Angora Alibi
OTHER SEASIDE KNITTERS MYSTERIES BY SALLY GOLDENBAUM
Death by Cashmere
Patterns in the Sand
Moon Spinners
A Holiday Yarn
The Wedding Shawl
A Fatal Fleece
Angora Alibi
A SEASIDE KNITTERS MYSTERY
Sally Goldenbaum
AN OBSIDIAN MYSTERY
OBSIDIAN
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Copyright © Sally Goldenbaum, 2013
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Goldenbaum, Sally.
Angora alibi: a seaside knitters mystery/Sally Goldenbaum.
p. cm
ISBN 978-1-101-61376-4
1. Knitters (Persons)—Fiction. 2. Mystery fiction. I. Title.
PS3557.O35937A83 2013
813'.54—dc23 2013000646
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
The recipe contained in this book is to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
Contents
Cover
Also by Sally Goldenbaum
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Cast of Characters
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Abigail’s First Baby Blanket
Ben and Nell’s Grilled Tuna Steaks (a Friday-night favorite)
For readers everywhere
Acknowledgments
My special thanks to Dawn Slugg, owner of Ruhama’s Yarn and Needlepoint Shop in Milwaukee, Wisconsin (www.ruhams.com). Dawn graciously designed the pattern for the baby blanket Nell is knitting in Angora Alibi.
Thanks also to Nancy Pickard, who provided me with a shady deck, a duck pond, daily encouragement, and a comfortable brown leather chair, all of which were instrumental in writing Angora Alibi.
And thanks to family and friends from Minnesota to Kansas City who imagine my story lines with me, explore the characters’ motivations, and help me keep the Seaside Knitters fresh. Their suggestions and ideas send me off in welcome new directions.
Cast of Characters
THE SEASIDE KNITTERS
Nell Endicott: Former Boston nonprofit director, semiretired and living in Sea Harbor with her husband
Izzy (Isabel Chambers Perry): Boston attorney, now owner of the Seaside Knitting Studio; Nell and Ben Endicott’s niece; married to Sam Perry
Cass (Catherine Mary Theresa Halloran): A lobster fisherwoman, born and raised in Sea Harbor
Birdie (Bernadette Favazza): Sea Harbor’s wealthy, wise, and generous silver-haired grande dame
THE MEN IN THEIR LIVES
Ben Endicott: Nell’s husband
Sam Perry: Award-winning photojournalist married to Izzy
Danny Brandley: Mystery novelist and son of bookstore owners
Sonny Favazza and Joseph Marietti: Two of Birdie’s deceased husbands
SUPPORTING CAST
Alphonso Santos: Wealthy construction company owner; Gracie Santos’ uncle; now married to Liz Palazola
Andy Risso: Drummer in Pete Halloran’s band; son of Jake Risso
Annabelle Palazola: Owner of the Sweet Petunia Restaurant; Liz and Stella Palazola’s mother
Archie and Harriet Brandley: Owners of the Sea Harbor Bookstore
August (Gus) McClucken: Owner of McClucken’s Hardware and Dive Shop
Ella and Harold Sampson: Birdie’s longtime housekeeper and groundsman
Esther Gibson: Police dispatcher (and Mrs. Santa Claus in season)
Father Lawrence Northcutt: Pastor of Our Lady of Safe Seas Church
Franklin Danvers: Wealthy investor; Elliott Danvers’ uncle
Gabrielle (Gabby) Marietti: Birdie’s ten-year-old granddaughter
Harry and Margaret Garozzo: Owners of Garozzo’s Deli
Henrietta O’Neal: Wealthy Irish widower
Horace Stevenson: An old man who lives near Paley’s Cove
Jane and Ham Brewster: Former Berkeley hippies; artists, and cofounders of the Canary Cove Art Colony
Jake Risso: Owner of the Gull Tavern; father of Andy Risso
Janie Levin: Nurse practitioner in the Virgilio Clinic; Tommy Porter’s girlfriend
Jerry Thompson: Police chief
Justin Dorsey: Eighteen-year-old distant cousin of Janie Levin’s
Kevin Sullivan: Ocean’s Edge cook
Laura Danvers: Young socialite and philanthropist; mother of three; married to banker Elliot Danvers
Lily Virgilio, M.D.: Izzy’s obstetrician
Mae Anderson: Izzy’s shop manager; twin teenage nieces, Jillian and Rose
Martin Seltzer, M.D.: Works in Virgilio clinic
Mary Pisano: Middle-aged newspaper columnist; owner of the Ravenswood B&B
Mary Halloran: Pete and Cass’ mother; secretary of Our Lady of Safe Seas Church
Merry Jackson: Owner of the Artist’s Palate Bar & Grill
Pete Halloran: Cass’ younger brother and lead guitarist in the Fractured Fish band
Tamara Danvers: Franklin Danvers’ wife
Tommy Porter: Policeman
Tyler Gibson: Esther Gibson’s grandson
Willow Adams: Fiber artist and owner of the Fishtail Gallery
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together; our virtues would be proud, if our faults whipt them not; and our crimes would despair, if they were not cherish’d by our virtues.
