Angora Alibi (9 page)

But Izzy decided early that she needed a place separate from her work—her short tenure
as a defense attorney had shown her that in a hurry. Work and life could merge so
easily. So even though she loved her yarn shop and the wonderful apartment above it,
she wanted—needed—to nourish the other part of her soul as well.

“We could help hang some pictures, empty some boxes. You’ll feel better,” Izzy said.
She walked over and picked up a small box near the island

Janie frowned at the box, then walked over and took it from Izzy. She opened the flap
and pulled out an old T-shirt. “This is Justin’s. It’s just like him to mix our things
up.”

“That’s not a problem,” Nell said. “I’ll drop it off at the boardinghouse on my way
home.”

Janie looked at the box as if she wished it would disappear right in front of her.
But when she looked back at Nell, she simply looked sad.

“He’ll be back. He borrowed my car for that scuba dive tomorrow—and he’s meeting someone
after it over in the Ravenswood neighborhood so he needed a ride. But . . .”

They waited.

Janie took a deep breath, then forced a sad smile to her face. “But as of today, it
would be useless to drop it off at the boardinghouse, because he no longer lives there.”
She took another breath, her anger creeping back. “Mrs. Bridge would probably burn
it if you dropped it off.”

“He moved?”

“Not exactly. Mrs. Bridge locked him out and told him never to come back. He wouldn’t
tell me why,” Janie said quietly. “He just kept saying he was planning to leave anyway.
But the truth is, he must have done something awful to make her so mad.”

Nell agreed. “Mrs. Bridge is blustery, but she’s not unfair.”

“She was so nice to give him the room, the reduced rent, and this is what he does.
It’s the last straw. I truly mean it this time. Tommy was right. Once he returns my
car, I don’t ever want to see him again.”

When they left the apartment a short while later, Janie’s resolve was still in place—and
the steely determination in her voice said she might truly mean it this time.

Justin Dorsey was out of her life forever.

S
aturday night, at last. Nell felt her body relax beneath the hot shower massage. She
looked up through the skylight at dozens of stars filling the sky. A perfect night
to relax on the deck. Just Nell and Ben . . . a bottle of wine . . . soft, smooth
jazz. And a blanket wrapping them up together against the ocean-chilled air.

She turned off the spray and grabbed a towel, rubbing herself alert, pushing aside
the dreamy thoughts of being alone with Ben. Another night. Soon.

She slipped on a silky blouse, a pair of black slacks, and a new pair of strappy sandals
Izzy had talked her into buying, and made herself presentable—a sweep of blush and
light lipstick. Her summer face, Ben called it. She gave her hair a quick brush, noticing
several new streaks of gray nestled into the dark mix. They’d become too plentiful
to pluck out months ago, and she’d come to like the contrast, the streaks of silver
defining her dark, shoulder-length cut. Some people paid for highlights. Hers just
walked in on their own.

Ben was downstairs mixing martinis on the deck, rehashing the week with Ham and Jane
Brewster. Their voices floated up through the open bedroom windows, familiar and soothing,
punctuated now and then with Jane’s throaty laughter.

An evening with friends.
Perhaps it was just what the doctor ordered.Friends, and then some. Birdie had reserved
a table at the Ocean’s Edge to welcome Kevin Sullivan back to Sea Harbor—and, not
incidentally, of course, to enjoy his culinary specialties. Word had it a food critic
for a popular travel magazine was expected. Knowing a crowded restaurant would be
a plus, Birdie had spread the word to everyone she knew.

The Ocean’s Edge was packed.

“The Favazza party is out back,” the bartender called out as they walked through the
door. Jeffrey Meara had tended bar at the Edge for as long as anyone could remember,
and no one passed by him without a greeting and, if he wasn’t busy, a hug to go with
it.

The hostess matched his warm greeting and led them through the crowded restaurant
to the open back doors. Outside, the wide covered porch was filled with colorful pots
of daisies, ageratum, and zinnias. Tiny white lights circled the outdoor bar and the
eating area, hanging from pillar to pillar and casting shadows across the flagstone
floor.

Nell waved to several neighbors sitting at the bar before spotting the Danverses—both
generations—sitting together at a nearby table. Franklin was engaged in a lively conversation,
complete with gestures and an occasional hug for his wife. His niece, Laura, her long
auburn hair pulled back and tied with a ribbon, was laughing at something that he
said. Her dress was simple and elegant, the emerald green matching her eyes, which
now were on her husband. Elliot, usually stiff when around his formidable uncle, looked
relaxed tonight. Tamara completed the scene, relaxed and happy, and eye-catching as
always in a brilliant red dress.

Another couple stopped to greet the Danverses, hiding the diners from view, except
for Tamara, who slipped away from the table. Nell watched her head toward the restroom—something
Izzy was also doing these months with increased frequency.

Tyler Gibson, tending the outdoor bar, spotted Tamara, too, and greeted her with a
huge smile, waving her over.

