby was fast asleep, but that didn’t stop Mae from carrying on a sweet and intimate conversation with the baby.
    “Well, you truly
are
the person
I
want to see.” Beatrice Scaglia appeared from behind a display of merino yarn. The soft skeins were piled high in all the colors of autumn—burnished gold, honey maple, sage green, rich reds and oranges, several of which Beatrice held in her hand. Although Beatrice was rarely seen knitting, she was a devoted customer and often attended Izzy’s classes, disguising her true intent with a pile of yarn, bamboo knitting needles, and a stack of pattern books at her side while she listened to every conversation spinning around her.
    “It helps her to know what people are saying and thinking about the town,” Izzy explained with a shrug.
    Nell looked at the skeins of yarn in Beatrice’s hands. “Those are beautiful, Beatrice. You have good taste.”
    “No, it’s Izzy with the taste,” Beatrice said. She motioned for Nell to follow her to the side of the room, out of traffic. “I tried to talk with you at the museum earlier today, but sometimes it’s hard to talk privately with Karen Hanson around.”
    When she noticed Nell’s frown, her words came more quickly. “I’m sorry if I sound disrespectful, but for all her smiles, she has somehow managed to push me off the speaking platforms of nearly every social group in town by pulling her first-lady card and suggesting that she do it herself. I suppose growing up in the lap of luxury gives one that feeling of power. And somehow—though it seems inappropriate—being the mayor’s wife holds more weight than being a hardworking councilwoman.” Her voice trailed off.
    “Beatrice, campaigns are difficult for sure. But Karen has done a lot of good in Sea Harbor during Stan’s tenure as mayor.”
    “All calculated,” was Beatrice’s retort.
    Nell looked around for an escape.
    “I know I shouldn’t be venting to you, Nell,” Beatrice said, her voice softer, and one hand resting on Nell’s arm. “It’s not what I really wanted to talk to you about anyway. I want to help with your anniversary party.”
    Nell sighed. Before long, the planning committee would include the whole town.
    “I will give a toast, of course, but I could also serve as an unofficial emcee? Welcome people, make everyone feel comfortable. And my nephew has a band I will contact—he’s playing at all my political gatherings.”
    Nell could imagine the scene—an American flag hanging in the background, Beatrice in a colorful suit at the microphone commanding attention, a band playing somewhere in the distance. A political rally in disguise. “Beatrice, you’re generous,” she said. “But we don’t need a thing. It’s going to be a casual gathering of friends and family. Hopefully something like lobster rolls and beer.”
    Beatrice frowned and took a step back. “I heard that Mary Pisano is helping organize things.”
    Of course,
Nell thought. And she probably knew that Karen was helping Mary. Nothing escaped Beatrice.
    But this time Beatrice focused on a new target. “Mary told me the woman staying in her inn is offering suggestions. Surely you don’t want a stranger involved.”
    This time Nell laughed. “Jules used to cater parties. Mary is simply asking her for ideas.”
    But Beatrice wasn’t listening. “The woman is pleasant enough—but she seems a bit inappropriate, don’t you think? I’ve