The sour cherry surprise bam-6

by David Handler

  “No way,” Grisky argued. “If we do that then this ends right here. We can’t connect it to the cartel.”

  “Then again, maybe we can,” the Aardvark countered. “Clay and Hector are a pair of pros. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t expect either of them to rat out the Vargas family. But Mundy is staring at a murder charge. That gives us big-time leverage.”

  “No question,” Brandon agreed. “And my office would certainly consider a plea deal in exchange for detailed sworn testimony about the Vargas operation. Depending on how far he’s willing to go, we might be able to reduce the whole package down to involuntary manslaughter.”

  “Sure, he thought the professor was a prowler,” the Aardvark said, warming to it. “The man was defending his own home. He’d get, what, five years?”

  “And shanked his first night in jail,” Grisky said.

  “So promise him witness protection,” the Aardvark fired back. “I say we go right at him. And if he don’t want the deal then maybe Hector will. We can play one of them against the other, like Sergeant Snipes said.”

  Cavanaugh stayed strangely silent throughout this back and forth exchange. Just sat there with his hands clasped before him, his eyes cast downward at the table. The supervising agent looked as if he were saying grace. Until he raised his eyes and said, “In principle, I agree with everything you’re saying, Captain. And I appreciate your input. But I’m not ready to make such a move yet. Agent Grisky and I have been dogging these people for a whole lot longer than you folks from the state have. We’ve invested a lot in Operation Burrito King. I am talking months and months of man-hours, millions of taxpayer dollars. We are tasked to go after the really big game here. Not just a couple of petty hoods.”

  “You mean murderers, don’t you?” Soave said.

  “Nonetheless,” he went on, undeterred, “I’d like to see how the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours play out before we show our hand. We still have our wiretaps and cell phone traces in place. Maybe Mundy will get shook enough to do something dumb-like break silence and reach out to Atlanta. Why not wait and see what he does before we roll up the whole damned operation?”

  Des didn’t like what she was hearing. If it were her call to make they’d land on Clay and Hector that very night. Swarm the house and sweat a murder confession out of them. Hell, they had the bastards right where they wanted them. So take them. Because if you didn’t, if you got greedy and held out for more, then things had a not-so-funny way of slipping through your fingers. But it was Cavanaugh’s case, not the Aardvark’s and for sure not hers. And the Feds were always going to have it their way-because they could.

  “Besides which,” Cavanaugh added, “we don’t even know where the damned dope is hidden.”

  “Actually, we do,” Des said, all eyes turning her way.

  “Don’t play cute, master sergeant,” he said, glaring at her. “What do you know that we don’t?”

  “That right after he moved in Clay Mundy ordered Molly Procter to stay out of the root cellar. It’s directly under the kitchen, which is where the trapdoor is. It’s a dirt floor crawl space, most likely. That’s how they built the old farmhouses around here. Especially in low-lying areas like Sour Cherry. A full basement would just flood during the rainy season.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us this yesterday?”

  “Didn’t know it then.”

  “It plays,” Grisky said grudgingly. “We’ve never seen them go near the barn or anywhere else. And I’ve heard about dealers burying their crystal under dirt for safekeeping.”

  “Which leaves us where?” Soave demanded impatiently. “Last time I looked I still have a homicide investigation to run.”

  “So run it,” Cavanaugh said easily. “We’ll stay on the sidelines, watching and listening. Just do us a small favor and stay out of that root cellar for now. We can’t have you stumbling over our evidence.”

  “But what if there’s evidence down there that links Mundy to the murder?”

  “Actually, you gentlemen are getting a bit ahead of yourselves,” said Brandon. “I seriously doubt that a judge would even grant you a warrant to enter the house. Not based on what I’ve heard so far.”

  Soave shook his shiny dome at him. “Why the hell not? We’re looking for the murder weapon and bloody clothing. The stuff’s got to be somewhere.”

  “Somewhere doesn’t constitute probable cause for entering a home.”

  “Mundy and the professor fought in that very driveway just a few nights ago,” Soave argued, stabbing the table with his index finger.

