Angora Alibi (25 page)

“We do. It’s therapy and sometimes helps us put things into perspective,” Nell said.
“It’s like thinking through a knitting pattern, looking at it from one side, then
the other, imagining what it will look like in the end.”

“So you do that with life.”

“And, unfortunately, death,” Birdie said. “We’re trying to figure all this out. You
have certainly been thrown into the middle of everything once again. These last couple
of days must have been difficult.”

“It’s poor Dr. Seltzer I feel sorry for,” Janie said. “I don’t know him very well—and
I sure didn’t know he was Dr. Lily’s dad—but this is all scary. Tommy says it will
work out. But how can it? Everything points to him. He certainly made it known how
he felt about Justin. And now we know he had good reasons for his feelings.”

“Do you think he killed him?” Birdie asked gently.

“No.” Her response was quick, the kind that comes from the heart and not always the
mind. “I love Dr. Lily, I guess that’s why. But I can’t imagine . . . I can’t let
myself imagine he did it. He has this other side, you know. He didn’t talk much to
me, but some of our patients really liked him. He was a great teacher and loved medicine,
so he’d sit and answer questions about all the different tests and blood work results.
Some of them confided in him about worries and things. He was like a priest or something.
He could talk medicine all day long. It sounds crazy, I know, because he wasn’t the
best conversationalist outside of work. But give him a patient with a question or
problem and he would talk for hours. It pleased Dr. Lily so much, and I didn’t know
why. But now I do.”

“You told us the other night that things had been tense at the clinic,” Izzy said.
“I used to think of the clinic as my little island of repose. I’d walk through those
doors and forget everything about my real life. All of you were comforting and you
cared only about me and my baby. But it changed. . . .”

Janie was nodding across from her. “The last couple weeks, things were strained, I
know. Part of it for me was Justin. And maybe you felt that. Now we know there was
more going on—the garden, Justin helping himself. But there was more, I think. I can’t
put my finger on it—”

“You mentioned missing medications,” Nell said.

“Yeah, there was that—just a week ago. It was Friday, I remember, because we had a
lot of patients scheduled, both for Dr. Lily and people who wanted to talk to Dr.
Seltzer. I hadn’t slept the night before and was so tired. Then that—that drug disappeared.”

“Do you think Martin took it?” Nell asked

Janie looked up, surprised at the question. “Oh, no. It was taken from his office.
Dr. Lily had me pick it up from the dispensary and put it on his desk that morning.
It was
his
medicine, even though we know now he didn’t often take it. But it disappeared from
his desk. He noticed it that afternoon.”

“Did you ever find it?” Birdie asked.

“No. We searched everywhere. It was definitely gone.”

“What medicine was it?” Cass asked.

“Morphine.”

•   •   •

“So the morphine that
may
have been used to kill Horace
may
have come from Martin Seltzer’s office,” Nell said after Purl and Janie had gone
back upstairs.

“Assuming what Martin said was true and he wasn’t just covering his own tracks,” Birdie
said.

“But why would he even need to do that? Lily thought he was using the morphine for
himself—so he could have used it on Horace and no one would have known the difference.
He had it legitimately. Reporting it was a responsible thing to do. You don’t want
morphine disappearing out the clinic door without knowing who has it.”

“That’s right! Cass, you’re so smart,” Izzy said.

“And beautiful,” Cass said.

Birdie laughed. “All right, then, who would have had access to Martin’s office?” Her
needles worked along the rim of the baby hat. “Clinic staff, cleaning staff, patients,
delivery people?”

“It’s really a busy place,” Izzy said. “And Janie said it was especially busy that
Friday. Sometimes Dr. Lily’s patients bring family members or friends, too—like Nell
and Sam came with me.”

“And Red,” Nell said.

Izzy laughed. “Yes. And Red. And this summer Lily has some medical students coming
in a couple times a week. There’s a parade of folks in and out. I often schedule late
appointments so I can avoid the frantic times, but I know from Janie how crazy it
gets.”

“So we know someone in that parade left the office that day with morphine.”

“Janie said it was the Friday after Justin died,” Cass said.

