David Handler - The sour cherry surprise

“I thought you could use this,” she exclaimed brightly.

Des took it from her gratefully. “You thought right.”

“Your Brandon is certainly one handsome man. Do you know who he reminds me of?”

Des nodded. “Denzel Washington.”

“I was going to say Harry Belafonte.”

“Really? My bad.”

Bitsy Peck was a round, snub-nosed woman in her fifties with light brown hair that she wore in a pageboy. She had always been very warm and friendly toward Des, and got on extremely well with Mitch. It was Bitsy who’d taught Mitch the joy of gardening. “I did invite Bella,” she said, her gaze following Des’s. “But she told me she couldn’t make it.”

Des drank down some of the wine. “I know,” she responded quietly.

Bitsy studied her shrewdly. She was one of those Dorset housewives who gave the impression of being unfailingly merry and dim, and was neither. She was smart and tough. Had lost her husband right after Des came to town. And seen her daughter, Becca, battle heroin addiction. “Are you okay, Des?”

“Never better.”

“We’re going to lose you, aren’t we?”

“Excuse me?”

“I can see it in your eyes as you look around. It’s as if you’re trying to memorize everything. My kids looked at this place that way when they were getting ready to leave me.”

“Bitsy, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

Some of the Town Committee members were starting to trickle back to their cars. Bitsy scurried off to say her good-byes. Des stayed put, sipping her wine.

Brandon found her there a few minutes later. He was all pumped up, his eyes gleaming. “Man, this is some way to live,” he exclaimed, taking in the remains of the sunset over Long Island Sound. A few sailboats were still out on the water, taking advantage of the breeze. “It’s almost enough to make you want to be white.”

She smiled faintly. “But not quite.”

He turned and looked at her. “This is going to take you some getting used to, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Same here. I still have to get over my long held personal belief that all politicians are assholes.” He let out a big laugh. “But we did good tonight. Huge thanks, Desi. These people carry a lot of weight.”

“Brandon, there’s something serious I need to talk to you about.”

“So talk to me. But smile or it’ll look like we’re having a fight.”

“I got pulled over by a fed named Grisky just before I came here. He told me to keep away from Sour Cherry Lane. I phoned my C.O. right away and got another earful from him-mostly about Grisky and his strong-arm tactics. But he confirmed that the guy’s legit. It seems there’s been an independent operation going on here in Dorset.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“When I asked Grisky what it was he told me to ask you.”

Brandon’s face dropped. He said nothing.

“I ran criminal background checks on Clay Mundy and Hector Villanueva. Both out of Atlanta, supposedly. I came up empty. Brandon, what’s going on?”

“I can’t discuss it with you,” he responded quietly. “All I can say is they wanted you kept clear of it.”

“Kept clear of what? This is my town. If something’s going on here, I have a right to know.”

“Don’t get all huffy.”

“Trust me, this is not huffy. But if you want huffy I’ll be more than happy to-”

“Keep your voice down, Desi. And please listen to me, will you? We are talking about a highly classified investigation involving multiple federal and state agencies. They’ve had trouble with leaks in the past, so a high-level policy decision was made to keep local uniformed personnel out of the loop. They want you going about your normal business.”

“That’s them. What about you and me?”

“What about us?”

“If you’d given me any kind of a heads-up I’d have watched my step. Instead, you let me blunder my way right into the middle of whatever. And so tomorrow I’m getting called on the carpet. Do you realize how humiliating this is?”

“I had no idea you were working anywhere near Sour Cherry. You didn’t tell me.”

“I shouldn’t have to. You’re my man. I expect you to be watching my back.”

“I’m watching out for us. Desi, this is the biggest case of my career. It just may put me over in this district.” His eyes found and held hers. “What’s good for me is good for you. You know that.”

“I know that you’re good at keeping secrets. I know I don’t like secrets. And I don’t like being with anyone who does.”

“I am not about secrets.”

“Brandon, your whole damned life is divided into secret compartments.” Like the one that had contained his law school classmate, Anita, and the affair that they never broke off the whole time he and Des were married. “For me, it’s real simple. Either we’re honest with each or we’re not. Either we’re together as a couple or we’re not.”

“Now you’re not being fair,” he objected.

“I think I’m being more than fair. Are you going to tell me what the feds are doing in my town?”

“You know I can’t.”

“Okay, fine. Then I’ll listen to what they have to say tomorrow. And until then you’re sleeping in the guest room.”

“I’m what?”

“My house, my rules. If you don’t like it you can take up residence at the Frederick House. The innkeepers are standing right over there by that pillar.” She drank down the last of her wine before she added, “And hey, not to worry. When I said it I had a real sweet smile on my face.”

To: Mitch Berger

From: Bella Tillis

Subject: Eureka

Dear Mr. Hotshot New York Movie Critic-I’m pleased to report that I’ve finally managed to corral your roaming friend Quirt. He’s here in the house with me, though I’m not sure how much longer I can keep him here. The little fiend keeps pacing around like a caged lion. Yowling at me in angry protest. Sharpening his claws on the beetle-infested chestnut posts that barely hold this place up. He’s one giant pain in the tuchus, frankly.

At your suggestion, I phoned our resident trooper about my phantom nighttime visitor out here. I hadn’t seen Des for a while. Not that you asked me but she looks awful. Scrawny as a half-starved Chihuahua. She says she’s fine. She’s not fine. And it pains me to report that she has abandoned her art. Do you remember how she always used to have that charcoal residue under the nail of her index finger? She doesn’t have it anymore. Not so much as a trace. This is not a happy woman, Mitch. I thought you should know since you were once so fond of her.

Anyhow, it turns out I have been sheltering a homeless man in the barn-Molly Procter’s father, who seems to have suffered a breakdown since he and Carolyn split up. Molly has been hiding Richard out here and stealing food for him. The Jewett sisters have carted him off and now Des will no doubt try to patch the family back together again. It never ceases to amaze me how a woman whose own life is broken keeps trying to repair everyone else’s.

Actually, Des is out here on Big Sister at this very moment. Or they are. Bitsy Peck got talked into hosting a bash for the Town Committee to get acquainted with our next congressman-assuming, I should say, that Brandon can carry this district without my vote. I was invited to the event but am staging a one-woman boycott. And voting Green Party all of the way should he receive the party’s… Oops, hang on, somebody’s at my door…

Hi, I’m back. That was just Bitsy dropping off some of the leftover food. And to tell me something very interesting. She suspects Des will soon be leaving Dorset. This certainly wouldn’t surprise me. Now that you’re gone Des no longer has any reason to stick around here. Bitsy also told me she thought Brandon didn’t go over particularly well with Dorset’s old guard. People thought he was a bit too slick and/or insincere. This was definitely Bitsy’s own reaction. And perhaps her loyalty to you shining through.