The Cantaloupe Thief

by Deb Richardson-Moore

  Edisto retained its shabby island feel, with decrepit houses sharing pristine beachfront with gleaming newcomers. They took a side street to the back row, soon finding themselves on sand rather than asphalt.

  Ashley’s rental stood on stilts like its neighbors, but there was a single suite at ground level. Maid’s quarters, folks once called such lodging. Now Branigan assumed it held one of Ashley’s roommates.

  Five bikes with sand-encrusted tires were parked in the shade under the house, none of them locked. Towering trees crowded in on either side, and Branigan could see a wooden walkway and aged gazebo on the tidal creek out back. The sunsets were bound to be spectacular.

  A young woman, blond-streaked and barefoot, bounded down the steps, a black Labrador retriever at her side. “Right on time!” she called. “You must be Branigan!” Then she saw Davison unfolding himself from the Civic and stopped short. “Whoa!” she said, looking from one to the other. “You’ve got to be related.”

  Branigan offered her hand to shake. “This is my twin brother Davison. He was visiting Grambling and decided at the last minute to come with me.”

  “Cool,” she said. “Do you like hot tea? Or is it too hot for that?”

  “No, it’s fine,” they answered at the same time.

  Branigan and Davison followed Ashley and the silent dog up the steps, through a screened-in porch and into a spacious kitchen/ living area that showed signs of multiple occupants. Books and magazines, CDs and beach towels were strewn everywhere. The kitchen sink was half full of dirty dishes and the dishwasher stood open. Branigan suspected they had interrupted Ashley as she tried to clean before their arrival.

  “Forgive the mess,” she said. “With five of us, it’s a losing battle.” She busied herself placing teabags into three mismatched mugs, and rummaging in a drawer for packets of sweetener.

  “No problem at all,” Branigan said. “We appreciate you being willing to see us on your day off. Where is everybody? I hope we didn’t run them off.”

  “No. They’re at the beach” — she waved toward the front door — “or fishing” — she waved at the back. “It’s just me and Bandit.” At his name, the black Lab gave his first bark. “Please make yourselves at home.” Again, the wave.

  Branigan moved a People magazine and perched on a wicker chair, placing her recorder, notebook and pen on a round, glass-topped table. Davison moved towels and settled on the floral chintzcovered couch, picking up a magazine. Ashley delivered the mugs, then joined Branigan at the table.

  “We’ve come from talking to Caroline and your Uncle Heath,” she began.

  “Uncle Heath was there? That’s weird.”

  “Well, yeah. Please tell me everything you can remember about the July 4 party and the next day. I’ll interrupt if I have questions.”

  Ashley’s first words were a surprise. “I remember my cousin Ben was drunk as a skunk,” she started. “Caroline and our cousin Drew and two of our friends and I decided to go swimming right after the fireworks. We found Ben by the pool, passed out on a lounge chair. Drew woke him up. He wanted to make sure Aunt Amanda didn’t see him like that.

  “Caroline went into the pool house and turned on the pool lights. The water was pretty gross, but we dared each other to dive in. We swam for a few minutes, but then Drew found a snake. He held it up, and Caroline and I screamed and screamed.” She laughed at the memory. “He threw it into the bushes, but that was it for us. We got out.”

  “How did Caroline get into the pool house to turn the lights on?”

  “Ben had already unlocked the door. He had even found swim trunks. That reminded us that we’d left suits there too. Our friends swam in their underwear.”

  “Do you know how Ben got in? I understood that your father had installed a new bolt lock.”

  “Yeah. After Ben woke up, he threw up in the bushes, then came into the pool with us. I guess that sobered him up a little. He showed us how he’d broken in through a window in the bathroom. He always thought he was too good — or maybe just too mature — to talk to me and Caroline. But I heard him telling Drew that ‘someone else’ had been living in the pool house. I knew all about that man Billy because I’d heard Dad yelling about it so much. So I was kind of listening. Ben said, ‘I think there were two people living here.’”

  Branigan stared at Ashley. “That’s the first I’ve heard of that. Did you tell the police?”

