Angora Alibi A Seaside Knitters Mystery - By Sally Goldenbaum Page 0,47

about it all,” Nell said as they walked through the shop.

“But ‘say’ they will, making up things, if need be. No matter, Jerry Thompson is a smart man. He’ll get to the bottom of this soon.”

Nell nodded absently, looking into the Magic Room, the name Izzy had given the yarn shop’s playroom. It was filled with the shop owner’s own childhood toys—dolls and doll beds, puppets, stuffed animals, and Tinker Toys—along with newer ones donated by the mothers who appreciated a place to leave their toddlers and preschoolers while they picked out patterns and took classes. Mae’s nieces Jillian and Rose loved watching over the kids, wiping noses, playing games, and retrieving mothers when needed. Today they seemed to be cuddling their charges more, watching each child more closely.

It’s what happens when a town has been wounded in such a horrific way. Mothers all over town were paying attention to their teenagers’ curfews, requesting frequent check-ins, worrying about parties and days at the beach. The wonderful carefree things that made up summer were now potential dangers, something to put under a magnifying glass.

Outside the yarn shop they paused, putting on sunglasses and adjusting to the bright light.

“Humph.”

The two women turned toward the sound, and found themselves looking into the small beady eyes of Mrs. Bridge, owner and manager of the Bell Street Boardinghouse, perhaps one of the last remaining boardinghouses in North America. Justin’s last-known address.

Mrs. Bridge had a first name, but she never used it and over the years it had fallen from everyone’s memory—even the postmistress couldn’t remember her mail addressed to anyone but “Mrs. Bridge.”

“This is where Janie Levin lives, they tell me,” she said to Birdie and Nell. Her chubby index finger pointed to the upper windows.

“That’s right, Mrs. Bridge. But she isn’t here right now.”

“It was her friend who was murdered,” Mrs. Bridge said.

“A distant relative,” Nell said.

“He lived at my place, you know,” she went on, as if Nell hadn’t spoken. “The police have been by, of course, and they said there wasn’t much there. Old clothes, a surfboard. They took what they wanted. The rest is right there.” She pointed to a cardboard box on the sidewalk beside her old Chevy. “I’d like it to be gone.”

Her tone of voice indicated that the rest of Justin’s belongings would turn her house into a deadly virus if allowed to remain.

“We’ll give it to Janie,” Birdie said. “Was Justin a problem?”

Nell picked it up and put it inside the yarn shop door to take deal with later.

Mrs. Bridge seemed troubled by the question. Then she said, “I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. But that young man wasn’t my kind of tenant. I told him he had to leave.”

“To leave?”

Mrs. Bridge looked down and rubbed her palms down the sides of her wide-legged polyester pants. Finally she met their eyes again. “Yes.” She sighed heavily. “I banished him.”

“He wasn’t a good tenant?”

Again, Mrs. Bridge was silent. She shifted her considerable weight from one foot to another. Finally she spoke. “There were the late-night rendezvous a while ago. He let a friend ‘use’ his room, if you know what I mean. I heard about it, of course I did. I looked the other way at first, then finally warned him I wasn’t running that kind of place, and it stopped. As for his recent shenanigans? I’ve no proof, not now, I know that. But I also know this. Justin Dorsey was a charming con man. He told all my tenants he was on his way to being rich. And I don’t doubt it. As sure as I’m standing here, he was helped along by the cash that went missing from my apartment last week—two weeks’ worth of rent money, waiting for me to take it to the bank.”

Chapter 14

“A con man.”

Ben considered Mrs. Bridge’s words as he rummaged through a kitchen drawer, searching for the grill lighter. “The romantic version of a con man is of a charming, likable guy. Justin seems to fit that. Maybe that’s exactly who he was.”

“Harriet Brandley came out of the bookstore while we were talking. She didn’t say much at first, just listened until Mrs. Bridge left. But then—very reluctantly, I thought—she said that Justin didn’t do right by Archie, either, when he helped out there a couple months ago.”

Nell set a bowl of basting sauce for the tuna on a tray and continued her story. “It had something to do with the day’s cash not matching receipts or something.