  “Not good enough,” Brandon reasoned. “No one saw the victim entering the home tonight. No one saw Mundy or Villanueva leaving the murder scene and going in the home. The two men claim they were playing cards at the time of the murder. You have no evidence or testimony to the contrary. Neither man has so much as a single prior arrest. Consequently, you have no reason to believe the evidence is in that house. What you have barely even rises to the level of a suspicion.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Furthermore, Agent Cavanaugh makes an excellent point. You do not want to go anywhere near that meth while in the process of looking for something else. You’d be leaving the door wide open for defense counsel to claim an illegal search and possibly get it thrown out. You haven’t even undertaken your search of the area yet, let alone exhausted it. If I were you, lieutenant, I’d stay out of that house altogether for now. If there’s anything down there, it’s not going anywhere. And neither are Clay Mundy or Hector Villanueva.”

  “I’ll have to talk to my C.O. about this,” Soave grumbled.

  “Do what you have to do,” Cavanaugh said with cool condescension. “Just touch base with us regularly so there are no communications lapses.” To Des he said, “Yesterday, you had safety concerns regarding the family. The wife has now been hospitalized, correct?”

  “Correct. And Molly’s tucked in across the street with the Beckwiths. I’ve made it very clear to them that she’s to stay out of her own house.”

  “Are they hip as to why?” Grisky wondered.

  “No, they’re simply of the belief that Clay and Hector are too unsavory for the girl to be around.”

  “Which, real, they are,” Yolie said.

  “Then I think we’re all done here.” A faint smile creased Cavanaugh’s impassive face. “I’d like everyone to know that I’m extremely comfortable with our game plan.” His game plan. “In fact, I have a remarkably good feeling about our chances.” His chances. “Let’s suit up, shall we?”

  CHAPTER 10

  To: Mitch Berger

  From: Bella Tillis

  Subject: Unhappy Turn of Events

  Dear Mr. Hot Shot New York Movie Critic-I know you told me that you no longer feel “connected” to this place but I have some very sad news to send along concerning little Molly.

  Her father, Richard, was murdered last night. Des found him floating in the river at the end of Sour Cherry Lane with his throat cut. Apparently his killer dumped him there thinking he’d drift out to sea. Although chances are he would have washed up right here on our little beach, as you know. Thank God he got snagged on a tree or I probably would have tripped over him on my walk this morning and suffered horrible nightmares for weeks.

  They don’t know who did it yet. Poor Molly was up in her tree house when it happened. She actually heard her father’s screams. Such a thing for a child to cope with. Carolyn has been hospitalized, so for now Molly is bunking across the lane with Kimberly and Jen Beckwith. My impression is she’ll soon be relocating to her aunt’s farm in Maine for the summer, if not permanently. My point is, I’m not sure just how much longer Molly is going to be around Dorset. She is very, very fond of you, Mitch. I know you were once fond of her. And even though you no longer feel “connected” to this place if you could phone her or drop her a note at Kimberly’s it would mean a lot to her.

  Do you remember Des’s friend Yolie? The one with the cazongas? And Soave, that strutting little weasel with n
o neck? They’re both on the case, and currently of the opinion that Richard was done in by Carolyn’s boyfriend, Clay Mundy. Possibly assisted by Hector, his hired man. But they haven’t filed charges yet. About fifty men in uniform have spent all day today searching the countryside around Sour Cherry Lane for the murder weapon and other evidence. They’ve uncovered nothing so far, although the crime scene technicians did find some shoeprints near the murder scene that may have belonged to Richard’s killer. They’re from a man’s shoe, a sneaker. The professor was wearing hiking shoes. Scuba divers are scouring the river bottom. Or trying. The bottom is so soft and muddy that anything like a knife would sink out of sight. They have to use a metal detector. The forensics people are searching Richard’s body for any sort of hair or clothing fibers that may point them to whoever did this. All of which is slow, painstaking work that takes a great deal of patience. Certainly more than I possess.

