Anchor Management

by Ellis Quinn

  “Do you think I was ready for this, Bette? You think I was ready for her to come to town and take away everything I’ve got, getting her claws in Stephen, working her ways with Jack. Jack stole the anchor for her and Stephen had to cover for him!”

  “Okay,” Bette said, “I get it. I’ll hear you out, I know it must be awful.”

  “Awful? You have no idea. You have no idea what this is like. Do you know what it’s like to build an entire life and have it torn out from under you like this?”

  Bette put up both hands, stepped around Buster, placating Charlotte and speaking in a soothing voice. “Charlotte, I know. Look at me, I’m starting over. Why do you think I’m here? I had a whole different life six months ago. A month ago it all ended. It’s not like what you’re going through, but listen . . . Talk to me. Cherry’s not ready for this, come on over here,” she said, and the two of them walked widdershins to the huddled group. She said to them, “Go on back in the patio. Let me talk to Charlotte a second. I think we can all sit down and figure this out in a minute.”

  They all watched Bette, puzzled, but happy to avoid a confrontation with Charlotte. Vance held the door open for the others to enter.

  “Come on, Charlotte, over here,” Bette said, and walked her farther from the patio and out toward a short olive tree near the corner eaves of the cottage. Cherry and Vance, arm-in-arm, returned to the enclosed patio, Pris and Terry followed. Buster stayed nearby.

  While Charlotte had allowed Bette to steer her away and take control of the conversation, it did nothing to change her demeanor. She was still livid.

  “I don’t know why you’re friends with her. I don’t know what you see in her. She’s nothing but evil.”

  “You know Jack took the anchor,” Bette said.

  “He did it for that Cherry,” Charlotte said. “Jack showed up at home. He was drunk again. Big surprise.” She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I always knew that. Once it’s in them, it’s always in them. Once a drunk, always drunk.”

  “I don’t think Jack was a drunk. He had his problems—”

  “You’ve been in town a month, so excuse me, Bette, if I don’t exactly trust your judgment on what’s going on in my family.”

  “So Jack was drunk, and he had the anchor.”

  “Had it. Good boy Stephen took it from him. Jack tells me Stephen’s with her now.”

  “With Cherry?”

  “Doesn’t that figure?” Charlotte said, folding her arms, shaking her head, brow low and cross, the thin lines on either side of her lipstick mouth turned down. Her chin dimpled with fury. “My two boys fighting over that woman. It’s like she did it to spite me. Jack started with her, and then it was Stephen falling for her. All because Jack brought her into our lives.”

  “Cherry and Stephen aren’t in any kind of relationship, Charlotte.”

  “Oh, that’s what you think? You don’t know anything. They are in a relationship, and I told Jack that if he wanted to be with Cherry so bad, wanted to steal that anchor to get it for her, that he should go down to the café and confront them.”

  “You sent Jack when he was drunk down to the café to confront his brother over some sort of love triangle?”

  Her lips pursed into a down-turned curve. Rage consumed her—a psychologist might say it was directed inward, but a woman like Charlotte would never accept that. She reeked of narcissism, and none of this would ever be her fault. The world was out to get her at all times, and she’d hardened herself against it.

  “This thing needed to come to a head, Bette,” she said, her voice even-toned now, grim and gravelly. “It needed to come to an end, so I was going to put it to an end. I sent Jack here, and then I went to get the anchor.”

  “How did you know where the anchor was?”

  “Stephen took it from him. Where else would Stephen put it? It was in the first place I looked.”

  “And where was that?”

  “Our boat.”

  “The Mayor Mayknot?”

  “I took the anchor from the boat to give it back to Jack.”

  Bette said, “You got the anchor to give it back to Jack?” Her tone rose with incredulity. “Why on earth would you do that?” She shook her head and answered the question herself: if Jack was drunk and he had the anchor, he couldn’t be trusted with the family business.

  “I told you this needed to come to a head,” she said, jaw firm.

  “You’re insane.”

  “I’m a mother,” she said.

  “You were the one who took the anchor here to the café,” she said, nudging her chin to the alley.

