“You remembered!”
“Damned straight I remembered. A man’s last request matters. Although I can’t imagine why you’d want to eat this stuff. Looks like a bunch of eyeballs floating around in custard, if you ask me.”
“Who asked you?” Mitch demanded. “Besides, what do you know about food?”
“You are so right, Mr. Berger,” Bella agreed, shaking a stubby index finger at him. “This girl does not eat. If I didn’t watch her dietary intake like a hawk she would simply waste away.”
The lieutenant let out a pained sigh. “Okay, now I am definitely out of here.”
“You are not,” Bella huffed at her. “You will stay here and you will feed this poor man. He needs to get his strength back.” She began rifling through the credenza. “Do you suppose there’s such a thing as a spoon around this place?”
Lacy said she would try to find one. Or maybe it was the lieutenant who said this. Mitch wasn’t sure. He was slipping away again. He was tired. He was so tired that everything was starting to get fuzzy again.
But he didn’t join Maisie this time. Maisie wasn’t there anymore. She was gone-gone for good. Mitch felt certain of it. She had given him one precious parting gift before she went away. She gave him the Fibonacci Series. And for this Mitch would always be grateful. Because from now on, whenever he thought of his beloved wife, Mitch would be able to smile.
And maybe, someday soon, he might even be able to laugh again.
EPILOGUE
THREE DAYS LATER
“I WANT YOU TO tell the whole story, Mitch,” Evan Havenhurst informed him as he scampered about the deck, raising the sails. “Every word of it-even the part about Mother and Tuck Weems’s father. Don’t hold anything back. Not one thing.”
There was a morning mist out on the Sound. The late May air was soft and warm and held the first promise of summer. Mitch manned the tiller of Bucky’s Revenge, huddled there in his life jacket with his bad leg held out stiffly before him. The throbbing was beginning to subside. He no longer needed the pain pills and he could hobble around on it pretty well, although he still tired quickly. To build up his strength, he’d taken to walking the beach three times a day-each time a little bit farther than the last.
Going out for a sail had been Evan’s idea. The young man wanted to talk. “Let’s get it out in the sunlight,” he declared, taking over the tiller from Mitch. Soon the J-24 began to pick up the breeze and run with it, its sails taut, the salt spray cold and bracing. “Blow the cobwebs and the dust off. Let it breathe.”
“You’re sure about this, Evan?”
“Mitch, I’m totally positive. I need for you to do it. Consider it part of my healing process, okay? And I will heal.”
“Sure you will,” Mitch said encouragingly.
Not that anyone would have blamed Evan if he’d broken into small pieces. He’d lost his lover, his father and his uncle in one fell swoop. And his mother was still on very shaky ground. It could easily have destroyed him. But that hadn’t happened. Evan had spent a good deal of time alone out on Bucky’s Revenge since that night, searching within himself for reserves of hidden strength. And, seemingly, he had found them. To Mitch he seemed more takecharge than he had before.
“Mitch, I despise this notion that they somehow felt they had to do it for me,” he said angrily as they scudded across the blue water. “I don’t need coddling and protecting. I’m not a helpless child. I never asked them to do any of that. Nor did my mother. We never would.”
“I know that,” Mitch said. “Everyone does. That was all just a grand delusion-an excuse they made up so they could justify their criminal behavior to themselves. And maybe it worked. Maybe they fooled themselves. But they didn’t fool anyone else. So don’t take it to heart, Evan.”
“Believe me, I won’t,” he said. “I just have to stay focused. I’ll get up every day. I’ll run the shop, take care of Mother, manage the island… For the first time in my life I’ll be responsible for more than just myself. But I’ll be okay. Aunt Bits is in my corner. So’s my cousin Becca. She’s coming back from San Francisco to work in the shop with me. She’s had some drug problems, but she’s a genuinely cool, twisted person. You’ll like her, Mitch. Which reminds me-I hope you’ll be sticking around. I mean, I hope this hasn’t scared you off.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mitch assured him. “I can’t-I already promised Sheila Enman I’d be picking up her groceries for her every week. And I still have my damned book to write.”
