The Sour Cherry Surprise

by David Handler

  Amber gazed at her searchingly for a long moment. “Keith and I … weren’t married yet.” Her voice was soft and trembly. “When Richard and I got involved, I mean.”

  “Do not say another word,” Keith ordered her.

  “Oh, screw that,” Amber shot back. “I’m tired of keeping quiet. Keeping quiet has done nothing but send us straight to hell.” She drew in a ragged breath and continued. “Keith and I got into this huge fight at Thanksgiving last year because I wanted to set our wedding date and he didn’t. He wanted to wait a while longer. You know how scared off men can get.”

  “Sure,” Des said. “Not like us.”

  “Things got so out of hand between the two of us that I threw him out. He moved back in with his brother Kevin. We were through, okay? It was over between us. Not for long. We patched things up over Christmas and Keith moved back in. We were married soon after that. But during those few weeks we were apart I was real lonely and hurting. Vulnerable, too, I guess. Richard knew right away that Keith wasn’t around anymore. And one night he stopped by. Confessed that he’d been madly in love with me ever since I was a sophomore, barely nineteen. I’d never known how he felt. I mean, sure, he helped me get into Yale and found me this cottage and all. But I thought he was just interested in me as a promising young scholar. I realize now how incredibly naïve and stupid that sounds. An older man taking an interest in a female protégé—it has to be about sex, right?”

  Des didn’t answer. It wasn’t really a question.

  “But Richard was never like that. He’d never so much as hinted that he wanted me. Besides, he and Carolyn seemed so happy together. And he adored Molly. I-I was shocked when he told me. And flattered. And angry at Keith. And, let’s face it, just a total fool. Because I let it happen, okay? It was all over in a couple of weeks as far as I was concerned. Had to be over. I’m not the sort of person who can sneak around with a married man in a succession of cheap motels scattered halfway across the state. He had Carolyn and Molly to think about. I had Keith.” She gazed up at him, smiling sadly. “We were totally miserable those weeks we were apart. And so we got married and our lives returned to normal. I didn’t tell him about Richard. And Richard didn’t tell Carolyn about me. We agreed it would be better for everyone if we kept it a secret. We all need our secrets, right? No one tells their loved ones everything.” Amber halted, her eyes shining. “But Richard wouldn’t let go. He kept calling me on my cell phone. Saying he was going to leave Carolyn. That without me he had nothing to live for. I told him no a million times. He wouldn’t listen to me. Just kept calling and calling. Sounding increasingly, I don’t know, unstrung with every call. And then the crazy fool went and did it. He told Carolyn he was in love with someone else.”

  “Did he tell her it was you?”

  Amber shook her head. “Richard had an intensely old-fashioned sense of honor. Behaving like a ‘gentleman’ meant everything to him. Carolyn’s response was to throw him out, ‘gentleman’ or not. He moved into Bob Sorin’s guest house, and that’s when he really started to lose it. I could barely make sense out of what he was saying on the phone. And then one night he even showed up here. Knocked on that very door right there and begged me to take him back. Thank God Keith had volunteer fire department business and wasn’t home. When I said no he fell to his knees and started to weep. Then he marched up the lane and stood out there in his own driveway begging Carolyn to take him back.”

  “This was the night he and Clay got into their fight?”

  “It was,” Amber confirmed. “I felt … I feel responsible.”

  “You weren’t,” Keith argued. “It was all his own doing. He should never have come sniffing around you in the first place. A professor is an authority figure. A guy in his position isn’t supposed to hit on students.”

  “I wasn’t his student anymore,” Amber reminded him, a defensive edge creeping into her voice. “And I’m not a child. I’m twenty-three.”

  “Tell you what,” Des interjected. “We can debate that point another time. Right now, let’s talk about the night Richard died.”

