The shimmering blond sister bam-7

by David Handler

  “Sir, did you know what your wife did?” Yolie asked him.

  Dex didn’t answer her. Just sat there, gazing out at the Blush Noisettes.

  Yolie tried again. “Mr. Farrell…?”

  He blinked several times before he said, “We always talk things over. It’s the key to a successful marriage. That’s something you young people ought to remember for the future. Never keep secrets. Never go to bed angry. Talk everything out.”

  “So you did know?”

  “He just told you, Sergeant. We don’t keep secrets. We’ve been through so many ups and downs over these past thirty-seven years, haven’t we, Dex? This little episode-this is just one more thing.”

  “It’s the only thing,” Yolie countered. “You murdered another human being, lady. Don’t you understand that?”

  “What I understand,” Maddee replied, “is that I made a sacred vow to this man the day I married him. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. This right here is the sickness part. My Dex isn’t well. But I wasn’t about to abandon him when he needed me most. What kind of a wife would that make me?”

  “The kind who has to take a little ride to New London with me,” Yolie said to her. “You and your husband both. Maddee Farrell, you are under arrest for the murder of Augie Donatelli. Dexter Farrell, you are under arrest for being an accomplice to the murder after the fact-as well as for multiple counts of public indecency, criminal trespass and malicious mischief. You both have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have-”

  “I’d like to phone ours before we leave,” Maddee told her. “And to finish dressing as well.”

  “Of course.”

  “Dex, do you want your seersucker or your madras?” Maddee asked him, as if they were off to the country club for a game of bridge.

  He considered his reply carefully. “The seersucker, I think.”

  Maddee went into the kitchen to make her phone call, which was quite brief. Then she went down the hall to their bedroom. Yolie stayed right with her, not trusting her one bit. When they returned Maddee had a yellow cotton sweater on over her summer dress. She was carrying her purse and her husband’s seersucker sports jacket.

  As she helped him on with it Maddee said, “Sergeant, you don’t need to handcuff us, do you?”

  “No, ma’am. That won’t be necessary. We’re just taking a little ride.”

  “You’re very considerate. Thank you.”

  They all left together by way of the front door. Yolie toting the black plastic trash bags of evidence. Maddee pausing to make sure the door was locked behind them.

  Beth and Bertha stood there waiting for them in the hallway of the building. They’d seen Des and Yolie pull up outside in their cruisers, apparently. Bertha had a defiant look on her wrinkled little face. Beth, on the other hand, seemed uneasy. Her eyes avoided Mitch’s. She couldn’t, wouldn’t look at him.

  “I was hoping to run into you, Bertha,” Maddee exclaimed brightly. “Could you phone Cissy and tell her I won’t be able to help with Meals on Wheels today? It would be terribly inconsiderate not to call.”

  “Certainly, Maddee.”

  “And if I’m not back by late this afternoon will you please make sure my roses get a good watering? It’s been terribly dry. Also, the recyclables go out tonight and Augie isn’t around to…”

  “Don’t worry about a thing, Maddee,” Bertha said. “I’ll find someone to do it. Hell, I’ll do it myself if I have to. Won’t be the first time I’ve pitched garbage.”

  “Thank you, dear. Come along, Dex.” And with that Maddee Farrell marched out the front door of the Captain Chadwick House, her head held high, her husband’s hand in hers. Yolie trailed along behind them.

  Mitch stayed there in the hallway with Des.

  “Lieutenant Very was convinced that you two were holding out on us,” he said to Beth and Bertha. “You knew who the Dorset Flasher was all along, didn’t you? You knew that Maddee killed Augie to protect him. You knew everything.”

  “Of course,” Bertha responded airily. “Nothing goes on in this town that I don’t know about.”

  “Why didn’t you speak up, Mrs. Peck?” Des demanded.

