The Sour Cherry Surprise

by David Handler

  To: Bella Tillis

  From: Mitch Berger

  Subject: Re: Unhappy Turn of Events

  Dear Bella—Really sorry to hear about Richard. I didn’t know him well but from everything Molly told me he seemed like a terrific guy. And I can’t believe what’s happened to her mother. When I first moved out to Big Sister I used to see Carolyn jogging through the Nature Preserve every morning. She‘d always smile and wave to me. I remember that I kept thinking how weird it was for such a beautiful woman to be so friendly to a total stranger. My frame of reference was the city, where someone with her looks would simply stare right through me. You see, I hadn’t figured out yet that Carolyn’s behavior was the norm for Dorset. People smile at you there. Carolyn was part of my initiation to that otherworldly place.

  I’ll be sure to send Molly a note at Kimberly’s. It sounds like her aunt’s farm in Maine will be the best thing for her. She needs to get away from that mess. She and Carolyn both.

  As to the resident trooper, ahem, where do I begin? For starters, you’ve totally fictionalized our crime-fighting exploits. Des never regarded me as anything more than an amateur goof-ball who kept blundering my way into her business. Really nice attempt at spin on your part, though. Have you thought about a career in politics? Hey, here’s an idea: You could run for the U.S. Congress against Him. The voters need you, Bella. Congress needs you. Think about it.

  Also, you’ve conveniently overlooked that she dumped me in a spectacularly heart-stomping fashion. So I will not be reaching out to her. Not about Richard’s murder. Not about the state of her health. She’s probably just dieting so she can fit into a thong bikini so as to please Him. Besides, her hands always shake when she drinks too much coffee. Tell her to drink less coffee. Tell her to eat more. Tell her to … Come to think of it, I don’t care what you tell her.

  Bella, I’ve met someone. She’s a dance critic named Cecily Naughton. Cecily just moved here from London and we’ve hit it off big-time. Remember my former editor, Lacy Nickerson? You met her at the hospital in New London that time I got shot in the leg. Anyway, Lacy introduced the two of us. And before you even ask me, the answer is No, Cecily is not one of the chosen people. Though she is anointed. Her grandfather was the earl of somewhere. Not that she takes any of that peerage stuff seriously. She’s a very smart, funny and opinionated woman. Also totally hot. We argue about our work a lot. We laugh a lot. What else can I tell you? Oh, I know—I haven’t seen her since this morning and I already miss her.

  Happily, she’s arranged to be in L.A. while I’m out there. I sort of invited her to come, actually. She wants to check out a couple of experimental dance companies up in San Francisco. Then she’s going to fly down to L.A. so we can spend some quality time together. I’m leaving on a flight first thing tomorrow morning. I expect to be at the Four Seasons for about ten days. I’ll have my laptop. Feel free to e-mail me if you need me for any reason.

  I’d rather you didn’t say anything to Des about Cecily, if you don’t mind. I simply wanted you to know I’m back on my feet and couldn’t be happier. In fact, I’m practically giddy. Not that it’s love or anything. Love doesn’t just happen overnight. Not in real life, anyway. Only in movies that star Reese Witherspoon.

  Seriously, I wouldn’t worry about the master sergeant. She just forgets to eat when she’s wrapped up in her work. She takes her job to heart. Sometimes too much. That’s why she took up drawing. She’ll be fine once she has a piece of graphite stick in her fingers again, which is something she knows perfectly well.

  Want to know something? I came to a major realization today. Des and I didn’t bring out the best in each other. We thought we did, but we were wrong. Brandon is the person who she belongs with. And now maybe I’ve found someone who is right for me, too. Things certainly seem to be turning out like they’re supposed to. Who knows, maybe real life is just like the movies. Fade out. Roll closing credits….

  Love, Mitch

  To: Mitch Berger

  From: Bella Tillis

  Subject: Re: Re: Unhappy Turn of Events

  Dear Mr. Hot Shot New York Movie Critic—I am so pleased that you’ve met someone who you care about. I want nothing more than for you to be happy. I can’t wait to meet your lovely Cecily.

