Angora Alibi Page 8

  “That’s not a problem,” Nell said. “I’ll drop it off at the boardinghouse on my way home.”

  Janie looked at the box as if she wished it would disappear right in front of her. But when she looked back at Nell, she simply looked sad.

  “He’ll be back. He borrowed my car for that scuba dive tomorrow—and he’s meeting someone after it over in the Ravenswood neighborhood so he needed a ride. But . . .”

  They waited.

  Janie took a deep breath, then forced a sad smile to her face. “But as of today, it would be useless to drop it off at the boardinghouse, because he no longer lives there.” She took another breath, her anger creeping back. “Mrs. Bridge would probably burn it if you dropped it off.”

  “He moved?”

  “Not exactly. Mrs. Bridge locked him out and told him never to come back. He wouldn’t tell me why,” Janie said quietly. “He just kept saying he was planning to leave anyway. But the truth is, he must have done something awful to make her so mad.”

  Nell agreed. “Mrs. Bridge is blustery, but she’s not unfair.”

  “She was so nice to give him the room, the reduced rent, and this is what he does. It’s the last straw. I truly mean it this time. Tommy was right. Once he returns my car, I don’t ever want to see him again.”

  When they left the apartment a short while later, Janie’s resolve was still in place—and the steely determination in her voice said she might truly mean it this time.

  Justin Dorsey was out of her life forever.

  Chapter 8

  Saturday night, at last. Nell felt her body relax beneath the hot shower massage. She looked up through the skylight at dozens of stars filling the sky. A perfect night to relax on the deck. Just Nell and Ben . . . a bottle of wine . . . soft, smooth jazz. And a blanket wrapping them up together against the ocean-chilled air.

  She turned off the spray and grabbed a towel, rubbing herself alert, pushing aside the dreamy thoughts of being alone with Ben. Another night. Soon.

  She slipped on a silky blouse, a pair of black slacks, and a new pair of strappy sandals Izzy had talked her into buying, and made herself presentable—a sweep of blush and light lipstick. Her summer face, Ben called it. She gave her hair a quick brush, noticing several new streaks of gray nestled into the dark mix. They’d become too plentiful to pluck out months ago, and she’d come to like the contrast, the streaks of silver defining her dark, shoulder-length cut. Some people paid for highlights. Hers just walked in on their own.

  Ben was downstairs mixing martinis on the deck, rehashing the week with Ham and Jane Brewster. Their voices floated up through the open bedroom windows, familiar and soothing, punctuated now and then with Jane’s throaty laughter.

  An evening with friends. Perhaps it was just what the doctor ordered.Friends, and then some. Birdie had reserved a table at the Ocean’s Edge to welcome Kevin Sullivan back to Sea Harbor—and, not incidentally, of course, to enjoy his culinary specialties. Word had it a food critic for a popular travel magazine was expected. Knowing a crowded restaurant would be a plus, Birdie had spread the word to everyone she knew.

  The Ocean’s Edge was packed.

  “The Favazza party is out back,” the bartender called out as they walked through the door. Jeffrey Meara had tended bar at the Edge for as long as anyone could remember, and no one passed by him without a greeting and, if he wasn’t busy, a hug to go with it.

  The hostess matched his warm greeting and led them through the crowded restaurant to the open back doors. Outside, the wide covered porch was filled with colorful pots of daisies, ageratum, and zinnias. Tiny white lights circled the outdoor bar and the eating area, hanging from pillar to pillar and casting shadows across the flagstone floor.

  Nell waved to several neighbors sitting at the bar before spotting the Danverses—both generations—sitting together at a nearby table. Franklin was engaged in a lively conversation, complete with gestures and an occasional hug for his wife. His niece, Laura, her long auburn hair pulled back and tied with a ribbon, was laughing at something that he said. Her dress was simple and elegant, the emerald green matching her eyes, which now were on her husband. Elliot, usually stiff when around his formidable uncle, looked relaxed tonight. Tamara completed the scene, relaxed and happy, and eye-catching as always in a brilliant red dress.

  Another couple stopped to greet the Danverses, hiding the diners from view, except for Tamara, who slipped away from the table. Nell watched her head toward the restroom—something Izzy was also doing these months with increased frequency.

