Angora Alibi (13 page)

“You think your life is almost perfect,” Janie said. “I have you, Tommy, and this
wonderful apartment.” She looked at Izzy. “I love my job so much. And then little
things start to happen. Things got a little crazy at work—the clinic is tense, you
know?” She looked at Izzy. “Do you feel it, Iz? It didn’t used to be that way.”

“A little, yes, I do.”

“Sometimes Dr. Seltzer doesn’t seem to be tracking completely. Then some things go
missing and Lily and I can’t figure it out. And then Justin . . . Where did that perfect
life go? I don’t know if I will ever get it back.”

“Sure, it’s tough now, but we’ll make it better. I promise.” Tommy sat next to her
and rubbed her neck.

She turned her head toward him. “They called me at work, Tommy.”

“Who did?”

“The police.”

“They’ll probably want to talk to all of us, Janie,” Nell said. “Right, Tommy?”

Janie shook her head. “No, it’s not like that.” When she looked at Tommy again, it
was with great sadness, as if she had done something terrible to hurt him.

“I said I wanted to kill Justin—I told all of you that. I even told Archie Brandley
when I left the house that night.” She pulled Purl onto her lap.

“And the police think maybe I did.”

“T
ommy was wonderful,” Nell told Ben at breakfast the next day. “He hugged her and tried
to get her to laugh. She was talking to the wrong person, he told her. After all,
he
was the police. And he knew firsthand she couldn’t kill a spider if her life depended
on it.”

Ben downed the last dregs of his coffee and got up from the island. “Tommy’s a good
man. I’ll see Jerry today at the chamber meeting and see what I can find out. Tommy’s
absolutely right—Janie couldn’t hurt a fly.”

But the furrow in his brow told Nell what she already knew. The police were on the
fast track to get this murder solved. Not only did the town need the peace of knowing
there wasn’t a murderer in their midst, but it didn’t help tourism any to have stories
about the scuba diving murder—as the press called it—on visitors’ radar. The yellow
tape had finally been taken off the beach, but that wasn’t nearly enough. Someone
had to be behind bars before the collective sigh of relief would come from the town.

They’d talk to and consider anyone who had had any relationship with Justin Dorsey,
the ponytailed kid from California. And they’d certainly not overlook his friend and
distant cousin—a well-loved young woman who let it be heard that she wanted to kill
him.

“It must have sliced right through her to realize she was a suspect,” Ben said. “Janie
really cared for the kid.”

Nell put the breakfast dishes in the sink and began rinsing them off. “She saw the
good in him, just like she does in everyone. And Janie is a natural caretaker. It’s
in her blood—and Justin needed lots of caring.”

“I liked him, actually. We had a great talk one day about his love for the ocean—Atlantic
or Pacific, he wasn’t fussy. He thought our sailboat was great.”

“Which of course would endear him to you.”

“Absolutely.” Ben walked over and wrapped his arms around her while she held a cup
beneath the spray. “And speaking of endearing—” He nuzzled the side of her neck. “You’re
not so bad yourself.”

Nell turned slightly and rubbed a soapy finger across his cheek. She smiled at him.
“Then you won’t mind picking up some fish for tonight?”

“Hmmm,” Ben responded, then pulled away and checked his watch. “Not exactly what I
had in mind, but I guess it’ll have to do for now. Duty calls.” He dropped a kiss
on her cheek, picked up his keys, and was out the back door, off to help plan a summer
regatta for the Boys’ Club kids. Something, it occurred to both him and Nell, that
might have made a huge difference in Justin Dorsey’s life, had the opportunity been
there.

•   •   •

It was noon before Nell finally got away from the house.

She’d sat at the kitchen island finishing a short grant application for the Canary
Cove Arts Association, a task that should have taken an hour or two, but thoughts
of Justin Dorsey and Janie Levin played havoc with her concentration.

Four hours later she grabbed her errand and grocery lists and drove down toward Harbor
Road.

Birdie would meet up with her a little later at Izzy’s shop, she’d texted Nell earlier.
No reason,
she said, except that Harold was off getting the car detailed and she needed some
things at the store, so they would shop together.

And, Nell thought, Birdie knew she would like the company. They all had a sense about
that—Nell, Birdie, Cass, and Izzy. There was a time to be alone, but a time when a
close friend filled that space so much better.

Just as Nell turned onto Harbor Road, a car pulled out of a parking space directly
in front of Gus McClucken’s hardware store. A good omen, she thought. Perhaps the
whole day would unfold that way—good, fortuitous things happening.

