Angora Alibi by Sally Goldenbaum Read Free Book Online

this end the hallways wound around examining rooms, offices, and a library that housed
     Dr. Lily’s busy obstetrics and gynecology practice. Unlike some other old structures
     in Sea Harbor that had suffered through many renovations, the clinic still stood tall
     and proud; the most recent architect had done a masterful job of keeping the quaint
     touches, the curving hallways and tall windows that looked out onto the sea, the wide
     stairways to the upper floor and a winding, narrow one that led to a widow’s walk
     at the very top of the house. But instead of dark corners and the smell of ships and
     stormy seas, the walls were white and bright and smelled slightly of antiseptic, freshly
     laundered linens, and soapy creams.
    Nell followed her niece around a corner, her eyes lingering on Izzy’s rolling walk.
     The newfound sway on her tall, well-toned niece was still unfamiliar to Nell, making
     her wonder if she’d recognize Izzy if she were behind her on the street. She’d heard
     it called a waddle, a result of the ligaments loosening for the baby to be born. But
     that word didn’t resonate with the lovely sway her niece had adopted. To Nell, it
     was beautiful.
    As they turned another corner, Nell glanced through a half-open pocket door into a
     small office. Martin Seltzer, dressed in a white jacket, stood near a window, murmuring
     in a low monotone. His hair was bright white, his shoulders narrow and pushed slightly
     forward. He turned his head, words still falling from his lips, then spotted Nell
     before she could turn away. White eyebrows lifted, as if in surprise at seeing a woman
     watching him. Slightly embarrassed, Nell smiled and murmured something about having
     a good day.
    The doctor smiled back—a grave smile—as if clouded by thoughts that he needed to get
     back to. As Nell began to turn away, she noticed someone else in the room and realized
     the doctor hadn’t been murmuring to himself. It was Heather Gruen, a young woman Nell
     knew from the hair salon. Heather was pregnant with her first child and openly nervous
     about every change her body was undergoing. She waved to Nell, then turned her full
     attention back to Dr. Seltzer and he to her, releasing Nell to hurry down the hall
     after Izzy.
    The man was certainly an enigma, so uncomfortable in social settings, yet obviously
     patient and understanding with anxious mothers-to-be. She and Ben saw Martin around
     town often, but he never encouraged long conversations and sometimes bordered on rudeness.
    Birdie thought Nell misjudged the man. He was simply a loner, she said. Some people
     found pleasure in being alone. Or maybe, Birdie said, he simply hadn’t met anyone
     interesting enough to befriend. At that Nell had laughed and given in. Birdie was
     often right about such things. And he’d certainly seemed comfortable with Heather
     Gruen.
    She followed Izzy into an empty examining room and waited while Janie chatted, carefully
     recording Izzy’s weight on the chart.
    When Lily Virgilio walked in, a bundle of professional efficiency, Janie headed off
     toward a ringing phone.
    “The receptionist went home early,” Dr. Lily explained. “Janie is wearing several
     hats today.” She gave Nell a hug. “I’m so glad you came with Izzy. It gives me a chance
     to gush about that wonderful event. I’m still overwhelmed by the amount of money raised
     for the free health clinic. This town is simply wonderful. My thanks to all of you
     who made it happen.”
    “It was a great evening—and a great cause. Besides, we love an excuse for a party.”
    Lily laughed, then turned toward Izzy and patted the paper-wrapped exam table. “So—let’s
     see what’s going on with you, Izzy. Sleeping any better?” She wrapped the cuff around
     Izzy’s upper arm and began pumping air into it. She watched Izzy’s face, reading it
     with practiced eyes.
    “Somewhat better. Running helps. Except for . . .” Her words fell off.
    “Except