  “He came back,” Amber said hopelessly, her eyes puddling with tears. “We were in here washing our dinner dishes. There was a knock on that door. I opened it and there he was again, demanding that I take him back. Only this time Keith was … he was standing right here, Des. And Richard just kept on ranting anyway. I’ll never, ever forget the look on Keith’s face. I’ve never seen such disbelief. Or such total rage. He’d been drying our carving knife when Richard showed up. Had it in his hand. And he just chased after Richard and h-he—”

  “I made that bastard pay,” Keith blustered angrily. In fact, he was barely holding on to his composure even now. His face was red, eyes bulging, fists clenched. “And don’t ask me if I’m sorry it happened, Des, because I’m not. I’d do it all over again. Amber’s my wife. She’s mine. He had no right to demand anything. He sure as hell had no right to put his hands on her. I don’t care how many frigging postgraduate degrees he had. All I’ve got is a high school diploma, but I know right from wrong. And you don’t come to another man’s house and call out his wife. You just don’t do that to a man. Not without paying for it. Christ, what was that smug bastard thinking?”

  “He wasn’t thinking,” Des responded quietly. “Not clearly anyhow.”

  Despite the manly words coming out of his mouth Keith didn’t come off like a man to her. More like a jealous, possessive little boy who had anger management issues. A boy whose eyes had started flicking furtively over at the back door. He was thinking about making a run for it.

  Des tensed immediately, sincerely hoping he wouldn’t. She didn’t want to have to shoot someone she had once considered a friend.

  To her great relief, Keith returned to his senses and sank slowly into one of the kitchen chairs. “He had no right,” he repeated stubbornly. “Amber’s mine. And just thinking about the two of them in bed together gets my blood boiling so bad I can barely …” He ran a thick hand over his face, sighing dejectedly. “I’ve ruined both our lives for good, haven’t I?”

  “And Richard’s for damned sure,” Des said. “Carolyn and Molly will never be the same. And then, of course, there’s Clay and Hector. But we won’t even go there.”

  “Des, I do wish I could take that moment back,” he admitted. “But I can’t. It happened. I lost control. We are talking about blind rage. More than that even. It was … I was terrified.”

  “Of what, Keith?”

  “Losing her. I could feel my whole world—everything I live for and pray for—all going poof right before my eyes. You’ve got to understand something. I didn’t have much going for me when I was growing up. I was a lousy student, a no-good athlete. Just a big, dumb oaf going nowhere. Kevin was the shining star of our family. Kevin had the brains, the personality, the get-up-and-go. God, I wish I had a nickel for every time my parents said ‘Why can’t you be more like your brother?’ And when it came to girls, forget it. I was so bashful I could barely open my mouth—until Amber came along.” He gazed up at her lovingly, his eyes misting over. “I could say anything to Amber and she’d understand. Amber believed in me. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me in my whole life. I’d die without her. I guess that sounds pretty lame.”

  “Not to me it doesn’t. But if you love her so much why did you panic about marrying her?”

  “Because I didn’t believe it. I was convinced she’d wake up on our honeymoon and realize she’d just made a terrible mistake. And want out. I couldn’t believe my luck. Still can’t. Someone as special as Amber wanting to be with me. So when I found out that she and Richard, that he’d taken her from me … I-I went nuts. Let my emotions get the best of me. That happens sometimes, especially after I’ve had a couple of beers. Not that I’m blaming Sam Adams. It’s my own damned fault.”

  Des turned back to Amber. “And then you helped him dump Richard’s body and hide the evidence.”

  “I owed him that much,” Amber ac
knowledged, her voice cracking. “I’m the one who cheated. I-I let Richard love me. I should have just come clean about it when we got back together. But Keith was so happy. We both were. So I buried it deep inside and I hoped it would go away. Only it didn’t. It was my fault, Des. I’m responsible for Richard’s death, not Keith.”

  “So you phoned it in,” Des said. “And when I showed here you two handed me a made-up story, hoping you could live happily ever after. Except it doesn’t work that way, does it? You can’t build your life on something rotten. You have to pay the price. It’ll be better this way, hard as that is for you to imagine right now.”

  “What happens now?” Keith sounded more like a sorrowful little boy with each passing moment. “Are you going to arrest us?”