  You’re probably asking yourself how I know so many details. The answer is that I just ran into our resident trooper at The Works and she filled me in over a cup of their fancy, shmancy hazelnut flavored coffee. Which, if you’ll pardon me, still doesn’t compare to Chock full O’Nuts back in its heyday. I used to get a cup of good, strong coffee and a slice of date nut bread with cream cheese for a nickel. That was my lunch when I was going to City College. Now it costs $3.95 for the coffee and you get no date nut bread, no nothing. But business is booming. The parking lot was loaded with state troopers standing around drinking their overpriced coffee and yukking it up. Not exactly how I choose to see my tax dollars being spent, but I’m just a fat old woman and no one ever asks me my opinion on this or any other matter.

  Between you, me and the lamppost I think there’s more going on here than Des is willing to let on. More than just the professor’s murder, I mean. When I was on my way home I swung by Town Hall to pick up my new dump sticker and someone has taken over the auxiliary conference room. I spotted a few state troopers in uniform. But the rest of them had that smug, self-important look that is peculiar to federal agents and Republican members of Congress. Could it be that this Clay Mundy is involved in something even worse than cutting a man’s throat? Des certainly wouldn’t say, but I suspect that drugs are involved. The illegal kind. Because she did tell me that Carolyn Procter is all messed up thanks to him. Her exact words were, “If you saw the lady on the street you’d think she was a crack whore.” Can you imagine such a thing happening to someone like Carolyn? Why is it that good women have such bad taste in men? Are they blind? Or aren’t there enough good men like you to go around?

  Des and I no longer talk about Him. She knows how I feel about her decision to be miserable with Brandon instead of happy with you. I make no apologies for how I feel. I’m the one who nursed her back to health after he took off on her with that Anita. I saw what a wreck he left behind. And I see her turning into that same wreck all over again. Her hands shook like crazy this afternoon when she was holding her coffee cup. And get this: As we were walking out of The Works she asked me if I’d heard from you. She brought you up, not me. So I told her you’re going to be doing your own show out in L.A. with Miss Hawaii, and you’ll never guess what happened next. She got this strange, dazed look on her face and then I swear she nearly passed out. Had to grab on to my arm or she would have pitched right over onto the pavement. She recovered quickly. Insisted she’d merely stumbled. But I know a fainting spell when I see one. She’s not well, Mitch. She’s lost so much weight her uniform is falling off of her. I told her to go see her doctor. She told me she had and that the doctor said she was fine. I don’t believe her.

  I know you are “over” Des but I also know she once meant the world to you. As a personal favor to me would you please give her a call and find out how she’s doing? Maybe she’ll tell you something about her health that she won’t tell me. And it will give you two a chance to discuss the professor’s murder. Berger and Mitry used to be quite the crime-stopping duo here in Dorset, after all. Your insights into human behavior were always invaluable to her. Not that Des would ever admit that. But it so happens I’ve been around a few years and I know these things.

  I do realize that this may be a bit awkward for you. I wouldn’t ask you under any other circumstances. But I love her and I am worried sick about her.

  Much love, Aunt Bella p.s. I finally had to let Quirt out before he shredded all of the furniture. He has resumed prowling the island. Eats the dry food I leave out for him. Also the heads of numerous bunny rabbits. Life goes on.

  To: Bella Tillis

  From: Mitch Berger

  Subject: Re: Unhappy Turn of Events

  Dear Bella-Really sorry to hear about Richard. I didn’t know him well but from everything Molly told me he seemed like a terrific guy. And I can’t believe what’s happened to her mother. When I first moved out to Big Sister I used to see Carolyn jogging through the Nature Preserve every morning. She‘d always smile and wave to me. I remember that I kept thinking how weird it was for such a beautiful woman to be so friendly to a total stranger. My frame of reference was the city, where someone with her looks would simply stare right through me. You see, I hadn’t figured out yet that Carolyn’s behavior was the norm for Dorset. People smile at you there. Carolyn was part of my initiation to that otherworldly place.

  I’ll be sure to send Molly a note at Kimberly’s. It sounds like her aunt’s farm in Maine will be the best thing for her. She needs to get away from that mess. She and Carolyn both.