  “You’ve gone and put a lock on it,” she said.

  “There’s been a lot of trouble around here recently,” Bette said.

  Charlotte’s glaring eyes dimmed for a second, and her shoulders moved downward by a centimeter. She was looking past Bette now to the place on the brick pavers where they found Jack’s dead body. She said, “It didn’t matter what I wanted to do with that anchor. I was too late. It’s all because of that woman. That Cherry. Jack was dead when I got here. The knife sticking out of him.”

  “Who killed him?”

  Charlotte shook her head and narrowed her eyes. “I protected my son.”

  “Wait a second. You found Jack with a knife in him. Already dead? Then what . . . You took the knife out of him and put it in Cherry’s freezer so the police would think Cherry had done it?”

  Charlotte didn’t answer, just stared at the spot where Jack had been found.

  “And you left the anchor on Jack’s body. Even in death you wanted him blamed. But he was dead, Charlotte. What on earth were you thinking?”

  “So what?” she said. “I’m protecting my son. I took the knife out of Jack’s back and I hid it in Cherry’s freezer. I put the anchor on Jack’s body so they’d think he stole it. He did steal it, so what does that matter?”

  “And you’re protecting Stephen?”

  Charlotte crossed her arms tighter. “He regrets it. My son’s hurting inside.”

  “He told you that? Stephen told you that?”

  Charlotte shook her head no. She said, “He put a sympathy card next to Jack.”

  “You think Stephen left a sympathy card on his brother after he killed him?”

  “Despite all Jack’s problems, Stephen would only ever see the good in him.”

  “And you never did?”

  “You don’t know what it was like, Bette,” Charlotte said, sending a stony glare her way. “You don’t know what it was like with that disrespectful young man.”

  Bette reeled, her mind racing in a hundred directions, trying to fit it together how Stephen could be the murderer. She said, “What are you here for, Charlotte? Did you come here to hurt Cherry?”

  “Hurt her? No. She’s the only one that can make this right.”

  “What do you want Cherry to do to make things right?”

  “It’s her fault Stephen’s in jail. This is all because of her. She says she cares about Stephen. I want her to prove it. She cares about Stephen?”

  “She says she does.”

  “I want her to tell the cops . . .” She looked down the alley, nervous, though there was no one there.

  “What are you asking? What do you want Cherry to tell the cops?”

  “Tell them it was self-defense.”

  “That Stephen killed his brother in self-defense?”

  “No, not Stephen. Tell them that she did it. If she cares about Stephen, that’s what she’ll tell them. Tell them Stephen and Jack fought over her, and that Jack had the knife. Jack tried to kill Stephen, but while they were fighting, the knife fell. She got it, and she tried to help Stephen. Maybe Jack was choking him . . .”

  “And she stabbed Jack,” Bette finished.

  “Tell her that. It was self-defense, Bette. They won’t do a thing to her. Not with who she is. Young woman, caught in the middle, two men fighting. The court will have sympathy. And look at me . . . I swear to you, I’ll make sure Vin
nie—this town’s mayor—writes letters up and down in her defense for the court. She won’t serve a day. And Stephen will be home again.”

  “You’re asking a lot.”

  “That girl’s been in jail already. My son’s in there now. If she cares about him . . .”

  “I see what you’re saying,” Bette said and looked up. She thought about it. She said, “I can make it happen.”

  Charlotte’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes flared with excitement. “Get her out here then.”

  Bette stepped away and waved to the gathered group huddled by the back patio door. They descended the two steps and walked onto the brick pavers of the garden. Everybody gathered in the spot where Jack Dawson was found murdered. Hens clucked and strutted around them, and Buster kept watch on them and on Bette. Bette said, “Cherry, hear me out, okay?”

  Charlotte paced a circle, keeping her distance, wanting and needing this to work out for her son’s benefit.

  Bette held Cherry’s gaze, doing everything she could to learn the skill of telekinesis, blasting every iota of information she could through her pupils and into Cherry’s pupils. They both stared at each other, not saying anything, faces looking puzzled and questioning. She said, “Cherry . . .”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Do you care about Stephen?”

