Angora Alibi (20 page)

“No, not lunch today,” Nell said. “Just dessert. Is Tyler Gibson working?”

Kevin nodded. “I’m keeping his nose to the grindstone for a few days. He’s been taking
time off, lured away by too many party invitations—then he looks like something the
cat dragged in the next day.”

“Will we be disturbing things if we go back to say hello?”

“You two? Never. Make yourselves at home. Tell Ty I said the dessert and drinks are
on the house.” He waved to Jeffrey and headed out the door.

They made their way back around the tables and booths and through the wide-open doors
to the outdoor bar. A few men sat at the end of the bar watching the television. Tyler
Gibson stood nearby, one eye on the baseball game while he wiped glasses and set them
on shelves. A waitress was back and forth, serving drinks and delivering bowls of
chips to guests seated at the tall cocktail tables.

Birdie waved at Tyler and he made his way down the length of the bar.

“Ladies,” he greeted them warmly. “What’s your pleasure?”

“You are, Tyler. Along with iced tea.”

Tyler’s returning smile was hesitant.

“We’d like to talk if you have a minute,” Nell explained.

“Me?”

“It’s about Justin Dorsey’s murder,” Birdie said.

Tyler’s smile disappeared and he glanced around the lounge area, then back at the
men watching the game. “A couple minutes, max,” he said. “We’re a little busy and
it’s almost time for the cocktail crowd.” His smile was too bright and never reached
his eyes. “Don’t want to get fired.”

“Of course not, dear,” Birdie said. “We don’t want that, either. This will take just
a minute or two.”

Nell started in. “I’m sure everyone knows by now that Justin Dorsey was selling marijuana.”
She wondered how specific they should be with him, but it didn’t seem to matter. Tyler
just stared at them with a blank look on his face.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors flying around the beach,” Birdie continued.

“Well, sure,” he said.

“We’re trying to find out a little more about what he was doing, who was involved,
that sort of thing,” Nell said. “We think it might help the police find the person
who killed him.”

“Well, sure,” he said again.

He forked his fingers through his hair and shifted from one foot to another. “Hey,
you’re thirsty. Sorry.” He spun around, filled two tall glasses with iced tea, and
stuck a lemon slice on each rim. They slid a little forcefully across the bar, tea
sloshing over the side, but Tyler didn’t seem to notice. He drummed his fingers, then
glanced down at the cocktail waitress standing at the other end. She was talking to
the men watching the game.

“Oh, jeez,” he said. “Duty calls. Just one sec while I fill Stacey’s drink order and
I’ll be right back.”

He fairly flew down the length of the bar. “Poor Tyler. He thinks we’re going to arrest
him.”

“Or worse, tell his grandmother,” Nell said.

A waitress walked by with a tray of desserts, and Birdie picked out a single piece
of carrot cake. “Two forks, please,” she said, then turned back to Nell. “I believe
this is Kevin’s mother’s recipe. Cream cheese frosting. Sinful, as is appropriate.”

Nell laughed and took a bite, then wondered aloud how they could make Tyler feel more
comfortable while they talked to him. “I think he was starting to perspire,” she said.

They looked back down the bar. A few more men had joined the others watching the game.

“So much for making him comfortable,” Birdie said.

Stacey, the young cocktail waitress, was now behind the bar, stirring a pitcher of
margaritas with one hand and sliding a beer across the bar.

Tyler Gibson was nowhere in sight.

H
ours later, as the sky turned purple and tiny lights flickered on up and down Harbor
Road, Izzy, Nell, Cass, and Birdie found a parking spot and walked across Harbor Road
toward Jake Risso’s Gull Tavern.

Meet us for Tuesday night baseball at the bar
, Ben had written in a text.

“So that was the end of that,” Birdie said, detailing their afternoon sleuthing adventure
to Izzy and Cass. “But the carrot cake was the best I’ve ever had.”

“You don’t think he left town, do you?” Izzy said. “What was he thinking? And being
intimidated by you and Aunt Nell? That’s goofy.”