  Tyler Gibson, tending the outdoor bar, spotted Tamara, too, and greeted her with a huge smile, waving her over.

  But Tamara, clutching her purse to her breast as if to protect herself from an intruder, gave him a cold stare and hurried inside.

  Tyler stood there for a minute, scratching his head, a confused look on his face—as if a friend had refused to greet him or a beautiful woman failed to acknowledge his charms, something that probably didn’t happen to him often.

  But as Nell watched, he quickly shrugged off the rejection and, with a grin back in place, moved toward a group of young woman eyeing him from the other end of the bar.

  “Here we go, folks, this way,” the hostess said, pulling Nell’s attention from the odd little scene.

  Nell glanced back at Franklin. He was looking at the bar now, but whether to get the cocktail waitress’s attention or for some other reason, it wasn’t clear.

  “Nell and Ben, we’re over here.” Birdie’s blue-veined hand waved in the air. Sam and Izzy were already there, sitting at a table overlooking the water. The sea was quiet tonight, lit by the moon and a canopy of stars.

  “Sam wanted to be sure we were seated near a quick getaway point, just in case,” Birdie said. “This is perfect, don’t you think?” She nodded to a flight of stairs that wound down to a wide green space used for picnics and clambakes. Nearby was the dock for the Ocean’s Edge taxi that shuttled people back and forth to Rockport, Gloucester, and the northern edges of Sea Harbor. “We’ll just usher Izzy down those steps and off to Sea Harbor Memorial if baby Perry should decide tonight is the night.”

  “Sam’s a crazy man,” Izzy said, rolling her eyes. “He needs distractions to stop thinking about childbirth every second. This baby’s going to come when the two of us want him to—but it’s not going to be tonight.” Izzy pushed her chair back from the table and rested her hands on the curve of her belly. A narrow plate of appetizers sat in front of her: Greek cucumber cups, stuffed with spicy lime shrimp, olives, and tiny slices of avocado.

  “I have plenty of distractions in my life, Isabel Chambers Perry,” Sam said, pulling the appetizers away from her. He bit into one of the cucumber cups. “For example, tomorrow I’ll be up at dawn, and not to drive you to the hospital. The baby can’t come tomorrow, either, because I’m shooting that early scuba dive over at the cove.”

  “For that Travel and Leisure series, right?” Ben ordered another plate of shrimp cups along with some of Kevin’s beer-battered calamari.

  Sam nodded. “It’ll be a good for tourism. Gus McClucken’s dive shop is offering free dive equipment for some of the guys we’ve recruited in addition to the regulars.”

  “That’d be me,” Danny Bradley said as he and Cass walked up. “Can’t believe I let you talk me into it, Perry. But I figure, assuming I don’t die, that I’ll fit it into a book somehow. I took some lessons once but don’t remember much.”

  Sam laughed. “We needed a token famous author’s name for the article.”

  “I keep telling him he needs to try new things,” Cass said. “Something to keep those murderous ideas flowing. Danny’s way too mild—”

  “Still waters run deep, Catherine,” Birdie said, accepting Danny’s peck on her cheek.

  “You tell her, Birdie. She can be pretty incorrigible.”

  Cass offered him a poke before sitting down and waving to a well-dressed couple walking by. “Hey, you two,” she called out.
“Don’t you look snazzy? So hip and with it.”

  “Me, hip?” Tommy Porter’s laugh was full. “You used to call me a nerd when I helped scrub your dad’s boat, Cass. What’s with the compliment? At least I think it’s a compliment. . . .”

  “Well, you were a nerd, face it,” Cass said. “But look how Janie has cleaned you up! Geesh, who would have thought? A GQ model in the making.”

  Tommy blushed, the policeman clearly not completely at ease in his skinny denim jeans. He tugged at the knot of a narrow tie, already loose at the open collar of his plaid shirt. Uniform blue trousers and a jacket with a shiny badge were clearly more at home on Tommy’s tall frame.

  They laughed as Tommy’s blush passed to Janie, knowing what was coming next. Garage sales. That’s where she had found Tommy’s True Religion jeans, and his cool plaid shirt and tie.