As the sun got higher it burned off the morning mist and the sky turned blue. It was going to be a bright, sunny day.
A sad smile crossed Evan Havenhurst’s handsome face. “My family, to state the obvious, is really screwed up.”
“I think all families are. I think that’s what earns them the right to be called families.”
“I know that now,” Evan acknowledged. “And I accept it. Once you do, everything else seems to fall into place. Kind of funny how that works, isn’t it?”
Bitsy Peck, meanwhile, had retreated deep into her garden. Mitch found her in there after he and Evan docked. She seemed to be in the process of installing an entirely new hedge between her vegetables and her perennials. A dozen four-foot-tall holly bushes, their roots balled in burlap, were lined up in a row, waiting for her to finish digging a twenty-foot-long trench for them. Bitsy dug with feverish intent, the sweat pouring from her. One day soon her tears would come, Mitch felt certain. For now she was pushing them away, one spadeful at a time.
As he stood watching her, Mitch could not help but remember the sound of his own spade hitting Niles Seymour’s leg.
“It’s Ilex pedunculosa,” Bitsy burbled excitedly when she noticed him there. “I finally found a male. I’ve been searching for weeks and weeks. A commercial grower out on the Cape had one. You see, the females won’t produce those lovely red berries unless you plant at least one male in their midst. They can’t propagate.”
“I had no idea that plants came in different genders,” Mitch confessed.
“Oh, my, yes,” Bitsy exclaimed, puffing. “It’s a very basic birds and bees kind of a thing, Mitch. Just don’t ask me for the scientific details because I don’t understand them.”
“How can you tell which one’s the male?”
“No berries at all. See the third one from the left? That’s my little stud bull.” She paused to swab her face and neck with a bandanna. “Oh, this is so excellent. I have been wanting this hedge for years!”
“How are you making out, Bitsy?” Mitch asked her gently. “Are you going to be okay?”
She immediately resumed her digging, attacking the soil with manic energy. “Of course, Mitch. And so will Dolly. We’re a much hardier variety than you men realize. There’s absolutely no need for you to worry about me. No, no-I’m not the one who has behaved recklessly and stupidly. I’m not the one who’s sitting in a jail cell all by himself at this very minute. I’m the one who’s still out here, holding down the fort.” She paused a moment, gasping for breath. “Take a look, Mitch. Take a good, hard look at what’s happened. And ask yourself this: Which one is the weaker sex?”
Mitch didn’t answer. There was no need to answer.
He limped back to his little house, flicked on his computer and got to work on his Sunday magazine piece. Out went his initial, somewhat treacly Currier and Ives lead paragraph. In came a leaner, more muscular opening: “She was a slim, bright-eyed girl with blond hair and a nice smile. She was the granddaughter of a U.S. senator. Everyone called her Peanut. Everyone wanted her-especially the family caretaker. And one afternoon, shortly before she shot and killed him, he had her.”
Now it flowed. Now he had it.
Now he knew.
Mitch was still clicking away at it that evening, Clemmie dozing contentedly in his lap, when he heard a car pull up outside in the gravel driveway. Followed by footsteps and a tap on his door.
It was Lieutenant Mitry. She was casually dressed-a gray Henley
shirt and faded jeans. And she was not empty-handed. She held a gym bag in one hand and a cat carrier in the other. An occupied cat carrier. Meowing was taking place in there. Clemmie was immediately intrigued. So was Mitch. So intrigued that it took him a moment to realize that something was radically different about the lieutenant.
“My God, you cut off all your hair!” No more dreadlocks. Her hair was cropped short and nubby now. Way different but no less striking. It accentuated the long, graceful contour of her neck and shoulders. Her bearing now seemed positively regal. A sculptor would have a field day with this woman. “How come?” he asked her curiously.
