Angora Alibi

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “Janie knew Justin better than anyone,” Nell said. “The police will be questioning her.”

  “Tommy is pushing for some breathing room for her,” Izzy said. “She’s still in shock.”

  Cass refilled her plate and returned to her chair. “I’m sure the whole awful mess hasn’t sunk in for her yet.” She looked over at Birdie. “Justin was supposed to meet with you Sunday, right? What was that about?”

  “Now, that’s a mystery, isn’t it?” Birdie said. “I don’t have any idea. I didn’t know him all that well, except for his connection to Janie, whom I love dearly.”

  “But people like to talk to you, Birdie. You have that aura,” Izzy said. “Maybe he wanted to talk to you about Janie.”

  “Aura? Oh, sweet Izzy, I don’t have an aura. I have years. Lots of them. Sometimes that is comforting to people because they know that there’s little that can surprise me.” Birdie gave a laugh, though it had a sad edge to it. She pushed herself up straighter in the chair and wiped her hands on a napkin. “I’ve been thinking about it, though. I have. It wasn’t a casual ‘let’s talk sometime’ invitation. Justin had something specific he wanted to talk to me about. He called me late Saturday afternoon—probably after he left here—and said it was important he see him. He sounded anxious, so I suggested we meet right then, but he couldn’t. He was on his way to ‘an important business deal,’ he said. So we settled on Sunday morning.”

  Nell frowned. “Business deal?”

  “I think sometimes Justin was full of himself. He probably meant Lily was giving him a paycheck.”

  And before they saw him at the Ocean’s Edge. So a late-Saturday business meeting. Nell stored away the information.

  “So, why did he want to talk to Birdie? Any ideas?” Cass carried her empty plate to the small galley kitchen and called back over her shoulder, “Maybe someone didn’t want him talking to you?”

  “I can’t imagine why. I thought he might be looking for another job. I have that big place—maybe he thought Harold could use some help with the yard or driving the car—he seemed to like driving the cars at the Community Center event.”

  “That doesn’t seem to fall into an ‘important’ category, though,” Nell said.

  “If you need money badly, maybe it does,” Birdie said.

  While Izzy cleared the remaining plates and hands were washed, they tried to get their arms around a crime that on the surface made no sense. A young life lost. And many other lives affected.

  “I don’t think it was for a job,” Izzy said. “Not the way he was acting.”

  They settled back in their chairs and pulled out needles and yarn and half-finished projects. Izzy traced the tiny shape of her latest pair of booties, no bigger than a thumb, knit from a green-and-yellow-striped angora blend.

  Between the four of them, baby Perry would have a knitting wardrobe to match any of the Hollywood babies that filled the popular magazines. Nell reached over and touched the tiny stocking.

  “Why don’t you think he needed another job?” Birdie asked. She tightened the last row of stitches on the tiny romper. With the legs finished, she was beginning the main body—creamy soft and cuddly and ready to hold a tiny baby.

  “He was considering buying that motorcycle, for starters. And he invited Janie to Duckworth’s for dinner. He told Sam at the dive that things were picking up for him—‘big-time,’ he said. Maybe he’d saved a little money and was feeling more secure. Janie was in the dark about where this sudden money came from. I think she was concerned about the bike—and certainly that set of pottery.”

  Nell brought up the roll of money he’d had on Saturday, which they all thought strange.

  “Maybe he wanted investment advice,” Cass joked. She smoothed out the small sweater she was knitting for the baby, a miniature fisherman’s sweater knit in a cotton so soft the baby would feel as if he were on a cloud. “From his fisherman aunt,” Cass had said when they questioned her choice of a cable sweater for one so tiny. “It’s important he know from the start there will be lobsters in his life.”

  “Whatever the reason, he knew you, Birdie—or about you, anyway,” Izzy said. “And Janie clearly thinks you set the moon. He probably just wanted to talk to you about his life, about Janie, jobs. Mistakes he’s made. We’ve all done that at one time or another.”