But Tamara, clutching her purse to her breast as if to protect herself from an intruder,
gave him a cold stare and hurried inside.

Tyler stood there for a minute, scratching his head, a confused look on his face—as
if a friend had refused to greet him or a beautiful woman failed to acknowledge his
charms, something that probably didn’t happen to him often.

But as Nell watched, he quickly shrugged off the rejection and, with a grin back in
place, moved toward a group of young woman eyeing him from the other end of the bar.

“Here we go, folks, this way,” the hostess said, pulling Nell’s attention from the
odd little scene.

Nell glanced back at Franklin. He was looking at the bar now, but whether to get the
cocktail waitress’s attention or for some other reason, it wasn’t clear.

“Nell and Ben, we’re over here.” Birdie’s blue-veined hand waved in the air. Sam and
Izzy were already there, sitting at a table overlooking the water. The sea was quiet
tonight, lit by the moon and a canopy of stars.

“Sam wanted to be sure we were seated near a quick getaway point, just in case,” Birdie
said. “This is perfect, don’t you think?” She nodded to a flight of stairs that wound
down to a wide green space used for picnics and clambakes. Nearby was the dock for
the Ocean’s Edge taxi that shuttled people back and forth to Rockport, Gloucester,
and the northern edges of Sea Harbor. “We’ll just usher Izzy down those steps and
off to Sea Harbor Memorial if baby Perry should decide tonight is the night.”

“Sam’s a crazy man,” Izzy said, rolling her eyes. “He needs distractions to stop thinking
about childbirth every second. This baby’s going to come when the two of us want him
to—but it’s not going to be tonight.” Izzy pushed her chair back from the table and
rested her hands on the curve of her belly. A narrow plate of appetizers sat in front
of her: Greek cucumber cups, stuffed with spicy lime shrimp, olives, and tiny slices
of avocado.

“I have plenty of distractions in my life, Isabel Chambers Perry,” Sam said, pulling
the appetizers away from her. He bit into one of the cucumber cups. “For example,
tomorrow I’ll be up at dawn, and not to drive you to the hospital. The baby can’t
come tomorrow, either, because I’m shooting that early scuba dive over at the cove.”

“For that
Travel and Leisure
series, right?” Ben ordered another plate of shrimp cups along with some of Kevin’s
beer-battered calamari.

Sam nodded. “It’ll be a good for tourism. Gus McClucken’s dive shop is offering free
dive equipment for some of the guys we’ve recruited in addition to the regulars.”

“That’d be me,” Danny Bradley said as he and Cass walked up. “Can’t believe I let
you talk me into it, Perry. But I figure, assuming I don’t die, that I’ll fit it into
a book somehow. I took some lessons once but don’t remember much.”

Sam laughed. “We needed a token famous author’s name for the article.”

“I keep telling him he needs to try new things,” Cass said. “Something to keep those
murderous ideas flowing. Danny’s way too mild—”

“Still waters run deep, Catherine,” Birdie said, accepting Danny’s peck on her cheek.

“You tell her, Birdie. She can be pretty incorrigible.”

Cass offered him a poke before sitting down and waving to a well-dressed couple walking
by. “Hey, you two,” she called out. “Don’t you look snazzy? So hip and with it.”

“Me, hip?” Tommy Porter’s laugh was full. “You used to call me a nerd when I helped
scrub your dad’s boat, Cass. What’s with the compliment? At least I think it’s a compliment. . . .”

“Well, you were a nerd, face it,” Cass said. “But look how Janie has cleaned you up!
Geesh, who would have thought? A
GQ
model in the making.”

Tommy blushed, the policeman clearly not completely at ease in his skinny denim jeans.
He tugged at the knot of a narrow tie, already loose at the open collar of his plaid
shirt. Uniform blue trousers and a jacket with a shiny badge were clearly more at
home on Tommy’s tall frame.

They laughed as Tommy’s blush passed to Janie, knowing what was coming next.
Garage sales
. That’s where she had found Tommy’s True Religion jeans, and his cool plaid shirt
and tie.

“Twenty dollars for the whole outfit,” Janie said, warming now to the topic. “And
those jeans cost over two hundred dollars new!”

Birdie winced at the awful thought, then smiled up at him. “You look splendid, Tommy
dear.”

Tommy immediately changed the subject, explaining in great detail how they’d just
repainted the jail a pale pink to calm prisoners down.

While the rest of the table engaged in a discussion of “drunk tank pink,” Janie stood
quietly looking off toward the water, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Nell watched her, searching for remnants of the distress that they’d witnessed earlier
that day. Slight worry lines remained on her forehead, but the anger seemed to have
faded.

“You look lovely, Janie,” Nell said softly.

“Thanks, Nell,” Janie said. “I know what you’re asking, though, and I’m fine. Really
I am. But terribly sorry about my outburst today. I hate it that our sweet little
Gabby saw me at my worst.”