  “No, Lieutenant Tedone and Sergeant Snipes will do that.” Des heard them pull up outside right on time. She’d phoned them before she left home. Went to the front door now and let them in.

  Then Des Mitry strode back up Sour Cherry Lane to tell the Sullivans’ landlady, Patricia Beckwith, that she was going to have herself another vacancy.

  EPILOGUE

  (ONE WEEK LATER)

  To: Mitch Berger

  From: Molly Procter

  Subject: Hey

  Greetings from way up here in beautiful Blue Hill, Maine, where it still goes down into the 40s at night even though, duh, it’s July. It’s pretty okay here on the farm. I miss Big Sister and all of Bella’s kitties but Aunt Meggie has let me adopt a golden retriever puppy. He is big footed and sweet and kind of doofusy. I’ve named him Mitch. Hope you don’t mind. And if you do, well, too bad. He already knows his name!

  My mom is doing okay with her Work Farm Rehab, as she calls it. She’s doesn’t smile or laugh as much as she used to. But she looks much better, and puts in what Meggie’s partner Susan calls “an honest day’s work.” Here in Maine, that’s what passes for high praise, mister! Mom is even talking about starting a new Molly book, which would be great because we could use the money. Farmers are really poor. Did you know that?

  She’s not the only one who does “an honest day’s work” around here. I’m now milking the goats like an old pro. We sell their milk to a cheese maker down the road. I also take care of the chickens and help tend the garden. Our veggie garden is huge. Everything is organic. Susan takes what we grow to a green market twice a week where chefs from all kinds of fancy restaurants in Portland and even Boston buy it.

  You’d like it here, Mitch. Lots of really weird neighbors. A few kids my age. One really annoying boy named Connor who lives on the farm next to ours and just won’t leave me alone. He has a crush on me that is so totally not mutual. I’m at least eight inches taller than he is. Seriously, I can drive to the hoop on him at will. But I let him score a bucket or two on me every once in a while just so he won’t give up.

  I still work on my game for one hour every day. Coach Geno has recruited girls from as far away as Alaska (check out Jessica Moore’s bio if you don’t believe me). So I’m not off of the UConn radar screen even if I am a million miles away. If there’s talent out there, Geno will find it. And I’m the real deal. I know this.

  We don’t have a TV. Meggie and Susan don’t believe in it. But I should be able to download your new show from your Web site. So be careful what you say. I’m going to be watching you, mister!

  Anyway, I just wanted to say hi and tell you not to worry about me. I’m fine. I think about my dad an awful lot even though he’s gone. But Meggie says that’s an okay thing to do. He would want me to remember him, and I shouldn’t fight it. So I’m not.

  I think about you a lot, too. Can you come and see me some time? Alone? Don’t bring what’s-her-face with you, if you don’t mind. Your English girlfriend. See, I still believe that you and Trooper Des are supposed to be together. I will believe this for as long as I live.

  Your pal, Molly

  p.s. It’s only summer training camp and your Knicks already suck.

  The early morning fog hung low over Santa Monica, totally obscuring the ultra-expensive view of the Pacific from Mitch’s twelfth-floor balcony. In the heat of the day the dense fog would gradually morph into a gassy, sepia-tinted haze that smelled of rotten peaches. Just another spectacular day in paradise, Mitch reflected gloomily as he stood there in his complimentary Four Seasons terry cloth robe, sipping his coffee. He had yet another production meeting scheduled for this morning. This after huddling for hours and hours yesterday with the network suits—who had then taken him to dinner at some fashionable place in Malibu with Miss Hawaii and her Dodger soon-to-be husband. He felt bleary-eyed, sluggish and flabby today. Too many meetings. Too much rich food. He needed to hit the health club downstairs. Instead, he padded back inside his suite and started poring over his notes for today’s meeting.

  His bedside phone rang. It was the concierge calling from down in the lobby. “Mr. Berger, I’m sorry to disturb you so early but there’s a young lady here at the front desk who says you’re expecting her. A Miss Naughton?”