Cass was perplexed. “Tyler’s a sweet guy, but he’s definitely a sandwich short of
a picnic. Maybe he just panicked and did the first thing that popped into his head—disappear.
He used to do that with his mom when he was a kid and got into trouble. I actually
found him under his bed one time.”

“The problem is, it makes him look guilty,” Nell said. “He definitely didn’t want
to talk to us, even though just days ago he was asking all kinds of questions about
Horace Stevenson’s death. But once it seemed we wanted to ask him questions about
himself, he froze.”

The door to the Gull was open, letting in breezes while the noise from the crowd rolled
out onto the sidewalk.

“Why did we let the men talk us into this?” Izzy asked, peering into the crowded,
noisy bar.

“Because Jake’s food is passable and it means none of us will have to cook tonight,”
Cass said.

That was part of it, they agreed. And the other part was that being home alone these
nights wasn’t something any of them cherished.

Ben waved to them as they came in the door, then pointed above the heads of those
around him to the corner booth that Jake always saved for them. Iced water was already
poured and a basket of fried calamari and plenty of napkins sat in the middle.

Nell had called Ben on her cell and filled him in on what had happened. In his calm,
collected way, he had downplayed it, suggesting that maybe Tyler’s shift had ended
and he wanted to get home.

But he was wrong this time. Tyler left because he didn’t want to talk to them. Even
the cocktail waitress stumbled when trying to explain his sudden exit.
“He . . . he had to see someone,”
she had mumbled.

“A man about a horse, no doubt,”
Birdie had said sweetly back to her, bringing a smile to the uncomfortable young
woman’s face.

Nell looked around at the crowded room. It was packed with a mixture of townsfolk
and visitors, sunburned young women in halter tops and weathered fishermen, friends
and neighbors and strangers. Many were at the bar, three deep, cheering on the mighty
Sox, most of them drinking beer to drown out the strikes and outs, and some just sitting
along the window bar with giant baskets of clams and calamari and crisp, cheesy fries
in front of them. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she spotted Pete over in a
corner. Willow was with him, along with a group of friends. But not Tyler Gibson.

Perhaps Cass was right—he took a slow boat to China. Or Gloucester, maybe.

Nell noticed a shaft of light coming from the wooden steps leading up to the roof.
“How about we go up on the roof? Stars, moon, no television, a cool breeze.” The rooftop
seating was a new addition to Jake’s bar, a casual area with long tables and benches
for those who didn’t like the din and swell of bodies below. Izzy, Birdie, and Cass
were up the steps before Nell had the words out of her mouth. She mouthed over the
crowd to Ben where they’d be, then asked a waiter to bring up their food and drinks.

Andy Risso walked out from behind the bar and waved the waitress away. “I’ll do it,
Nell,” he said, piling the basket and glasses onto a tray and following her up.

“Can’t say I blame you—it’s nice up here,” he said. Andy had always been one of Nell’s
favorite Sea Harbor kids, ever since he was a young boy running errands for Ben’s
father. And now he was all grown up and still one of her favorites. When he was studying
English literature in college, he’d come home for vacations and sit with Nell on Coffee’s
patio, discussing Gertrude Stein and other literary expatriates roaming around inside
his head. She loved the intelligence and wit that lived beneath his drummer’s hands
and blond ponytail. He was somewhat of a Renaissance man, not unlike her own husband—and
that was the ultimate compliment, the young drummer had told her.

“How’re things in the bar, Andy?” Nell asked, a mundane question.
Fine
, he would say.

But instead, Andy said, “Not great. Too many rumors, too much talk about all the bad
things coming down on us. And when it gets late, my dad and I worry about folks getting
home okay. When you don’t know what’s going on, you think the worst. It’s like some
evil shadow lurking around, just waiting to pounce. Can’t say I like it.”

He set down the tray. “People are just plain wary, even in here where people come
to relax and get rid of worries.”

“What are the rumors?” Izzy asked.