  “Because we look out for one another in Dorset, that’s why. All we have is each other. We’re not perfect. Lord knows, the men who we choose to marry certainly aren’t. We do the best we can with them. We prop them up, stroke them, coddle them. And yet it happens anyway-in the blink of an eye they go from Mr. Dependable to Mr. Depends. That’s what happened to my Guy. And now it’s Maddee’s Dex. She was simply looking out for him. I can’t condemn her for that.”

  “She killed a man,” Des pointed out.

  Bertha made a face. “Oh, please. Augie was a drunken, leering boor. A predator who took pictures of my friend when she was undressed.”

  “You knew about that?” Mitch asked Beth.

  “Of course,” she replied, shivering slightly. “Women always know when we’re being watched.”

  Mitch considered this for a moment, wondering if that meant Beth knew he used to watch her outside his bedroom window every morning as she left for work, her hips swaying, her blond hair shimmering in the sunlight. He didn’t want to know the answer. It fell under the category of Don’t Ask, Please God Don’t Tell.

  “Augie hounded Beth everywhere she went,” Bertha went on. “He was determined to destroy her and her lover. Just as he was determined to unmask Dex Farrell and take away what little dignity the man had left. Dex has already suffered enough from the financial scandals. Maddee certainly has. She’s been ostracized by everyone who quote-unquote matters, poor woman. I’ve never considered her a close friend. I like to be around people who are light-spirited and fun. Maddee isn’t. She’s a pain, quite frankly. But she’s a decent lady. And she didn’t deserve this.”

  “Mitch, I’m so sorry I wasn’t more candid with you yesterday,” Beth said, her big, brown eyes gleaming. “I owed you the truth. But I gave Bertha my word that I’d keep quiet about it.”

  “I understand, Beth.”

  She tilted her head at him. The old Natalie Wood tilt. “You say you understand, but you don’t. You’re disappointed in me. I can see it in your eyes. And it really hurts, Mitch. Please phone me this week, will you? We can meet at The Works for coffee, okay?”

  “Sure. If you’d like.”

  “I would, very much. I want us to stay friends-for Kenny’s sake. And for Kimberly, whose life is about to become a total nightmare.”

  “I’m heading to the fitness center right now to give her the news,” Des said. “And I’ll let Lieutenant Very know that he no longer needs to question your friend Vinnie. It’s all over.”

  “Thank you, Des. That’s very good of you.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  Out in front of the Captain Chadwick House, Yolie had gotten the Farrells settled in the backseat of her cruiser. She waved good-bye to Des and Mitch, then hopped in and took off down Dorset Street.

  “I could see it, too, you know,” Des said, standing there on the front steps.

  “See what?”

  “The disappointment in your eyes.”

  “It was that obvious, was it?” He glanced over at her. “You’re smiling. Why are you smiling?”

  “Can’t help it. I’m kvelling.”

  “Kvelling? That’s a new one on me. Where’d you pick up such a funny sounding… Okay, ow, that hurt.”

  “You aced it, doughboy. Figured this whole thing out all by yourself. I guess you don’t need me anymore.”

  “Guess again.”

  “No, no, it’s finally happened. You’re all grown up now. Cracking cases on your own. Tackling armed suspects to the floor…”

  “Yeah, right. An old lady with a pair of coupon scissors. I was afraid she wanted you to shoot her.”

  “There, you see? Nothing gets by you. Your eyes are wide open now. You realize t
hat your one and only dream girl is human. Hell, you don’t even blush anymore when we talk about her.”

  “I never blushed.”

  “Oh, right. You were having hot flashes. Maybe you should have your doctor check that out.”

  “Des, if I didn’t know you better I’d swear you were jealous.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Besides, you couldn’t be more wrong about my one and only dream girl. Would you like me to tell you a little bit about her?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Okay, here goes. She’s a long, lean, bootylicious Connecticut state trooper. She has amazing legs. I’d trust her with my life, and have on numerous occasions. She’s a tremendously gifted artist. She has amazing legs. Or did I already-?”

