Angora Alibi (19 page)

A waiter motioned to Liz that she was needed inside, and she hurried off, promising
to stop back later if she could.

“I wonder if he knew what Justin was doing,” Nell said, trying to think through the
implications.

“Could be,” Danny said. “But that wouldn’t explain Justin’s death. Turning him in
to the police so they’d put a stop to it would be a lot easier than killing Justin.
And it wouldn’t explain his own death, either, for that matter—unless anyone thinks
Justin could have come back from the dead to do one more deed.”

“Only in your stories, Brandley,” Cass said. “But what if the person supplying Justin
was somehow involved, like maybe Horace knew who he was, too?”

So many ifs. Far too many to put into any kind of order. Tenuous, floaty pieces of
yarn that could break with a strong tug.

Liz sent the waitress over with an extra platter of lobster and crab legs, and for
a while, the food pushed the uncomfortable unknowns away and allowed lighter conversation
and laughter to move about the table. They were replaying Gabby’s performance with
the Fractured Fish when a shadow fell across the table.

“Evening, folks.” Franklin Danvers’ deep, resonant voice greeted them. Tamara stood
beside him, smiling a hello.

Franklin looked across the table at Sam, apologizing to the others for interrupting
and talking business. “But I need a photographer,” he said.

Sam looked puzzled.

“You know, family-archives kind of photos.”

Sam was discreet in his answer, politely recommending a photographer who’d be much
better at that than he was. “I’m no good at family portraits, Franklin,” he said.
“Now, give me an ocean or a Hinckley sailboat or a crowd of people who don’t know
or care that I’m there, madly clicking away, that’s another story.”

“I know what you do, Perry.” Franklin’s laugh was short and friendly, but clearly
intended to suggest he not be second-guessed. “I don’t mean that kind of family photo.
I mean
family
as in the Danvers family estate. The house, the cottages, the view from the terrace.
No one has ever visually recorded our estate, and I’m beginning to be sentimental
in my old age. Perhaps it’s the prospect of fatherhood, who knows? But no matter,
the Danvers family has a long tradition here—my grandfather was here before the town
of Sea Harbor existed, and I think his estate needs to be visually recorded.”

Sam nodded, taking in Franklin’s new information with more attention. “Sure, let’s
talk about it. I’m interested,” he said. “Your place is certainly a part of history.
It’s a nice idea.”

Nell glanced over at Tamara. Her makeup was perfect, her white silk slacks creased,
and a black flowered top flowed over her breasts and just to her waist, showing the
tiniest bit of skin between the hem and the waist of her slacks. She looked beautiful
and fit, but either she was losing her tan or something else was wrong. “Would you
like to sit down?” Nell asked.

Tamara managed a smile. “Thanks, but we have a table waiting.”

“It’s not been an easy time on Paley’s Cove—or anywhere, for that matter,” Birdie
said. “It must be especially distressing for those of you up in the Cliffside neighborhood.”

“You mean the murders, of course,” Franklin said. His expression was somber. “Horace
Stevenson was a decent man. I enjoyed talking to him. I didn’t mind when he and Red
extended their walk along our beach. It was a pleasant sight and he always cleaned
up after the animal.”

“He may have been walking the beach that night before the dive,” Birdie said. “It
must have been awful for him to know he was so close to a crime being committed.”

“How so?” Franklin asked.

“No one knows for sure. Someone got in the dive house that night. Birdie’s simply
replaying what might have happened,” Ben said.

Franklin was quiet, seeming to record the information. His face showed little emotion.

Beside him, Tamara’s hand reached for the back of Birdie’s chair. “He was a lovely
man. And very knowledgeable about diving. He used to sit on our veranda and talk about
the different places he’d gone to dive when he was young.”

“I can’t make any sense out of his murder,” Franklin said. “Not an old man like that.
What reason would anyone possible have?”

“I’m sure the police will try to find a connection between him and Justin,” Birdie
said. “Two murders so close to each other geographically and temporally makes one
wonder. And both such unlikely candidates—not that anyone would be a good candidate
for murder.”

Franklin tensed at the mention of Justin’s name. Then he spoke frankly. “You’re right,
Birdie. No one should be a candidate for murder. But there was something about that
Dorsey boy that bothered me from the first time I met him. And now it seems it bothered
someone else as well. He was a troublemaker.”

He looked at Tamara, then back to the others. “Tamara can tell you. He wouldn’t leave
her alone, came on to her every chance he got. It wasn’t decent.”

Tamara looked embarrassed, her voice soft. “I didn’t want to get the young man in
trouble—I knew Janie was trying to help him, getting him a job at the clinic. But
he shouldn’t have been working there. I saw him following patients with his eyes,
giving them looks. I talked to Dr. Seltzer about it and he agreed, telling me Justin
had his nose in everything. Franklin is right, Justin was not the kind of person who
would go far in this world.”