  As to the resident trooper, ahem, where do I begin? For starters, you’ve totally fictionalized our crime-fighting exploits. Des never regarded me as anything more than an amateur goof-ball who kept blundering my way into her business. Really nice attempt at spin on your part, though. Have you thought about a career in politics? Hey, here’s an idea: You could run for the U.S. Congress against Him. The voters need you, Bella. Congress needs you. Think about it.

  Also, you’ve conveniently overlooked that she dumped me in a spectacularly heart-stomping fashion. So I will not be reaching out to her. Not about Richard’s murder. Not about the state of her health. She’s probably just dieting so she can fit into a thong bikini so as to please Him. Besides, her hands always shake when she drinks too much coffee. Tell her to drink less coffee. Tell her to eat more. Tell her to… Come to think of it, I don’t care what you tell her.

  Bella, I’ve met someone. She’s a dance critic named Cecily Naughton. Cecily just moved here from London and we’ve hit it off big-time. Remember my former editor, Lacy Nickerson? You met her at the hospital in New London that time I got shot in the leg. Anyway, Lacy introduced the two of us. And before you even ask me, the answer is No, Cecily is not one of the chosen people. Though she is anointed. Her grandfather was the earl of somewhere. Not that she takes any of that peerage stuff seriously. She’s a very smart, funny and opinionated woman. Also totally hot. We argue about our work a lot. We laugh a lot. What else can I tell you? Oh, I know-I haven’t seen her since this morning and I already miss her.

  Happily, she’s arranged to be in L.A. while I’m out there. I sort of invited her to come, actually. She wants to check out a couple of experimental dance companies up in San Francisco. Then she’s going to fly down to L.A. so we can spend some quality time together. I’m leaving on a flight first thing tomorrow morning. I expect to be at the Four Seasons for about ten days. I’ll have my laptop. Feel free to e-mail me if you need me for any reason.

  I’d rather you didn’t say anything to Des about Cecily, if you don’t mind. I simply wanted you to know I’m back on my feet and couldn’t be happier. In fact, I’m practically giddy. Not that it’s love or anything. Love doesn’t just happen overnight. Not in real life, anyway. Only in movies that star Reese Witherspoon.

  Seriously, I wouldn’t worry about the master sergeant. She just forgets to eat when she’s wrapped up in her work. She takes her job to heart. Sometimes too much. That’s why she took up drawing. She’ll be fine once she has a piece of graphite stic
k in her fingers again, which is something she knows perfectly well.

  Want to know something? I came to a major realization today. Des and I didn’t bring out the best in each other. We thought we did, but we were wrong. Brandon is the person who she belongs with. And now maybe I’ve found someone who is right for me, too. Things certainly seem to be turning out like they’re supposed to. Who knows, maybe real life is just like the movies. Fade out. Roll closing credits…

  Love, Mitch

  To: Mitch Berger

  From: Bella Tillis

  Subject: Re: Re: Unhappy Turn of Events

  Dear Mr. Hot Shot New York Movie Critic-I am so pleased that you’ve met someone who you care about. I want nothing more than for you to be happy. I can’t wait to meet your lovely Cecily.

  Much love, Aunt Bella p.s. Is Reese Witherspoon the one with the chin? p.p.s. If I ever meet up with Lacy Nickerson again I intend to punch her in the nose.

  CHAPTER 11

  Carolyn was looking limp but a whole lot better. They’d gotten her into a shower. Her long blond hair was washed. And she was on an intravenous drip to bring her back from her malnourished condition. Her color had improved. So had her mental state. She seemed lucid and calm as she lay there in her bed. No restraints needed. For now, they were keeping her on a mild sedative.

  She was in a semiprivate room in Middlesex Hospital, which was a half hour north of Dorset up in Middletown. Her roommate was in surgery, so right now Carolyn had it all to herself-not counting the tanned, weathered woman who was seated by the bed talking softly to her when Des arrived.

  Megan Chichester of Blue Hill, Maine, immediately got up out of her chair and stuck out a hand.

  “We meet at last,” said Des, her own slim hand disappearing inside Megan’s rough, calloused one.

  “I came as fast as I could.” Carolyn’s sister was immediately on the defensive. “Not fast enough, I guess.”

  “There’s no way you could have anticipated this. Don’t blame yourself.”