by B. T. Lord
Deciding this was the perfect moment to make a clean getaway before Westerfield spoke up, Doc grabbed Cammie’s elbow and propelled her towards the door. “We must be on our way,” he replied over his shoulder.
“Will you be staying after the funeral?” Shirley called out.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. I must get back to my patients.”
“Promise me then you’ll both have dinner with us before you go. I’ll have cook make your favorite - seared New Zealand Elk Tenderloin with Parsnip Mousselin!”
He didn’t stop pulling Cammie along until they were back outside on Mount Vernon Street.
“New Zealand what?” she asked as he remotely opened the Navigator doors.
He rolled his eyes. “Basically an elk steak with whipped parsnips.”
“You never told me elk steak was your favorite.”
“It isn’t. It’s actually Father’s. But it was never worth the aggravation of telling her that.”
She shook her head. “My parents may have been fucked up, but I’ll take them any day of the week over yours.”
He gave her a withering look. “Now you understand why it’s not easy being me.”
“I’m surprised you’re as normal as you are. Normal, of course,” she added with a mischievous grin, “being a relative term.”
CHAPTER FIVE
It was one in the afternoon. Doc and Cammie were seated in a small French bistro on Charles Street, down the hill from where the Westerfields lived. Doc had ordered lunch though, after the confrontation with his father, he’d didn’t have much of an appetite. He now sat across from Cammie, listlessly picking at his rabbit and shallots in white wine. She, on the other hand, pretty much inhaled her mussels steamed with white wine, shallots and herbs. When she was done, she attacked the delicious slices of French baguette. They were perfect - crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside. Doc eyed her moodily as she ate away in contented bliss.
“Please don’t embarrass me by licking the plate.”
“Sorry, but when am I going to eat such a fabulous meal again? Jace may be a good cook, but he’d never come up with something so scrumptious.”
It was a well-known fact that Cammie was an atrocious cook. Once they began living together, Jace had to take over cooking duties if only to save their cabin from going up in flames.
He sniffed. “You would have been the one prisoner on death row who actually enjoyed her last meal before an execution.”
“Hey, he’s not my dad.”
“Thank you for that.”
“What’s his problem with Mantree interviewing him over the phone? Doesn’t he want his sister’s murderer caught?” She asked between bitefuls of the amazingly delicious crusty bread.
“This murder is distasteful to him. Not so much because it’s his sister, but because of the unwanted attention it’s going to elicit. It’s already in the Boston papers.”
“What does he think the papers are going to uncover? That his sister liked the woods? That she lived off grid?”
Doc didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to move his food around on his plate.
Cammie reached out and placed her hand over his. “Look, we can’t get away from the fact that your father is a pain in the ass who is still acting like it’s the 1800s and he’s the crowned prince. I’ll do my best to make sure he doesn’t get in the way of screwing up your plans for your aunt. And if he continues to interfere, or starts to insult you, I’ll just shoot him.”
“You’re a true friend.”
“Tell me, who is this Bitsy you mentioned?”
“Her name is Bitsy Monroe. She was Helen’s best friend ever since their days together at Finch College in Manhattan. If anyone truly knew Helen, it was Bitsy. When we’re done here, I thought we’d stop by and visit.”
“I thought you needed to see Lily about Helen’s funeral arrangements.”
Doc uttered a dramatic sigh. “Lily should never be visited on a full stomach. We’ll see her after we see Bitsy.”
“Is her name really Bitsy?”
“No. It’s Bernice. But as far back as I can remember, she was always called Bitsy.”
“Oh, you rich people with your funny names,” Cammie laughed.
Bitsy lived in a luxurious condo overlooking the Charles River Esplanade, the state-owned park situated on the south bank of the Charles River basin. Cammie remembered jogging along the waterfront, taking in the fresh spring air as fellow Bostonians jogged, biked and roller skated beside the shoreline, while dozens of white-masted sailboats pirouetted back and forth along the Charles. In the summer, concerts were held at the Hatch Shell, including the famous Fourth of July concert, performed by the Boston Pops which culminated in the 1812 Overture, complete with real cannon fire and ending with a spectacular fireworks display.