  “No. All they asked about was the afternoon we found Grandmother’s body. They didn’t ask about anything else. I didn’t figure it was important, because even if Billy had a friend with him or whatever, they were gone by then. Believe me, my dad was on the warpath about getting him out of there.” She hesitated. “Was it important?”

  “I have no idea. It’s just that it wasn’t in the police file and they were pretty meticulous. Go on.” Branigan flicked her eyes to see what Davison was doing, but he was engrossed in another People. Bandit had settled at his feet.

  “Let’s see. Our friends went on home with their parents. Caroline and I stayed in the blue guest room we liked. It had twin beds. We always kidded that we were Grandmother’s favorites, because she’d gotten those twin beds for us. All the other cousins rolled their eyes. Being Grandmother’s favorites was hardly something to brag about.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. She was kind of... distant, I guess you’d say. Frosty. My other grandma, for instance, lived out in the country. We called her Grandma — or G’ma during my gangsta stage.” Ashley grinned, and Branigan could see the impish thirteen-year-old she must have been. “She kept my brother and sister and me a lot. She grew watermelons and cantaloupes for us. She played cards with us. Just different, you know?”

  Branigan nodded. “Sounds like my gran.”

  “Anyway, Grandmother was in bed by the time we came in from the pool. We checked in with Dad and Aunt Amanda. Dad told us to shower, because there was no telling what kinds of bacteria were in that pool. We did and went to bed.”

  “And the next morning?”

  “We slept late, then Tabitha made us pancakes. Chocolate chip, maybe? I remember some kind of faces on them. Then Aunt Amanda took us to the club.”

  “Did you overhear your aunt and your grandmother talking, by any chance?”

  “No.”

  “Caroline said your aunt kept you waiting quite awhile.”

  “I guess so,” Ashley said slowly. “It seemed like Dad was getting impatient, now that you mention it. But it didn’t occur to me to care what they were talking about.”

  “Okay. So coming home from the country club?”

  Ashley’s demeanor shifted visibly. She cast her eyes around the room. “Come here, Bandit.” The big dog woke up and walked over, nuzzling the girl. She gripped his neck in a hug.

  “We walked home in our bathing suits. I remember we were starving and talked about ordering pizza or Chinese. We walked around to the back door, the way we always did.” Ashley stopped, and hugged the dog again. Branigan waited. “Then we saw the back door, with the panes busted out. I don’t know why, but it didn’t register. We walked right in.”

  “Do you remember if there was glass on the outside?”

  “I have no idea. I do remember that I had Grandmother’s door key already out, but we didn’t have to use it. Caroline pushed the door open. And we saw Grandmother with her little chihuahua, Dollie. That was the thing that got me: that little dog just sitting there. I don’t remember screaming, but I know I did because my throat was sore later. We both turned around and ran.”

  “Did you see a murder weapon?”

  She shook her head. “Just blood,” she said, echoing her cousin. “So much blood.”

  Branigan knew the police had never recovered a murder weapon. A steak knife was missing from a matched set in Mrs Resnick’s kitchen. Forensics had matched the stab wounds to the serrated blades of those remaining in the wooden block, but the murder weapon itself was never found.

  “And
then?”

  “We ran next door to Mr Carnes’ house. Mrs Carnes took us in and kept trying to feed us. But we weren’t hungry any more.”

  “Ashley, I’m sorry if this is upsetting for you. But is there anything else you think might be important that the police never asked about? Like Ben saying there was a second person living in the pool house. Anything else like that?”

  “Just that dog, you know? The fact that Dollie must have seen everything. Mom and Dad let me take her home, and she lived another two years. But she always seemed sad to me.”

  “That is horrible,” Branigan agreed.

  There was a silence and Branigan couldn’t think of anything else to ask. She met Davison’s glance and he raised an eyebrow.

  They told Ashley goodbye and drove away. The last thing they saw was Bandit standing guard beside his mistress.

  Dollie the chihuahua was a good angle for the story. As was the glass outside Mrs Resnick’s door. As was the late-night swim and the snake. Branigan would need to call Bennett Brissey Jr, however, to follow up on his assertion that two people were living in the pool house. That theory was not on the police radar.

  But that could wait until Monday. Branigan was ready for a seafood dinner and a day at the beach tomorrow.