  “I certainly am,” Mitch exclaimed, brightening instantly. “Send her right up, please.”

  Cecily had finally made it down from San Francisco for a little full frontal pas de deux. Perfect timing on her part. Hurriedly, Mitch gathered up the newspapers and clothes that were strewn everywhere. The place was halfway presentable by the time he heard her tapping at the door.

  “Welcome to L.A., luv!” he called out, flinging it open.

  It wasn’t Cecily.

  Des Mitry stood out there in the hall, a leather shoulder bag thrown over one arm and an 18-by-24 inch drawing pad tucked under the other. She wore a pale yellow linen shirt, jeans and an exceedingly wary look.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, staring at her in shock.

  “I was on my way to Disneyland. Thought I’d pay you a visit. Bella told me where I could find you.”

  He shook his head at her, dumfounded. “Des, what is this?”

  “Okay so there’s something I wanted to say to you,” she confessed. “I flew in on the red-eye to say it. May I come in or do I have to do it out here?”

  Mitch let her in, eying her up and down. He hadn’t gotten a real good look at her the night he rescued her from that root cellar. “You’ve gotten awfully skinny, you know.”

  “Back at you, relatively speaking.”

  “I’ve been working out with a trainer a little.”

  “You’ve been working out with a trainer a lot. I guess this means I don’t call you doughboy anymore. What’ll I …?”

  “You can make it Armando, if you’d like.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

  “Can I order up some coffee or anything for you?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said, standing there before him.

  Yet again his skin started to tingle all over that way it did whenever he was near her. It never did that when he was around Cecily. Mitch didn’t wonder why. He knew why. “Bella told me you’d given that up,” he said, glancing at the drawing pad under her arm.

  “I just started up again on the plane. Got me some crime scene photos of Richard Procter that I’m working from. It feels good, although the stewardess sure did give me some funny looks.”

  “I hear you nailed the Sullivans for killing him. Which I still can’t believe.”

  “Believe it.”

  “Good job, master sergeant. I guess this means you don’t need my help anymore.”

  “Not true. You’re the one who cracked it.”

  “I did? How so?”

  “It was something you said—about how you can’t turn your feelings on and off like a faucet. Richard kept babbling some words at me on the beach that made no sense. Nor did his behavior. Not until you said that. Then the whole case fell right into place. Couldn’t have done it without you. So give yourself a big pat on the back.” She paused to clear her throat before she added, “It dawned on me that I never thanked you for saving my life.”

  “You
flew all of the way out here to say thanks?”

  “Some things you don’t say over the phone.”

  “It was no big deal.”

  “It was a huge deal.”

  “Molly was the real hero.”

  Her face broke into a smile. “How is Molly?”

  “I just got an e-mail from her. She’s great. Des, have you got a place to stay while you’re out here? I can call the concierge if you’d like.”

  “Not necessary. I’m flying right back. Just came to say what I came to say.”

  “How’s your head?”

  “Better. I’ve stopped answering phones that aren’t ringing.”

  “And how about those fainting spells of yours?”

  She bristled instantly. “Bella told you?”

  “Naturally. She’s worried about you.”

  Des turned his desk chair around and sat, her chest rising and falling. “Actually, that’s something of an ongoing situation. It seems my blood pressure and resting pulse rate skew dangerously high when I’m with Brandon. I also lose my appetite for solid nourishment almost completely. Hence the slimming regimen. Long story short, Brandon is hazardous to my health.”

  Mitch responded with one simple word: “Bullshit.”

  “What did you just say to me?” she demanded, her pale green eyes widening.

  “Brandon has nothing whatsoever to do with your health. Hell, he’s a perfectly decent guy if your taste runs to chiseled, amazingly handsome alpha males. But it so happens that yours doesn’t. The awful truth is that you made the biggest mistake of your life when you nuked our relationship—and you know it and now you have to live with it. That is what your body’s been telling you.”

  “Mitch, are you purposely trying to make this difficult for me?”

  “Why would I want to make it easy?”

  “No reason,” she said softly.