  They pondered that possibility. Even Birdie had to admit it was possible. She was like a confessor without the penance. No matter who it was, she always listened, always cared, and was always fair and wise in her answer. Birdie never sugarcoated life’s problems, but life, in her clear gray eyes—and in Mary Pisano’s and Dickens’ words—was always a season of hope.

  “I’m wondering if he was in trouble,” Nell said. She fingered the edge of the baby blanket, her fingers rolling over the seed pearl stitches. It was the softest merino blend she could find, a touch of silk on a baby’s pink cheeks.

  Heavy footsteps pressed their thoughts into silence as someone walked up the outdoor steps to Janie’s apartment.

  As if choreographed, four pair of hands stopped moving, needles and yarn dropped to laps. All eyes looked up at the ceiling, the room suddenly still.

  Izzy leaned forward and started to push herself up from the chair. Then she stopped and shook her head, murmuring more to herself than the others, “What am I doing? How silly. It’s Janie’s apartment. She’s an adult. She can handle visitors.” But her voice was tight.

  No one spoke.

  They waited. Minutes later the footsteps came back down the stairs, more slowly this time, and then there was a knock at the door.

  A quick knock, but urgent and insistent.

  Cass got to the door first.

  Tommy Porter stood on the doorstep, disheveled and alone. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for days.

  “Do you know where Janie is?” He was out of uniform, his shorts and shirt wrinkled.

  “I thought she was working,” Izzy said.

  He shook his head. “I went there first. Lily said she got a phone call about an hour before closing time and seemed upset. Lily told her to go home. But she doesn’t answer the door.”

  Izzy frowned, looked around. “Purl,” she called out.

  The cat didn’t respond.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen Purl all night,” Birdie said. “That’s unusual. She’s always here on Thursday night.”

  Izzy nodded. “Purl loves Janie. And she seems to have this sense that tells her when she’s needed. Since the cat isn’t here, she must be up there—with Janie.”

  She grabbed a ring of keys from the bookshelf. “Come on, Tommy.”

  They all got up and headed for the door.

  No one spoke aloud the fear ringing in their heads. For some reason, harm coming to someone else they knew was unthinkable, and so they pushed the thought as far away as their fears allowed.

  Janie should be answering her door. Everyone loved Janie—she’d handled her jobs, her life, her friends with good common sense and great compassion. No one would ever dream of hurting her. . . .

  Izzy was the first one up the stairs with Tommy’s breath an inch from her neck. She knocked lightly. “Janie, are you all right? I was wondering if Purl was up here with you.”

  At the sound of her name, the cat jumped to the windowsill and looked out at them, her green eyes glinting in the moonlight.

  “Janie,” Tommy called out, louder, an urgent cry. “Are you in there?”

  “If Purl is there, Janie’s home.” Izzy tried the doorknob. It opened easily. They walked slowly and carefully, one by one, into the darkened room. In the small kitchen alcove, the stove clock added an eerie light to the area.

  Purl was off the sill in an instant and flew toward the bedroom, as if leading them along. Come, follow me.

  Janie was curled up on the bed, her hair a blaze of color spread out on the downy white comforter.

  She didn’t move.

  Tommy hurried over to the bed. He shook her arm gently. “Janie?�
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  Janie pulled her eyes open slowly.

  An audible wave of relief passed through the room.

  She shifted on the bed, and a half-empty box of tissues fell to the floor. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the circle of concerned faces just behind Tommy.

  “I . . . I must have fallen asleep,” she said.

  As soon as the words were out, the tears began again, running down her cheeks in rivers, falling onto the bedclothes. Purl pressed herself against Janie’s chest as if to stop the flood.

  “But you’re okay?” Tommy’s words were barely audible.

  Janie nodded and reached for another tissue.

  Birdie took one of her hand and held it in her own.

  “Janie, these are dark days, but they will get better and we’ll find out who did this.”

  Janie’s head rolled back and forth on the pillow. “It’s a nightmare. I want to wake up and have it all go away.” She tried to focus on Birdie’s face. “If I hadn’t thrown him out like that. If I had helped him more, maybe—”

  “Justin’s death had nothing to do with you, Janie,” Tommy said. His voice was firm.