  It was late afternoon by the time she and Davison arrived back at the Isle of Palms. She took Cleo for a walk along the beach, then joined Davison on the deck for soft drinks and cheese and crackers. He was working on a mixing-bowl-size serving of ice cream.

  “Where do you want to eat dinner?” she asked. “Shem Creek? Sullivan’s Island? The marina?” Then with a pointed look at his bowl, “Or will you want dinner at all?”

  “Oh yeah. I’ll be hungry again by seven.”

  “Well, I’m going to take a quick nap, then we can shower and go.”

  She slept longer than she intended, so it was 7:45 before they left the house, choosing the Isle of Palms marina because of its proximity. They sat on the restaurant’s upper deck, enjoying the cool breeze and the flamboyant orange sunset, watching the occasional pontoon and luxury fishing boat puttering in for the evening. Branigan wanted a glass of pinot noir, but didn’t order one, thinking, not for the first time, that she’d hate to be the one going permanently alcohol-free.

  She wore a simple white sundress and flat sandals. Davison wore the island uniform: faded khaki Bermudas, navy golf shirt and flip-flops. Branigan recognized the entire outfit from his Salvation Army trip, but it looked good on him. She saw several women looking him over as they sat at a table for two along the railing.

  He held up his iced tea for a toast. “To the Resnicks,” he said. “They brought me to this fabulous place I’d nearly forgotten.”

  The siblings ordered platters of fried shrimp and flounder, with French fries, coleslaw and hush puppies.

  “Yep, tonight we even fry the bread,” Branigan said, closing her eyes and biting into a crispy brown hush puppy. “We have no shame.”

  Hush puppies could taste like cornbread or they could taste like cake. These had the sweet flavor that signaled the chef had mixed sugar into the batter. They were delicious. All six of them.

  Davison snatched the last one before she could get to it. “Brani G, do you remember the time Uncle Bobby, Dad and I got boiled shrimp, and you ladies tried to make hush puppies at the beach house? We ended up driving over here to get these.”

  “I know. Just couldn’t get them to taste the same. It’s harder than it looks.”

  “And remember the time Mom took us on a float in the inland waterway and we came out in the inlet between the islands? That current scared us to death.”

  “I think it scared Mom too, but she didn’t want to let on,” Branigan said. “What I always remember is coming down with the Harrisons and Barnhills, and all the teenagers throwing the parents’ beer out the window and burying them in the sand for later. Which meant drinking hot beer.”

  “Dad and Mr Harrison and Mr Barnhill each thought the others were drinking up a storm,” Davison added, laughing. “Not to mention we drained part of their rum and vodka bottles and refilled them with water.”

  Branigan tried to smile but it came out twisted. “I’m so sorry you can’t have a drink or two and stop,” she said. “The bad luck of brain chemistry.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  They stayed at the rooftop restaurant after the meal, comfortably stuffed, listening to an acoustic guitarist singing an eclectic mix of Jimmy Buffet, the Tams and Johnny Cash. When the singer was joined by a keyboardist who blasted out the brass section for “Be Young, Be Foolish, Be Happy”, Branigan pulled Davison from his chair.

  “On your feet, big man.”

  He laughed. “I can’t dance without a six pack in me.”

  “Mom taught you to dance before you started drinking,” she said, kicking off her shoes. “Come on.”

  It took only a moment for muscle memory to take over, and Davison twirled her non-stop through the laid-back moves of the shag, an East Coast dance that resembled a slow jitterbug. The point was to make it look effortless, their mom used to say, teaching them to keep up a 1-2-3 shuffle from the waist down while pretzeling their arms in intricate maneuvers. Davison had learned well, and he led Branigan expertly. When they had finished, the other patrons applauded.

  They grinned, gave mock bows and sat back down. They left when the musicians took a break at 11 p.m., but when they arrived at the house, Branigan wasn’t sleepy.

  “Guess it was the nap,” she said. “I’m going to sit on the deck and listen to the ocean.” She wrapped herself in a blanket, because the wind coming off the water was cool. Davison popped open a Sprite and joined her. The moon was at three-quarters and lit a sparkling stripe across the gently heaving water. With no porch lights, the stars seemed touchable.

