The Sour Cherry Surprise (18 page)

“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 helped 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?”

Megan shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry for Carolyn, mostly. Richard was a smart man. And a decent father, I suppose. But that
doesn’t mean he couldn’t be a complete ass. Was I surprised when Carolyn told me he’d been sleeping with another woman? Not at all. Was I surprised that she told him to get out? You bet. And kind of proud of her, too. Carolyn can be something of a doormat. But she stood up for herself this time.”

“Did you encourage her?”

“Maybe I did,” Megan admitted. “She’s my baby sister. I’ve looked out for her since she was in pigtails. But, believe me, I had no way of knowing the two of them would completely crash and burn like they did. I never saw it coming. If I had I would have been down here in a heartbeat. And if she’d wanted to take him back I would have made every effort to help, despite my own feelings for the man.” Megan ran a hand over her face, stifling another yawn. “May I ask you something now?”

“Absolutely.”

“How do I get Clay Mundy and that friend of his out of my sister’s house?”

“We can help you there—when the time comes.”

“When the time comes,” she repeated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Right now, it’s best if they stay where they are.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re suspects in an ongoing murder investigation. We want them right where we can find them. The status quo is the way to go—no matter how odious it may seem. Understand?”

“I’m a farmer. I understand pigs and goats. But you seem to care about what you’re doing, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now. Provided you’re looking out for Molly.”

“Molly’s perfectly safe, I assure you.”

The nurse came out of Carolyn’s room. Megan excused herself and went back in to be with her. Des started down the hallway toward the elevator. As she passed the visitors’ waiting room, she
discovered Patricia Beckwith seated in there all alone reading Mitch’s tattered copy of
Time and Again
. Dorset’s meanest, richest widow sat very regally in her cardigan sweater and slacks, her back straight, shoulders squared, sensible shoes pressed close together on the floor.

“Why hello, Mrs. Beckwith,” Des said, surprised to see her there.

“This is a fiendishly clever yarn,” Patricia responded, glancing up from her book. “So inventive. And Mr. Finney’s prose practically jumps from the page.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Not that I am aware of. I’ve stopped by to see if there was anything
I
could do for Carolyn. When I discovered that you were in there with her I thought it best to give you your privacy. How is she feeling?”

“Down on herself. And plenty sick.”

“Putting all of that poison in her system certainly didn’t help.”

“Never does. Did Fred Griswold run you up here? Because I can give you a lift back if you need one.”

“It so happens I drove here myself,” Patricia said proudly. “I simply could not abide being home with all of those troopers tromp, tromp, tromping around my family’s land, bellowing to each other like wild boars. I felt trapped. Even violated, although I’m not certain why. I simply had to get away, so I got in my car and I drove. Would you believe this is the longest trip I’ve made in ten years? I was quite intimidated by Route Nine at the outset, I must confess. But once I became accustomed to my cruising speed I felt very comfortable. Although I must point out to you that absolutely no one in this state obeys the speed limit. I was doing a swift, steady fifty-five miles per hour and drivers were
flying
by me. My lord, how fast do they go?” she demanded. “Seventy-five? Eighty?”

“At least.”

“And this is something that you’re aware of?”

“It’s not exactly a secret, ma’am.”

“Well, why don’t you enforce the speed limits?”

“We do the very best we can with limited resources.”

“Yes, of course you do. I didn’t mean to sound critical, dear. I was simply taken aback.” Patricia hesitated, pursing her thin, dry lips uneasily. “The truth is I don’t know why I’m here. I barely know Carolyn. It was Richard who I shared a bond with. I shall miss him terribly. And I wish to apologize to you with all of my heart.”

“For what, ma’am?”

“You entrusted me with his care. I let you down. Let
him
down.”

“None of this was your fault. I told you that last night.”

“And I appreciate the sentiment. But I do not accept it. Frankly, I am overwhelmed by guilt, which I assure you is not a feeling with which I am accustomed. Nor is … this.”

“What, Mrs. Beckwith?”

“Unburdening myself upon others. Don’t believe in it. Never have. One’s innermost reflections ought to remain one’s own. This is why God invented the diary.” Patricia reached for her handbag and got slowly to her feet, drawing herself up to her full, rigid height. “Do you think I may pay my respects now? I won’t stay long.”

“I don’t see why not.”

With great dignity the old woman left the waiting room and started down the corridor toward Carolyn’s room. Des watched her go, thinking that Patricia Beckwith was not the coldhearted bitch everyone in town thought she was. But that was the reality of life in Dorset—once you got a rep it stuck to you. Des found herself wondering what Mitch would have to say to about this sensitive,
caring and highly conflicted lady, probably while spraying a mouthful of his American Chop Suey across the dinner table. The doughboy never failed to wow Des with his keen insights into people. Maybe because his mind had been programmed so differently. Hers was the product of exhaustive professional training and old-school shoe leather experience. His a whacked-out kaleidoscope of human depravity, Hollywood style. Much as she hated to admit it, there were times when Des missed what he had to say. This was one of those times. So she tried putting herself in his Mephisto walking shoes, size chunky, and asked herself what he would see going on here that she wasn’t.

And, damn it, she realized what it might be. Weird, yes. But staring right at her.

She’d been assuming that Patricia’s attachment to Richard Procter was of the motherly variety. What if it wasn’t? What if Patricia was the Other Woman who had destroyed the professor’s happy home? Not your typical May-December romance, to be sure. But this was Dorset, ground zero for unusual love matches—as Des knew only too well. Was a torrid romance between Richard and a lady thirty-something years his senior a totally crazy idea? Maybe. Or maybe not. It would certainly explain why Patricia Beckwith was so wracked by guilt.

The nurse’s station was right next to the elevator. Carolyn’s nurse was parked there over a pile of charts. She was a stern-looking Asian woman in her fifties. Not real approachable.

Des approached her anyway. “How is Carolyn doing?”

“Mrs. Procter has been through a lot,” she answered impatiently.

“That she has.”

It wasn’t long before the nurse realized that Des was lingering there. And looked up at her, frowning. “Is there something else, trooper?”

“There is, actually. And if I’m out of line please say so, but I was wondering if you could do me a small favor….”

The call came through as Des was steering her Crown Vic back down to Dorset on Route 9, her hands wrapped tight around the wheel, mind turning over what the nurse had just told her:

Today her blood pressure was even higher—144 over 92. Not that this should have surprised her. Not when she’d come so close to blacking out at The Works when was she was with Bella. They’d been walking out to the parking lot. Bella was telling her about Mitch’s new TV gig out in L.A. when,
wham
, there it was—the whole world a-rocking and a-rolling before her eyes. She’d recovered quickly, but Bella could tell something was wrong. Bella knew her.

So why can’t she understand Brandon and me?

Maybe because no one else can understand what goes on between two other people. Those who seem to have nothing in common, like Amber and Keith, can’t take their eyes off of each other. And yet the couples that seem to have it all together, like Carolyn and Richard, can unravel with the slightest tug of a thread.

The nurse had jotted down Des’s blood pressure reading on a card and handed it to her. “Be sure to report this to your doctor when you speak with her.”