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.
“Izzy?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, Izzy turned and scanned the beach, her gaze on the scattering of people. A young couple, lolling on a blanket. In the distance, some teenagers frolicked in the waves, pushing one another and laughing, the morning sun warming their tan, firm bodies.
“Are you all right?”
Izzy nodded slowly. “You’ll think I’m foolish. No, you’ll know I’m foolish.” She pointed back toward the stone wall that separated the parking lot from the sand, to a gray object near the spot where Justin had been smoking.
Nell hadn’t noticed it before—she’d been focused on Justin. Or perhaps she wouldn’t have given it a second glance even if she had seen it. People brought all kinds of things to the beach. From where she stood, it looked like a small beach chair.
“It’s the baby car seat,” Izzy said.
Nell looked again, nodded, waited.
“There isn’t a baby anywhere on this beach,” Izzy said. “And there wasn’t a baby here yesterday when I ran, or the day before that, or . . .” She stopped, her words falling to the sand. When she looked up, her face was pinched with worry. “It’s the same car seat that’s been here every day.”
“Maybe the mother is walking with her baby along the shore, beyond the breakers where we can’t see her,” Nell suggested. “Perhaps over on the Danverses’ beach. I’m sure it’s fine, Izzy.”
Izzy shook her head. No, the mother wasn’t walking along the beach. Izzy was sure of that.
And the baby wasn’t there, either.
There was only a car seat.
Chapter 5
“Are you sure you want to take on a renter right now?” Birdie asked. She sat in the yarn shop’s back room, in Ben’s old leather chair. It was Birdie’s favorite spot after a long day. On the coffee table in front of her was a chilled bottle of pinot gris and four glasses. In her lap sat the infinitely soft beginnings of baby Perry’s first romper—the creamy cotton glacé begging for shape—the arms, the legs, and a figure of a bunny near the row of buttons. She fingered the yarn, imagining a sleeping baby in folds of soft cotton.
Thursday night. The comfort of yarn and friends. At last.
Izzy stood at the old library table, tossing Nell’s arugula salad. A sweetened pecan made its way into her mouth. “No worry about a renter, Birdie. It’s Janie Levin we’re talking about, and I kind of like the idea of someone other than ghosts living above the shop.”
Nell glanced over at her. Ghosts in her apartment. Ghosts on the beach . . . Earlier that day, while getting the quesadilla ready to grill, she had told Ben about Izzy’s strong reaction to seeing a baby carrier on the beach.
Ben had brushed it off, but then, he hadn’t seen the look of distress on Izzy’s face, as if she wouldn’t rest until she found a baby for that car seat. As if it were a scene that needed fixing.
“Janie’s working like a demon to pay off a boatload of nursing school loans,” Nell said. She looked at Izzy. “You’re probably charging her next to nothing. This will be a huge help to her.”
“And here’s another plus,” Cass said. “Her boyfriend’s a cop. Great way to get free extra security.”
Izzy laughed. “I’m not sure I need that. Yarn doesn’t seem to be high on thieves’ ‘things to steal’ lists.”
“Do you suppose cousin Justin will be hanging out here?” Cass asked.
“No,” Izzy said. “He stays over at that old boardinghouse that Mrs. Bridge runs. She agreed to a reduced rent if Justin ran errands for her. He doesn’t like the arrangement—she’s a tough lady—but Janie thinks it’s good for him and maybe keeping him out of trouble.”
Nell unwrapped a foil cover from the pan of quesadillas. The sweet smell of orange sauce wafted up with the steam.
The growling of Cass’ stomach was more effective than a dinner bell, and in minutes they’d heaped their plates high with arugula salad and spicy quesadillas and settled on the slipcovered sofa and old leather chairs near the stone fireplace. The casement windows above the window seat were open wide, bringing in gusts of salty air that ruffled napkins and sent Izzy over to close them partway. “There’s a storm coming in,” she said, looking up at a parade of clouds racing across the sky.
“Not a serious one. Just some nice rain for the flowers,” Birdie said. “Harold’s arthritic bones are the best weather predictor in the world. He says this will pass over with little damage, but we might want to bring the trash cans inside.”
“A groundskeeper with telepathic bones,” Cass said. “Only Birdie could have found such a man.”
Before anyone else had a chance to chime in on Birdie’s amazing household staff, a booming noise from the alley sent a framed print of Gloucester Harbor falling to the floor.
“My Homer Winslow print,” Izzy cried, pushing herself up from the chair.
“Thunder?” Cass wondered.
But it was coming from the alley, not the sky.
Izzy reached the side door first and flung it open. A distraught Janie Levin stood in the alley, staring at the ground. Behind her, packed full of boxes and chairs and knickknacks, was Tommy’s pickup truck.