“I had my reasons,” she answered, setting down the cat carrier. Clemmie immediately let out a playful squeak and went nose to nose with its resident, both of them crouching low.
“And who, may I ask, is in there?”
She flashed her wraparound smile at him. “Put your hands together for Dirty Harry. Tal Bliss’s cat. I have to move him out now that Big Willie’s in the house.”
“You brought me a dead man’s cat?”
“Hey, you’re lucky and you don’t even know it-I could have brought you Big Willie. Besides, Harry’s a good little mouser. Figured he could show Clemmie the ropes. Cats are happier in pairs, anyway. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Would it matter if I did?”
“Of course not. How’s the leg?”
“It’s fine.”
“Glad to hear it.” She started across the living room with the carrier, Clemmie in eager pursuit. “No need to get up. I know the way.”
She let Dirty Harry out upstairs while Mitch shut down his computer and fetched two beers from the fridge. He handed her one when she came back down a moment later.
“Success,” she reported after taking a long, thirsty gulp. “They’re already hissing at each other like family.”
“Did you eat dinner? I’ve got some of my famous American chop suey left over in the fridge.”
“God, that sounds great, Mitch. But, you know, I’m really kind of full right now.”
Maybe it was a gender thing, Mitch reflected. Maybe women simply didn’t comprehend the finer points of American chop suey.
The lieutenant had something to tell him. Something heavy. Mitch could sense it. She seemed very uneasy now as she stood at the windows in silence, drinking her beer and watching the sun drop into the Connecticut River. Mitch joined her there, listening to the cats tear around after each other up in his bedroom.
“This case made me realize something,” she finally said, her voice low and guarded. “I’ve been in a kind of a holding pattern ever since Brandon left. And the time has come for me to… What I mean is, I’ve decided I need to make some serious changes in my life.”
“Such as?” he asked, watching her carefully.
“I’m putting my house on the market, Mitch. I’m moving somewhere else.”
Mitch’s heart sank. I will die. I will not make it without this woman in my life. After a long moment he said, “I’m sorry to hear that, Lieutenant. For strictly selfish, personal reasons. But I’m happy for you that you’re making a positive move. And I hope we’ll be able to stay in touch.”
“So do I.”
“Do you have any idea where you’ll be heading?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Where?”
She turned to face him. “Here.”
Mitch stared at her, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, I thought I just heard you say the word here.”
She looked back out at the sunset. “Um, okay, maybe I’d better explain…”
“Well, yeah.” Now his heart was racing. “Maybe you’d better.”
“I am no longer what you might call the state police’s equal opportunity poster child. Which is to say they did not exactly buy my version of how things went down that night.”
“They’ve canned you?”
“In their dreams. If they tried to put me out it would get very messy and very public and Superintendent Crowther does not want that. I know too much. So the Deacon and I have brokered a settlement that allows both sides to come away with something. I’ve agreed to accept a slight reduction in rank and pay in exchange for a new opportunity that will, I believe, allow me greater time and flexibility to pursue other interests that are more-”
“Okay, plain English would be a really good thing right now,” Mitch cut in impatiently.
She gave it to him in plain English: “I’m Dorset’s new resident trooper.”
“You’re what?”
“The village needs someone to fill Tal Bliss’s shoes,” she explained, the words tumbling out quickly now. “And that someone is going to be me. I don’t think I’ll be the most popular choice with the locals. In fact, I’m sure I won’t be. But I’m used to fighting uphill battles. And once folks get to know me, I believe I can earn their confidence and their trust. It’s old-fashioned, hands-on community law enforcement, Mitch. The real deal. I’ll be putting on a uni every day. Dealing with the people one on one. Anything nasty goes down, I pick up the phone and call the Westbrook barracks. But not much does in a town like this.”
“Really? That hasn’t been my experience.”
“This case was way out of the ordinary.”
