Angora Alibi (6 page)

Justin Dorsey was clearly visible, sitting on a chair near the long row of filing
cabinets. His body was swaying to the music pumping through the giant headphones fixed
to his head. He was fully immersed in opening one file after another, stopping now
and then to glance at lab reports, carefully rearranging papers, then opening and
closing the heavy metal file drawers.

He was oblivious of the deadly look fastened on his back, and the headphones prevented
him from hearing anything around him, including the words that slipped from Martin
Seltzer’s thin lips:

“Foolish, foolish child. If I have to take care of it myself, your days here are numbered.”

T
hursday morning gave rise to a sun so bright the light bounced off the sidewalks and
warmed the ocean air. A warm June day, the weatherman said. Beach weather.

Nell walked the few blocks to Izzy’s house, smelling the grass and lilac bushes. The
tang of the sea.

When Izzy had suggested she and Nell do a morning run together, it made Nell chuckle.
Nell’s idea of a run no longer matched Izzy’s, even though for years they’d pretended
it worked. Pregnancy was definitely slowing down her niece’s speed.

“Maybe I can keep up with you at last,” she’d said, and happily agreed to join her.

Nell rounded the corner onto Marigold Road and spotted Sam and Izzy out front.

“G’morning, Nell,” Sam called out as she approached the small frame house.

The Perry home sat in the middle of the block, surrounded by well-tended lawns, leafy
trees, and nicely painted houses. Unpretentious and inviting. Friendly, was how Ben
described the street.

Once Sam’s bachelor home, it had become a reflection of both Izzy and Sam after she
moved in and added her own touches. The clean lines, airy rooms, and white walls highlighted
Sam’s photography, while the sleek wooden furniture and brightly colored cushions
spoke of Izzy’s warmth. It was homey and perfect, with a deck off the back and a lightly
forested trail that wound down to the sea beyond.

“You’re running with us, Sam?”

Sam’s laughter closed the space between them. “You know I don’t punish my body that
way, Nell. Now, give me a boat to sail or game of pickup basketball and you’ll see
a healthy, happy guy before you.” He lifted the camera hanging around his neck. “But
today I’m off to take some photos for a magazine article on scuba diving and surfing
in these remarkable waters we call home. I’m just keeping my bride company for a few
minutes.”

Izzy was kneeling down beside the sidewalk, tugging out a few stray weeds. She sat
back on her legs, shielding her eyes against the sun. “He’s being vigilant, Aunt Nell.
He’s starting to hover. Sam’s as bad as you are. Thinks if I hiccup, labor will begin.
And to top it off, he insists on taking snapshots of me every time I turn around.
This baby is going to be seeing tiny dots of light its whole life.”

Sam’s response was a kiss to the top of her head, followed by a gentle pat to the
round of her belly—a good-bye touch to his soon-to-be-born child.

“See what I put up with, Nell?” he called back as he climbed into his car. “Sass.
Nothing but sass. That’s what pregnancy has done to her.” He blew Izzy another kiss
and drove off, his sandy hair flying in the breeze as he drove down Marigold Drive
toward the beach.

“I do love that man,” Nell murmured, watching him disappear.

“Yeah. Me, too,” Izzy said, still crouched on the ground beside a growing pile of
weeds. She finally pulled herself to a standing position and peeled off her gardening
gloves.

“So, where to?” Nell asked. “Somewhere easy, I hope.”

“Definitely.” Izzy pulled on a Sox cap and tugged her hair through the band in back.
“I was thinking maybe Paley’s Cove? We can go the long, easy way, through Cliffside,
then down to the beach. It’s warm and sunny—the ocean breeze will feel good.” Izzy
began walking down the street while she talked.

“That’s not too far for you?”

“Nope, it’ll be fine.”

Nell looked at her sideways, catching an odd tone of voice that didn’t fit a carefree
run with her slow-moving aunt. It was slightly clipped, a tone Izzy didn’t use often.
As if she had a mission beyond that of good health.

“You okay, Iz?”

Izzy nodded. “Fine.”

They moved on in silence for a while, Nell effortlessly matching Izzy’s pace for a
change. Soon the road twisted and turned and the smaller homes in Izzy and Sam’s neighborhood
disappeared, giving rise to the elegant estates that spread out over the rise of land
called Cliffside. The roads here were lined with centuries-old granite walls, waist-high
and broken only by iron gates that marked entry into well-manicured yards and stately
homes. Stands of hemlock and sweet bay magnolias partially hid the homes from view.