  “Ah, this is what I remember,” Branigan said dreamily. “Being out here with all the Harrison and Barnhill kids while the adults played cards. Did you know Pete Barnhill is a judge in Gainesville?”

  “I heard. Scary.”

  “How’d you hear?”

  “I go on Facebook sometimes in public libraries. That’s the one place in most towns where street people are welcome.”

  Branigan was silent. She had heard Liam say the same thing. Somehow it was worse hearing it first-hand from Davison.

  “You know, you’re only forty-one,” she said tentatively. “Do you ever wonder how you might like to spend the second half of your life?”

  He was quiet for a long time. She looked over, and the moonlight showed his jaw was taut. She knew that look.

  “Yeah,” he said huskily. “I think maybe I’d like to train as a paralegal. I’d like to build a little fishing cabin on Lake Hartwell — nothing fancy. A place where Chan could come visit from college. A place where we could go out in the early morning and fish like I did with Pa and Dad. A place where I could get to know him.” He paused. “How about you?”

  “How about me what?”

  “Second half of your life?”

  “Oh. Well, I guess... Actually, that’s a good question. The way journalism is going, I’m not sure I’ll have a job in five years. Or two. I sure don’t want to get into that fifty-five to sixty-three age bracket and get laid off. I’ve seen too much of that.”

  “I didn’t mean career-wise,” her brother said. “What about personally? You said the other night you didn’t want to be single.”

  This conversation had gotten way too personal way too fast.

  “Any near misses?” he pressed. “Are you dating anyone?”

  “Yes and no. Two near misses. Right guy, wrong time. Wrong guy, right time. I’m not dating anyone right now, or you’d be sitting in his lap.”

  “Who was the ‘right guy’?”

  “A reporter named Jason Hornay, who came to Grambling from Birmingham. We were sort of getting serious when I got the offer in Detroit. He couldn’t find a job there, so we went our separate ways. In retrospect, I’m not sure it was the right
decision.”

  “Nah. You wouldn’t want to hear ‘Branigan is Horn-ay’ the rest of your life.”

  She gave him her best withering look. “Since I don’t hang around eleven-year-olds, I doubt I would.”

  “One of my addiction counselors — who were legion, by the way — told me that an addict is often emotionally arrested at the time of addiction. That makes me sixteen.”

  “With your clean time, maybe you matured to nineteen or twenty.”

  “Okay, smart-ass. One more question. We all know I’ve messed up my life as much as a human being can. Has your life turned out like you wanted?”

  There it was. The vise was squeezing her chest.

  “No,” she said softly. “I feel guilty even saying it because I’ve been blessed in so many ways. Mom and Dad. Gran and Pa. The farm. Work. Financially. Even Liam and Liz. But I wanted this.” She swept an arm to indicate the ocean, the beach, the house. “I wanted to fill it up with a husband and children and friends like the Harrisons and the Barnhills. I wanted a family. I wanted to be the mom in a family like we had.”

  “Before I blew it up.”

  “Well, partly. But you didn’t keep me from having my own. I managed that all by myself.”

  “I wonder,” he said. “Or did I cast a stain so wide you were afraid to try?”

  She was genuinely startled. “I never laid that on you.”

  “No. But what you said on the way down, about my choices affecting you and Mom and Dad and Chan: I never thought about that. I knew I’d hurt you. I knew you missed me. But I’d never really thought that I might have changed the course of your lives. I guess I thought you’d gone right on without me.”

  She murmured a response.

  “What?”

  “Fat chance,” she repeated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  JULY 4, TEN YEARS AGO

  Rita Mae Jones watched Bennett Brissey Jr and his fast drinking. He was a quick drunk, but he looked to be the most promising male here. Plus, he was a Grambling heir. Nothing shabby there.

  Rita Mae’s dad and Mr Resnick had been work colleagues, so the Joneses were charter members of the July 4 guest list. The elder Joneses had since moved to Atlanta to help Rita Mae’s sister, but in a town like Grambling, you didn’t get kicked off the list unless you did something heinous. The fact that Alberta Resnick considered Rita Mae cheap wasn’t enough to get her disinvited.