Whiskey Beach Part 6

"It's great."

He didn't realize Abra still had his hand until she took a step back, and he was forced to step forward. "Shoulders down and back, Leah. That's it. Relax your jaw, Heather. Good. That's good. Sorry," she said to Eli.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm in the way. I'll let you get back to it."

"Are you sure you don't want that gla.s.s of wine? Or maybe, considering ..." She closed her other hand around his, rubbed at the cold. "Some hot chocolate?"

"No. No, but thanks. I need to get back." The friction of her hands brought on a quick, almost painful warmth that emphasized he'd let himself get chilled down to the bone. "It's ... going to snow."

"A good night to be in with a fire and a good book. Well." She let go of his hand to open the door again. "I'll see you in a couple of days. Call or come by if you need anything."

"Thanks." He walked away quickly so she could close the door and keep the heat in.

Instead she stood in the open door, looking after him.

Her heart-one some often told her was too soft, too open-just flooded with sympathy.

How long had it been, she wondered, since anyone but family had welcomed him out of the cold?

She shut the door, moved back to the solarium and, with a nod for her friend Maureen, took over again.

As she completed final relaxation, she saw the snow Eli had predicted falling thick and soft outside the gla.s.s so her cozy s.p.a.ce felt just like the inside of a fanciful snow globe.

She thought it perfect.

"Remember to hydrate." She lifted her own water bottle as the women rolled up their mats. "And we still have room in tomorrow morning's East Meets West cla.s.s in the Unitarian Church bas.e.m.e.nt at nine-fifteen."

"I love that cla.s.s." Heather Lockaby fluffed her short cap of blond hair. "Winnie, I can pick you up on the way if you want."

"Give me a call first. I'd love to try it."

"And now"-Heather rubbed her hands together-"was that who I thought it was?"

"Sorry?" Abra responded.

"The man who came in during cla.s.s. Wasn't that Eli Landon?"

The name brought on an immediate murmur. Abra felt the benefits of her hour's yoga practice dissolve as her shoulders tightened. "Yes, that was Eli."

"I told you." Heather elbowed Winnie. "I told you I'd heard he was moving into Bluff House. Are you seriously doing the cleaning there while he's in the house?"

"There's not a lot to clean if n.o.body's living there."

"But Abra, aren't you nervous? I mean, he's accused of murder. Of killing his own wife. And-"

"He was cleared, Heather. Remember?"

"Just because they didn't have enough evidence to arrest him doesn't mean he isn't guilty. You shouldn't be alone in that house with him."

"Just because the press likes a good scandal, especially where s.e.x, money and bedrock New England families are involved, doesn't mean he isn't innocent." Maureen arched fiery red eyebrows. "You know that old rule of law, Heather. Innocent until proven guilty?"

"I know he got fired-and he was a criminal defense lawyer. Seems fishy, if you ask me, that they'd fire him if he wasn't guilty. And they said he was the prime suspect. Witnesses heard him threaten his wife the same day she was killed. She'd have gotten a pile of money in a divorce. And he had no business being in that house, did he?"

"It was his house," Abra pointed out.

"But he'd moved out. I'm just saying where there's smoke ..."

"Where there's smoke sometimes means someone else started the fire."

"You're so trusting." Heather gave Abra a one-armed hug-as sincere as it was patronizing. "I'm just going to worry about you."

"I think Abra has a fine feel for people and can take care of herself." Greta Parrish, the senior of the group at seventy-two, pulled on her warm and practical wool coat. "And Hester Landon wouldn't have opened Bluff House for Eli-always a well-mannered young man-if she had the smallest doubt of his innocence."

"Oh, now I've nothing but affection and respect for Ms. Landon," Heather began. "Every one of us hope and pray she'll be well enough to come home soon. But-"

"No buts." Greta yanked a cloche cap over her steel-gray hair. "That boy's part of this community. He may have lived in Boston, but he's a Landon, and he's one of us. G.o.d knows he's been through the wringer. I'd hate to think anyone here would add to his troubles."

"I-I didn't mean that." Fl.u.s.tered, Heather looked from face to face. "Honestly, I didn't. I'm just worried about Abra. I can't help it."

"I believe you are." Greta gave Heather a brisk nod. "I believe you've no reason to. This was a very nice practice, Abra."

"Thank you. Why don't I drive you home? It's snowing pretty hard."

"I believe I can manage a three-minute walk."

Women bundled up, filed out. Maureen lingered.

"Heather's an a.s.s," Maureen stated.

"A lot of people are. And a lot of people will think the way she does. If he was suspected, he must be guilty. It's wrong."

"Of course it is." Maureen O'Malley, her short, spiky hair as fiery as her eyebrows, took another pull from her water bottle. "The problem is, I don't know if I'd think the same, at least in some little cynical pocket, if I didn't know Eli."

"I didn't realize you did."

"He was my first serious make-out."

"Hold that." Abra pointed with both index fingers. "Just hold that. That's a gla.s.s-of-wine story."

"You don't have to twist my arm. Just let me text Mike that I'm going to be about another half hour."

"You do that. I'll pour the wine."

In the kitchen Abra chose a bottle of s.h.i.+raz while Maureen plopped down on the sofa in the cozy living area.

"He says that's fine. The kids haven't killed each other yet, and are currently in the happy throes of a snowstorm." She looked up from her phone, smiled when Abra handed her the wine, took a seat. "Thanks. I'll consider this girding my loins before I walk next door into the battle and feed the troops."

"Make out?"