But it was what was in front of her that caused Izzy to rush over to her side. “J
anie! Are you okay? What happened?”
Inches from where she stood, the remains of a large packing box, mangled and open, lay on the ground. And scattered as far as the eye could see were shards of colorful pottery.
In answer to Izzy’s question, Janie looked up the steps leading to her new apartment.
Standing at the top of the outdoor staircase, just outside the apartment door, was Justin Dorsey, a torn flap of cardboard dangling from one hand.
“It slipped,” he said. “I was trying to open the door.”
Janie fought hard for composure. “I’m sorry for the mess, Izzy. Tommy let me use his truck to move some things into the apartment. Justin showed up to help, and then . . .” Her voice broke.
“What lovely pottery,” Birdie said, bending over and picking up a hand-painted piece.
Janie bent down beside Birdie and began scooping up the larger pieces, placing them in an empty box. She held one in her hand, looking at it as if imagining it whole. “I’ll make a mural with the pieces. A coffee table or mirror, maybe,” she murmured, more to herself than those around her. Then she looked up from the mess and pushed a smile in place. “Everything is from garage sales. Nothing matched. It’ll be okay.”
“The real problem would have been if the box had landed on you,” Nell said. Her frown was aimed up at Justin. “That wouldn’t have been okay.”
Justin looked sheepish and took a few steps down. “I’ll buy you more, Janie. Promise. And no more garage sale stuff. You deserve better. Quality stuff . . .” He pointed to a patch of alleyway nearly hidden by the Dumpster. A shiny motorcycle leaned against it. “Like that.”
Janie looked over and frowned. “What’s that?”
“It’s a Honda. A used one, but so, like, cool. Like it? I’m trying it out. Gotta get it back tomorrow.”
“Trying it out?” Janie asked, the mountain of broken pottery forgotten. She stared at the bike.
The question was answered with a shrug, and Nell watched Janie’s frown deepen as her look passed from the bike to Justin and back again.
Cass walked over and looked at it. “I’m not an expert, but it looks like a nice bike, Justin. Not cheap, but very cool.”
Justin reached the bottom of the stairs and stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He beamed at Cass’ words. “Yeah, I think I might buy it.”
“Hey, folks.” Tommy Porter walked down the alley and wrapped an arm around Janie’s shoulders, pulling her close and missing the look of consternation on her face. “Got here as soon as I could, babe. Crazy day at the station, and I had to change clothes.” Then he spotted the broken dishes littering the alley. “Oh, jeez. Sorry, Janie. I shoulda been here to help you. Did you hurt yourself?”
“Nah, it was me, man,” Justin said, taking a step toward Tommy. “I dropped ’em. But no worries. I’ll replace ’em.” He lifted one palm in the air. “Scout’s honor.”
“Dorsey.” Tommy’s whole body tensed as he stared at him. Finally he took a deep breath and unclenched his fist. “Sure. Sure you will, man.”
Tommy’s voice dripped with disdain, something Nell had never heard there before. She’d known the mild-mannered policeman almost since his birth. As a teenager he’d mowed their yard and run errands for them and their neighbors. And when he graduated from the police academy, she and Ben joined the whole town in celebrating his success. He was well liked, and when he and Janie started dating a couple of years ago, it seemed the stars had lined up perfectly. The policeman and the nurse, they’d come to be called, once Tommy convinced Janie to go back to school. It was a match made in Sea Harbor heaven.
Tonight they all saw a new side of Tommy, maybe one reserved for police work—arresting thieves, dealing with hardened criminals. Or maybe one reserved for someone he disliked intensely.
Justin sensed it, too, and without another word, took the broom Izzy handed him and began cleaning up the littered alleyway, his whole being concentrating on the pieces of pottery.
Tommy looked over at the truck. “Weatherman says rain tonight, so how about we move these things inside?”
As if receiving stage directions, everyone moved, the scooter momentarily forgotten. Birdie and Cass began pulling things out of the truck and handing them off to Tommy, Janie, Nell, and Izzy. Slowly the hand-to-hand brigade transported things from the truck, up the stairs, and into the small, airy apartment above Izzy’s shop.
“How many people are moving in with you, Janie?” Cass joked, looking at the stacks of books, furniture, towels, and clothes.
“Oh, it’s all just garage sale stuff,” Janie said. “It’s not all for me. You never know who might need something. You’d be surprised.”
Tommy stopped short when Birdie handed him a high chair. “Janie?” He looked back at the truck and pointed to a bassinet and two booster seats, crammed in between a car seat and a changing table. “Something I should know?”