Although her color had come back slightly, Tamara still looked unsteady, and she tightened
her grip on the chair.

Franklin took her arm gently. “I think I need to get my wife a cup of tea,” he said.
With the other hand he slipped Sam a business card, then escorted his wife across
the veranda to a table for two.

“That’s odd,” Izzy said. Her eyes followed the couple across the room.

“What?”

“All of it. For starters, the friendship between those two and old Horace. It seems
unlikely. Horace was so unpretentious and simple. The thought of him chatting with
the Danverses on their private beach is kind of hard to imagine.”

“And what was all that about Justin? Putting the make on Lily’s patients?” Cass said.

“I can’t imagine that. I certainly never got that impression about Justin,” Izzy said.
“Dr. Lily would have booted him out immediately, don’t you think? I think maybe Tamara
exaggerates.”

“Or maybe she was simply trying to force the attention away from Justin’s attraction
to her, if that’s what it was,” Birdie said.

The lemon tortes arrived, drizzled with a kirsch-infused raspberry sauce. And in an
attempt to match the conversation with the decadent dessert, talk turned back to more
enjoyable topics—a new exhibit at the Brewsters’ gallery and Ben and Sam’s great new
sailing crew, sure to win this summer’s regatta. A shower for Izzy.

Nell pushed her plate away and moved in and out of the conversation, looking over
to the table near the railing, lit now with flickering candlelight. Franklin Danvers
was holding his wife’s hand across the table as Tamara talked, her face looking more
animated. Like a woman holding her husband close, Nell thought.

She thought of old Horace sitting on the Danverses’ magnificent veranda, looking out
to sea. It
was
an incongruous scene to imagine, the kind of photograph Sam would love to come upon
and snap undetected—a trio of unlikely subjects, he might call it.

J
erry Thompson was getting ready to leave just as Nell and Ben, the last to leave their
table, came upon him in the lounge. The chief had waited for them, he said, not wanting
to interrupt their dinner. He’d come over to the club to watch the sunset, nurse a
Scotch, and clear his head.

“Did it work?” Ben had asked.

The question brought a chuckle from the tired face. “Maybe, maybe a little.” Then
he thanked Nell for bringing the car seat to the station and explaining to the officers
on duty what had happened.

“It’s such a goofy thing, in a way,” he said. “The guys at the station didn’t know
what to make of it, a couple of them wanted to laugh—using an infant seat this way?
It’s definitely a first. But knowing that the person who concocted the harebrained
scheme was murdered changes the perspective a bit. It loses its humor fast.”

Jerry had agreed with Nell and Ben that Justin Dorsey and his crazy antics were a
different kettle of fish—maybe the odd or unexpected was normal for him.

They walked out to the parking lot together and stood beneath the lamplight, enjoying
the cool, clean breeze. The sound of waves washing up against the shore mixed with
soft instrumental music floating out from the bar. Night sounds and cool air. A good
backdrop for cleaning out cobwebs, Jerry said. Talking with friends was good for that,
too.

The fact that Justin was involved in this marijuana deal, whether or not he used it
himself, would give the police a new direction—hopefully one with some resolution
and not more blind alleys. On the surface, it was still difficult to find a motive
for murder—what Justin was doing was wrong, but small potatoes when compared to other
crimes. It was practically pocket change—ten- and twenty-dollar bills.

Pocket change
. Nell thought back to the night at the bar and the money Kevin had described seeing.
It didn’t sound like pocket change. “Jerry, what was in that fanny pack Justin sometimes
wore?”

Jerry looked puzzled.

“He buckled it around his waist, probably used it as a wallet. Maybe cigarettes.”

“I know what you mean, Nell, but don’t recall ever seeing it. We went through his
belongings carefully. No fanny pack far’s I know.”

Maybe he’d given it to someone, or no longer had a use for it, Nell thought. But she’d
double-check, too. Perhaps Janie remembered seeing it. And maybe it didn’t matter
at all.

“The thing is,” the chief was saying to Ben, “we don’t know what kind of people Justin
was dealing with. Naive kids or another sort altogether? If someone thought Justin
had ripped him off or was unbalanced in some way, who knows what might happen?” The
whole thing was troubling, knowing Justin had been successful in carrying this off
down at a public beach. And whoever was getting him the stuff certainly didn’t belong
in Sea Harbor.

So the big question, they all agreed, was the identity of this supplier. That took
the whole thing to a new level. Justin was unpredictable and not very truthful, and
alienating someone who might be dangerous was now a possibility. Finding the man who
gave him the goods needed to be a top consideration. But the best route to that end
was to talk to the people Justin had rendezvoused with over an innocent baby carrier.
Whoever they were.

And maybe Horace Stevenson and his dog, Red, on an innocent walk down the beach, had
come upon something not meant for his eyes.