  Much love, Aunt Bella

  p.s. Is Reese Witherspoon the one with the chin?

  p.p.s. If I ever meet up with Lacy Nickerson again I intend to punch her in the nose.

  CHAPTER 11

  CAROLYN WAS LOOKING LIMP but a whole lot better. They’d gotten her into a shower. Her long blond hair was washed. And she was on an intravenous drip to bring her back from her malnourished condition. Her color had improved. So had her mental state. She seemed lucid and calm as she lay there in her bed. No restraints needed. For now, they were keeping her on a mild sedative.

  She was in a semiprivate room in Middlesex Hospital, which was a half hour north of Dorset up in Middletown. Her roommate was in surgery, so right now Carolyn had it all to herself—not counting the tanned, weathered woman who was seated by the bed talking softly to her when Des arrived.

  Megan Chichester of Blue Hill, Maine, immediately got up out of her chair and stuck out a hand.

  “We meet at last,” said Des, her own slim hand disappearing inside Megan’s rough, calloused one.

  “I came as fast as I could.” Carolyn’s sister was immediately on the defensive. “Not fast enough, I guess.”

  “There’s no way you could have anticipated this. Don’t blame yourself.”

  “She’s right, Meggie,” Carolyn said softly. “Please don’t.”

  “Thank you both,” Megan responded. “But I know what I know. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.” Megan was several years older than Carolyn. Mid-forties, maybe. Their faces had a similar bone structure. Those same high, terrific cheekbones. Otherwise, the two sisters looked nothing alike. Megan was shorter and stockier, her wavy dark brown hair streaked with silver. She wore a faded chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans and work boots.

  Des showed Carolyn her smile. “I’ve been sent here by Lieutenant Tedone to ask you a few follow-up questions. If you don’t mind, that is.”

  “I don’t mind. It helps to talk.”

  “I’d like to stay,” said Megan, hovering over her sister protectively.

  “That’s absolutely not a problem.”

  Megan sat back down, farmer hands folded in her lap.

  Des pulled up another chair and sat, Smokey hat over one knee. The room was on a high floor. She could see the Connecticut River outside the window. “How are you feeling today, Carolyn?”

  “I’m not … exactly sure how to answer that,” Carolyn said slowly. “I still feel like I’m not here. Not me. Haven’t been me. Somebody else. Somebody wired and crazy. Or a-a total zombie. God, how do I feel?” She blinked at Des several times, then lowered her blue eyes to the clean white sheet covering her. “Like I want to crawl under this bed and stay there. I’m ashamed of myself. And so tired. I-I keep falling asleep thinking it’s all just one big nightmare. But then I wake up and I remember it’s not. It’s all happening. It’s really happening.”

  “We’re going to get through this, sweetie,” Megan said reassuringly. “I promise you we will.”

  “Richard is dead!“ Carolyn cried out. “I thought we would always be together. I thought we were happy. We had each other. And Molly. And our work. Then one day he walks in and tells me there’s someone else and he …” She let out a jagged sob. “Just like that it was over. Meggie, I know you two never exactly got along.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Carolyn’s eyes flashed at her. “It is so. You hated him. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

  “I loved Richard,” Megan insisted, keeping her voice gentle. “I just thought he could be a bit full of himself, that’s all. Everything was always about his career. He treated yours like it was nothing more than a cute little hobby. Which I happened to find very
condescending. But as long as you were happy together then I was happy for you.”

  Des soaked up this exchange with great interest. Megan Chichester was the only person she’d encountered so far who had a single bad word to say about Richard Procter. Had the negative feelings been mutual? “Carolyn, did Richard tell you who this other woman was?”

  Carolyn gazed at her blankly. “Why do you need to know that?”

  “Just trying to connect the dots. It’s what they pay me to do.”

  “I asked him not to. I didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to keep running into her at the beauty parlor and the hardware store knowing. I simply told him to leave. And he did. This was … a few weeks ago. After that, I was so thrown that I did things I don’t usually do. I-I can’t explain why.”