Entering the Victorian era building on Beacon Street, they rode up an elevator which deposited them right into Bitsy’s apartment. The maid welcomed them into the living room where Bitsy sat on the sofa beside her marble fireplace.
“Samuel, my boy!” she exclaimed.
“Don’t get up,” he ordered as he came to her and sat down. She took his hands and daintily kissed his cheek.
Like Doc’s mother, Bitsy was dressed in a beautiful green dress, with the requisite pearls around her neck and her hair perfectly curled in a whitish blonde pageboy cut. On her gnarled left hand she wore a diamond that Cammie swore had to be the size of Rhode Island. On her right, she sported a huge square blue sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds that sparkled in the light.
“I’m so sorry about Helen,” she said in the same clipped accent Shirley spoke in. “Such a tragedy.”
Doc made the introductions. Bitsy turned her light blue eyes towards Cammie and studied her for a long moment. Finally she asked, “Are you Samuel’s new beau?”
Cammie almost choked. Doc immediately swooped in. “She’s a very dear friend, Bitsy. In fact, she’s the sheriff in the small town in Maine I now live in.”
Once again, Bitsy quietly studied her. “You are a police officer?” she asked, slightly surprised.
“Yes, I am.”
“I’ve never had a police officer in my home before.”
And obviously none of Doc’s beaus in her home either.
Cammie sat down in the chair opposite Bitsy. “I’m not here as a police officer. I’m simply here as a supportive friend to-” She almost said Doc. Instead she said, “—Samuel.”
“Then you must also consider me a friend,” Bitsy replied. “Would you care for some tea or coffee? Perhaps some pastries?”
“Thank you, no,” Doc responded. “We just finished having lunch at Le Petit Provençal.”
“An excellent choice. But then again, you were always such an expert at picking just the right restaurant.” She looked at Cammie, her eyes twinkling. “I bet he chose the most exquisite wine.” Cammie nodded. Bitsy sat back and clapped her hands together joyfully.
“Samuel was telling me you and Helen met in college,” Cammie asked, unable to repress not only her natural curiosity, but her investigative curiosity.
“I felt as though I’d always known her. As soon as we met our first day at Finch, we became instant friends. We were quite inseparable.”
“What was she like?”
Bitsy giggled and Cammie saw how beautiful and coquettish she must have been in her younger days. “Helen wasn’t afraid of anything. She was always daring our little group to try things we’d never tried before – such as climbing in the dorm windows after curfew, smoking behind the gymnasium. The first time I ever became inebriated was when Helen stole some port from the head mistress’s office and insisted we finish the bottle. I became so ill, I’ve never touched a drop of port again. Oh yes, she was quite the impish troublemaker. Of course that all changed when she married Freddy.”
“Really?” Doc asked, surprised by this. “Why?”
“You remember him, don’t you Samuel? You had to have the patience of a saint to be marrie
d to such a tedious individual. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. He adored your aunt and took very good care of her. He placed her on a pedestal.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Cammie said.
“Perhaps not. But it’s a very lonely place to be. Especially when you are expected to be perfect. That’s probably why she took to disappearing.”
Both Doc and Cammie exchanged perplexed looks. “Disappearing?” Doc echoed.
“Yes. Every year, she would simply up and disappear. It would never be for very long – a few weeks at the most. Then she’d reappear as though nothing had happened and she’d take up her duties once again as Mrs. Carsgrove.”
“Did they happen at any particular time of the year?” Cammie asked, intrigued by what she was hearing.
“Usually just before summer. It was as if she needed this time to prepare herself for the endless summer parties she would throw for Freddy’s clients in their home on Cape Cod.”
“What did you make of these disappearances?”