Most of the homes were owned by longtime residents. Some were older than the town
itself. Every now and then a narrow pathway meandered between two properties to the
sea beyond, the serpentine path opening into the vast blue of endless water.

“Franklin’s place is the largest of them all,” Izzy observed as they passed an elegant
estate. The house behind the wall looked as if it had grown directly out of the granite
rock upon which it was built. Several smaller houses were positioned about the property,
discreet and private.

“It’s the original family estate, according to Birdie. Generations of Danverses were
born and died in this house. It’s magnificent.”

“Tamara talks a lot about the house when she’s in the shop. She loves living here—the
mystery, the glamour, the dark hallways. She says the place is full of secret passages
and doorways that open up below the cliff, right onto the beach. It’s interesting
how a place can change a person. I swear her voice is even changing. Can you imagine
bringing up a baby here?”

The shrill of a siren behind them drowned out the end of the sentence. Izzy and Nell
spun around just as Tommy Porter rounded the corner in his police car, a light flashing
on top.

Instinctively, they stopped and looked around to find something worthy of Tommy’s
sound effects. Just then, the wide electric gate guarding the Danvers’ driveway opened.
Franklin and Tamara stood just inside. Between them, his head hanging low, a tangle
of wet blond hair falling over his forehead and a surfboard strapped to his back,
was Justin Dorsey.

Tommy slid out of the car and walked over to Franklin Danvers, his eyes taking in
the silent Justin. “Hey, Mr. Danvers, what can I do for you?”

Franklin shook Tommy’s hand and motioned toward Justin. “We’ve got a little problem,
Tom.”

For a minute Tommy didn’t say anything. Then, “So, what’s he done now?”

Justin looked up briefly. Then he spotted Nell and Izzy standing on the side of the
street, and a sheepish look of relief washed across his face.
My rescuers,
it said.

“Trespassing,” Franklin said. “And upsetting my wife.”

Tommy looked over at Tamara. Through a slit in her silky green caftan, a strip of
tan skin and bikini straps peeked through.

She looked upset, that was true. Nell felt a strange urge to protect the young man—not
for personal reasons, really. But accusing him of trespassing on the Cliffside Beach
was silly. At one time or another, nearly every Sea Harbor teenager spent time on
the private coastline that wound around behind the properties. Izzy herself had probably
spent some time on the rocks, watching surfers master the high waves that often developed
where the land jutted out.

“Trespassing?” Nell looked at Justin, then Tommy.

“Well, sure,” Tommy said. “Legally speaking, anyway. There are signs all over saying
it’s a private beach.”

But his reluctance to immediately slap a fine on the young man—or arrest him—was as
evident as Tamara Danvers’ uncomfortable stance.

She stood silent, as if she wished she were anywhere but standing between her husband
and a young ponytailed surfer, his hair still wet and sand coating his legs. She took
a step closer to Franklin and away from Justin.

Justin looked uncomfortable, standing in a sleeveless wet suit. He shoved one hand
in the thigh pocket, his feet shifting back and forth.

“Justin?” Tommy focused all his attention on Janie’s cousin now. “Is there anything
you want to say?”

Justin shrugged. Then the familiar smile came back, but forced this time. “Hey, Officer
Tom, I was, like, trying to catch a couple waves.”

“Waves, my foot,” Franklin said. “I came home from the office unexpectedly and it’s
a damn good thing I did. I went up to my bedroom to get something and spotted this
kid through the window, down there on the lower terrace, hands outstretched like he
was a moocher expecting a handout.” He glared at Justin. “You don’t belong here.”

Justin hung his head again and managed a weak “Hey, sorry. We were just talking, hanging
out for a minute. Didn’t mean any harm, Mrs. Danvers.”

Tamara looked away, her jaw rigid.

“Hanging out? I don’t think so.” Franklin looked over at Tamara, who was now distancing
herself from both Justin and her husband.

“I need to lie down,” she said. “Just let this go, Franklin.” A flash of anger appeared
in her eyes, but it wasn’t clear who the object of her anger was.

Franklin frowned. “Tamara needs to rest—and I’m sure we all have more important things
to do today than continue this conversation.” He looked sternly at Justin. “But I
suggest we come to an agreement, young man. This is private property. You are trespassing
and harassing my wife. I’ll ignore it this time because Tamara needs to get inside.
But if you want to surf, try Good Harbor over in Gloucester. Or Long Beach. Not my
backyard. I don’t want to see you back here again.”