Izzy glanced at a calendar on the wall. It was filled with happy events—knitting classes,
knitting nights, special yarn studio events. But the Friday after Justin was murdered
was blank. Nothing going on at the yarn shop that day.

It was Friday—dinner on the Endicott deck.

And the night that Janie came by with Birdie’s stolen necklace.

The night that Horace Stevenson was killed.

I
zzy offered to help Sam with the equipment he needed to take to the Danvers place
for the photo shoot. Nell offered to go along, too. Izzy shouldn’t be carrying anything
too heavy, she said.

“Neither of you fools me for one New York second. You want to see what’s behind that
stone wall.” Sam idled the car as the heavy iron gate to the Danvers estate slowly
swung open.

Franklin Danvers was waiting in the drive, dressed in a three-piece suit and an elegant
silk tie. His surprise at Sam’s crew was evident on his face, but he said little,
ushering them into the home. He was polite but unsmiling, serious and businesslike,
and lacking the more relaxed personality they’d seen recently. He seemed preoccupied.

Tamara sat on a chair in the entryway and stood when they walked in. She wore tight
black slacks and a silk flowered top that billowed out when she walked, outlining
the sleek body beneath. She smiled and greeted them warmly. “Sam, you’re kind to do
this. It will mean a lot to all the Danverses, as well as to the town. This is a magnificent
manor.”

Beside her, Franklin simply nodded and ushered them all into a walnut-paneled library,
where he handed Sam a map of the house and several documents on the art and furniture.
He had highlighted the rooms and objects appropriate for photographing. Izzy took
the papers and began leafing through them as Sam took out one of his cameras and snapped
a few shots for practice.

“Beautiful library,” he said to Franklin, his eye coveting the plethora of collections.
On one wall they ranged from the classics to finance to management. Another was filled
with history books, and there was a section on hunting, scuba diving, sailing, and
deep-sea fishing manuals. A third wall held tools of the trade—a magnificent mounted
bow and arrow, a glass case of guns and fishing knives, and a magnificent mounted
flounder on a polished teak board. “I suspect you’re a man who rarely gets bored.”

“No. Not usually, although I have little time for most of these things now. Borrow
any books you want,” Franklin said. He looked over at one shelf, frowned, then walked
over to a shelf of scuba diving books and pushed the books closer to fill an empty
space.

Franklin Danvers was a perfectionist. Nell smiled, wondering what he’d think of Ben’s
library—every shelf filled with books of different shape, size, and subject matter.
Some piled on top of each other.

Franklin led them to the back of the house first, then through leaded glass doors,
out to a terrace that seemed to sweep around the entire back and sides of the house.
A manicured lawn separated it from wide flagstone steps leading down to the beach.
Several other homes, smaller in size but elegant in appearance, were visible off to
the sides, discreetly separated from the main house by manicured gardens and walkways.

But it was the view that took their breath away.

“Amazing,” Izzy said, her breath catching as she looked out over the water. In one
direction, the skyline of Boston was a hazy landscape, and closer in, the long, winding
shoreline, like a serpent’s tail—Paley’s Cove, the artists’ colony, Anya Angelina
Park. Nell walked over to the edge and looked to the right, out over the beach where
they’d first met Red, where Horace Stevenson’s house was tucked off to the side.

Franklin was standing slightly apart from them, looking out over the water and Paley’s
Cove as if it were the first time he’d seen the view. Nell thought about going over
to talk to him, but it was clear he was caught up in his own world—an interruption
would be an intrusion. Perhaps he was thinking about business problems or had regretted
his idea of a photo shoot of his home, but whatever the reason, the looser, more relaxed
Franklin they’d seen in recent days was definitely not present today.

“Maybe we will host a Gatsby-like party when the pictures are framed,” Tamara said.
“We’ll frame your original photographs and display them.” She looked around for Franklin,
spotted him near the edge of the veranda, and motioned to him. “Come, darling, let’s
start with a photograph of the two of us, right here on our magnificent terrace.”

Franklin frowned, and Nell looked over at Sam. It wasn’t exactly the kind of photo
Sam was expecting to take, but it probably made sense to have a shot of the people
who actually lived in the house. And then they’d move to the dozens of grand rooms
that made the Danvers estate a Sea Harbor landmark.