“Oh, I perfectly understood them. As I said earlier, it’s not easy being perfect. She needed time to be un-perfect, if you know what I mean.”
“Do you have any idea where she went and what she did when she disappeared?”
Bitsy shook her head. “I asked her once and she simply smiled that strange, enigmatic smile she had that told you, without words, that you were wasting your breath asking a question she was never going to answer.”
Cammie took her time trying to formulate the next question. “Do you think she was alone when she took these unexpected trips?”
To her surprise, Bitsy threw her head back and laughed. “Are you trying to ask me if she had a lover? Oh my, I hope she did. She certainly earned it.”
“What was your impression when she suddenly decided to move to northern Maine?”
“I thought she was mad. Who in heaven’s name would willingly live in the boondocks? And in a home without running water? How utterly ghastly! But that was Helen. Despite knowing her the majority of my life and sharing a deep friendship, I think I always knew that I didn’t really know her. I don’t think anybody truly did. And that’s the way she preferred it.”
A thought occurred to Cammie. After mulling it over for a few moments, she decided to take a chance. “Have you ever heard of a man named Rob who was a part of Helen’s life?”
Bitsy tilted her perfected coifed head and considered the question. “There were several Robs that moved in our social circle. Why do you ask?”
“We found a letter in Helen’s house that was written to her by a man who simply signed himself ‘Rob’.”
“Interesting,” she murmured.
“The letter was written forty-one years ago,” Doc replied. “Whoever he was is probably dead by now.” He then gave Cammie an exaggerated look. “I’m afraid my friend here finds it impossible to restrain her, how shall I put this, curiosity.”
Cammie blushed as Bitsy laughed. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. However, when I spoke to that nice officer on the phone, he mentioned a possible person of interest.”
“Yes. It’s the man who brought the lawsuit against Helen,” Doc explained.
Bitsy clicked her tongue. “I don’t know why Helen insisted on getting herself involved in these lawsuits. They only cost money and leaves so many hard feelings.”
“Mr. Westerfield mentioned she was rather litigious,” Cammie spoke up.
Bitsy nodded. “She spent years in the courts trying to make the beach in front of her summer home on Cape Cod private. But that was Helen. So loving and thoughtful one moment, then impervious and rather severe the next.” Bitsy looked at Doc and smiled. “Then again, none of us are perfect. At least in private.”
“I need to confer with Lily on the funeral arrangements, but if there’s anything you believe Helen would have liked, I’d like your input as well.”
“Thank you, Samuel. I’m pleased that you thought of me.”
“You were Helen’s best friend. I’m sure your presence in her life made her extremely happy.”
“That would be nice if it were true.”
Doc gave her a bewildered look. “What do you mean?”
Bitsy shook her head sadly. “My dear, Helen was the most unhappiest woman I ever knew.”
She didn’t elaborate and the conversation soon turned to reminiscing about old friends and the many good times they’d all shared over the years. Cammie remained silent, bemused at all the nicknames their social set had for each other such as Pumpy and Guffie. For a few moments, she was able to see into the life of privilege and wealth as Bitsy shamelessly name dropped as she and Doc spoke of yearly visits to the Mediterranean or the Scottish Highlands, staying with Lady this and Lord that.
Once again, she found herself comparing Doc’s early life to hers. She considered herself lucky if her parents brought her to Bangor. However, after watching the dynamics between Doc and his father, she realized that although her childhood would have been considered dirt poor by their standards, she still preferred her life up in Twin Ponds. It wasn’t the Mediterranean or the Scottish Highlands, but there had been moments of love and nurturing and feeling safe with her parents. Of having her father cheer her on when she played hockey with the Night Hawks or talk her through a devastating loss that she felt could have been avoided if she’d only played harder. Even those moments had been few and far between. But they were there, in her heart and in her memory. And they were priceless.
