Angora Alibi

by Sally Goldenbaum

  Franklin Danvers was a perfectionist. Nell smiled, wondering what he’d think of Ben’s library—every shelf filled with books of different shape, size, and subject matter. Some piled on top of each other.

  Franklin led them to the back of the house first, then through leaded glass doors, out to a terrace that seemed to sweep around the entire back and sides of the house. A manicured lawn separated it from wide flagstone steps leading down to the beach. Several other homes, smaller in size but elegant in appearance, were visible off to the sides, discreetly separated from the main house by manicured gardens and walkways.

  But it was the view that took their breath away.

  “Amazing,” Izzy said, her breath catching as she looked out over the water. In one direction, the skyline of Boston was a hazy landscape, and closer in, the long, winding shoreline, like a serpent’s tail—Paley’s Cove, the artists’ colony, Anya Angelina Park. Nell walked over to the edge and looked to the right, out over the beach where they’d first met Red, where Horace Stevenson’s house was tucked off to the side.

  Franklin was standing slightly apart from them, looking out over the water and Paley’s Cove as if it were the first time he’d seen the view. Nell thought about going over to talk to him, but it was clear he was caught up in his own world—an interruption would be an intrusion. Perhaps he was thinking about business problems or had regretted his idea of a photo shoot of his home, but whatever the reason, the looser, more relaxed Franklin they’d seen in recent days was definitely not present today.

  “Maybe we will host a Gatsby-like party when the pictures are framed,” Tamara said. “We’ll frame your original photographs and display them.” She looked around for Franklin, spotted him near the edge of the veranda, and motioned to him. “Come, darling, let’s start with a photograph of the two of us, right here on our magnificent terrace.”

  Franklin frowned, and Nell looked over at Sam. It wasn’t exactly the kind of photo Sam was expecting to take, but it probably made sense to have a shot of the people who actually lived in the house. And then they’d move to the dozens of grand rooms that made the Danvers estate a Sea Harbor landmark.

  It took Sam a little over two hours to move through the entire house, his practiced eye immediately zeroing in on the best light, the perfect angle, and the things that would be of interest to an audience who cared about history.

  When he was finished inside, they walked outside again and down to the beach, where Sam set his camera on another tripod and focused it back up at the house, a giant silhouette against the blue sky.

  “What’s that?” Izzy asked, pointing to a heavy wooden door that appeared to be built right into the granite foundation at beach level.

  “A servants’ entrance,” Tamara said. “In earlier times the servants used it to come to a corner of the beach reserved for them. Their beach was around those boulders.” When they walked around to the other side of the granite wall, Nell recognized the spot immediately, although from this angle it looked different than it did from Paley’s Beach.

  “It’s the dive spot,” Sam said, surprised. It had looked different to him, too. He pointed to a small building, once a boathouse, that blended into the rocks. “And there’s the dive shack, as we call it.”

  “But nothing you want photographs of,” Franklin Danvers said, surprising them as he rejoined the group. He’d come out the thick wooden door built into the foundation of the house. “The police did their share of that. I may tear it down and build a new one.”

  “The new paint job was a good idea,” Sam said. “It’s generous of you to let the dive club use the place.”

  “I enjoy diving, that’s all. It’s a good place to teach it.”

  “Tamara mentioned you might be going on a dive this summer—someplace a little more exotic,” Izzy said.

  Franklin frowned, then shrugged, as if he had far more important things on his mind than taking Tamara on a trip. He looked as if he was about to say something, then seemed to change his mind and instead said to Sam, “I understand they have finally found the murderer.”

  Tamara edged closer to her husband. Her eyes were wide. “What?”

  “That’s not true, Franklin,” Sam said. “They have some new leads.”

  “Dr. Seltzer,” Franklin said, ignoring Sam’s assessment, his voice cold, strained. “It’s shocking to think there was a murderer roaming around in that clinic. Someone we spoke with, got advice from.”

  “Dr. Martin . . . ?” Tamara said, her words trailing off as she struggled to process the information. “But . . .”