“So let me see if I’ve got this right…” Mitch mused aloud, scratching his head. “You’re going to be like Roy Scheider in Jaws-except without the shark?”
“Hopefully.”
“What about your friend Bella? What’ll she do?”
“She’s been wanting a smaller house for a while. Now she’s looking for one here. She intends to be Dorset’s first angry Jewish woman.
“I’m sure that’s something the community has been wanting for a long, long time. Your dad is cool with this idea?”
“My father thinks I’ve gone insane, actually. But he can’t comprehend how important my art has become to me. My life will be way more my own now, Mitch. And I’ll be like two minutes from the Art Academy. I picked up their catalogue this afternoon. They’ve got night classes all year around-anatomy, three-point perspective, life drawing
… I’ll actually be able to take them, which there was no way I could do when I was on Major Crimes. I’ll be able to give it prime time.”
“Okay, this part I like.”
“Do you really?” Her eyes were searching his face now.
“I do. I like it large. In fact, I’ve got something for you. Was saving it for the right occasion. I think this qualifies.” Mitch hobbled over to the narrow closet underneath the stairs and dug out the old oak easel that Evan had sold him. It once belonged to a renowned local painter named George M. Bruestle and the lieutenant had been crazy about it. Or so Jamie had reported to Evan after she visited their shop.
“Man, what in the hell are you doing with that thing?” she demanded, gaping at it in disbelief.
“I bought it for you.”
“Get out of here!” She ran her fingers over it, touching it, stroking it, loving it. Clearly, she was not someone who was accustomed to spoiling herself. “But why?”
“I wanted to see you smile.”
“That was one very expensive smile. I hope you got your money’s worth.”
“Oh, I did. Believe me. Only, can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”
“I’m not a lieutenant anymore, Mitch. I’m a master sergeant.”
Mitch shook his head. “I can’t call you Master Sergeant. Sounds too much like Master Cylinder from Felix the Cat. Plus there are the sexual dominatrix overtones. No, no, I don’t think we can go there. What do I call you instead?”
“You call me Desiree.”
“Is there any other reason why you chose Dorset, Desiree? There must be other towns around the state that need a resident trooper.”
Her eyes shied away from his now. “It’s close to the art academy, like I said.”
“And that’s the only reason you’re interested in this place?”
“Man, what do you want me to tell you?”
“What you’re thinking.”
She went back over to the windows and stared out at the view, her posture rigid. She didn’t say anything.
Mitch flicked off the two lamps that were on and crossed the room toward her. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around to face him. She did not resist. They stood very close, gazing deep into each other’s eyes.
“Why did you turn out the lights?” she asked him softly. She was trembling, just as she had been that day in the Black Pearl when she reached for her coffee cup.
“Force of habit. I do all of my best work in the dark. Can I ask you another personal question?”
She gazed back at him steadily. “Go ahead.”
“What’s in the gym bag?”
“My sketch pad and charcoals.”
“What else?”
“My jogging clothes.”
“What else?”
“My nightshirt,” she said huskily. “Would you like to see my tattoo?”
“Desperately.”
“How desperately?”
“What, there’s a condition?”
“There is.”
“Name it.”
“We don’t worry about what other people are thinking. We don’t ask ourselves whether it’ll ever work. We don’t-”
“Freeze frame. I’ll go you one better-we don’t think about it at all. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Shall we shake hands on it?”
Her lips gently grazed his, sending a jolt of electricity through his entire body. “Oh, I think we can do way better than that.”
Later, much later, as they lay in each other’s arms in the moonlight, Mitch said, “Desiree…?”
“Hmmm-mmm?” she murmured, running her fingers lazily over his bare chest.
“Your tattoo…”
“What about it?”
“I had a feeling that’s where it was.”
To which Desiree Mitry smiled and said, “Boyfriend, I had a feeling that you had a feeling.”
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The Cold Blue Blood bam-1 Page 31