She pulled in and sat for a minute behind the wheel, her thoughts on the conversation
she’d had with Ben. On Janie. On Justin. She looked across the street at Izzy’s shop.
The windows in the apartment above were open slightly. Izzy had called early to say
she’d talked to Janie that morning. She had slept some, felt a little better—although
she looked haggard, Izzy thought. But she was on her way to the clinic. Back to living
her life, she’d said, though it would be forever changed.

And it would, Nell knew. One didn’t experience the death of someone close without
it having a lasting affect. Pairing that with murder made it doubly so.

Ben had said he liked Justin. She did, too. There was something about those engaging
blue eyes and dimpled smile that was endearing. That was probably what Janie had seen
at the family reunion and what drew her to him and him to her. He needed someone to
care for him, and Janie was an ideal person to fill that need. Justin had an intriguing
innocence, a kind of naiveté that made him seem younger than he actually was. And
that, she realized with a start, could certainly exasperate those who cared about
him, especially if it led to foolish decisions. Like washing windows on a rickety
ladder or skipping job shifts in favor of surfing . . . or buying expensive presents
without the money to pay for him.

“Yoo-hoo, in there. Anyone home?”

Nell looked over at a smiling Henrietta O’Neal, tapping on the passenger window with
the handle of her cane.

Nell rolled down the window. “You caught me, Henrietta. I was deep into daydreaming.”

Henrietta leaned in. “But from the look on your face, I suspect they’re not especially
nice dreams.”

“It hasn’t been the best of weeks, has it?” she said.

“Sometimes bad things happen.”

“Justin Dorsey’s death is certainly that—a bad thing.”

“Murder, you mean, Nell. One must call it as it is, as distasteful as that may be.
Murder
, it’s such an ugly word, not one we want to linger here long.”

Nell slid out of the car and walked toward Henrietta.

It wasn’t until she stepped up on the curb that she noticed Horace Stevenson. He was
sitting on the bench outside Gus’ store, his dog, Red, on the sidewalk beside him.
Nell smiled over at them both, and Red thumped his tail in greeting. The only place
she ever saw Horace on Harbor Road was in that exact spot. He’d buy his weekly supply
of dog food, then wait contentedly for Gus to give him a lift home. His social life,
he told her once. A chance to people-watch.

He tipped his ball cap to Nell before turning his attention to a group of skateboarders
rolling down the street.

Nell turned to Henrietta. “Did you know Justin?”

Henrietta tsked at the racket the skaters were making, then pulled her white eyebrows
together, as if Nell had asked her a difficult question.
Did she know Justin?
Finally she said, “I knew who he was—let’s put it that way. He was always friendly
when I’d see him around town. But then there was another side to him. . . .”

“Another side?”

“How shall I say it? Something wasn’t quite right. His attention span seemed to be
minimal. He didn’t seem to know his boundaries, like an untrained puppy, but not suitable
behavior for someone nearing twenty.”

“How so?”

Henrietta waved one chubby finger in the air, as if scolding herself. “I’m being a
fuddy-duddy. But that being said, I know he was a problem in the clinic. Doc Hamilton
told me Lily hired him to do odd jobs, fix computers, file things. Apparently the
young man was smart enough. But when I’d go in for my weekly blood-pressure screening,
I’d see him wandering around, checking doors, snooping, you might say. Recently I
went over to Martin’s office to say hello, and there was Justin, standing outside
the office door, as still as a mouse, like he was listening to what was going on behind
the door. I suppose what I’m saying is that he was a tad inappropriate—though Martin
would say that’s an understatement.”

She shook her head and laughed. “Goodness gracious, I
am
a fuddy-duddy, aren’t I? And who am I to talk? I’ve been known to ‘accidentally’
overhear a conversation or two myself.”

“That’s an understatement, Henrietta dear.” Gus McClucken walked out the front door
of the hardware store carrying a giant bag of dog food. He set it down next to the
bench and scratched the dog behind his ears. “I’ll get you home in time for lunch,
Red,” he said, and then nodded at Horace. “He can come, too.”

“All right, Gus,” Henrietta said, “tell us what you think about all these goings-on.”

Gus’ smile disappeared in a flash. “It’s pretty damn awful, is what I think. It’s
been a mess over here, with the police checking records, equipment, and what have
you, trying to figure out who had access to it, that kind of thing. I knew Justin—he
hung out in here because he loved all the toys, the surfboards and boogie boards and
gear. He was dying to do a dive. . . .” He paused at the unfortunate choice of words,
then said, “It’s a cryin’ shame. All of it.”

Nell looked over at Horace. His watery eyes were on the street traffic, but she suspected
the old man’s ears were tuned to the conversation going on beside him.

The bell above the door rang again and Martin Seltzer walked out of the store, carrying
a bag of fertilizer.

“Hey, Martin,” Gus said, touching the bill of his cap.