  “Of course I do. He’s my friend.”

  Behind them, Charlotte scoffed. Everybody looked at her, and she shook her head, continued pacing a circle, high heels clicking on the stone.

  Bette said, “I’m going to take you down to the police station and you’re going to vouch for Stephen.”

  “I would vouch for Stephen, Bette. I don’t have to be coerced.”

  “Here’s where it gets tricky, Cherry,” she said, lowering her brow, then raising it high, lowering it again, trying to force mind-reading onto Cherry. She thought Cherry got the message.

  Bette said, “We’re going down to the police station and you’re going to say you saw Stephen and Jack fighting. They were fighting over you right here in this backyard. Jack had a knife from your kitchen. And he tried to kill Stephen.”

  Terry gasped and covered her mouth. Bette continued, “While they were fighting, the knife dropped.”

  Pris said, “Where is this going, Bette?”

  Bette said, “I want you to tell the police you took the knife, you tried to help Stephen because Jack was hurting him. Jack was strangling him, okay?”

  Cherry nodded. Vance scowled, looking to interject.

  “It was an accident,” she said, “you were only trying to defend yourself and defend your friend Stephen, but . . .”

  Cherry said, “You want me to tell Marcus that I killed Jack and it was an accident. Self defense.”

  Vance reeled, his eyes wide in shock because he couldn’t believe what craziness his mother was requesting. “Mom, are you crazy?”

  Cherry put up a hand to stop Vance, and Vance looked at her wiggling fingers for a moment and kept his mouth closed.

  Cherry said, “Let me get my coat.”

  Behind them, the pacing stopped. Bette turned to see Charlotte surprised.

  “You’d do that?”

  “I’m going to get my coat,” Cherry said, turned and walked back to the patio door.

  Vance and Pris and Terry exchanged shocked looks.

  Charlotte said, “There’s hope for you yet, Bette Whaley.”

  “You’ll meet us at the station?”

  “I know my way out,” Charlotte said, wheeled and hiked back to the ivy-covered wooden gate door from which she entered.

  Bette waited till the gate was closed and Charlotte was gone. When she turned back, Vance was angry with her. “This is crazy, Mom, I have no idea, like absolutely no idea what you think you—”

  She snapped her fingers between them, and Vance stopped talking. She looked in his eyes, and it dawned on her son. Together they looked up to the new camera under the cottage’s corner eaves, right above where she’d spoken to Charlotte. “Vance, my wonderful baby boy,” she said, “would you pull the data from those new security cameras you installed—and if you tell me they’re not working yet, you’re grounded for life, and I don’t care if you’re too old for that.”

  TEN MINUTES LATER

  All five of them crowded into Pris’s pickup truck, Pris and Cherry up front, Vance and Terry and Bette—plus Buster Crab—in the back seat. They drove from the Steaming Bean up the hill the short distance to get to the Chesapeake Cove police station. Charlotte was there waiting in the parking lot and stepped out of her car as they pulled up next to her.

  “Fancy German car,” Pris said. “Figures.”

  With Buster sitting on the floor between her feet, his upper body on her knee and over Vance’s lap, she’d been texting with Marcus, telling him to meet her at reception and prepare to have his socks knocked off.

  He texted back saying he was all ready and had his socks stapled to his pant leg and laced up his boots tight.

  They disembarked from Pris’s truck. She told Buster to hold on, and closed him in the back with the windows down.

  Charlotte said nothing, but stood at the curbside and gestured for them to go ahead.

  Pris got up close to her side and hooked arms, whispering, “Gonna let you take the lead on this one, Bette. And you’re getting a promotion tomorrow.”

  “A gold shield?”

  “Gold shield, hon, and a corner office.”

  They all walked to the police station’s doors, opened them and went into the foyer. Stacy was at reception, Marcus stood waiting, elbow on the counter. In the bullpen, Jason Mitchum pushed his chair back, happy to see her coming. He rose, and filled the doorframe with his black uniform bulk for a second, saying, “No fish and chips today, Miss Bette?”

