Read Online Patterns in the Sand by Sally Goldenbaum - Free Book Online Page B

coffee cups and pastries on both sides of her. She wore a pair of cutoff jeans, a red tank top, and her dark hair puffed out beneath a flowered headband that ran across her forehead and around her head like a crown. Her feet were slightly apart, her stance strong, as if to ward off any danger. But when Nell looked up into her eyes, she saw little bravado.
     
     
Willow finally spotted Nell’s waving hand and wound her way to their table, one hand gripping the familiar backpack and the other a cup of coffee.
     
     
“I saw Sam outside your shop, Izzy. He said you’d all probably be here.”
     
     
“And Sam was right. He knows all our bad habits.”
     
     
“Come, sit.” Cass patted a chair that she’d pulled over from another table.
     
     
“Things have been a little nuts, Willow. I’m sorry I haven’t scheduled something at the knitting shop for you. Does later this week sound good?”
     
     
Willow hesitated. She looked down into her coffee cup, then finally met Izzy’s eyes. “I don’t know, Izzy. I think all of you are great—I really do. You’ve been terrific to me—but this just doesn’t seem like a good time around here. I’m thinking of moving on, maybe heading back to Wisconsin.”
     
     
“No, Willow, you’re wrong about it not being a good time. You’ve come all this way, and my customers will love learning about your art. It’s the best time.”
     
     
“Izzy’s absolutely right,” Nell agreed. “This is a sad time because the artist who died was our friend. But having something beautiful to look forward to is a good thing at times like this.”
     
     
“And besides, dear, we simply won’t let you leave Sea Harbor on the cusp of such sadness. Our town is really a lovely place.”
     
     
The others reinforced Birdie’s sentiment, and Willow finally shrugged, but the shift of her narrow shoulders didn’t indicate a promise either way.
     
     
“I came down to the guesthouse yesterday,” Nell said. “You’d already gone out. I wanted to explain what was going on, though you can’t help but be aware of it.”
     
     
“I went running on the beach.”
     
     
Willow looked at Nell and smiled. “I really love it down there. I walk through your little bit of woods, smelling those giant pine trees, and then it all opens up and there’s the sea, right smack in front of me. It’s like everything I imagined it would be. And running on the sand like that clears my head.”
     
     
“Of course it does. It must be a bit disconcerting to have a murder occur almost before your eyes,” Birdie said.
     
     
“My eyes?” Willow looked at Birdie in surprise.
     
     
“Figuratively speaking. We were all right there, milling around Canary Cove and having a grand time. And at the same time, Aidan Peabody was dying. It’s quite awful.” Birdie pulled a section off her cinnamon roll and began to chew it slowly.
     
     
“I know people are sad about his death.”
     
     
“He was a lovely, talented man. His art is enchanting,” Nell said. “Did you meet him Saturday when you were wandering around the studios?”
     
     
“Meet him?” Willow seemed startled by the question. She took a drink of coffee, her eyes seeming to focus on Birdie’s cinnamon roll.
     
     
“Well, if you didn’t, it’s a shame. You would have liked him. Aidan was as unexpected and irreverent as his art,” Birdie said. “He made me laugh, a wonderful trait to have. I will miss him.”
     
     
“We’ll miss him. And his huge art following will miss him. But, unfortunately, there are some people who won’t,” Cass said. “Word on the water yesterday was that D. J. Delaney is moving ahead full force to get Aidan’s land.”
     
     
“You gossip while you’re pulling traps, Catherine?” Birdie looked up from her coffee.
     
     
“Old Finnegan’s traps were empty so he served up some gossip instead. Slow mornings seem to bring that out of him. Besides, the guys were all bummed. They liked Pea buddy , as they called him. He was definitely the fishermen’s artist, with all those