With that, he nodded to Tommy, offered a polite smile to Izzy and Nell, and walked
back through the iron gate.

While the gate slowly began to close, they caught a fleeting glimpse of the wealthy
investment banker wrap his younger wife in a protective embrace and walk her slowly
back down the cobbled drive to the house.

Justin heaved a sigh of relief.

Tommy walked over to him. “What is it with you, Dorsey? Mr. Danvers is a decent guy.
He wouldn’t have called me just because you were surfing back there or walking the
beach. You shouldn’t be bothering the people who live around here. Don’t you ever
use that thick skull of yours to think?”

Justin stood in silence, one hand cupping a worn fanny pack on his waist and the other
balancing his board.

“I think Franklin is just being overprotective of his wife, Tommy,” Izzy said.

“That’s his choice, right? Justin upset her apparently.”

“She’s pregnant,” Nell said.

Tommy shrugged. “Sure, makes sense, I guess. My ma always got prickly when she was
having another one. You touchy, Iz?”

Izzy laughed. “You’ll have to ask Sam, Tommy.”

Tommy laughed, too, but when he looked away from the women and back to Justin, the
smile fell away and his voice was stern. “As for you, I suggest you listen to what
the man said. You’re becoming a major nuisance around here, and whether he’s overprotective
or not, he could have slapped a fine on you for trespassing. You were lucky this time.”

Without waiting for an answer, he climbed back into the squad car, made a sharp U-turn,
and drove back toward town.

“Close call, huh?” Justin said, catching up with Nell and Izzy as they headed down
the hill toward Paley’s Cove.

“Tommy’s right,” Nell said. “You need to do as Mr. Danvers says.”

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugged, as if he’d already forgotten the suggestion—or the incident.
He tucked the board beneath one arm and shifted his fanny pack, checking the clasp.
“But Tom was cool, right? Do you think he’ll tell Janie?”

Izzy picked up a slow run down the hill, and Nell kept pace, both women ignoring the
obvious answer to his question. Of course Tommy would tell Janie. In fact, he had
probably already called her on his cell.
Justin Dorsey is trouble,
he’d be telling her.

“Where are you headed, Justin? Do you need help getting that board somewhere?” Nell
asked.

“Hey, thanks, but no. I was running some errands for the clinic and used Janie’s car.
It’s down at Paley’s Cove.” He picked up a little speed to keep abreast of the two
women, his flip-flops slapping against the firm dirt path.

They rounded a curve in the road and began the gentle descent down to Paley’s Cove,
spread out below them like a glistening half-moon.

Nell knew Izzy liked running here along the smooth sand, even though she seemed distracted
today as they neared the curve of beach. Perhaps it was a result of the ruckus up
at the Danvers place.

Or, as Ben would be quick to say, perhaps it was simply Nell’s imagination. Worrying
without cause. She’d done too much of it lately.

“Guess I’ll leave you ladies here,” Justin said as they neared the water’s edge.

He looked around the beach for a minute, as if half expecting to see someone—perhaps
Franklin Danvers coming after him with a shotgun. Then he forced a smile back to his
face. “Gotta get back to the clinic. The printer doesn’t work again. I’m becoming
indispensable over there, but they’re going to have to figure out how to get along
without me soon.” He waved at old Horace Stevenson, sitting across the road on his
porch, and then called out with a jubilant smile, “Have a great day, ladies! I sure
am going to.”

And he was off, sprinting across the beach to the narrow park- ing lot.

“Great day?” Nell murmured. Justin seemed to be unaware that he’d almost gotten thrown
in jail. She watched him as he strapped his board to the top of Janie’s car, wondering
if Janie knew her car was running errands that included a trip to the beach—and a
visit to Franklin Danvers’ wife.

Justin reached into the front seat, then closed the car door and walked a few yards
to the steps, bending low over the granite wall, as if in thought. The tip of a cigarette
glowed in profile. Nell wondered if something was wrong. But before she could call
out, he crushed out the cigarette, climbed into the car, and was headed toward town
and the clinic.

What did he mean, he’d be leaving the clinic soon? Nell wondered if Martin Seltzer
was finally getting his way. But Justin seemed happy about the possibility, not sad.
Was he quitting? She turned toward Izzy, wondering if she had the same thoughts about
this unpredictable young man.

But Izzy’s thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. She had stopped running and was staring
across the beach at the parking lot, one hand cupped over her eyes, squinting.