  “I don’t mind if you repeat yourself.”

  “Plus I happen to know she’s plenty human and…”

  Des raised an eyebrow at him. “And…?”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way, thinny.”

  EPILOGUE

  (TWO DAYS LATER)

  Maddee Farrell was arraigned in New London Superior Court the morning after her arrest, and charged with murder in the first degree. The courtroom was packed with national media people. Reporters from the major newspapers, TV networks and cable news channels slavered all over it. It wasn’t every day that the patrician wife of a world-famous Wall Street swindler-Dex “Quacks Like a Duck” Farrell-was charged with murdering a retired New York City police detective. Or that Dex Farrell himself was hauled in and charged with being the serial weenie waver who’d been terrorizing the good ladies of Dorset, Connecticut for weeks. The whole scene was one giant made-for-cable newsapalooza. Maddee’s lawyer requested that she be released on bail. The judge denied the request. Judges tend to take a dim view of premeditated acts of murder, even those committed by rich old ladies who wear pearls and magenta lipstick. Dex, meanwhile, was being held at Connecticut Valley Hospital in Middletown pending the findings of a psychological evaluation by a court-appointed psychiatrist.

  Des highly doubted that the shrink would find Dex Farrell competent to stand trial. But she had to admit that the Dorset Flasher had been right about one thing: the weather. A blast of fresh, cool Canadian air blew in late Tuesday night, just like he’d predicted. It was the first hint that fall wasn’t far off. And it meant that the Deacon was wearing a hooded state police sweatshirt as he stood there at 5:00 a.m. on his front porch waiting for Des to take him to Yale-New Haven Hospital. He was due in pre-op at 5:45. The Deacon wore pressed chinos and walking shoes with his sweatshirt, and had an overnight bag at his feet. He looked like a kid going off to camp. Lights were on inside of the house. Her aunt Charlene had arrived from Scranton last night and intended to spend the day scrubbing the place from floor to ceiling with Clorox. How she dealt.

  Des was alone in the car. Mitch had wanted to come along but she’d told him she’d rather fly solo.

  “Is this a Mitry thing or a you thing?”

  “Is what?”

  “Suffering all alone.”

  “Mitch, I’ll be fine. Just step off, okay?”

  And so he had.

  “My affairs are entirely in order, Desiree,” the Deacon informed her after he’d settled in beside her, his seat belt buckled. He was reserved and calm. Himself. “You’ll find my will and other pertinent personal papers in the top left drawer of my desk in the den. The house goes to you. I own it free and clear. You can sell it or rent it out. Entirely your call.”

  “All right,” she said as she steered them onto I-91. There were very few cars on the highway that early.

  “I’ve left some money to your mother. Also to my church. The bulk of it goes to you. My investment portfolio and life insurance policy. My wedding ring, wristwatch…”

  “Daddy, can we please not have this conversation?”

  “I merely wanted you to know that I’ve taken care of everything.”

  “I never doubted that for a second. Now will you please shut up about it?”

  “Fine.” But he wasn’t done talking. “Girl, what did you go and do?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that our dear friend Captain Richie Tedone called me last night just to tell me what an exemplary state trooper you are. The man could not say enough nice things about you. Why, he practically called you a credit to your race. Wanted me to know that Internal Affairs has no further interest in the Augie Donatelli matter. He also wanted to wish me a speedy recovery.” He gazed at her sternly. “You have something on him, don’t you?”

  “Daddy, let’s not have this conversation either, okay?”

  “I don’t approve, Desiree. You never come out ahead when you tussle with a Tedone.”

  “I wasn’t trying to come out ahead. Just level the playing field a little.”

  He stuck out his chin. “You shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Well, it’s done. Richie will never bother us again. None of the Waterbury boys will. You can put that in the bank.”

  “What on earth did you get on him?”

  “It’s better if you don’t know. The mental image will set back your recovery by weeks.”

  They got to the hospital in plenty of time. The Deacon signed in. They sat there together in the small pre-op waiting room for an hour.

