Angora Alibi

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “So,” Lily was saying beside her, “I suspect we have a little bruiser here.”

  “That’s not a surprise.” Nell smiled. “His father is one.”

  “Where’s all this ‘his’ coming from?” Izzy asked.

  “I stand corrected. He or she.” Lily laughed. The examination complete, she helped Izzy sit up and drop her legs over the side of the table.

  A knock on the door was followed by Janie’s voice with a request to talk to Dr. Virgilio. The words carried a sense of urgency, and Lily quickly moved outside, leaving the door ajar.

  “One of us must have failed to record it, Janie,” they heard the doctor whisper. “I’m sure that’s what it was. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  When she returned, a smile was back in place. Again, she reassured both Izzy and Nell that the baby was in fine shape. “Probably finer shape than any of us,” she added.

  “Thanks, Dr. Lily.” Izzy picked up the sweater she’d left on the chair and slipped it over her shoulders, tying it above the large mound of baby. “Even though I know my baby is fine, it’s always nice to hear it from you. And Sam hangs on every word. He’d be here today if he weren’t doing a photo shoot in Boston.”

  Lily nodded and smiled, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere, beyond the confines of the small examining room. “Next week, then?” she asked absently. “Check with Janie when you leave. She’ll set you up.”

  Lily walked out of the room and disappeared down the hall.

  Nell and Izzy walked back toward the waiting area. It was dark outside now, the neon lights in the hallway casting shadows along the painted walls. The office door Nell had looked through earlier was closed, no sounds indicating life on the other side.

  But as they turned another corner, Janie’s voice stopped them short.

  She was standing between two doorways at the end of the hallway. One opened into a large, well-lit room filled with computers, filing cabinets, and bookshelves. The other doorway was partially open, but enough to see a winding staircase leading upward.

  Janie’s hands were on her hips, and her cheeks were nearly as red as her hair. “You’re supposed to be fixing that computer, not roaming around the clinic. What were you doing up there, anyway?” Her hand pointed toward the staircase. “That door shouldn’t be open like that. Dr. Seltzer is adamant about it.”

  Justin dropped his head.

  “No, don’t tell me. I can smell it—your darn cigarettes. You can’t smoke up on the widow’s walk. Dr. Lily told you that, Justin. You’re going to burn the place down!”

  “It was five minutes, Janie,” he began, but Janie didn’t allow any more words.

  “Dr. Seltzer lives on the next floor, and that staircase goes right by the back door to his apartment. He’ll kill you if he finds out you were up there. What are you thinking?”

  Justin tried once more to talk, but Janie put out both her hands, stopping him. “It’s too much, Justin. And look at all these files scattered every which way. Dr. Seltzer says you’ve lost some of them. I’ve had it, Justin. Just leave. Forget about everything and just go away.”

  Justin’s reply was a plea, his voice pouring out into the hallway. “Hey, I’m sorry, honest. I’ll fix it all, the charts, everything. One more chance, that’s all I need.”

  Janie walked in, scooped up an armful of files, and began backing out of the room.

  Justin jumped up from the chair and started to follow her. “I’ll make it up to you. Things are going to be better now. Honest, Janie. I’m going to be making some real money. Don’t be mad.” His voice was a plea, so warm and heartfelt it would have melted chocolate had the air-conditioning not been so high.

  “You don’t think. That’s your problem. One of them, anyway,” Janie scolded, trying to stay firm. “You’ve missed a dozen shifts at the Artist’s Palate—Merry is ready to kill you—and you messed up a whole order of books at Archie Brandley’s bookstore. He was so mad he wouldn’t even tell me about it. Not to mention the scene at Izzy’s shop today. Justin, sometimes I could . . . I could just strangle you.”

  But the last choked words held a softness, like those of a caring aunt or mother or teacher trying to hold on to an anger that was slipping away into a warmer feeling.

  She turned, moving into the hallway quickly. Too quickly. Her elbow cracked against the door frame, sending the files in her arms flying in all directions.

  “Oh, no,” she cried. One hand rubbed her bruised elbow.

  “Let me help.” Izzy hurried forward.

  But Justin was there in a split second. “Nope. I got it, ladies.” He crouched down and began scooping up the folders.

  Janie shook her head and managed a smile for Nell and Izzy. “I can’t even blame him this time. It was my clumsiness.”

  Justin stood up, his arms full of files, his eyes begging for another chance.

  “Those need filing,” Janie began.

  “I know, I know. I’m good at it. I like filing.” Before she could change her mind, Justin headed back into the room and toward a row of filing cabinets.

  “And don’t forget the lab reports that need to go into them. Dr. Seltzer put them on the desk in there.”

  She shook her head once more and began walking toward the reception area, reclaiming her professional demeanor. “You need an appointment, Izzy. That’s much easier to deal with than Justin. Next week, right?” She tapped the computer to life.

  As Izzy and Janie looked at the appointment screen on Janie’s computer, Nell stood back and looked down the hall, hoping to say good-bye to Lily.

  But Lily was nowhere to be seen.

  Instead, silhouetted against a window a short distance away from her was a figure. For a minute, Nell thought it was just a shadow, a trick of the light shining in from an office at that end of the hall. But when the figure moved, she recognized Dr. Seltzer. He had taken off his white coat and replaced it with a tweed jacket and English hat. In one hand he held a walking stick, his fingers gripping it tightly.

  As her eyes adjusted to the hall light, she could see his face more clearly. Steely gray eyes sat deep in the pale, chiseled face, eyes focused beyond her, not seeing anything but what was at the end of the hall—two open doorways. The kindness Nell had seen in his smile earlier had disappeared completely. She turned and followed his stare.

  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.”

  Chapter 4

  Thursday 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 h
ome, 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?”