It took Sam a little over two hours to move through the entire house, his practiced
eye immediately zeroing in on the best light, the perfect angle, and the things that
would be of interest to an audience who cared about history.

When he was finished inside, they walked outside again and down to the beach, where
Sam set his camera on another tripod and focused it back up at the house, a giant
silhouette against the blue sky.

“What’s that?” Izzy asked, pointing to a heavy wooden door that appeared to be built
right into the granite foundation at beach level.

“A servants’ entrance,” Tamara said. “In earlier times the servants used it to come
to a corner of the beach reserved for them. Their beach was around those boulders.”
When they walked around to the other side of the granite wall, Nell recognized the
spot immediately, although from this angle it looked different than it did from Paley’s
Beach.

“It’s the dive spot,” Sam said, surprised. It had looked different to him, too. He
pointed to a small building, once a boathouse, that blended into the rocks. “And there’s
the dive shack, as we call it.”

“But nothing you want photographs of,” Franklin Danvers said, surprising them as he
rejoined the group. He’d come out the thick wooden door built into the foundation
of the house. “The police did their share of that. I may tear it down and build a
new one.”

“The new paint job was a good idea,” Sam said. “It’s generous of you to let the dive
club use the place.”

“I enjoy diving, that’s all. It’s a good place to teach it.”

“Tamara mentioned you might be going on a dive this summer—someplace a little more
exotic,” Izzy said.

Franklin frowned, then shrugged, as if he had far more important things on his mind
than taking Tamara on a trip. He looked as if he was about to say something, then
seemed to change his mind and instead said to Sam, “I understand they have finally
found the murderer.”

Tamara edged closer to her husband. Her eyes were wide. “What?”

“That’s not true, Franklin,” Sam said. “They have some new leads.”

“Dr. Seltzer,” Franklin said, ignoring Sam’s assessment, his voice cold, strained.
“It’s shocking to think there was a murderer roaming around in that clinic. Someone
we spoke with, got advice from.”

“Dr. Martin . . . ?” Tamara said, her words trailing off as she struggled to process
the information. “But . . .”

“He hasn’t been accused of anything,” Nell said. “They’ve learned a little more about
Justin’s activities, but they have not arrested Dr. Seltzer.”

The news of Martin Seltzer’s secret garden and Justin’s connection to it hadn’t hit
the papers yet. Ben said Jerry Thompson was going to try to hold it back—at least
until they had more information. But Franklin Danvers was a different breed. Nell
suspected there was little in Sea Harbor he didn’t know about. She watched his face,
cold and accusatory now.

Tamara moved closer to her husband. “Dr. Seltzer . . . killed Justin? That’s awful.”

Tamara held tight to Franklin’s arm, the news of Martin Seltzer clearly a surprise
to her.

“As Nell said,” Sam repeated, “he hasn’t been accused of killing anyone. It would
be wrong and destructive for that rumor to get around before the police have done
their work.”

“What kinds of activities was Justin involved in?” Tamara asked again. She looked
frightened.

No one answered and Tamara looked at Franklin, as if he would surely know.

Franklin was silent.

“The news about the clinic might worry you, Tamara, but don’t let it,” Izzy said.
“It’s a very safe place to go. There’s no reason any of this should affect Dr. Lily’s
patients. She’s a wonderful obstetrician, the very best. You and I are both in good
hands.”

Izzy’s words were met with silence.

Tamara’s eyes were still on Franklin, watching him carefully as if waiting for instructions.

“We have little need for that clinic now,” Franklin said. His words were clipped,
precise.

Tamara frowned. “But, Franklin—”

“No,” he said, stopping her words.

They all looked at him.

“Tamara is no longer pregnant,” he said. Then turned and walked away.

I
zzy had finally agreed to slow down her exercise routine. Shorter distances and a
much slower pace, she promised.

Nell put her to the test by suggesting a Saturday walk to Canary Cove. Birdie and
Cass would meet them there for breakfast. And finally some time to talk. It was probably
the only time they would have that day. Saturdays were busy for all of them, especially
this one, with Izzy’s shower scheduled for that evening.