“Oh, nonsense. Did Justin come back?”

“No. I guess he got the message. Sometimes I think he is truly confused when I get
upset with him, like he doesn’t get why. And then he assumes everything is fine. That’s
probably how he is this very minute, happy as a clam, thinking all is forgiven. Do
you think it’s because he had such a bad upbringing? He never even knew his dad. And
his mother was a mess, ending up in jail a couple of times.”

“That’s a difficult way to grow up.”

“It must have been awful. I took a psychology course in nursing school, and he’s like
one of those people who has had to fend for himself for everything, and he needs instant
gratification. It’s so strong in him that he does what makes him feel good right then
and there because he might not get a second chance. He doesn’t ever think about consequences.
He just wants to have fun and be rich—fast.”

Janie seemed to warm to the subject, clearly articulating thoughts that had been filling
her head.

“Like the texts he sent me after he left today. They weren’t about how he’s going
to clean up his act or find a place to stay or hold on to a job and earn his riches.
Instead, he texted about how great it is that he’s going on the scuba dive tomorrow
and might get his picture in a big-time magazine, and isn’t that cool? And then he
added that maybe he’d take me to Duckworth’s in Gloucester to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“I know, I know. Celebrate what!”

She shook her head, then looked at Tommy to be sure he wasn’t listening. “I don’t
think I have a single friend left in Sea Harbor who Justin hasn’t let down. And now
this latest thing at the boardinghouse. And the thing is . . . the thing is, he doesn’t
even care. He says he was going to leave there anyway. He’s got his eye on those new
expensive
condos on the north shore—”

Janie stopped, her eyes widening as she looked across the porch to the outdoor lounge
area. Nell sat tall and followed her look.

Justin Dorsey stood alone at the very end of the long bar. He was motioning to Tyler
Gibson, standing a few feet away, pouring drinks and shaking martinis.

“But he’s not even twenty-one . . . ,” Janie started.

Tyler handed the drinks off to a waitress and moved toward Justin, a swatch of blond
hair falling across his forehead.

Justin high-fived him and pulled up a stool, his manner businesslike, as if delivering
some news. Tyler listened carefully, nodded, ignoring the waitress waiting with drink
orders. Every now and then he looked up, as if protecting the conversation from bystanders’
ears. When Justin tugged something from the fanny belt strapped around his waist and
placed it on the bar between them, Tyler stood back, staring, a surprised grin on
his face. Then he slapped Justin on the shoulder as if in congratulations.

“Maybe Justin is looking for a place to stay tonight,” Janie said, a touch of regret
slipping into her voice.

“Maybe,” Nell said. She watched Tyler offer another high five and walk down the bar
to waiting customers and waitresses.

Justin stood there for a few minutes, watching the activity spinning around him, a
solitary figure in the middle of the crowded, happy space. But he seemed puffed up
somehow, satisfied with himself. Then his gaze drifted over to the Danverses’ table
and settled on Franklin’s distinctive profile.

He stared intently at the older man, and Nell wondered what he was thinking. There
was certainly no love between those two. But Justin’s look was one more of curiosity
than dislike, as if he was trying to figure the man out. Janie said Justin was obsessed
with money—perhaps that was the intrigue Franklin Danvers provided: Justin was trying
to figure out his secret to being rich.

Tamara looked up and spotted Justin staring at their table.

She lifted one hand to her mouth, but before she had a chance to react further, Justin
turned back toward the bar, grabbed a handful of pistachio nuts from a bowl, and disappeared
down the porch steps and into the night.

Beside Nell, Janie shivered, then followed Tommy to their table nearby.

•   •   •

Hours later, after devouring Kevin Sullivan’s signature dish of pan-roasted cod, floating
on a pool of minted crème fraîche, even Ham Brewster declared himself full.

“Magnificent,” Birdie said when Kevin stopped at their table, doffing his white toque
and smiling broadly.

“A step up from my scones?” he said.

“No, dear. Nothing will ever top your scones, but this was truly delicious.”

The accolades came from all around the table, and Kevin thanked them profusely, before
moving on to other tables, other friends, and more compliments.

“Take me home, Bill Bailey,” Jane said finally, looping her arm through Ham’s.

“Izzy’s nearly asleep at the table,” Sam said, helping his wife up.

“Sleeping for two,” Izzy murmured, as they all made their way through the restaurant
and out to the parking lot. Janie and Tommy were leaving at the same time, leaning
nicely into each other.

“Young love,” Jane Brewster said, looking over at them as Tommy unlocked his car.

“Old isn’t so bad, either.” Ben wrapped Nell into the curve of his body.

“Who will we see tomorrow at Annabelle’s?” he called out as everyone climbed into
their cars.

Tommy spoke up from two cars down. “Rumor has it she’s making a special Swedish pancake,
not to be missed.”