  “He hasn’t been accused of anything,” Nell said. “They’ve learned a little more about Justin’s activities, but they have not arrested Dr. Seltzer.”

  The news of Martin Seltzer’s secret garden and Justin’s connection to it hadn’t hit the papers yet. Ben said Jerry Thompson was going to try to hold it back—at least until they had more information. But Franklin Danvers was a different breed. Nell suspected there was little in Sea Harbor he didn’t know about. She watched his face, cold and accusatory now.

  Tamara moved closer to her husband. “Dr. Seltzer . . . killed Justin? That’s awful.”

  Tamara held tight to Franklin’s arm, the news of Martin Seltzer clearly a surprise to her.

  “As Nell said,” Sam repeated, “he hasn’t been accused of killing anyone. It would be wrong and destructive for that rumor to get around before the police have done their work.”

  “What kinds of activities was Justin involved in?” Tamara asked again. She looked frightened.

  No one answered and Tamara looked at Franklin, as if he would surely know.

  Franklin was silent.

  “The news about the clinic might worry you, Tamara, but don’t let it,” Izzy said. “It’s a very safe place to go. There’s no reason any of this should affect Dr. Lily’s patients. She’s a wonderful obstetrician, the very best. You and I are both in good hands.”

  Izzy’s words were met with silence.

  Tamara’s eyes were still on Franklin, watching him carefully as if waiting for instructions.

  “We have little need for that clinic now,” Franklin said. His words were clipped, precise.

  Tamara frowned. “But, Franklin—”

  “No,” he said, stopping her words.

  They all looked at him.

  “Tamara is no longer pregnant,” he said. Then turned and walked away.

  Chapter 30

  Izzy had finally agreed to slow down her exercise routine. Shorter distances and a much slower pace, she promised.

  Nell put her to the test by suggesting a Saturday walk to Canary Cove. Birdie and Cass would meet them there for breakfast. And finally some time to talk. It was probably the only time they would have that day. Saturdays were busy for all of them, especially this one, with Izzy’s shower scheduled for that evening.

  Izzy was all for it. “If I’m going to move this baby and me anywhere today, there needs to be food at the end of it. Aunt Nell, you are wise and all-knowing.”

  It was an easy pace that kept them both moving—and ended up on the Artist’s Palate deck with hot coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice waiting for them.

  Birdie had spread the morning paper out on the picnic table. Next to her, Cass drank her second cup of coffee.

  “Well? What does it say?”

  “Not much. It’s vague. It says the police have determined Justin Dorsey was not dealing with a bigger market. It was a homemade supply—a dead end, essentially.”

  “Ben is afraid that Martin’s name will emerge in all this if something else doesn’t happen soon.” Nell wiped her forehead with a napkin. “The police are combing his background. He still—on paper, anyway—is the most likely suspect. Apparently Tyler has been asked to stick around. Janie was questioned again. But if they could fill in a few more gaps, something concrete that would put him on the beach or Horace’s house, Martin would be arrested.”

  “And yet there’s this lurking unkno
wn out there,” Nell said. “Justin’s ‘bigger fish to fry’ comment. Justin was getting a large amount of money from someone, and it wasn’t Martin Seltzer. We can’t ignore that. There is someone else out there.” She sat down next to Izzy and with two fingers plucked her damp T-shirt away from her skin, then released it.

  “I think it’s just too vague for the police to deal with,” Birdie said. “Justin was known to brag a bit. They may be thinking that’s all it meant.”

  “But he was getting money from somewhere,” Izzy said. She took a drink of orange juice and looked down at what Sam now called their little basketball. The baby was moving from one side to the other, keeping up with the music Merry had pumping out of the restaurant’s loudspeakers.

  “Morning music,” Merry called over to them, then jiggled her way to their table to the Black Eyed Peas singing “Tonight’s gonna be a good night.”

  “Okay, little Perry,” Merry said, patting Izzy’s tummy, “you’ll like this, I promise.” She set a tray of beer steins in front of them, filled with fruit, yogurt, and granola. Sprigs of mint were tucked on top.