“I don’t hear everything, but when a kid is murdered and there doesn’t seem to be
a logical reason, people make things up. Some think that Dorsey was murdered because
he cheated someone. But no one knows
who
that could be, so people are looking at each other in a different light.
Is it that guy? Or maybe him?
Like who would kill a foolish kid, even if he was selling grass, if that’s what was
going on. Who would do that? A madman. Someone deranged?” He looked around, waved
at some people coming up on the roof, then leaned his palms flat on the table. “None
of it computes, if you ask me. Most folks around here would rather have our fantastic
beer than what he was selling, anyway.”

“What about Tyler?” Izzy asked.

“Gibson?”

“Yes,” Nell said.

Andy thought about it. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me. He’s a nice kid. Guys
like him. Ladies love him. I even saw the ice princess flirting with him here one
night.”

“Ice princess?”

“Sorry. Sometimes my dad’s crassness rubs off on me. That’s what he calls her because
she never smiles at him. Tami Danvers. She was in here drinking with some girlfriends
one night—this was weeks ago. She doesn’t come in here anymore. I think we’re too
plebeian. Anyway, she thought Tyler was hot stuff. He charms ’em, young and old.”

Cass frowned at him. “And who are you calling
old
, twerp? Tamara Danvers isn’t that old. And what’s with the ‘Tami’?”

“You’ll never be old, Ms. Halloran.” He swatted Cass with a napkin. “And no, the lady
and I aren’t on a first-name basis. Her friends were calling her Tami.

“Anyway,” Andy went on, “Tyler is a good guy, but kind of a pushover. He’s up for
anything, easily talked into things.”

Several other parties clambered up the steps and Andy looked over, motioned toward
an empty table on the other side of the roof. Then he looked back at the women.

“I’m shirking my duty. I’d better send someone up to take orders. Peace.” He lifted
one hand in the air, then disappeared down the stairs into a sea of bodies below.

Sam came up to be sure they were all okay. He announced it was the top of the sixth,
game was tied, and then he looked around, hoping someone would send him back down
to the game.

Izzy complied.

They ordered BLTs, knowing a tie game could go on forever, and settled back into the
night. Overhead a deep purple sky was slowly melting into an inky black canopy, the
moon slipped into place, and Venus shone brightly. It was a magical night.

And maybe a dangerous one.

Cass nibbled on a piece of calamari. “Andy’s take on the murder is interesting,” she
said. “It clearly makes no sense to him.”

“We’re all trying to be logical, moving from point A to point B. That’s what we do—but
maybe the path to the killer is a more circuitous one, like that complicated shawl
we all knit for Izzy’s wedding. It went in a circle, not a straight line.” Birdie
looked up at the sky. “What a wondrous vantage point those stars have. If only—”

The sound of heavy steps on the staircase made them guess if it would be Sam or Ben
bringing them an update that they weren’t very interested in.

But it was neither.

Coming through the rooftop door, his hands shoved in his pockets and his blond hair
covered with a crooked Sox hat, was Tyler Gibson. He looked over at their table, his
face somber.

“Andy said you guys were all up here,” he said.

“Andy was right,” Birdie said. She smiled warmly at him, and Tyler, looking more confident,
walked over to the table.

“Would you like to sit down?” Birdie said. “We have a few pieces of calamari left.
That doesn’t often happen with Cass around.”

Tyler looked over at his old babysitter and tried to smile, but it came out crooked,
uncomfortable. “No, thanks,” he said.

He was the lone kid called into the principal’s office, and standing offered a faster
escape once the riot act was read.

“I came up to say I’m sorry,” he said, meeting their eyes this time. “I was stupid
to leave you both sitting there at the bar.”

“It wasn’t a very smart thing to do,” Birdie said.

“I just didn’t know what to say to you, is the thing. I didn’t know what you knew
or what you didn’t know, or what you wanted to know. And my grams is going to shoot
me when she finds out about this.”

“Esther Gibson is one of the most fair and loving women I know,” Birdie said. “Don’t
sell your grandmother short.”