  “Twenty dollars for the whole outfit,” Janie said, warming now to the topic. “And those jeans cost over two hundred dollars new!”

  Birdie winced at the awful thought, then smiled up at him. “You look splendid, Tommy dear.”

  Tommy immediately changed the subject, explaining in great detail how they’d just repainted the jail a pale pink to calm prisoners down.

  While the rest of the table engaged in a discussion of “drunk tank pink,” Janie stood quietly looking off toward the water, her mind clearly elsewhere.

  Nell watched her, searching for remnants of the distress that they’d witnessed earlier that day. Slight worry lines remained on her forehead, but the anger seemed to have faded.

  “You look lovely, Janie,” Nell said softly.

  “Thanks, Nell,” Janie said. “I know what you’re asking, though, and I’m fine. Really I am. But terribly sorry about my outburst today. I hate it that our sweet little Gabby saw me at my worst.”

  “Oh, nonsense. Did Justin come back?”

  “No. I guess he got the message. Sometimes I think he is truly confused when I get upset with him, like he doesn’t get why. And then he assumes everything is fine. That’s probably how he is this very minute, happy as a clam, thinking all is forgiven. Do you think it’s because he had such a bad upbringing? He never even knew his dad. And his mother was a mess, ending up in jail a couple of times.”

  “That’s a difficult way to grow up.”

  “It must have been awful. I took a psychology course in nursing school, and he’s like one of those people who has had to fend for himself for everything, and he needs instant gratification. It’s so strong in him that he does what makes him feel good right then and there because he might not get a second chance. He doesn’t ever think about consequences. He just wants to have fun and be rich—fast.”

  Janie seemed to warm to the subject, clearly articulating thoughts that had been filling her head.

  “Like the texts he sent me after he left today. They weren’t about how he’s going to clean up his act or find a place to stay or hold on to a job and earn his riches. Instead, he texted about how great it is that he’s going on the scuba dive tomorrow and might get his picture in a big-time magazine, and isn’t that cool? And then he added that maybe he’d take me to Duckworth’s in Gloucester to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?”

  “I know, I know. Celebrate what!”

  She shook her head, then looked at Tommy to be sure he wasn’t listening. “I don’t think I have a single friend left in Sea Harbor who Justin hasn’t let down. And now this latest thing at the boardinghouse. And the thing is . . . the thing is, he doesn’t even care. He says he was going to leave there anyway. He’s got his eye on those new expensive condos on the north shore—”

  Janie stopped, her eyes widening as she looked across the porch to the outdoor lounge area. Nell sat tall and followed her look.

  Justin Dorsey stood alone at the very end of the long bar. He was motioning to Tyler Gibson, standing a few feet away, pouring drinks and shaking martinis.

  “But he’s not even twenty-one . . . ,” Janie started.

  Tyler handed the drinks off to a waitress and moved toward Justin, a swatch of blond hair falling across his forehead.

  Justin high-fived him and pulled up a stool, his manner businesslike, as if delivering some news. Tyler listened carefully, nodded, ignoring the waitress waiting with drink orders. Every now and then he looked up, as if protecting the conversation from bystanders’ ears. When Justin tugged something from the fanny belt strapped around his waist and placed it on the bar between them, Tyler stood back, staring, a surprised grin on his face. Then he slapped Justin on the shoulder as if in congratulations.

  “Maybe Justin is looking for a place to stay tonight,” Janie said, a touch of regret slipping into her voice.

  “Maybe,” Nell said. She watched Tyler offer another high five and walk down the bar to waiting customers and waitresses.

  Justin stood there for a few minutes, watching the activity spinning around him, a solitary figure in the middle of the crowded, happy space. But he seemed puffed up somehow, satisfied with himself. Then his gaze drifted over to the Danverses’ table and settled on Franklin’s distinctive profile.

  He stared intently at the older man, and Nell wondered what he was thinking. There was certainly no love between those two. But Justin’s look was one more of curiosity than dislike, as if he was trying to figure the man out. Janie said Justin was obsessed with money—perhaps that was the intrigue Franklin Danvers provided: Justin was trying to figure out his secret to being rich.

