Angora Alibi A Seaside Knitters Mystery - By Sally Goldenbaum Page 0,2
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, prenatal 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.”
Nearly a foot taller than Birdie, Izzy smiled down at one of the wisest women she knew, then looked back to her aunt. “Why don’t you come with me this week when I see Dr. Lily? You can hear her report for yourself. You might hear baby Perry, too. This baby is noisy, just like his dad—” She glanced over her shoulder at Sam, then looked down at the baby’s form and added, almost as if talking to herself, “When he bounces around so much, I’m sure it’s a mini Sam. But when I play Norah Jones and the