Angora Alibi A Seaside Knitters Mystery - By Sally Goldenbaum Page 0,3

baby rolls so gracefully to the music, I think it’s a little girl in there, maybe a dancer. But we’ll all find out soon enough, I guess.”

Nell’s smile was hidden in the darkness of the night as she listened to Izzy dream aloud about her baby. It was foolish for her to worry about her niece, just as Ben and Izzy and Birdie said—yet they put up with Nell and treated her concern kindly.

“So, Aunt Nell? What do you say?”

“Thanks, Izzy. Of course. I’d love to go with you.”

Birdie was the first up the steps, her diminutive figure shimmery in a short silver dress. Her gait was lively, belying her eighty-plus years. She hugged one of the young women handing out programs at the door. “Janie Levin, you are a vision tonight.”

Birdie had known the young nurse her entire life and, along with the other knitters, had cheered Janie on when she left an hourly job to go to nursing school, and then they had welcomed her back with open arms when she returned, degree in hand, to pursue her career in Sea Harbor.

Janie blushed at the attention and slid a palm down her watery silk dress. She lowered her head, a thick red curl falling over her forehead. “Do you recognize this dress? I got it at Laura Danvers’ garage sale. A designer dress! Who knows the glamorous places it’s been?” She laughed and pushed the stray lock back into place.

Without her hair, Janie might have been considered pleasant looking, but one would never describe her that way. Gorgeous was used more often. Twenty-five years before, she’d made her way into the world with a headful of valentine-colored curls, surprising the entire medical team, not to mention a black-haired mother and father who wondered briefly if their tenth child had somehow been dropped off in the wrong delivery room. Along with her deep green eyes and tall, lanky body, Janie stood out, no matter how hard she tried not to.

“No one will ever know. It looks like it was made for you, Janie,” Izzy said

Janie laughed again. “Laura walked right by me tonight without even noticing I was wearing her dress—of course it’s shorter on me, but short is ‘in,’ so I’m fine. I paid four dollars and fifty cents for it, can you believe it?” She held up four fingers.

“Yes, I can,” Izzy said. “That’s why you’re the garage sale queen. You’re the best bargain hunter I know.”

“It’s easy to be frugal when you grow up with nine siblings. I love garage sales. And now I get to use my hobby to buy things for my boyfriend. I never tell Tommy where things come from—he thinks the shirts and designer ties I give him are new.”

They laughed at the thought of the young policeman, whose shoes were always shined, his uniform pristine and pressed perfectly, dressed in garage sale finds. “Tommy Porter’s a lucky man,” Birdie said.

“And Dr. Lily, too,” Izzy said. “As if being head nurse isn’t enough, Janie seems to have her hand in everything over there.”

“It’s my dream job—and I want to be involved in everything. I get to train the new nurses and all sorts of . . .” Janie’s words fell off and were replaced by a frown as she looked over Izzy’s shoulder and down the steps. Several young men, dressed in khaki pants and light blue shirts, stood at attention at the curb. A VALET sign was posted in front of them.

Izzy followed Janie’s look. “You worry too much, Janie,” she said. “He’ll be fine.”

Justin Dorsey, a ponytailed young man with dimples and an infectious smile, had taken a set of car keys from the construction magnate, Alphonso Santos, and was eagerly climbing into his shiny yellow Porsche.

Janie fidgeted with of the evening’s program, bending a corner back. Finally, once Justin had eased the car away from the curb, she relaxed. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t worry about him. Tommy thinks I’m crazy. He’d be happy if Justin would disappear. But it was so nice of Laura and Willow to hire him to park cars tonight—even though I had to talk him into it. There was a party at the beach—a bunch of college kids—and he really wanted to go. They needed him, he said. He’d make his money down there. ‘How?’ I asked him. ‘Selling hot dogs?’ He just doesn’t think. I know he doesn’t make much at the clinic—and frankly, we needed him tonight, so I forced him