Angora Alibi

by Sally Goldenbaum

  They listened carefully to Janie. Then Cass looked again at the carrier. “We could be way off base about this. But it seems he was collecting either the money or the pot. And if you’re right, Janie, about him being allergic, it looks like he was on the selling end.”

  “But . . .”

  There were too many buts to deal with, so they let them lie there, unanswered, but another layer had been peeled off Justin Dorsey, one that only led to many more questions—and a visit to the police.

  “This might be exactly what we need to lead us to the killer,” Nell said.

  Janie looked worried. “I wonder . . . where could he have gotten it? Justin spent so much time around me, I would have known, I think, if he’d been meeting with someone or growing something himself.”

  She glanced at her watch, then yelped and jumped off the couch. “I need to get back to work. We have a packed schedule today and I can’t leave Dr. Lily in the lurch.” She looked down at the seat. “But I don’t really want to leave this here.”

  “And you shouldn’t,” Nell said. “This needs to be in the proper hands.”

  They were on an errand run anyway, so Izzy suggested they drop it by the police station, along with the information they’d put together. And hopefully, the police would be able to piece it together in a way that made better sense.

  • • •

  “But it makes no sense,” Ben said when Izzy had finished telling the story, complete with the car seat being checked in at the police station as if it, too, might be guilty of some crime.

  They were sitting at a round table on the yacht club patio—Izzy and Sam, Ben and Nell, waiting for the Monday Night Seafood Buffet to open. Danny and Cass had picked up Birdie and arrived a few minutes late, but just in time for a tray of flavored teas and cocktails to arrive at the table.

  “It’ll be interesting to hear what Jerry says about this,” Ben said.

  “What was Justin thinking?” Sam said. “Using a car seat to deliver pot? That’s the craziest thing I ever heard.”

  “I guess he thought it was a family beach—at least during the day—and a car seat wouldn’t be noticed. Justin seems to have spent a lot of time at Paley’s Cove, so it’d be easy for him to drop the product and collect the cash,” Nell said.

  “It’s a dramatic way to do an exchange,” Cass said. “But then, Justin was a little dramatic. He probably saw it on some TV show and liked the idea of an elaborate plan. Besides, if someone found the seat and the stash, a surfer dude would be the last person they’d connect to an infant seat.”

  “Crazy, maybe, but it worked,” Izzy said. “I was the only one who paid any attention to the carrier sitting there day after day. And I only noticed it because my hormones were flying high and anything that reminded me of a baby sent me looking for one.”

  “You never mentioned the car seat to me,” Nell said.

  “No, I guess I didn’t mention it—though we walked down there together one morning. I couldn’t bring myself to go down there alone that day, so you innocently came along—and sure enough, there it was. I don’t think you even noticed it, but it was kind of like a nightmare for me. It bothered me so much, but once I tossed it in my trunk, it was as if the worry—and the car seat—was gone. From my mind, at least.”

  “Do you remember what day you picked it up? Was it recently?” Cass said.

  “It was Thursday night, after knitting. The night Janie, Justin, and Tommy moved things upstairs into the apartment.”

  “I remember that night,” Cass said. “It poured later on. Janie was trying to beat the rain.”

  Suddenly Sam sat forward and looked over at Izzy, the pieces coming together. “Your trunk, Izzy—the damaged lock. It was around that time, right?”

  Izzy thought back through the days. It wasn’t that long ago, yet time had taken on strange proportions. “Yes, you’re right,” she said. “It was around that same time. Maybe the next day.”

  “So you tossed the seat into your trunk—after someone took out what they wanted and left cash in payment. And Justin, naturally, wanted that cash.”

  “But you messed it up. You interrupted an ‘operation,’ Iz,” Cass said. “Call in Rizzoli and Isles.”

  “That’s it. That must be what happened,” Sam said.

  “Justin would have been worried about the rain that night. If the pot was there, it could have gotten wet. And if the money was left and not secured—it could have been washed away. Justin needed to get over there fast.”

  Nell remembered the night clearly. She had watched Justin through the window of the yarn shop. He had that fancy motorcycle he was trying out and seemed perfectly content to ride off on it. Not being included in Tommy and Janie’s plans for that night hadn’t bothered him because he had his own plans.

  Izzy was tugging at her own memory of that night. “When I drove away from the beach, I saw someone on a motorcycle—at least I thought it was a bike because it only had one light, but it was raining super hard.”

  “Someone was watching—probably upset—while a pivotal piece of the transaction was tossed into a trunk,” Ben said.

  “Your trunk, Izzy,” Sam said. “And someone—namely, Justin—would have recognized your car.”

  “So later that night, he came to claim what was rightfully his,” Izzy said. “He tried to break into my car that night. . . .” She glared at Sam.

  “Okay, Iz. Apologies given. Sorry about the sledgehammer.”

  Izzy smiled smugly.

  “But how does this connect to Justin’s murder?” Birdie took a sip of wine and sat back in the chair. “If people were paying him and he was delivering, who would want to kill him?”

  “We don’t know where he was getting the marijuana,” Nell said. “Janie has no idea where it might have come from. Justin was with her so much of the time that she’s sure she would have known if he’d been growing it himself. Not to mention there wasn’t any place he could have done that. Mrs. Bridge would know immediately. She had a run-in with a boarder about that very thing a year ago and has guarded her backyard diligently ever since.”

  “So who?” Cass asked. “Who could have been supplying it to Justin?”

  “And why?” Ben said. “Why not just get rid of it yourself and keep the profits? Why hire someone like Justin to be the middle man?”

  They carried the unanswered questions to the buffet table, and returned with plates piled high with crab legs, fried clams, fresh-boiled lobster, and lemon-baked cod. Caesar salads appeared at their places, along with baskets of warm crusty rolls and tubs of sweet butter.

  Liz Santos, the yacht club manager and Birdie’s next-door neighbor, appeared at their table. “I heard about Horace Stevenson. It’s so sad.” She looked over at Ben. “Jerry Thompson is in the bar and looks haggard, as if he hasn’t slept in days. Poor guy. It’s all weighing heavily on him. People are worried, anxious.”

  “I’m glad to hear Jerry is at least taking a break,” Ben said. “Tell him I’ll stop by to say hello.”

  Liz nodded. She looked around at the dining tables, quickly filling up both inside and on the veranda. “It’s strange how murder can be good for business, at least a business like ours. I think people have this intense need to be together. We’re booked solid tonight.”

  Which is exactly what the group of them had done, Nell realized. “Did Horace ever come in here?” she asked.

  “Not often, not after his wife died. But he did come by a week or so ago. We had a summer lunch on the patio with man’s best friend. The dogs got kibbles and the owners got clam chowder. Red was in heaven. When I asked Horace how things were over at Paley’s Cove, he became agitated. He said it wasn’t the way it used to be when his Ruth was alive. Daytime was still for the kids, but he claimed there was too much going on at night and early morning. He refused to elaborate, so I dropped it, but later I remembered that the scuba diver died not far from his place. I thought maybe that was what he meant.”

  A waiter motioned to Liz th
at 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.

  Chapter 22

  Jerry 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.