&nbs
p; —SHAKESPEARE
Chapter 1
“These are the glory days. A unique and special time in your life.”
“You’re glowing, Izzy.”
“Radiant with life.”
Izzy pulled the blue fleece tight across her heavy breasts and jogged along the wet sand. She welcomed the salty spray that slapped her cheeks like a reprimand, forcing her into wakefulness.
Special.
Miraculous.
Joyful.
Everyone agreed.
And everyone was right. Of course they were right. That’s exactly how she had felt. For months and months.
Ever since the day that innocent-looking little stick had turned pink and she and Sam, dizzy with thoughts of having a baby, walked the beach for hours, hand in hand, wrapped in dreams. When nightfall came, they wrapped themselves in a Hudson’s Bay blanket on the deck and watched the stars come out, marking the day that began a new chapter in their lives. The day their world changed and their hearts grew so full they thought they might burst.
A heady, joyous time.
The joy was still there. But dim, restless. Fuzzy.
And Izzy had no concrete idea why.
As her body grew, so, too, did the number of her visits to Dr. Lily Virgilio, until lately she found herself in the clinic once or twice a week, feeling a kinship with the doctor and with the office staff. It was a place filled with people whose only concerns seemed to be for her and for the life growing within her. That was how it had been.
“No worry,” Dr. Lily assured her, explaining her scheduling of frequent visits. “The baby is fine. I just want to keep a close watch on your blood pressure. And I want you to relax.” Her liquid voice and warm smile comforted Izzy as the baby rolled from side to side inside her.
But Izzy wasn’t really worried about the baby. She knew this baby intimately. And she knew that he or she was strong and safe and content in the warm cocoon of her womb.
It wasn’t the baby who was playing with her blood pressure.
If not the baby, what? Sam had asked with increasing frequency.
And then he’d answered his own question, knowing none would come from his wife. Hormones. He had read up on them. They happened to moms-to-be. Changes in the body’s chemistry could cause all sorts of things.
Izzy only half listened to him. Maybe it was hormones. The pile of books stacked beside her bed told her that pregnancy was an emotional ride. Tension and anxiety came and went. Moods came and went.
Running helped some. Working in her yarn shop was therapy, too. And Thursday . . . Thursdays were a cure-all. Knitting night with dear friends whose love alone could surely ease the irrational emotions squeezing her heart.
And they would ease the feeling that something in the universe—something out there—wasn’t at all right. A feeling. A premonition.
Izzy slowed her jog, then stopped along the edge of the half-moon beach and sucked in huge gulps of air, her fingers splaying around her ponderous belly. It was a natural position these days—cupped hands embracing her unborn baby.
Somersaults beneath a thin layer of polyester responded to her embrace—a rippling wave that rolled from one side of her belly to the other.
Izzy patted what felt like a tiny heel. She lowered her head and whispered intimately, “Soon I’ll give you a whole world to move around in, my sweet baby. Be patient.”
A peaceful, safe world.
But the world wasn’t ready yet. She felt it in her bones. Not ready to welcome this tiny babe with gentleness and peace.
At this far edge of the cove, the beach narrowed to a path, then disappeared around a pile of boulders, where it threaded its way up a hill to a neighborhood of elegant homes hugging the sea cliffs. Most of the houses were old estates, many renovated, with extra rooms and porches, guest cottages, and boathouses making the already enormous spaces even larger.
Izzy looked up at them for a few minutes, then turned away and picked up her pace again, heading back in the direction from which she’d come, her ponytail flying between her shoulder blades, her head held high.
Step after step after step along the seaweed-laced sand.
She waved to another jogger, picked up speed, and didn’t slow down again until she reached the steps to the parking strip that ran alongside the road. With one foot on the bottom step, she breathed deeply again, her head low.
It wasn’t until her heartbeat slowed that she forced herself to look.
It was still there.
Sitting on the sand next to the low stone wall, as patiently as a well-trained pup.
A baby car seat. With a corner of a yellow knit blanket peeking over the side of the padded seat.
Yellow. Angora, Izzy suspected. A blend—the kind she sold every day to young moms and grandmothers wanting fuzzy hats and mittens for the cold Sea Harbor winters.
