know that."
And not in the exquisite, one-of-a-kind cashmere sweater that Izzy had loaned Angie, Nell thought. The sweater must have crossed Izzy's mind. But it wouldn't be mentioned, not by either of them. Not now. A lost sweater was nothing when compared to a lost life.
Izzy walked down the two steps to the back room, and Nell and Cass picked up the rest of the boxes and followed her.
"Has Pete been able to talk about Angie's death?" Izzy asked. She collapsed the box and set it on the floor. "He wandered in here yesterday, hung around for a while as if he wanted to say something, but we were really busy and I didn't have time to talk."
"Not much. I've asked a few questions, but he doesn't want to go there."
"Give him time," Nell said.
Cass didn't answer. She picked up another shipping box, collapsed it, and placed it on the pile for recycling.
Nell could feel her unrest. Cass would be fine, but probably not until at least one of her issues was put to rest. She picked up a stack of collapsed boxes to take outside to the Dumpster and pushed open the side door with her hip, then stopped still in the doorway. "Did you hear that?" she asked, looking back into the shop.
Nell peered out the door and scanned the narrow alley that ran alongside the shop down to the water's edge. It was empty, except for George Gideon striding down to the waterfront as he began his nightly security stint. Cocky Gideon, as Cass called him. He looked back, nodded a hello, then moved on, his heavy backpack shifting between his broad shoulders.
"What do you hear?" Izzy asked, stepping out onto the small doorstep beside Nell.
"A whiny sound, like a baby crying. There. I hear it again."
Cass stepped past Nell and Izzy and looked toward the water. "I hear it, too. An injured gull?" She frowned and walked over to the green Dumpster pushed up against the clapboard siding.
Nell stepped outside. And then she heard the small cry again, coming from above. She leaned back and her eyes traveled up the side of the Seaside Studio, past the windows of the back room, to the apartment above. "Izzy, look. Up there."
Cass and Izzy stood out on the gravel pathway and their eyes followed the direction of Nell's finger.
And then they saw it.
Sitting on the windowsill inside Angie's apartment, its eyes as big and round as quarters, was a fluffy calico kitten.
Chapter 7
The three women hurried up the steps to the small apartment above Izzy's shop. Izzy fumbled in the pocket of her jeans for the ring of keys and pushed one into the lock.
Instantly, the tiny kitten flew off the windowsill and landed at their feet. Izzy scooped it up and cuddled the ball of fur to her chest. "Poor, sweet kitty. Where did you come from?"
Nell touched the kitten's soft coat with her fingertips and felt the tiny body purr beneath her touch. It was no bigger than a ball of angora yarn, with lovely red, black, and white markings. "What a beautiful kitten," Nell said. "A true calico. I didn't know Angie had a kitten."
"I didn't, either," Izzy said. "She told me she liked cats, but they made her sneeze, and . . ." Izzy paused, and then her face twisted into a frown as she absently scratched the tiny kitten's back.
"What's wrong, Izzy? You look puzzled."
Izzy lifted her cheek from the kitten's fur and looked at Nell. Concern creased her forehead. "This can't be Angie's kitten."
Cass frowned. "You're sure?"
"The police came up here after Angie died--routine, they said. They had to check for suicide notes, that sort of thing. I came up with them, and I'm sure the kitten wasn't in the apartment that day. I was with them the whole time, and unless the kitty was hiding somewhere, it wasn't here. It must have gotten in later . . . some other way."
Nell's brows pulled together as she looked around the apartment. It was possible the kitten had been hiding, she thought. The old cat that she and Ben had in Boston could disappear for days inside their brownstone home. Nell looked around the
And not in the exquisite, one-of-a-kind cashmere sweater that Izzy had loaned Angie, Nell thought. The sweater must have crossed Izzy's mind. But it wouldn't be mentioned, not by either of them. Not now. A lost sweater was nothing when compared to a lost life.
Izzy walked down the two steps to the back room, and Nell and Cass picked up the rest of the boxes and followed her.
"Has Pete been able to talk about Angie's death?" Izzy asked. She collapsed the box and set it on the floor. "He wandered in here yesterday, hung around for a while as if he wanted to say something, but we were really busy and I didn't have time to talk."
"Not much. I've asked a few questions, but he doesn't want to go there."
"Give him time," Nell said.
Cass didn't answer. She picked up another shipping box, collapsed it, and placed it on the pile for recycling.
Nell could feel her unrest. Cass would be fine, but probably not until at least one of her issues was put to rest. She picked up a stack of collapsed boxes to take outside to the Dumpster and pushed open the side door with her hip, then stopped still in the doorway. "Did you hear that?" she asked, looking back into the shop.
Nell peered out the door and scanned the narrow alley that ran alongside the shop down to the water's edge. It was empty, except for George Gideon striding down to the waterfront as he began his nightly security stint. Cocky Gideon, as Cass called him. He looked back, nodded a hello, then moved on, his heavy backpack shifting between his broad shoulders.
"What do you hear?" Izzy asked, stepping out onto the small doorstep beside Nell.
"A whiny sound, like a baby crying. There. I hear it again."
Cass stepped past Nell and Izzy and looked toward the water. "I hear it, too. An injured gull?" She frowned and walked over to the green Dumpster pushed up against the clapboard siding.
Nell stepped outside. And then she heard the small cry again, coming from above. She leaned back and her eyes traveled up the side of the Seaside Studio, past the windows of the back room, to the apartment above. "Izzy, look. Up there."
Cass and Izzy stood out on the gravel pathway and their eyes followed the direction of Nell's finger.
And then they saw it.
Sitting on the windowsill inside Angie's apartment, its eyes as big and round as quarters, was a fluffy calico kitten.
Chapter 7
The three women hurried up the steps to the small apartment above Izzy's shop. Izzy fumbled in the pocket of her jeans for the ring of keys and pushed one into the lock.
Instantly, the tiny kitten flew off the windowsill and landed at their feet. Izzy scooped it up and cuddled the ball of fur to her chest. "Poor, sweet kitty. Where did you come from?"
Nell touched the kitten's soft coat with her fingertips and felt the tiny body purr beneath her touch. It was no bigger than a ball of angora yarn, with lovely red, black, and white markings. "What a beautiful kitten," Nell said. "A true calico. I didn't know Angie had a kitten."
"I didn't, either," Izzy said. "She told me she liked cats, but they made her sneeze, and . . ." Izzy paused, and then her face twisted into a frown as she absently scratched the tiny kitten's back.
"What's wrong, Izzy? You look puzzled."
Izzy lifted her cheek from the kitten's fur and looked at Nell. Concern creased her forehead. "This can't be Angie's kitten."
Cass frowned. "You're sure?"
"The police came up here after Angie died--routine, they said. They had to check for suicide notes, that sort of thing. I came up with them, and I'm sure the kitten wasn't in the apartment that day. I was with them the whole time, and unless the kitty was hiding somewhere, it wasn't here. It must have gotten in later . . . some other way."
Nell's brows pulled together as she looked around the apartment. It was possible the kitten had been hiding, she thought. The old cat that she and Ben had in Boston could disappear for days inside their brownstone home. Nell looked around the
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