  Tamara looked up and spotted Justin staring at their table.

  She lifted one hand to her mouth, but before she had a chance to react further, Justin turned back toward the bar, grabbed a handful of pistachio nuts from a bowl, and disappeared down the porch steps and into the night.

  Beside Nell, Janie shivered, then followed Tommy to their table nearby.

  • • •

  Hours later, after devouring Kevin Sullivan’s signature dish of pan-roasted cod, floating on a pool of minted crème fraîche, even Ham Brewster declared himself full.

  “Magnificent,” Birdie said when Kevin stopped at their table, doffing his white toque and smiling broadly.

  “A step up from my scones?” he said.

  “No, dear. Nothing will ever top your scones, but this was truly delicious.”

  The accolades came from all around the table, and Kevin thanked them profusely, before moving on to other tables, other friends, and more compliments.

  “Take me home, Bill Bailey,” Jane said finally, looping her arm through Ham’s.

  “Izzy’s nearly asleep at the table,” Sam said, helping his wife up.

  “Sleeping for two,” Izzy murmured, as they all made their way through the restaurant and out to the parking lot. Janie and Tommy were leaving at the same time, leaning nicely into each other.

  “Young love,” Jane Brewster said, looking over at them as Tommy unlocked his car.

  “Old isn’t so bad, either.” Ben wrapped Nell into the curve of his body.

  “Who will we see tomorrow at Annabelle’s?” he called out as everyone climbed into their cars.

  Tommy spoke up from two cars down. “Rumor has it she’s making a special Swedish pancake, not to be missed.”

  Izzy waved out her window. “Count me in for sure.”

  “Danny and I’ll come by after the dive shoot,” Sam said.

  Sunday breakfasts at Annabelle Palazola’s Sweet Petunia Restaurant were sacred.

  Ben looked over at Birdie, climbing into Sam’s backseat. “Pick you and Gabby up, Birdie?”

  “Not tomorrow, Ben.”

  “No?” Nell said. “Gabby loves pancakes—”

  “Gabby is hanging out at Willow’s studio tomorrow, helping her get ready for the next Art at Night event—and possible a baby shower. As for me, I have a date.”

  They all looked her way.

  She leaned through the window, her smile wide. “Oh, hush, the bunch of you. It’s not that kind of date.”

  “What kind
is it?” Danny asked. “The kind in fruitcake?”

  “It’s a conversation—that kind of date. A handsome young man named Justin Dorsey is coming over to have coffee with me.”

  Standing beside Tommy’s car, Janie Levin tensed at Birdie’s words.

  Nell tried to read the expression on her face. Embarrassment? Puzzlement? She couldn’t be sure.

  But she was sure of what she didn’t see there: happiness.

  Chapter 9

  The pancakes looked to be everything the blackboard at the restaurant’s front door described: buttery, sweet, fresh. Sinfully delicious.

  “That last description is for Father Northcutt. He likes straying every now and again,” Annabelle said, leading them through the restaurant to their usual table out on the deck.

  The Brewsters and Cass were already there, enjoying a second cup of coffee.

  “She’s amazing, no?” Ben asked, pointing to the platters of warm crepes passing them by. He wrapped an arm around the owner and cook.

  “Who would have thought that you, Annabelle Palazola, would be perfecting Swedish pancakes?” Ham said.

  Annabelle laughed. When her husband had died at sea years before, the fisherman’s wife did what she knew how to do best—cook—and opened a restaurant that would provide for herself and her children, sending each to college. And she had succeeded beyond her expectations. The Sweet Petunia was beloved by all of them.

  Before they’d finished the freshly squeezed orange juice, Annabelle was back with the special, plates piled high and smelling of fruit, butter, and cream.

  Rolled around fresh lingonberries, the crepes were lightly browned and sprinkled with powdered sugar, then topped with dollops of sour cream and Annabelle’s promise that there were more in the kitchen.

  “More fruit, too,” she said, nodding toward the mint-lined bowl heaped full of melon balls, berries, pineapple, and bananas. Then she was off, back to her more comfortable place behind the cast-iron stove that Birdie had loaned her the money to buy all those years ago.