  Janie took a deep breath and pushed herself up in the bed, as if Tommy’s words had turned a switch. She swung her feet over the side and forked her fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her face. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  “You think your life is almost perfect,” Janie said. “I have you, Tommy, and this wonderful apartment.” She looked at Izzy. “I love my job so much. And then little things start to happen. Things got a little crazy at work—the clinic is tense, you know?” She looked at Izzy. “Do you feel it, Iz? It didn’t used to be that way.”

  “A little, yes, I do.”

  “Sometimes Dr. Seltzer doesn’t seem to be tracking completely. Then some things go missing and Lily and I can’t figure it out. And then Justin . . . Where did that perfect life go? I don’t know if I will ever get it back.”

  “Sure, it’s tough now, but we’ll make it better. I promise.” Tommy sat next to her and rubbed her neck.

  She turned her head toward him. “They called me at work, Tommy.”

  “Who did?”

  “The police.”

  “They’ll probably want to talk to all of us, Janie,” Nell said. “Right, Tommy?”

  Janie shook her head. “No, it’s not like that.” When she looked at Tommy again, it was with great sadness, as if she had done something terrible to hurt him.

  “I said I wanted to kill Justin—I told all of you that. I even told Archie Brandley when I left the house that night.” She pulled Purl onto her lap.

  “And the police think maybe I did.”

  Chapter 13

  “T ommy was wonderful,” Nell told Ben at breakfast the next day. “He hugged her and tried to get her to laugh. She was talking to the wrong person, he told her. After all, he was the police. And he knew firsthand she couldn’t kill a spider if her life depended on it.”

  Ben downed the last dregs of his coffee and got up from the island. “Tommy’s a good man. I’ll see Jerry today at the chamber meeting and see what I can find out. Tommy’s absolutely right—Janie couldn’t hurt a fly.”

  But the furrow in his brow told Nell what she already knew. The police were on the fast track to get this murder solved. Not only did the town need the peace of knowing there wasn’t a murderer in their midst, but it didn’t help tourism any to have stories about the scuba diving murder—as the press called it—on visitors’ radar. The yellow tape had finally been taken off the beach, but that wasn’t nearly enough. Someone had to be behind bars before the collective sigh of relief would come from the town.

  They’d talk to and consider anyone who had had any relationship with Justin Dorsey, the ponytailed kid from California. And they’d certainly not overlook his friend and distant cousin—a well-loved young woman who let it be heard that she wanted to kill him.

  “It must have sliced right through her to realize she was a suspect,” Ben said. “Janie really cared for the kid.”

  Nell put the breakfast dishes in the sink and began rinsing them off. “She saw the good in him, just like she does in everyone. And Janie is a natural caretaker. It’s in her blood—and Justin needed lots of caring.”

  “I liked him, actually. We had a great talk one day about his love for the ocean—Atlantic or Pacific, he wasn’t fussy. He thought our sailboat was great.”

  “Which of course would endear him to you.”

  “Absolutely.” Ben walked over and wrapped his arms around her while she held a cup beneath the spray. “And speaking of endearing—” He nuzzled the side of her neck. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  Nell turned slightly and rubbed a soapy finger across his cheek. She smiled at him. “Then you won’t mind picking up some fish for tonight?”

  “Hmmm,” Ben responded, then pulled away and checked his watch. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I guess it’ll have to do for now. Duty calls.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek, picked up his keys, and was out the back door, off to help plan a summer regatta for the Boys’ Club kids. Something, it occurred to both him and Nell, that might have made a huge difference in Justin Dorsey’s life, had the opportunity been there.

  • • •

  It was noon before Nell finally got away from the house.

  She’d sat at the kitchen island finishing a short grant application for the Canary Cove Arts Association, a task that should have taken an hour or two, but thoughts of Justin Dorsey and Janie Levin played havoc with her concentration.

  Four hours later she grabbed her errand and grocery lists and drove down toward Harbor Road.