“Maybe we should start at the beginning,” Nell said. “What is it you don’t want her
to know?”

“This whole mess. Grams is the best. She does a lot for me. This won’t go over well.”

“What mess?” Nell asked.

He took a deep breath, and for a brief moment they could picture him in front of Cass
the babysitter, getting caught stealing beer from his parents’ bar.

“Okay, you already know that I knew Justin Dorsey. He was all over town, always trying
to make an extra buck, trying to sell us watches he’d hocked from somewhere, just
weird things. He was all about making money. Had big plans to open a dive shop, he
said.

“Then one night he saw us down at the beach and he told some of the girls that he
could get some grass, if they wanted it. It’s summer, there were parties on the beach,
so they teased him a little, then said sure, but Justin had devised this crazy plan
of delivering it that they wouldn’t go along with. So they asked me if I’d get it
for them. They were afraid of getting caught, I guess. They said they’d give me the
money. So I said sure. Justin’s crazy scheme was to put it in a kid’s car seat at
the beach. Then I’d put money there in exchange. Cover it up with the blanket, he
told me. Goofy, we all thought, but we humored him.”

“Where was he getting it?” Birdie asked.

Ty lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “I don’t know. It was small amounts. There
wasn’t much money involved.”

He shuffled his weight from foot to foot. “It was foolish.”

Birdie agreed. “And what raises this to a level much higher than being ‘foolish’ is
that the young man was murdered. When you left the restaurant today, it made you look
guilty. Didn’t you think of that?”

Tyler looked around, nodded to some girls at the next table, then let his smile fade
into nothingness. He looked at all of them, but finally focused on Birdie, his eyes
locking into hers.

Believe me,
his eyes said.

“I heard that Izzy had found the car seat. And I knew you were all asking questions
about it. I thought . . . hell, I don’t know what I thought. Everyone’s talking about
Justin being murdered and who might have done it. I may have been the last person
to see him the night before he died. Me or the old man.”

“Old man?” Nell asked.

“The guy who died. He was down there all the time, like a guard or something, walking
the beach.”

“Do you think he knew what was going on?”

“Maybe, but what he really didn’t like were the bonfires and beer cans and sometimes
there’d be some fireworks. I think they hurt his dog’s ears. He said that it was his
beach and we were desecrating it with our noise. He couldn’t see much, but I’m pretty
sure he smelled the girls smoking the stuff.”

They listened and filed the information away. Then Birdie said, “All right, then.
Go on with why you disappeared from the bar today.”

“Well, like I said, I didn’t know what you were going to ask and I was scared. Justin
and I were mixed up in something that we shouldn’t have been—him and me. And then . . .
then the kid gets murdered, and I’m right there with him then, too. Doing a dive down
at the beach. Fiddling with the same equipment. So what kind of alibi could I possibly
have? None.”

He paused for a breath, and the shade of red on his cheeks deepened to crimson. He
swallowed hard. His voice was heavy. “You gotta believe me, Birdie. I didn’t murder
anybody. I couldn’t ever murder anybody. I
liked
the kid. I just did a dumb thing. Nobody got hurt.” He looked over at Cass. “You
know me, Cass. You have to believe me.”

“So that’s why you ran off today?” Birdie said. “We’re not the police, you know.”
Her words carried a gentleness that drew Tyler’s attention back to her.

He was silent for so long they thought he hadn’t heard Birdie. But finally he looked
up, his face drawn and sad. “I didn’t want you to tell Grams. If I didn’t talk to
you, you’d have nothing to tell her.”

From the floor below, the crowd cheered wildly as the Sox hit one out of Fenway. The
building shook all the way to the rafters, sending gulls flapping their wings wildly
as they exited the rooftop bar.

Birdie’s voice was matter-of-fact. Practical. And warm. “Esther will find out, Tyler.
You know that. Justin has been murdered. Anything that touched his life these last
weeks will be dissected, inspected, all those things. So she’ll find out. Even if
she didn’t work at the police department, she’d find out. But don’t you think perhaps
you should be the one to tell her?”