  “You don’t have to explain why,” Megan said soothingly. “You went a little nutty. We all do that sometimes. That’s what keeps us sane.”

  “Meggie, I went a lot nutty. Drank way too much. Brought strange men home with me. Got into dope. Me who never so much as smoked a joint before.”

  “She’s not kidding about that,” Megan told Des. “When we were kids Carolyn was always the goody-goody. I was the bad seed.”

  “Carolyn, what can you tell me about Clay Mundy?”

  She stiffened slightly at the mention of his name. “He was … real sweet. Helpful, caring. A nice man. Or at least I thought he was. He’s not. Nor is Hector. Those two made me do things that I would never, ever …” Carolyn broke off, shuddering violently. “They had friends who’d show up sometimes with deliveries. I did them, too. I had to. If I objected they’d hit me. Or burn me with cigarettes. Or tie me to the bedpost and do what they wanted no matter what. They kept me so stoned that I barely even knew what I was doing. I had no idea if it was day or night. Who they were. Who I was. But I couldn’t make it stop. And after a while it all just seemed … normal. These nurses can shove me in that shower a million times, but I don’t think I’ll ever feel clean again for the rest of my …” Carolyn’s eyes suddenly widened with fright. “What if I’ve picked up some horrible sexually transmitted disease?”

  Megan reached over and stroked her forehead. “They’re checking you for every little thing, sweetie. You’re going to be fine. Don’t you worry.”

  Carolyn breathed in and out, her calm slowly returning. “Clay’s dope really pulled me in. I was swallowed up before I knew what hit me. I wanted to be swallowed up. Today … this is the first time my head’s been close to clear in ages. I can actually tell the difference between right and wrong. But if you were to stick a blow pipe in front of me right now I’d lunge for it. Give me half a chance and I’ll start up again as soon as I go home.”

  “That’s why you’re not going home,” Megan told her.

  “Meggie, I can’t stay here forever.”

  “As soon as you feel stronger you’ll start your counseling sessions. Those will continue even after you’re discharged. And there are all kinds of support programs. And you’ve got me to look out for you.”

  “Is Clay … is he still there?”

  “He’s still residing in your home, yes,” Des said. “He and Hector both.”

  “I don’t want them there. I don’t want them anywhere near Molly.”

  “Molly’s safe. She’s with Kimberly and Jen.”

  “And I’ll tell the bastards to get out,” Megan promised her.

  “They won’t listen to you.”

  “They’ll listen to me,” Des said. “And you have my word that neither man will be around Sour Cherry Lane for much longer.”

  “My sweet little baby girl,” Carolyn sighed. “Her father’s dead and her mother’s a drugged out whore. God, what must she think of me?”

  “She’s concerned about you,” Megan said. “But she’s resilient and she’s strong.”

  “And a lot of good people are looking out for her,” Des said. “Not only the Beckwiths but Amber and Keith. Also Bella.”

  “And your friend Mitch, I bet,” Carolyn said, nodding her head. “I know Molly adores him.”

  “Well, no. Mitch moved back to New York.”

  Carolyn looked at Des in disbelief. “I knew that. You two broke up months ago. Sorry, there are big chunks of things I keep forgetting.”

  “The doctor told you there might be short term memory lapses,” Megan said. “But you’re going to get better, sweetie. As soon as you feel up to it we’ll head home to the farm and I’ll put you to work out in the fresh air. You’ll be your old self before you know it. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “If you say so,” said Carolyn, unconvinced.

  “How much do you know about Clay’s business?” Des asked her.

  “He never works at it very hard. Although he and Hector always have plenty of money. That’s all I know.”

  “Those men who you said were making deliveries—deliveries of what?”

  “Haven’t the slightest idea. I wasn’t very conscious of what went on outside of my bedroom.”

  “Do you remember when I came to your house to tell you that Richard had been hospitalized?”

  “Maybe,” she answered drowsily. “Not really.”

  “How about when Richard showed up there last week?”

  “He wanted to come home. I didn’t want to see him. Or him to see me. I told Clay to make him go away.”