  Birdie would meet up with her a little later at Izzy’s shop, she’d texted Nell earlier. No reason, she said, except that Harold was off getting the car detailed and she needed some things at the store, so they would shop together.

  And, Nell thought, Birdie knew she would like the company. They all had a sense about that—Nell, Birdie, Cass, and Izzy. There was a time to be alone, but a time when a close friend filled that space so much better.

  Just as Nell turned onto Harbor Road, a car pulled out of a parking space directly in front of Gus McClucken’s hardware store. A good omen, she thought. Perhaps the whole day would unfold that way—good, fortuitous things happening.

  She pulled in and sat for a minute behind the wheel, her thoughts on the conversation she’d had with Ben. On Janie. On Justin. She looked across the street at Izzy’s shop. The windows in the apartment above were open slightly. Izzy had called early to say she’d talked to Janie that morning. She had slept some, felt a little better—although she looked haggard, Izzy thought. But she was on her way to the clinic. Back to living her life, she’d said, though it would be forever changed.

  And it would, Nell knew. One didn’t experience the death of someone close without it having a lasting affect. Pairing that with murder made it doubly so.

  Ben had said he liked Justin. She did, too. There was something about those engaging blue eyes and dimpled smile that was endearing. That was probably what Janie had seen at the family reunion and what drew her to him and him to her. He needed someone to care for him, and Janie was an ideal person to fill that need. Justin had an intriguing innocence, a kind of naiveté that made him seem younger than he actually was. And that, she realized with a start, could certainly exasperate those who cared about him, especially if it led to foolish decisions. Like washing windows on a rickety ladder or skipping job shifts in favor of surfing . . . or buying expensive presents without the money to pay for him.

  “Yoo-hoo, in there. Anyone home?”

  Nell looked over at a smiling Henrietta O’Neal, tapping on the passenger window with the handle of her cane.

  Nell rolled down the window. “You caught me, Henrietta. I was deep into daydreaming.”

  Henrietta leaned in. “But from the look on your face, I suspect they’re not especially nice dreams.”

&n
bsp; “It hasn’t been the best of weeks, has it?” she said.

  “Sometimes bad things happen.”

  “Justin Dorsey’s death is certainly that—a bad thing.”

  “Murder, you mean, Nell. One must call it as it is, as distasteful as that may be. Murder, it’s such an ugly word, not one we want to linger here long.”

  Nell slid out of the car and walked toward Henrietta.

  It wasn’t until she stepped up on the curb that she noticed Horace Stevenson. He was sitting on the bench outside Gus’ store, his dog, Red, on the sidewalk beside him. Nell smiled over at them both, and Red thumped his tail in greeting. The only place she ever saw Horace on Harbor Road was in that exact spot. He’d buy his weekly supply of dog food, then wait contentedly for Gus to give him a lift home. His social life, he told her once. A chance to people-watch.

  He tipped his ball cap to Nell before turning his attention to a group of skateboarders rolling down the street.

  Nell turned to Henrietta. “Did you know Justin?”

  Henrietta tsked at the racket the skaters were making, then pulled her white eyebrows together, as if Nell had asked her a difficult question. Did she know Justin? Finally she said, “I knew who he was—let’s put it that way. He was always friendly when I’d see him around town. But then there was another side to him. . . .”

  “Another side?”

  “How shall I say it? Something wasn’t quite right. His attention span seemed to be minimal. He didn’t seem to know his boundaries, like an untrained puppy, but not suitable behavior for someone nearing twenty.”

  “How so?”

  Henrietta waved one chubby finger in the air, as if scolding herself. “I’m being a fuddy-duddy. But that being said, I know he was a problem in the clinic. Doc Hamilton told me Lily hired him to do odd jobs, fix computers, file things. Apparently the young man was smart enough. But when I’d go in for my weekly blood-pressure screening, I’d see him wandering around, checking doors, snooping, you might say. Recently I went over to Martin’s office to say hello, and there was Justin, standing outside the office door, as still as a mouse, like he was listening to what was going on behind the door. I suppose what I’m saying is that he was a tad inappropriate—though Martin would say that’s an understatement.”