Before they finally parted ways that night, Jerry told them they’d examined the morphine
vial carefully and it definitely came from Doc Hamilton’s dispensary. They were working
on fingerprints, but it had been rubbed by the sand and he wasn’t sure what they’d
come up with. Then, pulling his car keys out of his pocket, he assured them that no
matter how fragmented it all seemed right now, the police
would
find the person who had killed Justin Dorsey and Horace Stevenson. These cases would
not be relegated to a cardboard file box in a storeroom somewhere, leaving a lingering
fear that would hover over the community until finally enough time passed that it
morphed into a blurry memory—two tragic happenings that ruined a summer before they
became cold, nearly forgotten cases.

•   •   •

“So the person who sold it to Justin is the person we need to find?” Cass asked. She
hoisted a lobster trap off a wooden platform and set it down between her and Izzy.

It had been Gabby’s suggestion that they all go down to the dock Tuesday and give
Cass an hour or two of help—maybe over a lunch hour? Better than eating in some dark
café, Gabby had said, though not one of them could name such a place in Sea Harbor.
Some new buoys needed to be marked with the license numbers, and there were a couple
of broken traps. And Pete got a new GPS that she was dying to learn how to use.

Although Gabby didn’t say it, they all knew it to be true that ever since her performance
with the Fractured Fish, she loved being around the band, and endearing herself to
them just might get her another gig. Pete was an excellent place to start. Besides,
she was crazy about him and claimed him as the big brother she never had.

“Has anyone else noticed how our famous young singer volunteers us to work, then slips
off to help Pete with the cushier jobs?” Izzy teased.

Gabby stuck her head out of the boat’s cabin where she and Pete were fiddling with
the GPS. The wind sent her hair flying as her infectious laugh filled the space between
them, and then just as quickly she disappeared inside.

“She’s fascinated with all this boat stuff. And Pete, too,” Birdie said, unwrapping
the sandwiches she and Nell had picked up at Garozzo’s deli. “I don’t know what her
dad will say when she asks for lobster gear for Christmas.”

“Or a microphone and a chance to be on
American Idol
.” Izzy opened the small hatch on the side of the trap and smoothed the torn vinyl
with a piece of light sandpaper. “She’s a special kid, for sure. I can’t imagine our
lives before Gabby.” She shifted on the hard floor of the dock, trying to assume her
usual pretzellike position. “Geesh, this is getting hard,” she said, looking down
at herself.

Cass eyed her warily. “Are you sure that baby isn’t coming today? This isn’t the best
spot to have a baby—although we do have a new machine on the boat that boils water.”

“Thanks, Cass. But I think I can make it to dry land without borrowing your fancy
trap cooker. Besides, the baby’s not coming today.”

“You know that how?”

“I’m not ready. The universe isn’t ready. But it’s getting there. Which brings me
back to Justin’s supplier, or whatever it is you call him.”

“Well, that was Jerry’s thinking last night,” Nell said. “That finding the person
Justin went to for his supply was key. If there was a conflict between Justin and
this person, it could be a huge lead.”

“You mean this person could be the one who murdered Justin?” Birdie said, pulling
bundles of white-wrapped sandwiches from her bag.

“Yes.” Nell took bottles of iced tea from the cooler and passed them around, while
Birdie handed off a bag of sandwiches to Pete and Gabby. “Justin had a knack for making
people mad—even people who cared about him. Imagine if it was someone who didn’t care
about him.”

Izzy wiped her hands on a wet rag and unwrapped a giant vegetable hoagie. “Oh, my—Harry
came through again.” She pushed a thin slice of provolone, sandwiched in between pieces
of forest ham, sliced mushrooms, and red onion, back into the pocket of bread. “Heaven,”
she said, her eyes closing as she sank her teeth into the thick sandwich.

“I think you eat as much as I do these days,” Cass said.

“And you don’t like it because there are never any leftovers for you to take home.”

“I suppose you could say that.” Cass tossed her a piece of paper towel. “You’re a
mess. There’s sauce on your chin.”

A silence fell over the group as they bit into the fat crusty sandwiches and chewed
ravenously, as if no one in the group had eaten for days. In the background, instrumental
music rolled down the green incline from the Ocean’s Edge bar.

Nell wiped sauce from the corner of her mouth and looked over at the luncheon crowd
on the restaurant’s porch, unable from that distance to distinguish faces, though
she was sure if she waved, someone she knew would be receiving the gesture.

Then her face lit up. “Tyler,” she said.

Birdie looked up to the porch. “If you can see the bartender from here, you have superhuman
eyesight, my dear.”

“No, I’m remembering that night Justin showed up at the bar. Janie was worried he
was there for a drink, but it wasn’t that.”