  “Carolyn, what can you tell me about last night? Think hard, please. Any light you can shed will be a tremendous help. Did Richard show up there again? Did he knock on your door? Ask to see you?”

  Carolyn’s eyelids were starting to droop. “I don’t remember anything like that. Richard knocking on the door. Or anybody else. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I was so high that anybody could have been … They heated up a pizza.”

  “Clay and Hector?”

  “They were in the kitchen playing cards. I was in bed with my iPod, blissing out on Green. I still love R.E.M. When I was in college they were the coolest band. So smart and hip.”

  “What else do you remember?”

  “Hector,” she replied, curling her lip in disgust. “He came in and did what he felt like. He smells really bad. I don’t know, maybe I crashed after that. Until there was this huge commotion.”

  Des leaned forward slightly. “What kind of commotion?”

  “You coming in to tell me that Richard was dead. Only I didn’t believe you. I wanted to see him for myself. And there were police cars. And neighbors standing out there staring at me and …” She trailed off. “I wigged out, didn’t I?”

  “Just a little.”

  “Now I’m so tired,” she murmured, her eyes falling shut. “I’m just so completely, totally tired.”

  A nurse bustled in to check Carolyn’s vitals and change her IV bag. Des put her big hat back on and left the lady to it. Megan followed her out into the hospital corridor.

  “May I ask you what else her doctor has told you?” Des said to her.

  “That the emotional burden of Richard’s death will make it even harder to wean her off of the meth. No surprise there.” Megan jammed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, rocking back and forth on her heels like an old-timey New England farmer. “He asked me if she’s a strong person emotionally. I told him she is. But dear God, nobody’s that strong.”

  “He discussed short term memory loss with you. How about the other possible side effects of prolonged meth use?”

  “Such as …?”

  “Paranoia and rage. Episodes of violent behavior. We have a lot of criminal cases on file that fit such a pattern.”

  Megan glowered at her. “What are you saying—that you think Carolyn may have killed Richard herself and doesn’t remember it?”

  “I’m saying we can’t rule anything out.”

  “I know my sister, okay? She’s the gentlest soul on earth. She could never, ever do something like that. I don’t care how stoned she was.”

  “We believe that two people were involved. The slasher and whoever helpe
d him dispose of the body.”

  “She wasn’t involved. And you’ll never make me believe so.”

  “I don’t mean to be harsh, Megan. I’m just trying to prepare you. Have you met Clay Mundy yet?”

  “I have no interest in meeting him,” she said, yawning hugely. And looking plenty weary herself.

  “I take it you sat up all night with her.”

  “I did, yeah. I’m told there’s a decent motel across the street. I’ll get a room there until she’s ready to leave.”

  “I was surprised it took you so long to get here yesterday from Blue Hill.”

  Now she eyed Des very guardedly. “What do you mean by that?”

  “When I phoned your partner, Susan, she told me it’s an eight to ten hour drive, depending on the traffic. You left there at noon and yet you didn’t get here until midnight.”

  “That’s all true. Except Susan didn’t tell you that I was up at five a.m. putting in a solid six hours of chores before I left. My eyes started to get tired after a few hours on the road, so I pulled off at a rest stop outside of Ogunquit and took a nap for a couple of hours.”

  “That would be Ogunquit, Maine?”

  “That’s right. Now you’re making it sound like I’m the one who killed Richard.”

  “Just connecting the dots, as I said before.”

  “And I didn’t like it when you said it before,” Megan blustered. “I’m not a dot. My sister’s not a dot.”

  “I take it you and Richard had issues.”

  “Richard Procter was an overbearing, pompous jerk. I could barely tolerate the man. Is that what you mean by issues?”

  “Did he have a problem with you?”

  “Do you mean because I’m gay? As a matter of fact he did. He was not comfortable spending time with us at the farm. Didn’t care for his precious Molly being around ‘The Girls.’ He was petrified that somehow Susan and I would indoctrinate Molly into the secret ya-ya sisterhood of queerdom. When we were here for Christmas he made it abundantly clear to us that he did not want to return to Blue Hill this summer.”

  “How did you feel about that?”