  “Who would have thought you’d be responsible for turning all these artists into health food devotees?” Birdie said. “I am very proud of you, dear.”

  Merry’s laughter was as huge as her voice was when she soloed with the Fractured Fish. Her restaurant, known for its hamburgers, fries, and twenty-seven brands of beer, was primarily a bar and grill with a large deck and bar outside, but Merry had changed that. She credited Ham Brewster for the transformation—the idea came to her as a result of his bad habits. One morning he stopped by, begging for a cup of coffee before opening his gallery. Then he pulled a bag of chips off the rack on the bar. “Chips,” Merry had said. “For breakfast!” Merry’s healthy breakfasts soon followed and the artists now insisted that their bad cholesterol had been lowered to the bottom of the sea, thanks to Merry Jackson.

  “So, here’s the thing,” Merry said, wedging her body in between Birdie and Cass, her palms pressed flat on the table and her eyes scanning the newspaper article. “If Justin was only making pocket change off the college kids down at Paley’s Cove, where was he making his big bucks? He left me a fifty-dollar tip for a hamburger a few days before he died. Can you believe that? I called him back, thinking he’d made a mistake, but he just produced that dimpled grin of his and said I deserved it. I told him that was true, but could he afford it?” Her large eyes looked around the table. “He was getting money somewhere,” she said. “Where?” Then she glanced over her shoulder at a new wave of customers and frowned. “Okay, later,” she said, and was off across the deck, her long blond braid bouncing between her shoulder blades.

  “That’s exactly the right question to ask,” Birdie said. “It’s those bigger fish. . . .”

  “I agree. But before we get to it, tell us about yesterday’s photo shoot,” Cass said. “I can’t wait any longer to know what lies behind that electric fence.”

  Friday-night dinner on the deck the night before hadn’t happened—a rare event, but a board dinner at the yacht club and a photography exhibit had sent all of them in different directions. Consequently, Birdie had insisted on the morning rendezvous at the Artist’s Palate to catch up.

  They began with Merry’s granola and the Danverses’ sad news.

  “Apparently the miscarriage happened Wednesday, the day we were in the clinic. We overheard the phone call, but Janie, of course, didn’t tell us who she was talking to.”

  “I talked to Janie last night,” Izzy said, “and she said Tamara was handling the miscarriage fine. She’d gone to the hospital Wednesday night, and was home the next day. She was almost too fine, Janie said—which was the impression Nell and I got when we saw her yesterday.”

  “I think the news hit Franklin the hardest,” Nell said. “We saw him again at the board dinner last night, and he seemed genuinely distraught. He apologized for being so abrupt at the photo shoot, but I suppose he can’t be blamed for that.”

  “Was Tamara there?” Izzy asked.

  “Yes. And she was in great shape. Literally and figuratively. She was very social, talking to everyone. Much healthier than she looked last week. She seemed . . . well, almost relieved. Maybe she wasn’t ready to be pregnant.”

  “And as for the photo shoot, Sam got his photographs and I think Franklin was satisfied with the photos. But as for other things . . . ,” Izzy said.

  Izzy looked at Nell. “What did you think, Aunt Nell? I thought his comments on Martin being the murderer were way too forceful.”

  Nell agreed. “He seemed convinced that the police had finally targeted the right man, even though Sam tried to tell him it wasn’t a closed case.”

  “Maybe he’s like everyone else in town and wants it over with,” Cass said.

  “Or maybe he has other reasons,” Nell said slowly. “He disliked Justin as much as Martin did.”

  “He certainly had easy access to the dive shed,” Izzy said. She then told the others about the servants’ beach, a concept that had Cass groaning. “Haven’t we gotten beyond such things?”

  “Hopefully,” Birdie said. “And it sounds like the Danverses have, too. Letting the dive club teach new divers on their property was a generous thing to do.” She waved at Esther Gibson, getting up from a nearby table.

  Esther walked over, her large frame shadowing them. “A tableful of my favorite ladies,” she said.

  “What brings you here so early, Esther?” Nell said.

  “Merry’s breakfast. I need something to carry me through the morning. Something healthy.”

  “A difficult morning?”