  She winked at him and said, “You might want to meet me at happy hour on Tuesday, Jason, my treat.”

  “Crab cakes!” Jason fist-pumped before returning to his desk.

  Marcus eyed the group, then settled his gaze on Bette. “What do we have here?”

  Charlotte said, “It’s time for some truth.”

  “There’s something you need to hear,” Bette said, and put a hand on Cherry’s shoulder.

  Marcus said, “This sounds serious,” and his eyes darted to Charlotte. The two still had a wedge between them after their vicious argument on the pier.

  Charlotte said, “This is of a most serious nature. You might as well go on and get my son out of wherever it is your holding him.”

  Bette touched Marcus’s arm, held him, and walked him away from the group. Close, she said, “You’re going to want Stephen out here. Trust me on this.”

  He smiled, then sighed. Shook his head and rubbed his forehead. “All right, Bette. I trust you.”

  Back at the counter, Marcus leaned on both elbows, hands clasped together, and shouted to the bullpen, “Jason, you bring Stephen Dawson out here for me right now, please?”

  Jason said, “Sure thing, boss,” jumped up, his chair shooting back and banging against a filing cabinet. He came around behind Stacy, cutting behind the reception desk, his heavy footsteps felt under Bette’s feet.

  “He’ll just be a minute,” Marcus said. “You want to take this into a back room?”

  * * *

  They gathered in the break room where she’d sat yesterday and ate fish and chips with Stephen Dawson. Terry leaned with crossed arms against the fridge, eyes darting around like she couldn’t believe she got to be here and hoping no one asked her to leave. Her cheeks were rosy with excitement. Vance and Pris leaned against the counter. Charlotte, Bette, and Cherry stood at one end of the table. Marcus stood on the other side, saying, “Let’s begin.”

  Charlotte said, “Cherry has something very important to tell you. It shocked me when she told me, I can assure you. But it all makes sense.”

  Marcus said, “Is that right, Miss Jambo? What do you have for me?”

  Cherry stood, calm in a black wool car coat
, hands in pockets, then brought out from a pocket her phone. She woke it, thumbed away for a second, and there was a whooshing sound. She said, “I’ve just sent you an email, Detective Seabolt.” Then she tapped the screen again, said, “And this is what’s in the email,” pressed play, and set her phone face up on the break room table.

  Marcus stooped with both hands on either side of the phone and watched the security camera footage. Charlotte leaned forward, scowling. Cherry said, “Everything you need to know is going to play out right on that screen.”

  Charlotte demanded: “What is this?”

  Cherry said, “It’s audio and video of you telling Bette all about planting the anchor on Jack’s body, taking out the knife to frame me, and putting it in my freezer.”

  Bette watched Charlotte’s face blanch under her makeup. Charlotte stepped back, eyes wide and fiery. “This is outrageous!”

  “It’s evidence,” Marcus said, watching now on Cherry’s phone as Bette led Charlotte to a perfect spot under the camera’s eye, just below the eaves. Their voices could clearly be heard.

  Bette said, “And if you listen real careful, I bet you, Marcus, you’re going to hear something that a good lawyer would describe as blackmail.”

  “Blackmail?” Charlotte gasped, horrified by the accusation. “You two are the criminals. You two planned this. You set me up!” Then a new thought: “You’ve been planning this all along!”

  Marcus still watched the video, ear cocked to hear Charlotte’s tinny confession.

  Charlotte hiked around, moved to leave, whipped open the break room door, paused, growled, slammed the door shut. She turned again and said, “Vinnie will have this whole department turned upside down. We won’t stand for this!”

  Jason Mitchum opened the door behind her, puzzled by why it was just slammed. He led behind him Stephen Dawson, still in his day-to-day clothes and with handcuffs on his wrists.

  Charlotte was astounded to see him. “Stephen, oh my gosh, Stephen,” she said, and clasped his cheeks with both hands. She kissed him and left a lipstick imprint at the corner of his mouth. “You’re getting out. Officer Mitchum, take these handcuffs off my son.”