Izzy was all for it. “If I’m going to move this baby and me anywhere today, there
needs to be food at the end of it. Aunt Nell, you are wise and all-knowing.”

It was an easy pace that kept them both moving—and ended up on the Artist’s Palate
deck with hot coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice waiting for them.

Birdie had spread the morning paper out on the picnic table. Next to her, Cass drank
her second cup of coffee.

“Well? What does it say?”

“Not much. It’s vague. It says the police have determined Justin Dorsey was not dealing
with a bigger market. It was a homemade supply—a dead end, essentially.”

“Ben is afraid that Martin’s name will emerge in all this if something else doesn’t
happen soon.” Nell wiped her forehead with a napkin. “The police are combing his background.
He still—on paper, anyway—is the most likely suspect. Apparently Tyler has been asked
to stick around. Janie was questioned again. But if they could fill in a few more
gaps, something concrete that would put him on the beach or Horace’s house, Martin
would be arrested.”

“And yet there’s this lurking unknown out there,” Nell said. “Justin’s ‘bigger fish
to fry’ comment. Justin was getting a large amount of money from someone, and it wasn’t
Martin Seltzer. We can’t ignore that. There is someone else out there.” She sat down
next to Izzy and with two fingers plucked her damp T-shirt away from her skin, then
released it.

“I think it’s just too vague for the police to deal with,” Birdie said. “Justin was
known to brag a bit. They may be thinking that’s all it meant.”

“But he was getting money from somewhere,” Izzy said. She took a drink of orange juice
and looked down at what Sam now called their little basketball. The baby was moving
from one side to the other, keeping up with the music Merry had pumping out of the
restaurant’s loudspeakers.

“Morning music,” Merry called over to them, then jiggled her way to their table to
the Black Eyed Peas singing “Tonight’s gonna be a good night.”

“Okay, little Perry,” Merry said, patting Izzy’s tummy, “you’ll like this, I promise.”
She set a tray of beer steins in front of them, filled with fruit, yogurt, and granola.
Sprigs of mint were tucked on top.

“Who would have thought you’d be responsible for turning all these artists into health
food devotees?” Birdie said. “I am very proud of you, dear.”

Merry’s laughter was as huge as her voice was when she soloed with the Fractured Fish.
Her restaurant, known for its hamburgers, fries, and twenty-seven brands of beer,
was primarily a bar and grill with a large deck and bar outside, but Merry had changed
that. She credited Ham Brewster for the transformation—the idea came to her as a result
of his bad habits. One morning he stopped by, begging for a cup of coffee before opening
his gallery. Then he pulled a bag of chips off the rack on the bar.
“Chips,”
Merry had said.
“For breakfast!”
Merry’s healthy breakfasts soon followed and the artists now insisted that their
bad cholesterol had been lowered to the bottom of the sea, thanks to Merry Jackson.

“So, here’s the thing,” Merry said, wedging her body in between Birdie and Cass, her
palms pressed flat on the table and her eyes scanning the newspaper article. “If Justin
was only making pocket change off the college kids down at Paley’s Cove, where was
he making his big bucks? He left me a fifty-dollar tip for a hamburger a few days
before he died. Can you believe that? I called him back, thinking he’d made a mistake,
but he just produced that dimpled grin of his and said I deserved it. I told him that
was true, but could
he
afford it?” Her large eyes looked around the table. “He was getting money somewhere,”
she said. “Where?” Then she glanced over her shoulder at a new wave of customers and
frowned. “Okay, later,” she said, and was off across the deck, her long blond braid
bouncing between her shoulder blades.

“That’s exactly the right question to ask,” Birdie said. “It’s those bigger fish. . . .”

“I agree. But before we get to it, tell us about yesterday’s photo shoot,” Cass said.
“I can’t wait any longer to know what lies behind that electric fence.”

Friday-night dinner on the deck the night before hadn’t happened—a rare event, but
a board dinner at the yacht club and a photography exhibit had sent all of them in
different directions. Consequently, Birdie had insisted on the morning rendezvous
at the Artist’s Palate to catch up.