Doc had nothing like that. His memories were filled with harsh criticisms and bullying and constantly being told he wasn’t good enough. That he was an embarrassment to the Westerfield name. Cammie’s father had turned remote through his drinking. Eliot had been born remote.
As she vaguely listened to another story, she realized that Doc may have grown up knowing what it was like to be wealthy. But she had grown up knowing what it was like to be hugged and encouraged. Who then, between the two of them, was truly the richer one?
When it was time to leave, Bitsy walked them to the elevator where she gave Doc a hug.
“It was so good of you to stop by and see me,” Bitsy replied. She turned to Cammie and shook her hand. “And it was such a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon making a list of what I think Helen would have wanted for her funeral service. Then we’ll spend the rest of the week watching Lily shoot down every one of them.” Instead of being offended at such a prospect, Bitsy laughed. “Then again, one must be considerate of her, especially now.”
“It must be awful losing her mother like that,” Cammie commiserated.
“Her mother and her two husbands.”
“Two husbands?” Cammie asked, doing a double take.
“Oh my, that came out wrong, didn’t it? Lily wasn’t married to them at the same time. That’s illegal, isn’t it? What I meant to say is that last year, Lily’s ex-husband disappeared. Then about a month before Helen died, her current husband Charles died in a tragic accident.” Bitsy shook her head. “There’s only so much bad luck a human being can take. Therefore,” she added, giving Doc a pointed look. “We must be a little extra patient with her.”
Cammie wanted to question Bitsy more about Lily’s husbands, but she could tell by the expression on Doc’s face that he didn’t want to get into it. They said their good-byes and rode down the elevator.
The two stepped out of the building into the bright sunshine and warm breezes on Beacon Street.
“Seems your aunt is more elusive than even you imagined,” Cammie said as they walked towards Doc’s Navigator. “I bet she was meeting the mysterious Rob when she pulled these disappearing acts.”
They sat in the vehicle. But instead of turning on the ignition, Doc just sat there, pensively staring out the windshield.
“Are you okay?” Cammie asked.
“I never knew how unhappy Helen was. Nor did I know what a daredevil she was in her younger days. Every time I saw her, she acted with decorum and g
race. It’s hard to picture her climbing into dorm windows after lights out.” He shook his head. “God, what did she give up in the pursuit of being the perfect wife?”
“Probably the same thing you did in trying to be the perfect son.”
“It certainly wasn’t always easy for us.”
Cammie turned and looked at Doc. “You just said ‘us’.”
He suddenly looked embarrassed, as though he’d said something he instantly realized he shouldn’t have said. He hesitated, then said, “I have a brother.”
Her jaw dropped. “You never told me that.”
“You never asked.”
“Well, I’m asking you now.”
“His name is Horatio.”
“Is he older or younger than you?”
“Younger by two years.”
Cammie studied Doc’s expression before rolling her eyes. “Don’t tell me he’s the favorite.” Doc shrugged. “Jeez, your childhood really is like something out of a Dickens novel. Is he here in Boston?”
“No. He lives in Wyoming where he takes care of the family ranch.”
“Family ranch?”
“Helen wasn’t the only one concerned with the environment. He runs an organic cattle operation near the Big Horn Mountains.”
“Do I really want to know how big this ranch is?”
“Oh, about 20,000 acres give or take a stray acre or two.”
“Is he anything like your father?”
“On the contrary. I think you’d like Horatio. He has a wonderful sense of humor. And unlike me, he’s tall and rather good looking.”
“Is he gay too?”
“Far from it. He took to heart the saying ‘sowing your wild oats.’ Unfortunately, he won’t be able to make the funeral. He had a riding accident last month and is nursing a broken leg. He’s sending a large bouquet of flowers though – blue and white hydrangeas which were Helen’s favorites.”
“Before you sideswipe me again, do you have any other siblings I should know about?”
He shook his head. She was about to ask him about Lily and her husbands when the look of distress on his face caused her to reconsider.
