David Handler - The sour cherry surprise

Brandon arrived home at six on the dot bearing a dozen long-stemmed red roses and two chilled bottles of Dom Perignon. “My god, Desi!” he gasped, gaping at her from the front hallway. “You look so foxy you’re going to throw me completely off my game.”

She sashayed over to him, worked his tie off and draped it around her own neck. “Which game is that?”

“I… had this speech all worked out.”

“This isn’t a courtroom, baby,” she said, gazing up at him. “It’s just us. Talk to me.”

“Fair enough,” he began, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I understand why you were upset last night. It was wrong of me to shut you out of Operation Burrito King. I should have told you what was going on. You had every right to know. I simply let work get the best of me. I have to do a better job from now on, and I promise you I will. I’ve already lost you once, Desi. Lord knows I don’t want to lose you again. I’m nowhere without you. I really mean that. And I-I… Damn, this was all going to sound fine until I saw you in that little dress.”

“It sounded plenty fine,” Des assured him. “Besides, it’s not all on you. They told you to keep it quiet. You were being a professional. It was wrong of me to judge you. Sometimes I get a little turfy about this place and these people. I feel responsible for them.”

“I know that.” Brandon’s eyes gleamed at her. “And it makes me so proud.”

She glanced over at the champagne he’d brought. “Are you planning to open one of those or are they just for show?”

He went to work easing a cork out while she fetched their goblets from the tablet. He poured. They clinked glasses. They drank, gazing at each other as Reverend Al crooned smooth and silky on the stereo.

“So how awful was your meeting at the barracks?” he asked her.

“Let’s just drop that, okay? I’ve punched out. Don’t want to talk about work anymore.”

“Well, what do you want to talk about?”

She put her arms around his neck. “Who wants to talk?”

They kissed, her heart pounding so hard she felt weak in the knees.

“All day long I’ve been wanting to hold you in my arms,” he purred at her.

She melted into him, her head nestled on his shoulder as they slow-danced right there in the kitchen, pausing now and again to sip their champagne and get lost in each other’s eyes. Just like it was when they first met. When she couldn’t believe this one in a million man noticed her, liked her, wanted her. Couldn’t believe how gentle he could be. How lucky she was.

“God, you smell good.” He ran his big hands up and down her bare back. “And you are smooth all over.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, raising her mouth to his. “Just so you know, there’s steak.”

“How can you think about food at a time like this?”

“Why, are you thinking about something else?”

“Girl, you are naughty. Know what happens to naughty girls, don’t you?”

“Haven’t the slightest idea.” She put a finger to his lips before he could say another word. “Don’t tell me. Show me.”

For starters, that dress came right off over her head. And now Brandon’s tongue was on her breasts. And now, oh, God, it was slip-sliding its way downtown. He fell to his knees, the better to devour her. She threw one leg over his shoulder and let out a groan, her breathing growing deeper and deeper… until he picked her up and carried her off to their bedroom.

It was long past dark out, nearly ten, by the time she stirred and got up, searching for something to throw on.

“Where are you going?” he asked her sleepily, sprawled there in bed.

“To start dinner.”

“Now that you mention it, I’m starved,” he admitted. “Only, wait, there’s something else I wanted to say to you. Let’s disappear from this place for a couple of days. Jump in the car tomorrow morning and head for the Cape. Find ourselves a little inn near a beach somewhere. What do you say?”

She flashed her wraparound smile at him. “I say, what time do we leave?”

That was when her phone rang. It was the 911 dispatcher. A call had come in from the Sullivan residence on Sour Cherry Lane. Amber Sullivan phoning to report she’d just heard some sort of a fight out in the lane. Followed by the sound of a man screaming.

There were plenty of lights on at Kimberly and Jen’s, as well as across the lane at the Procters. But the lane appeared to be deserted as Des eased past their cottages. Until little Molly suddenly loomed before her there in the road-standing out in front of the Sullivan cottage with her eyeglasses shining in the headlights.

Des rolled down her window and called out, “Girl, what are you doing out here at this time of night?”

“I heard something,” Molly answered in a quavering voice. “Somebody’s hurt.”

Des nosed her cruiser up to the pile of cedar mulch in Amber and Keith’s driveway and got out, flashlight in hand. The night air was very heavy and still. It smelled of a skunk that had been marking its territory. With her light, Des looked the girl over carefully as Molly stood there in her UConn jersey, baggy shorts and floppy socks. She seemed frightened but unharmed. “Were you up in your tree house for the night?”

Molly nodded her head, swallowing.

“Did you see anything?”

She shook her head gravely.

“Well, what did you hear?”

“Voices. Men’s voices. They came from out there somewhere.” Molly pointed past the Sullivan place toward the utter darkness at the end of the lane.

Des shined her light out there. Saw nothing other than wild, overgrown brush crowding both sides of the pavement. The road dead-ended at Jersey safety barriers after a hundred feet or so. Beyond the barriers was the bank of the Connecticut River.

“How many men did you hear?”

“Two, I think.”

“And you’re sure they were both men?”

“W-What do you mean?”

“Could one of them have been a woman?’

“I don’t know. Maybe. One of them… he screamed.”

“Then what happened?”

“I don’t know. I listened real hard, but I didn’t hear anything else.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t see anyone?”

Molly gazed up at her, mystified. “Like who?”

“Someone running away from here. Or driving away. Did anyone pass by your place after you heard the scream?”

“I didn’t see anybody. But I-I was…” She faltered, lowering her gaze.

“You were what?” Des asked, hearing footsteps now. Amber and Keith were approaching them.

“Scared to come down.” Molly let out a sob. “I hid in my tree house until I saw you coming.”

Meaning she may not have seen someone fleeing in her direction. Des knelt and hugged the frightened girl, her thoughts on Grisky’s team in the woods. What had they seen and heard? And where in the hell were they? “You did the right thing, Molly. You were smart to be afraid. But you don’t have to be afraid now, okay?”

Actually, Amber looked plenty scared herself. Those big brown eyes of hers were huge and shining. “Des, I really, really hope I didn’t get you out here on a wild goose chase,” she said in a frantic voice.

Beefy, blond Keith trailed along a few steps behind her clutching a bottle of Sam Adams. He wore a T-shirt, shorts and a pissed off expression. A vibe of tension was coming off of the two lovebirds.

The source of which tumbled straight out of Keith’s mouth: “I am totally sorry about this, Des,” he growled. “I told her not to waste your time.”

“Stop being such a know-it-all,” fired back Amber, all ninety pounds of her in a halter top and linen drawstring trousers. “I am a sentient adult being. I know what I heard.”