They began with Merry’s granola and the Danverses’ sad news.

“Apparently the miscarriage happened Wednesday, the day we were in the clinic. We
overheard the phone call, but Janie, of course, didn’t tell us who she was talking
to.”

“I talked to Janie last night,” Izzy said, “and she said Tamara was handling the miscarriage
fine. She’d gone to the hospital Wednesday night, and was home the next day. She was
almost
too
fine, Janie said—which was the impression Nell and I got when we saw her yesterday.”

“I think the news hit Franklin the hardest,” Nell said. “We saw him again at the board
dinner last night, and he seemed genuinely distraught. He apologized for being so
abrupt at the photo shoot, but I suppose he can’t be blamed for that.”

“Was Tamara there?” Izzy asked.

“Yes. And she was in great shape. Literally and figuratively. She was very social,
talking to everyone. Much healthier than she looked last week. She seemed . . . well,
almost relieved. Maybe she wasn’t ready to be pregnant.”

“And as for the photo shoot, Sam got his photographs and I think Franklin was satisfied
with the photos. But as for other things . . . ,” Izzy said.

Izzy looked at Nell. “What did you think, Aunt Nell? I thought his comments on Martin
being the murderer were way too forceful.”

Nell agreed. “He seemed convinced that the police had finally targeted the right man,
even though Sam tried to tell him it wasn’t a closed case.”

“Maybe he’s like everyone else in town and wants it over with,” Cass said.

“Or maybe he has other reasons,” Nell said slowly. “He disliked Justin as much as
Martin did.”

“He certainly had easy access to the dive shed,” Izzy said. She then told the others
about the servants’ beach, a concept that had Cass groaning. “Haven’t we gotten beyond
such things?”

“Hopefully,” Birdie said. “And it sounds like the Danverses have, too. Letting the
dive club teach new divers on their property was a generous thing to do.” She waved
at Esther Gibson, getting up from a nearby table.

Esther walked over, her large frame shadowing them. “A tableful of my favorite ladies,”
she said.

“What brings you here so early, Esther?” Nell said.

“Merry’s breakfast. I need something to carry me through the morning. Something healthy.”

“A difficult morning?”

Esther’s smile was weary. “No, not really. Tyler is taking care of my table at the
market, and that takes a load off. I’m trying to keep the boy out of trouble.”

“He’s a good fellow,” Birdie said.

“And not really a boy,” Cass suggested.

“Of course he’s not a boy, Catherine, you’re right. But he’s gotten himself in a heap
of trouble this summer, as you well know.” She held up her hands and shook her head.
“Yes, he came and talked to me, apparently at your wise nudging. And I know, I know,
he has a good heart, but he doesn’t think further than that handsome nose of his sometimes.
First the business down at the beach. And then the other foolish things.”

“What other foolish things?” Izzy asked.

“Oh, just foolishness. When he first came back to town, he was partying too much,
he and his old friends, and hanging out at the Gull. Staying out all night sometimes.
Dalliances, in my mind. But you’re right, Cass—he’s a man, not a child, so Richard
and I wore earplugs to bed and let him lead his life.” She shook her head. “He’s a
pushover when it comes to women, that’s for sure. They can twist him around their
fingers faster than you can cast on a row.” She shook her head.

“But after he got the job at the Ocean’s Edge, Kevin promised he’d keep him busy and
the partying slowed down. But always in the background was that Justin Dorsey—a whole
other story.” She sighed and threw up her hands again.

“It must be difficult for you, working at the police station, with all this going
on around you,” Birdie said.

“Oh, the chief tries to keep it from me, but I hear Tyler’s name being tossed around.
Can’t help hearing it. He made a mistake. But he’s a dear boy. He truly is. I think
Jerry is beginning to see that, too.”

“The new developments at the clinic have probably taken some attention off him,” Nell
said, hoping it was true. They all loved Esther, and hated for her to have this worry
on her shoulders. “For starters, Justin was getting large sums of money from someone,
and you know that couldn’t have been Tyler.”