  When his name was finally called he stood and handed Des his wallet and shield. “Hold on to these for me, will you?”

  She hugged him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be here, Daddy.”

  “See you in a little while,” he said, his voice turning husky. Then he strode through the door to get ready for surgery.

  Des moved to the patient-recovery waiting room, a much larger area that was filled with people who were camped out there for however long it took. Which, in the Deacon’s case, would be at least six hours, maybe eight. But Des wasn’t going anywhere. As she sat down she realized she was still clutching his shield and wallet in her hand. She stuffed the shield in her shoulder bag. Opened his wallet and glanced through it. He carried the usual credit and ID cards. Also two fading color snapshots. One was of Des and her mother standing together at Des’s West Point graduation. Des in uniform, all straight and proud. Her mother dressed up, looking beautiful. The other snapshot was an appallingly geeky high school yearbook photo of Des. She’d worn her hair like the business end of a felt tip marking pen in those days, the better to show off the sprinkling of pimples on her forehead and her oh-so stylish Urkel glasses. There were no current photographs in the Deacon’s wallet.

  She put it away and took out her sketchbook, graphite stick and the crime scene photos that Yolie had given her. She began to draw, deconstructing the horror that she’d been a part of on Saturday night. Converting Augie’s bashed-in skull and splattered brain matter into lines and shapes and shadows. Her way of trying to deal with the ghastly reality of what Maddee Farrell had done to protect the man she loved. Was proud to do. Would do all over again if she had to. Des wanted to understand. Needed to understand. But Maddee and Dex Farrell would haunt her for a long, long time and she knew it.

  She drew like mad for hours, one page after another, so absorbed in what she was doing that she almost didn’t notice someone standing there before her.

  “That’s one of the crazy things about hospitals,” Mitch exclaimed, grinning at her maddeningly. “You just never know who you might run into.”

  “Mitch, I told you I’d be fine on my own,” she growled.

  “I know you did.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “I’m not here. Well, obviously I am. But I’m not. I happen to be on my way to Pepe’s Pizza for my monthly pig out.”

  “Your monthly what?”

  “It’s a private thing that I do. Something personal. I feel it’s very important to stay connected to my inner fat boy. So once a month I make a pilgrimage to the Elm City and stuff my face on Pepe’s white clam pizza.”

  “I didn’t know this.”<
br />
  “We all have our little secrets. I just got an idea-why don’t you come along? It’s world-class pie. And you could use a break.”

  “I’d better wait here. They said they’d page me when they had something to report.”

  Mitch glanced at his watch. “That won’t be for at least another two, three hours.”

  “Mitch, I’m not leaving.”

  “Cool.” He flopped down in the chair next to hers. “If you want to stay here, we’ll stay here.”

  “What about your monthly hajj to fat boy Mecca?”

  “Hell, I can do that any time. Oh, hey, would you like to come to a wedding on Friday? It’ll be ultracasual. Shoes are optional. I highly doubt that the bride will be wearing any.”

  “Kimberly and Kenny?”

  He nodded. “They want to get married right away. Kimberly really needs something positive in her life right now. Kenny is totally up for it. The oh-so-exclusive Dorset Yacht Club, however, is not.”

  “So where are they…?”

  “My little slice of beach on Big Sister. They’ll exchange vows at sunset at the water’s edge. Kimberly’s yoga mentor, Anna, will do the honors. She also happens to be a practicing periodontist and justice of the peace. Not your typical career path but, hey, it’s Dorset. A few close friends will be there. No more than twenty people. There will be, I’m told, various musical selections by the Grateful Dead. Some champagne and finger food, courtesy of Beth. Kimberly’s best friend is coming down from Vermont to be her maid of honor. We already know who the best man is.”

  “Mitch, I wouldn’t miss it. And I’m bringing Bella. She loves weddings.”

  “Good. It’ll be a happy occasion.”