Janie laughed away the embarrassed blush that colored her cheeks. “Garage sale finds. How can I turn down barely used things that someone else will need? Most of Dr. Lily’s free clinic patients can’t begin to afford those kinds of things.”
“Yeah,” Justin said. “So Janie buys ’em. She’s a real pack rat. Like you should see all the stuff she’s given me.” He turned toward Janie and held up one palm. “But no more. I promise, now I start paying you back. I’ve finally hit big m . . .”
Tommy stopped Justin’s words with a single stare. Clearly he wasn’t in the mood for Justin’s chatter. It seemed a bit severe, Birdie observed later. Not the usual reaction from sweet Tommy Porter. But then, Janie was his girlfriend, and he was clearly protective of her. And it was also very clear that he didn’t like Justin Dorsey.
It was pitch-dark by the time they finished piling things into Janie’s new apartment and went back outside. They stood beneath the gaslight in the alley next to Tommy’s empty pickup.
“Great job. You’re all the absolute best,” Janie said, looking at the semicircle of weary faces. “I can’t believe I thought I could manage this alone.”
“When will you move in?” Izzy asked. “Purl can’t wait.” She pointed toward the window where the calico cat sat, watching the group with infinite patience.
“There’s a secret passageway in the shop,” Izzy explained. “An unused return vent—above Mae’s checkout counter. It’s just big enough for Purl to crawl through and along the two-by-fours into the apartment above. I thought I had lost her once until I heard her sweet meowing coming through a light fixture. Now she comes and goes freely. I hope you don’t mind, Janie.”
“I’ve always wanted a cat,” she said, her eyes lingering on Purl. “With ten of us kids, the last thing my parents needed was a pet. Purl and I will be wonderful friends. I’ll never be lonely.”
Tommy looped an arm over her shoulder. “And, hey, if Purl needs any help on the lonely front”—he brushed a thick wave from her eye with the tip of his finger—“I’m a great stand-in.”
Janie laughed.
Justin coughed for attention. “Yeah, Janie. Me, too.”
Nell shook her head. Poor, naive Justin. Tommy’s disdain for him—not to mention his protectiveness of Janie—seemed to escape him. Social nuances were definitely not Justin’s strong suit.
Janie filled in the awkward quiet that followed. “If it’s okay, Izzy, I’ll move in for real on Saturday.”
“Sure. And we’ll be around to help.” Izzy began walking toward the door.
“We’re off, then?” Janie looked up at Tommy.
“Yep. Gracie’s Lazy Lobster Café.” With two hands on her shoulders, he turned her toward the truck. “I’m starving. Bring you anything, ladies?” he called back.
“I’ll be sound asleep before you get to Gracie’s amazing key lime pie,” Birdie said.
The knitters waved them off and walked back inside to reheat their dinners. It wasn’t until Nell glanced out the window that she noticed Justin. She had almost forgotten about him. He was sittin
g in the shadows of Archie’s bookstore on the seat of the shiny bike. Although Janie hadn’t said anything, it was clear she wondered where it had come from. An expensive toy for someone with little money.
Justin looked up and noticed Nell watching him. Gaslight lit his face, and he waved, a large sweeping movement that ended with a thumbs-up and the familiar dimpled smile.
Justin Dorsey wasn’t sad. He looked like a child on Christmas morning with a new toy, content to spend the evening in other ways.
Nell’s returning wave was lost in the rumble of the engine starting up, a thundering sound that filled the alley and broadened the smile on the cyclist’s face.
In the next instant, he was gone, leaving a cascade of flying gravel in his wake.
Chapter 6
Tommy was right about the rain. When Izzy finally locked up the shop, waved the others off, and climbed into her car, fat drops were falling onto the windshield. She sat there for a minute, switching on the radio as she watched the taillights of Nell’s car disappear down Harbor Road.
After Janie and Tommy left, they’d reheated the quesadillas in the microwave and stayed long enough to fill both their stomachs and the need to make a little progress on the booties and rompers and tiny sweaters that needed to be finished for the baby shower. Willow and Jane Brewster had insisted on planning it—small, they promised Izzy, just good friends. They hadn’t decided on the theme yet, but no matter what it was, the tiny outfits needed to be finished soon.
Janie’s move, however, had interrupted the usual rhythm of their Thursday-night knitting—the slow, easy hours they looked forward to all week. Their tonic, as Birdie put it. Their pocket of peace.
But they’d make up for it as they always did when unexpected circumstances cut their Thursday evening short. A Sunday morning together when the shop was closed or a knitting rendezvous on Birdie’s veranda or Nell’s deck. It was a need as deep as their friendship—the joy of casting on and binding off, of slipping strands of silky yarn through their fingers, of creating warmth and softness to cradle a newborn babe or protect an old fisherman from harsh winter winds.
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