“Well, now, isn’t that the truth?” Esther managed a laugh, her chins moving up and
down. “I think you’re right—that whole mess over at sweet Dr. Virgilio’s place is
getting a lot more attention than my grandson, though the shadow is still there, lurking
over him like a black cloud—and it won’t go away until we have someone behind bars.”

“That cloud is huge—it’s hanging over the entire town,” Birdie said. “It’s time to
blow it away.”

Esther agreed with a hearty sigh. She looked over at Izzy. “Now, how’s that lovely
dog, Izzy? Old Horace loved that dog mightily and he’s right this very minute grinning
down on you for taking him in. It’s a shame what happened to Red at the clinic.”

Nell watched the concern on her face. Of course Esther would have heard about Red,
about the garden. Esther Gibson knew everything that happened in Sea Harbor. She was
also a friend of Horace’s. She kept all events carefully filed away in her head—and
those that needed to be kept under lock and key were handled appropriately.

“He’s fine, Esther. It’s just a shame Dr. Lily’s clinic had to be pulled into this.
And an even bigger shame that her father is being investigated.”

Esther’s white head bobbed in agreement. “I don’t know what to think about that man.
Can’t make up my mind. But Henrietta O’Neal is convinced beyond a doubt that he’s
innocent.”

“And?” Birdie said.

Esther’s lips lifted in a half smile. “And have you—has
anyone
—ever crossed our Henrietta?” She looked at each of them, her eyebrows lifted. Then
she grinned and waved good-bye, making her way slowly across the deck.

“She has a point,” Birdie laughed.

“Okay, then, let’s accept that Dr. Seltzer is innocent, at least for now,” Cass said,
“even though he had motive and opportunity.”

“He also had money to meet a blackmailer’s demands, something Tyler didn’t have,”
Nell said.

“Even so, let’s go with Henrietta for now. He’s innocent. Besides, I can’t imagine
him doing something that would bring complete shame on his family,” Izzy said.

“So let’s move on,” Cass said. “I can’t get my mind off Justin’s comment that he had
bigger fish to fry. That, and the fact that as of the week before he died, he was
able to donate a thousand dollars to the church, buy Janie expensive pottery, and
consider buying that bike. It sounds to me like the bigger fish were already in the
fire.”

“So . . . ,” Birdie said, pulling a pen and a yellow pad out of her purse. “Justin
already had money that week before he died . . . and that Saturday, just hours before
he died, he was meeting someone—the mysterious ‘business transaction’ person. Perhaps
to get more money?” She jotted the day down, and then added dollar signs.

“But who would hire Justin and pay him that kind of money?” Cass wondered aloud. “And
to do what?”

“Justin wanted to make money fast—and without doing much work,” Nell said.

If Izzy hadn’t been weighted down by baby Perry, she might have jumped off the bench.
Instead, it was her voice that rose above the table like a firecracker. “Blackmail?”
she said.

Blackmail.

Easy. Fast. And very dangerous.

“Goodness,” Birdie said. “Perhaps . . . perhaps this is the elephant in the room,
something so big, so present, that we never considered it.”

They accepted the coffee refills Merry sent over, then stared at Birdie’s pad.
Blackmail
was written across the page in her distinctive scrawl.

Perhaps the thought had been there, vaguely, unarticulated, when they realized Justin’s
newfound wealth couldn’t have come from Dr. Seltzer’s garden. But it was so removed
from the path they’d been traveling down that it hadn’t reached the light of day.

“From everything we now know about Justin, blackmail—even though it’s such a foolish
thing to do—would be something he’d try.”

“Maybe
because
it’s such a foolish thing,” Izzy said. “Justin seems to have had a knack for acting
foolish.”

“That opens up a new kettle of fish,” Cass said.
“Who?”

“And
why
?” Nell poured more half-and-half in her coffee and stirred it absently.

“What could Justin possibly have on someone that would allow that kind of money to
exchange hands?” Birdie asked.

“And why give him some money and then kill him?” Izzy asked.

“I think that’s easy,” Cass said. “But maybe it’s because I live with a mystery writer.
It was a great and easy way to make money. And if it worked for him once or twice,
why not go back and get some more?”

“And whoever was at the other end of it could see that Justin might be coming around
forever,” Birdie said. “So he killed him.”