Read Online Death by Cashmere by Sally Goldenbaum - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sally Goldenbaum
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laughed. The kitten had worked magic, lightening the mood. She lifted the fluff of fur from Izzy's lap and cupped it in the palms of her hands, looking into the kitten's bright blue eyes. The kitten looked back at Nell, steady and calm, its gaze curious.
If only you could talk, little one. Nell smiled into the kitten's unwavering look. If only you'd share your secrets with me. Tell me how you got into Angie's apartment--and what you saw while visiting there.
Chapter 8
Birdie Favazza fell in love with the calico kitten the minute she laid eyes on her, but she was dismayed to hear that after twenty-four hours in residence, she still had no name.
"It isn't good for the sweet thing's psyche," she said, pulling a small waste ball of rose-colored yarn from her knitting bag and rolling it along the floor in the shop's back room. Birdie always brought a plethora of projects to the Thursday-night knitting group--she was never sure what the evening's mood and Nell's treats would move her to knit.
The kitten scampered after the yarn, its tiny paws barely touching the floor. In one brief day, she had purred herself into the hearts of Izzy's staff and the dozens of customers who had stopped to stroke and cuddle her.
"She loves it here," Izzy said, pouring Birdie a glass of the Pinot.
"Of course she does," Birdie said.
Nell stood at the sideboard, tossing together a salad of sauteed wild mushrooms, fresh greens, tomatoes, and thin slices of fresh tuna, seared on the grill and pink and juicy on the inside. Pine nuts, lightly browned, and chunks of fresh mozzarella cheese would top off the salad, and it would be perfectly complemented by Birdie's wine.
Beside her, Cass looked for opportunities to pluck out slices of tuna.
Birdie rummaged around in her bag and settled on a soft, nearly finished baby sweater she was knitting for her housekeeper's grandbaby. Birdie loved bright colors and was working up a sweater that boasted a kaleidoscope of hues--bright green raglan sleeves, a bold red border, cobalt blue for the back, and golden yellow and deep green front panels. "Angie's strange drowning and now this kitten showing up in a locked apartment," she said, "might make one think our town haunted."
"I don't think it's ghosts doing these things." Nell wrapped the forks inside four napkins and set them beside the wooden bowl. "I talked to Harry today about the kitten. He said the kitten must have wandered off from the others. He knew one was missing, but figured that some child whose mother had said no to a new kitten had simply slipped it beneath a beach towel and carried it home."
"Was he surprised where she ended up?" Izzy handed Nell a glass of wine and sat across from Birdie. She picked up her half-knit sweater. She was far enough along now that the cables had taken shape and given the sweater definition. Uncle Ben would love it, and it would keep him warm when he walked the beach in the middle of December. Between her and Nell, Ben Endicott would never be without the perfect sweater for any kind of Sea Harbor weather. The kitten jumped up on Izzy's lap and curled up beside her handiwork.
"He wasn't as surprised as I thought he'd be. He comes in early on Tuesday mornings--around four, he said--to bake his sourdough bread. His wife's been encouraging him to walk to work these days--it's good for his heart and the bulge around his middle, Maggie says. As he walked past the alleyway, he saw someone just a few feet from the apartment steps."
"Good grief," said Birdie, looking up and taking off her glasses.
"He said the person had black hair--he thought it was Gideon, even though his backpack was missing. He noticed that because he'd never seen him at work without it. But he was in a hurry, so he went on to the deli, fed the kittens some milk, and busied himself baking bread. He left the door open a crack because of the oven heat, and a kitten could easily have slipped out into the dark."
"Do you think it was Gideon?" Cass asked.
If only you could talk, little one. Nell smiled into the kitten's unwavering look. If only you'd share your secrets with me. Tell me how you got into Angie's apartment--and what you saw while visiting there.
Chapter 8
Birdie Favazza fell in love with the calico kitten the minute she laid eyes on her, but she was dismayed to hear that after twenty-four hours in residence, she still had no name.
"It isn't good for the sweet thing's psyche," she said, pulling a small waste ball of rose-colored yarn from her knitting bag and rolling it along the floor in the shop's back room. Birdie always brought a plethora of projects to the Thursday-night knitting group--she was never sure what the evening's mood and Nell's treats would move her to knit.
The kitten scampered after the yarn, its tiny paws barely touching the floor. In one brief day, she had purred herself into the hearts of Izzy's staff and the dozens of customers who had stopped to stroke and cuddle her.
"She loves it here," Izzy said, pouring Birdie a glass of the Pinot.
"Of course she does," Birdie said.
Nell stood at the sideboard, tossing together a salad of sauteed wild mushrooms, fresh greens, tomatoes, and thin slices of fresh tuna, seared on the grill and pink and juicy on the inside. Pine nuts, lightly browned, and chunks of fresh mozzarella cheese would top off the salad, and it would be perfectly complemented by Birdie's wine.
Beside her, Cass looked for opportunities to pluck out slices of tuna.
Birdie rummaged around in her bag and settled on a soft, nearly finished baby sweater she was knitting for her housekeeper's grandbaby. Birdie loved bright colors and was working up a sweater that boasted a kaleidoscope of hues--bright green raglan sleeves, a bold red border, cobalt blue for the back, and golden yellow and deep green front panels. "Angie's strange drowning and now this kitten showing up in a locked apartment," she said, "might make one think our town haunted."
"I don't think it's ghosts doing these things." Nell wrapped the forks inside four napkins and set them beside the wooden bowl. "I talked to Harry today about the kitten. He said the kitten must have wandered off from the others. He knew one was missing, but figured that some child whose mother had said no to a new kitten had simply slipped it beneath a beach towel and carried it home."
"Was he surprised where she ended up?" Izzy handed Nell a glass of wine and sat across from Birdie. She picked up her half-knit sweater. She was far enough along now that the cables had taken shape and given the sweater definition. Uncle Ben would love it, and it would keep him warm when he walked the beach in the middle of December. Between her and Nell, Ben Endicott would never be without the perfect sweater for any kind of Sea Harbor weather. The kitten jumped up on Izzy's lap and curled up beside her handiwork.
"He wasn't as surprised as I thought he'd be. He comes in early on Tuesday mornings--around four, he said--to bake his sourdough bread. His wife's been encouraging him to walk to work these days--it's good for his heart and the bulge around his middle, Maggie says. As he walked past the alleyway, he saw someone just a few feet from the apartment steps."
"Good grief," said Birdie, looking up and taking off her glasses.
"He said the person had black hair--he thought it was Gideon, even though his backpack was missing. He noticed that because he'd never seen him at work without it. But he was in a hurry, so he went on to the deli, fed the kittens some milk, and busied himself baking bread. He left the door open a crack because of the oven heat, and a kitten could easily have slipped out into the dark."
"Do you think it was Gideon?" Cass asked.
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