“I remember it, too,” Izzy said, “mostly because you and Janie were watching him so
closely that I felt sorry for him. But he didn’t get a drink, he just talked to Ty,
right?”

“That’s my memory. They talked, but then Justin pulled something from his fanny pack
and set it on the bar. Money, I think. Kevin saw something similar that night. But
it makes me wonder how much Tyler knows about Justin’s side job. Those two were friends—of
a sort, anyway.”

“Maybe that’s all they were, just friends,” Birdie said.

“I asked Tyler about it once and he kind of shied away from it. He admitted knowing
him, but seemed to move on to other topics when I asked him about it.”

“So you think he might have been buying from Justin?” Izzy asked.

“It’s possible.”

“Tyler is kind of a party guy,” Cass admitted. “He’s a good kid, I think. But I can
see him getting caught up in it. Ty finds it hard to say no to anyone—and he’s fun
to be with. Have you watched the way women flock to him? He loves all that.”

“Except for Tamara Danvers,” Nell said.

“Tamara?” Cass tested the gates on another trap.

“Well, it’s only an observation,” Nell said. “He tried to get her attention at the
Edge one night, and she brushed him off as if he had the plague. Tyler isn’t used
to that, I don’t think. At least that’s what I read on his face.”

“Hmm,” Cass said. “Interesting.”

“She did the same thing at the Fractured Fish concert,” Birdie said. “Nell and I are
letting our people-watching habits get a bit out of hand, but I did notice him that
night, wandering down her way while Franklin was somewhere else.”

Nell remembered, too.

Izzy said, “I would think Tamara would like the attention.”

They admitted she was conscious of how she looked and, as Birdie said, was quite adept
at highlighting her significant assets. So her reaction to Tyler was strange, shunning
him as she did.

Izzy folded up her sandwich wrappings and shoved them back into the bag. “But back
to Tyler. We should ask Pete if he knows anything. He knows that crowd.”

“True. And even if Tyler wasn’t involved, he still might know something,” Izzy said.
“He’s down on the beach whenever he isn’t at the bar. There’s always gossip flying
around with the volleyballs.”

Pete came over and stepped around the lobster traps. He grabbed the extra sandwich
from the bag before his sister could reach it. “Are you guys aware that voices carry
clearly on water?” His eyebrows lifted while he chewed a gigantic mouthful of ham
and provolone.

He took another bite and went on. “I don’t know if Ty was buying anything from Justin,
but there’s talk going around that the police will want to talk to a bunch of those
guys—maybe even Andy and me.”

“You, too?” Cass said. “Ma will kill you if you’re wasting money and your mind fooling
around with stuff like that.”

Pete offered Izzy a hand and helped her to her feet. He looked at his sister calmly.
“As would a lovely woman in my life named Willow, who scares me almost as much as
Ma. No worries,” he said.

He leaned his head to one side and looked at Izzy, then her tummy, concern creasing
his brow. “You sure that baby’s arrival isn’t imminent. Like now?”

“People need to stop telling me when and where I’ll have this baby,” Izzy grumped.

Gabby ran up to catch the end of the sentence. “Baby? What? What’s happening?”

They all laughed and Birdie promised Gabby she’d know the instant anything was happening.
But as Izzy reminded them all, “It won’t be today. I have a class to teach—and so
do you, young lady,” she said to Gabby. “Come, your fans await you.”

Pete and Cass piled up the lobster traps and announced they were taking off across
the harbor to buy more bait.

“We’ve been abandoned,” Birdie said, watching them walk toward Pete’s pickup truck.

Nell looked across the water at the Ocean’s Edge. The noontime crowd had thinned some,
though tourists often ate late. Nell could see waitresses moving around between the
tables. “The sandwiches were great,” she said, checking her watch. “But I think I
need dessert.”

Birdie followed her look. “And a glass of iced tea at the outdoor bar. Perfect, in
my book.” They slipped on their sunglasses and walked back down the dock, the sea
breeze ruffling their hair and adding a snap to their steps. “Cagney and Lacy?” Birdie
suggested.

“It works for me,” Nell said.

•   •   •

Jeffrey Meara greeted them at the door. “Now, where have you been all my life, you
two beautiful ladies? Haven’t seen you here in nearly a week.”

“Jeffrey, you old flirt.” Birdie pecked him on the cheek as she looked around the
restaurant.” It looks like business is good, even in the middle of the day.”

“And tonight it’ll be packed. Kevin is bringing ’em in in droves. Had a whole tourist
bus from Boston come up here just to have lunch. He’s making us all famous.”

“What’s this guy saying about me?” Kevin Sullivan walked up behind them. He had exchanged
his apron and toque for a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt and dangled a ring of car
keys from one finger.

“Just singing your praises, dear,” Birdie said.

“Are you here for a late lunch?” Kevin looked around for a hostess to find them a
table. “I’m off but will be sure you’re taken care of.”