A baby car seat.
Without a baby in sight.
Izzy scanned the cove just as she had in the days before. Some people called the cove the mothers’ beach, a small protected area that vacationers rarely visited. With low waves and boulders at each end of the carved-out area, it was an easy place to keep track of children as they skipped in the waves and built sand castles during the day. But the June weather had been too cold and the only people frequenting the area were scuba divers in their wet suits, some local fisherman who kept boats nearby, and strollers or joggers such as herself.
No moms strolling the beach.
No party leftovers from college kids who took over the sandy area at night.
No children.
No baby.
Old Horace Stevenson, as predictable as the sunrise, walked near the water’s edge with his golden retriever, Red, at his side. Not a day or nighttime passed without the Paley’s Cove Sentinel, as the neighbors called the old man, walking the beach, his bare feet and Red’s paws making intricate patterns in the sand. Every now and then Horace tossed a piece of driftwood into the sea and Red dutifully waded into the cold water to retrieve it for his master.
Horace’s eyesight was failing with the years, but his other senses, his hearing and smell and touch, were keen and sharp, and he always knew when Izzy was jogging along the beach. It was her scent, he told her once—and the particular slap of her tennis shoes on the sand. Today, as always, he tipped the bill of his Sox cap in her direction, then continued his slow walk down the beach. They were friends, she and old Horace, bound together by their love of this sandy cove.
Izzy turned again toward the car seat, staring hard, as if the sheer power of her glare would make it get up and fasten itself into the backseat of a car, where it belonged. Welcome a baby into its safe curve and keep it safe.
But the car seat didn’t move.
Chapter 2
Coming upon it from the west, the Anya Angelina Commu- nity Center looked as if it grew directly out of the land and thick woods surrounding it. There it stood, a beacon at the edge of the rise above the pounding surf. In daytime, sunlight reflected off its tall windows—glass stripes between stretches of cedar walls. But tonight the center glowed with hundreds of flickering candles that filled the windows and welcomed guests.
“It looks like the whole town’s shown up tonight.” Sam Perry drove slowly past the center’s entrance. Inside they could see crowds of well-dressed guests milling around. He searched the lot for a parking place.
“Over there.” Izzy pointed to a narrow space between Cass Halloran’s new truck and the edge of the woods.
Sam maneuvered his car into the small space.
“Good causes bring out good people,” Nell Endicott said from the backseat, where she was wedged tightly between her husband, Ben, and tiny Birdie Favazza.
“Tonight’s event is definitely that,” Birdie said. “Bless that Lily Virgilio. Her free health-care program has grown like wildfire. She’s a gem and I hope this party raises a truckload of money to help it along.”
Ben agreed. “Free screenings, children’s vaccinations, prenat
al vitamins—it’s an innovative way to use a part of this great facility. And from what I hear, Lily has corralled nearly everyone in town with an M.D., D.O., or R.N. behind their name to help her out.”
“Your obstetrician has her hands in everything, Iz.” Nell touched the seat in front of her. “Good lady.”
Izzy nodded. “Of course. Nothing but the best for this baby.”
Sam looked over at his wife, his hand leaving the wheel to lightly graze her belly.
Nell watched the intimate gesture from behind, saw Izzy lift Sam’s hand and kiss his fingers lightly before letting go and climbing out of the car.
Izzy’s mood seemed to have shifted during the day. Earlier, when Nell dropped by the yarn shop, she had seemed unusually quiet. She’d brushed aside Nell’s concern. The shop was filled with customers. Payroll was due. She was busy, that was all.
Tonight, her smile was larger, her laughter less forced. Ben told Nell she was watching Izzy too closely during her pregnancy, imagining emotions that maybe weren’t even there. Her niece had always been independent, and Nell needed to respect that.
He was probably right. Of course he was.
“Does the sweater fit, Izzy?” Nell asked, catching up to her niece in the parking lot. She touched the edge of the soft blue gossamer sweater. Nell had started knitting it the day Izzy announced her pregnancy. Something for summer nights, something that wouldn’t impose on Izzy’s changing figure. The short lacy knit was tied loosely in front, its abbreviated sleeves just long enough to ward off ocean breezes.
Izzy looped one arm through her aunt’s and hushed the sentence. “You’re as transparent as this lovely sweater, Aunt Nell. Of course it fits. And what you are really asking me is how I am. I’m fine. Honest, I am.”
On her other side, Birdie Favazza laughed, a rich, wind-chime laugh that always made those around her smile. “This baby is well loved, Isabel,” she said. “And sometimes love brings a bit of unnecessary concern.”