Nell smiled a hello, but Henrietta was more effusive, walking up to the doctor and
touching his arm. She looked up and smiled warmly—though her words were pure Henrietta.
“Martin, you’re skinny as a rat’s tail. I hope you’ve come down here to eat.”

Martin frowned at her, then lifted up his bag and stared at it. “You think I eat fertilizer?”

They laughed and Nell worked at swallowing her surprise. Martin Seltzer had a sense
of humor. Who knew? But it was nice to see. Perhaps Henrietta brought it out of him,
in spite of their disagreement at the market.

“My buddy here’s a great gardener,” Gus said, his thumb pointing back toward Martin.
“He’s one of the few that knows you get what you pay for. Always buys premium quality.
Organic.”

Henrietta frowned, as if she couldn’t imagine Martin planting anything but his feet.

“You were talking about the kid who died—what Henrietta was saying was right. It’s
all true.”

They waited.

“Lily thought he needed a break, so she paid him to work at the clinic—for doing nothing,
in my opinion. I told her to fire him. He was no good, believe me, I know. He was
a snoop, a common thief, a kid who didn’t know right from wrong. I’d like to have
killed him some days. But Janie Levin stood up for him, too. Foolish woman. She’s
a great nurse but a bad judge of character. That kid was bound to meet a bad end.
And then he did. I warned him.” Martin’s face grew agitated as he talked and the toe
of his long brown shoe tapped nervously on the sidewalk. When he spoke again, his
voice was angry, his words carried on a wave of emotion.

“Sometimes people ask for it. They’re warned, they don’t listen. And then they get
what they asked for.”

Up and down Harbor Road, people laughed and chatted and children walked by eating
giant ice-cream cones. Cars honked. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce floated out
of Harry’s deli down the street.

In front of McClucken’s Hardware Store and Dive Shop, all was silent.

A gravelly voice finally broke the silence. “Who asked for what, you crazy fool?”
It was Horace Stevenson, leaning toward the group.

They all looked over at the old man, his face carved by the years. His eyes were rheumy
but his voice was strong.

“We were talking about the young man who was killed,” Nell said. Horace lived a stone’s
throw from the dive site. He must have heard about the murder.

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed Nell’s comment. “I know what goes on,” he said.
“Sometimes it takes a while for what I see to become clear in my head, to connect
to my thoughts, you know?” He thumped his head with his knuckles as if knocking things
in place. “But I was there . . . out on the beach. It was dark as doom. Shadowy. But
the sounds were there. And the smells. Strong and tingly in my nose.

“And I know this much for sure: no one has the right—no matter who they think they
are—to go in that shack and fiddle with the gear. No one deserves that kind of end—to
sink down there below that water, your breath cut off. No one, not even that crazy
surfer.”

His face came alive as he talked, as if saying the words out loud was somehow clarifying
some confusion in his own mind. As if murky thoughts were becoming clear, rational,
connected. Even his weary eyes, cloudy with cataracts, seemed to be seeing something
that was becoming clear in his mind. “Now it fits together.” Horace reached down and
scratched his dog’s head, his words softening to a murmur meant only for Red.

Gus nodded. “The old man’s right, Marty. No one deserves that kind of thing. Not even
you.”

Martin’s face faded to the color of the sidewalk. The vehemence of his own words seemed
to have taken a toll on him. He coughed into his hand and stared at the ground.

“I knew him,” he mumbled.

“Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t,” Henrietta said, tapping his arm with the handle
of her cane. “But the one thing I do know is you better watch your tongue. I think
you’re half starving and it’s affecting your brain. We’re going to get something to
eat. Maybe it will turn you into a decent human being.”

With that she picked up her cane, motioned toward Harry Garozzo’s deli, and began
to walk in that direction, her cane tapping authoritatively on the cement.
Follow me,
it said.

Martin Seltzer followed.

•   •   •

An hour later, Nell walked into Izzy’s yarn shop. She’d been to the post office and
the cheese shop, then picked up old-fashioned candy dots from Lulu’s Sweets, the new
candy store next to the bank. And all along the way she’d wondered about two men—the
doctor and the old man who walked the shore—both who seemed to have unusually strong
opinions about a young man’s death.

Her last purchase was an impulse buy—the long chain of candy disks reminded Nell of
Izzy’s colorful window display. The twins had created a nursery, complete with bassinet
and rocking chair. And overflowing from the bed and chair were giant balls of alpaca,
angora, dreamy cottons, and fine merinos in every color of the rainbow. Tiny infant
sweaters, plush blankets, and hats—donated by customers for the children’s shelter—were
a colorful background, hanging gaily from a white clothesline that stretched from
one side of the window to the other. The candy disks matched the colors perfectly.