  Esther’s smile was weary. “No, not really. Tyler is taking care of my table at the market, and that takes a load off. I’m trying to keep the boy out of trouble.”

  “He’s a good fellow,” Birdie said.

  “And not really a boy,” Cass suggested.

  “Of course he’s not a boy, Catherine, you’re right. But he’s gotten himself in a heap of trouble this summer, as you well know.” She held up her hands and shook her head. “Yes, he came and talked to me, apparently at your wise nudging. And I know, I know, he has a good heart, but he doesn’t think further than that handsome nose of his sometimes. First the business down at the beach. And then the other foolish things.”

  “What other foolish things?” Izzy asked.

  “Oh, just foolishness. When he first came back to town, he was partying too much, he and his old friends, and hanging out at the Gull. Staying out all night sometimes. Dalliances, in my mind. But you’re right, Cass—he’s a man, not a child, so Richard and I wore earplugs to bed and let him lead his life.” She shook her head. “He’s a pushover when it comes to women, that’s for sure. They can twist him around their fingers faster than you can cast on a row.” She shook her head.

  “But after he got the job at the Ocean’s Edge, Kevin promised he’d keep him busy and the partying slowed down. But always in the background was that Justin Dorsey—a whole other story.” She sighed and threw up her hands again.

  “It must be difficult for you, working at the police station, with all this going on around you,” Birdie said.

  “Oh, the chief tries to keep it from me, but I hear Tyler’s name being tossed around. Can’t help hearing it. He made a mistake. But he’s a dear boy. He truly is. I think Jerry is beginning to see that, too.”

  “The new developments at the clinic have probably taken some attention off him,” Nell said, hoping it was true. They all loved Esther, and hated for her to have this worry on her shoulders. “For starters, Justin was getting large sums of money from someone, and you know that couldn’t have been Tyler.”

  “Well, now, isn’t that the truth?” Esther managed a laugh, her chins moving up and down. “I think you’re right—that whole mess over at sweet Dr. Virgilio’s place is getting a lot more attention than my grandson, though the shadow is still there, lurking over him like a black cloud—and it won’t go away until we have
someone behind bars.”

  “That cloud is huge—it’s hanging over the entire town,” Birdie said. “It’s time to blow it away.”

  Esther agreed with a hearty sigh. She looked over at Izzy. “Now, how’s that lovely dog, Izzy? Old Horace loved that dog mightily and he’s right this very minute grinning down on you for taking him in. It’s a shame what happened to Red at the clinic.”

  Nell watched the concern on her face. Of course Esther would have heard about Red, about the garden. Esther Gibson knew everything that happened in Sea Harbor. She was also a friend of Horace’s. She kept all events carefully filed away in her head—and those that needed to be kept under lock and key were handled appropriately.

  “He’s fine, Esther. It’s just a shame Dr. Lily’s clinic had to be pulled into this. And an even bigger shame that her father is being investigated.”

  Esther’s white head bobbed in agreement. “I don’t know what to think about that man. Can’t make up my mind. But Henrietta O’Neal is convinced beyond a doubt that he’s innocent.”

  “And?” Birdie said.

  Esther’s lips lifted in a half smile. “And have you—has anyone—ever crossed our Henrietta?” She looked at each of them, her eyebrows lifted. Then she grinned and waved good-bye, making her way slowly across the deck.

  “She has a point,” Birdie laughed.

  “Okay, then, let’s accept that Dr. Seltzer is innocent, at least for now,” Cass said, “even though he had motive and opportunity.”

  “He also had money to meet a blackmailer’s demands, something Tyler didn’t have,” Nell said.

  “Even so, let’s go with Henrietta for now. He’s innocent. Besides, I can’t imagine him doing something that would bring complete shame on his family,” Izzy said.

  “So let’s move on,” Cass said. “I can’t get my mind off Justin’s comment that he had bigger fish to fry. That, and the fact that as of the week before he died, he was able to donate a thousand dollars to the church, buy Janie expensive pottery, and consider buying that bike. It sounds to me like the bigger fish were already in the fire.”