“You do know that was fiction, don’t you-for little boys?”
A possum moseyed its way out of the brush and up the Crocketts’ driveway, its long, slinky tail trailing along behind it. Truly one of God’s ugliest creatures, Mitch observed. Right up there with the lowly woodchuck. Just one of the many new things he had learned since he moved to Dorset. “You think this is a stupid idea, is that it?”
“Actually, I’m sitting here thinking you make a shocking amount of sense.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“For starters, I think you have you a personal vendetta thing going on. You admired Dodge and he’s turned out to be a total sleaze and now you want him to fry. Your judgment is clouded, Mitch. That’s not to say I disagree with you. The man is bad news, and he should pay for what he’s done to Esme and Becca and who knows who else. But that doesn’t necessarily make him a murderer. Just a sleaze.”
Mitch considered this for a moment. “Okay, what else?”
“I also think there’s an exceptionally good chance that we’re going to sit here until four in the morning and have nothing to show for it except stiff necks.”
It was awfully quiet. They hadn’t seen so much as single passing motorist since they’d been parked there.
“Maybe, but at least we’re together.” He leaned over and kissed her smooth cheek. “You don’t mind that part, do you?”
“No, baby, I don’t mind,” she said, her own knowing lips finding the sweet spot under his ear, the one that turned him into a quivering mass of man Jell-O.
“Did I remember to thank you for stopping at East Coast Grill?” he murmured, finding her mouth with his.
“Three times… This makes four.”
“I’m overwhelmed. I’ve never had a woman bring me pork before.”
“If I’d known you were this easy I’d have done it a lot sooner,” she said, groaning softly. “But you’d better pass me some of that coffee. I’ve been up since before dawn.”
Mitch poured her some from the thermos he’d brought, thinking about what she’d said. Because she wasn’t wrong. Not one bit.
He did want it to be Dodge.
They’d had words that morning at Will’s house. Mitch hadn’t needed to stay there with Will for long. As soon as Des took off the poor guy headed straight for the phone to call his father figure. Dodge’s arrival was Mitch’s official cue to leave. Mitch was in no mood to hang around with that man.
Still, their paths crossed out on the front porch as Dodge came bounding up the steps, looking all tanned, virile, and fit, a manila folder tucked under one arm. “Mitch, I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, face etched with concern. “This is just such an awful business. Why would anyone want to hurt Donna?”
“I really don’t know, Dodge.”
“How is our boy holding up?”
“Our boy is pretty shook.”
“We missed you out there this morning,” he said, eyeing Mitch carefully. “The tide was out. It was beautiful.”
“I couldn’t make it,” Mitch said, rather stiffly.
“Sure, sure.” Dodge seemed stung by Mitch’s chilly response. “Oh, hey, I’ve got something for you,” he said, holding the manilafolder out to him. “This is the application for that teen mentoring program over at the Youth Services Bureau. They’d love to have you if you can spare an hour a week.”
Mitch reached for it gingerly. He did not actually wish to touch anything that Dodge had touched. In fact, he felt a form of visceral revulsion just standing on the same porch with him.
After an awkward silence Dodge said, “I’m sorry you had to walk in on my… private moment with Becca yesterday.”
Mitch said nothing. He knew that the older man was waiting for him to put his mind at ease. But Mitch didn’t particularly feel like doing that.
“I can tell that you’re still upset,” Dodge persisted.
“Dodge, I really don’t want to talk about this right now. Why don’t you go inside? Will needs you.”
“It’s wasn’t what it looked like, Mitch. Becca and I have a real history together. We go way back.”
“Kind of like you and Esme?” Mitch snapped, immediately regretting it. He should have kept his mouth shut.
Dodge didn’t lose his composure. He simply looked Mitch straight in the eye and said, “I don’t know what you’ve been hearing, or from who, but I love my daughter, and I would never, ever hurt her. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar.”
“You never touched her?”
“I’d like to have an opportunity to discuss this further with you, Mitch. Martine will be with Esme tonight. I’ll be home all evening. We can have a drink on the terrace and talk it through, okay? Maybe by then you will have cooled off.”
“Dodge, one thing keeps puzzling me-why’d you tell me that Martine was having an affair?”
“Because she was,” he said. “And because you and I are friends. Or at least I thought we were.”
“Okay, right, I get it now,” Mitch said, nodding his head. “I’m the one who has the problem.”
“Mitch, we all do things that we don’t understand and we can’tcontrol,” Dodge offered as explanation. “Things that we feel bad about. That’s what makes us human beings. Our only real failure is when we don’t make the effort to understand one another. Will you at least try? Will you do that much for me?”
“Sure, I’ll do that much, Dodge,” he replied grimly, seized by the horrifying certainty that his friend had just confessed to killing Tito Molina and Donna Durslag.
And then Mitch had said good-bye to him and headed home to prowl Big Sister’s tidal pools alone with his hands in his pockets. He pruned his tomato plants, mowed his lawn, picked wild blackberries and beach plums. He was fine as long as he kept moving. Until at long last Des returned to him from Boston, one-quart tub of shredded pork in hand.
And now they sat there together in his truck, Des sipping coffee and stabbing holes in his theory. “What about the fact that Dodge has an alibi for when Tito was murdered?”
“His alibi is Becca,” Mitch pointed out. “I don’t mean to sound cold, because I like Becca, but if Dodge can convince her to get down on all fours with a bag over her head, he can convince her to fib for him.”
“I’ll give you that one,” she responded. “But answer me this-why would Dodge want to kill Tito?”
“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was the other way around. Let’s say Tito found out about Dodge and Esme. Maybe Esme told Tito, okay? And let’s say Tito called Dodge out on it. Think about what Tito told me at my house that night. He said he’d gotten himself into something bad, something he couldn’t get out of. This certainly fits the bill, doesn’t it? ‘The hangman says it’s time to let her fly,’ Maybe Tito was telling me that Dodge was about to pay for his sins.”
“Except that Dodge got the best of him up there,” she mused aloud. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Well, why not? There’s no actual proof that it was a woman who pushed Tito off of that cliff, is there?”
“Not one bit,” Des said. “Only answer me this, boyfriend. Why did Dodge turn right around and kill Donna? What’s the connection?”
“Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe it was just some rough sex that got out of hand. It happens.”
“No sale. You can’t tell me that he accidentally happened to kill his second person in three days.”
“Look, I saw with my own two eyes what this guy is capable of doing to women. Frankly, it’s a miracle that more of them haven’t died while they were getting freaky with him.”
“This wasn’t getting freaky, Mitch. Donna was brutally, violently murdered. I am talking about walls spattered with blood.”
“Was there a lot of blood?”
“There was enough. Why, what’s the significance of-?” Des broke off suddenly, drawing in her breath.
Mitch sat right up, hearing the same sound she had-a car starting. It came from across the Crocketts’ meadow. Headlights flicked on now in front of their house and, slowly, the lights turned and made their way down the long gravel drive toward them. Mitch recognized the flatulent burble of the car’s diesel engine. It was Dodge’s old Mercedes wagon.