Angora Alibi by Sally Goldenbaum Page A

child.
    “See what I put up with, Nell?” he called back as he climbed into his car. “Sass.
     Nothing but sass. That’s what pregnancy has done to her.” He blew Izzy another kiss
     and drove off, his sandy hair flying in the breeze as he drove down Marigold Drive
     toward the beach.
    “I do love that man,” Nell murmured, watching him disappear.
    “Yeah. Me, too,” Izzy said, still crouched on the ground beside a growing pile of
     weeds. She finally pulled herself to a standing position and peeled off her gardening
     gloves.
    “So, where to?” Nell asked. “Somewhere easy, I hope.”
    “Definitely.” Izzy pulled on a Sox cap and tugged her hair through the band in back.
     “I was thinking maybe Paley’s Cove? We can go the long, easy way, through Cliffside,
     then down to the beach. It’s warm and sunny—the ocean breeze will feel good.” Izzy
     began walking down the street while she talked.
    “That’s not too far for you?”
    “Nope, it’ll be fine.”
    Nell looked at her sideways, catching an odd tone of voice that didn’t fit a carefree
     run with her slow-moving aunt. It was slightly clipped, a tone Izzy didn’t use often.
     As if she had a mission beyond that of good health.
    “You okay, Iz?”
    Izzy nodded. “Fine.”
    They moved on in silence for a while, Nell effortlessly matching Izzy’s pace for a
     change. Soon the road twisted and turned and the smaller homes in Izzy and Sam’s neighborhood
     disappeared, giving rise to the elegant estates that spread out over the rise of land
     called Cliffside. The roads here were lined with centuries-old granite walls, waist-high
     and broken only by iron gates that marked entry into well-manicured yards and stately
     homes. Stands of hemlock and sweet bay magnolias partially hid the homes from view.
    Most of the homes were owned by longtime residents. Some were older than the town
     itself. Every now and then a narrow pathway meandered between two properties to the
     sea beyond, the serpentine path opening into the vast blue of endless water.
    “Franklin’s place is the largest of them all,” Izzy observed as they passed an elegant
     estate. The house behind the wall looked as if it had grown directly out of the granite
     rock upon which it was built. Several smaller houses were positioned about the property,
     discreet and private.
    “It’s the original family estate, according to Birdie. Generations of Danverses were
     born and died in this house. It’s magnificent.”
    “Tamara talks a lot about the house when she’s in the shop. She loves living here—the
     mystery, the glamour, the dark hallways. She says the place is full of secret passages
     and doorways that open up below the cliff, right onto the beach. It’s interesting
     how a place can change a person. I swear her voice is even changing. Can you imagine
     bringing up a baby here?”
    The shrill of a siren behind them drowned out the end of the sentence. Izzy and Nell
     spun around just as Tommy Porter rounded the corner in his police car, a light flashing
     on top.
    Instinctively, they stopped and looked around to find something worthy of Tommy’s
     sound effects. Just then, the wide electric gate guarding the Danvers’ driveway opened.
     Franklin and Tamara stood just inside. Between them, his head hanging low, a tangle
     of wet blond hair falling over his forehead and a surfboard strapped to his back,
     was Justin Dorsey.
    Tommy slid out of the car and walked over to Franklin Danvers, his eyes taking in
     the silent Justin. “Hey, Mr. Danvers, what can I do for you?”
    Franklin shook Tommy’s hand and motioned toward Justin. “We’ve got a little problem,
     Tom.”
    For a minute Tommy didn’t say anything. Then, “So, what’s he done now?”
    Justin looked up briefly. Then he spotted Nell and Izzy standing on the side of the
     street, and a sheepish look of relief washed across his face.
My rescuers,
it said.
    “Trespassing,” Franklin said. “And upsetting my