wife.”
Tommy looked over at Tamara. Through a slit in her silky green caftan, a strip of
tan skin and bikini straps peeked through.
She looked upset, that was true. Nell felt a strange urge to protect the young man—not
for personal reasons, really. But accusing him of trespassing on the Cliffside Beach
was silly. At one time or another, nearly every Sea Harbor teenager spent time on
the private coastline that wound around behind the properties. Izzy herself had probably
spent some time on the rocks, watching surfers master the high waves that often developed
where the land jutted out.
“Trespassing?” Nell looked at Justin, then Tommy.
“Well, sure,” Tommy said. “Legally speaking, anyway. There are signs all over saying
it’s a private beach.”
But his reluctance to immediately slap a fine on the young man—or arrest him—was as
evident as Tamara Danvers’ uncomfortable stance.
She stood silent, as if she wished she were anywhere but standing between her husband
and a young ponytailed surfer, his hair still wet and sand coating his legs. She took
a step closer to Franklin and away from Justin.
Justin looked uncomfortable, standing in a sleeveless wet suit. He shoved one hand
in the thigh pocket, his feet shifting back and forth.
“Justin?” Tommy focused all his attention on Janie’s cousin now. “Is there anything
you want to say?”
Justin shrugged. Then the familiar smile came back, but forced this time. “Hey, Officer
Tom, I was, like, trying to catch a couple waves.”
“Waves, my foot,” Franklin said. “I came home from the office unexpectedly and it’s
a damn good thing I did. I went up to my bedroom to get something and spotted this
kid through the window, down there on the lower terrace, hands outstretched like he
was a moocher expecting a handout.” He glared at Justin. “You don’t belong here.”
Justin hung his head again and managed a weak “Hey, sorry. We were just talking, hanging
out for a minute. Didn’t mean any harm, Mrs. Danvers.”
Tamara looked away, her jaw rigid.
“Hanging out? I don’t think so.” Franklin looked over at Tamara, who was now distancing
herself from both Justin and her husband.
“I need to lie down,” she said. “Just let this go, Franklin.” A flash of anger appeared
in her eyes, but it wasn’t clear who the object of her anger was.
Franklin frowned. “Tamara needs to rest—and I’m sure we all have more important things
to do today than continue this conversation.” He looked sternly at Justin. “But I
suggest we come to an agreement, young man. This is private property. You are trespassing
and harassing my wife. I’ll ignore it this time because Tamara needs to get inside.
But if you want to surf, try Good Harbor over in Gloucester. Or Long Beach. Not my
backyard. I don’t want to see you back here again.”
With that, he nodded to Tommy, offered a polite smile to Izzy and Nell, and walked
back through the iron gate.
While the gate slowly began to close, they caught a fleeting glimpse of the wealthy
investment banker wrap his younger wife in a protective embrace and walk her slowly
back down the cobbled drive to the house.
Justin heaved a sigh of relief.
Tommy walked over to him. “What is it with you, Dorsey? Mr. Danvers is a decent guy.
He wouldn’t have called me just because you were surfing back there or walking the
beach. You shouldn’t be bothering the people who live around here. Don’t you ever
use that thick skull of yours to think?”
Justin stood in silence, one hand cupping a worn fanny pack on his waist and the other
balancing his board.
“I think Franklin is just being overprotective of his wife, Tommy,” Izzy said.
“That’s his choice, right? Justin upset her apparently.”
“She’s pregnant,” Nell said.
Tommy shrugged. “Sure, makes sense, I guess. My ma always got prickly when she was
having another one. You touchy,
Tommy looked over at Tamara. Through a slit in her silky green caftan, a strip of
tan skin and bikini straps peeked through.
She looked upset, that was true. Nell felt a strange urge to protect the young man—not
for personal reasons, really. But accusing him of trespassing on the Cliffside Beach
was silly. At one time or another, nearly every Sea Harbor teenager spent time on
the private coastline that wound around behind the properties. Izzy herself had probably
spent some time on the rocks, watching surfers master the high waves that often developed
where the land jutted out.
“Trespassing?” Nell looked at Justin, then Tommy.
“Well, sure,” Tommy said. “Legally speaking, anyway. There are signs all over saying
it’s a private beach.”
But his reluctance to immediately slap a fine on the young man—or arrest him—was as
evident as Tamara Danvers’ uncomfortable stance.
She stood silent, as if she wished she were anywhere but standing between her husband
and a young ponytailed surfer, his hair still wet and sand coating his legs. She took
a step closer to Franklin and away from Justin.
Justin looked uncomfortable, standing in a sleeveless wet suit. He shoved one hand
in the thigh pocket, his feet shifting back and forth.
“Justin?” Tommy focused all his attention on Janie’s cousin now. “Is there anything
you want to say?”
Justin shrugged. Then the familiar smile came back, but forced this time. “Hey, Officer
Tom, I was, like, trying to catch a couple waves.”
“Waves, my foot,” Franklin said. “I came home from the office unexpectedly and it’s
a damn good thing I did. I went up to my bedroom to get something and spotted this
kid through the window, down there on the lower terrace, hands outstretched like he
was a moocher expecting a handout.” He glared at Justin. “You don’t belong here.”
Justin hung his head again and managed a weak “Hey, sorry. We were just talking, hanging
out for a minute. Didn’t mean any harm, Mrs. Danvers.”
Tamara looked away, her jaw rigid.
“Hanging out? I don’t think so.” Franklin looked over at Tamara, who was now distancing
herself from both Justin and her husband.
“I need to lie down,” she said. “Just let this go, Franklin.” A flash of anger appeared
in her eyes, but it wasn’t clear who the object of her anger was.
Franklin frowned. “Tamara needs to rest—and I’m sure we all have more important things
to do today than continue this conversation.” He looked sternly at Justin. “But I
suggest we come to an agreement, young man. This is private property. You are trespassing
and harassing my wife. I’ll ignore it this time because Tamara needs to get inside.
But if you want to surf, try Good Harbor over in Gloucester. Or Long Beach. Not my
backyard. I don’t want to see you back here again.”
With that, he nodded to Tommy, offered a polite smile to Izzy and Nell, and walked
back through the iron gate.
While the gate slowly began to close, they caught a fleeting glimpse of the wealthy
investment banker wrap his younger wife in a protective embrace and walk her slowly
back down the cobbled drive to the house.
Justin heaved a sigh of relief.
Tommy walked over to him. “What is it with you, Dorsey? Mr. Danvers is a decent guy.
He wouldn’t have called me just because you were surfing back there or walking the
beach. You shouldn’t be bothering the people who live around here. Don’t you ever
use that thick skull of yours to think?”
Justin stood in silence, one hand cupping a worn fanny pack on his waist and the other
balancing his board.
“I think Franklin is just being overprotective of his wife, Tommy,” Izzy said.
“That’s his choice, right? Justin upset her apparently.”
“She’s pregnant,” Nell said.
Tommy shrugged. “Sure, makes sense, I guess. My ma always got prickly when she was
having another one. You touchy,
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