The sour cherry surprise

Subject: Annoying Cottage Query Dear Mr. Hotshot New York Film Critic-Pardon me for being blunt, but is this little house of yours haunted? I have two very good reasons for asking such a question. One is that I keep hearing very strange tap, tap, tapping noises in the walls late at night. Am I living with dozens of teeny-tiny ghosts? This is Dorset, after all. Weird, unexplained things have been known to happen here. That brings me to my second question: Do strangers typically hang around on the island after dark? Please don’t think I’m being a nutty old broad, but I keep getting the feeling that someone has been spending the night on that ratty old sofa out in the barn. And I’d swear he or she is stealing food from me. I asked Bitsy Peck next door if she’d noticed anyone hanging around, but Bitsy looked at me like I was crazy. So did little Molly Procter, who has been helping me with the cats. You remember Molly, don’t you? Her parents split up, and she is one sad, lonely little girl. Anyhow, does any or all of this sound like your idea of normal island life? Answers, mister. I need answers. I’ve had no luck corralling Quirt, though I’m certain I will soon prevail. When I do I’ll be happy to bring him to you in the city. It’ll give me an excuse to visit you. I’m sorry to say our resident trooper is unwilling to take him. Her current roommate is not a cat lover, which should tell you everything you need to know about that arrogant, manipulative bum. I know, I know. I promised you I wouldn’t talk about Him anymore. I’m just so accustomed to saying whatever pops into my head that I can’t help it. You’re like a son to me. And Desiree is my best friend. The fact that you two aren’t together anymore, aren’t even speaking, makes me mad enough to spit. I still can’t believe you let that man take the love of your life away from you. But I suppose I just have to deal. You’ve certainly moved on. I saw you on TV today flirting with that Polynesian high school girl. You probably don’t even think about Desiree anymore. Or Dorset. That’s what the old hens at Town and Country beauty salon are saying. I choose to disagree with them in my own quiet way. Much love, Aunt Bella p.s. Between you, me and the lamp post: What in the hell did they do to your eyebrows???

To: Bella Tillis

From: Mitch Berger

Subject: Re: Annoying Cottage Query Dear Aunt Bella-You’ll be happy to know that the house is not, repeat not, haunted. That tap-tapping you hear in the walls at night is nothing more than the mating call of your friendly native powder post beetles. They are small, pill-shaped bugs that live in the chestnut beams. Every year when the weather turns warm they come out and bang their little heads (or whatever it is they have) against the wood to announce to their opposite numbers that it’s time to get busy. I am not making this up. They’re totally harmless. Well, not totally. They will, in fact, eat the house eventually. But it will take at least another 200 years, and I don’t want to fumigate. So you have housemates. Sorry I forgot to warn you. I promise you they’ll disappear back into the cracks in another few days and blessed silence will return. It’s all just part of the rich cavalcade of life on Big Sister. As to your question about strangers hanging around in the night: Sometimes high school kids sneak out there to get high and engage in recreational boinkage, particularly when it gets warm (see above re: powder post beetles). This is why the lighthouse is always kept locked. But they don’t usually stay over. And they for sure aren’t welcome to come in our houses and help themselves to food. If you think someone is doing this then you should definitely contact our resident trooper. Her name and number are listed in the phone book. For the record, Brandon didn’t “take” Des from me. She made the decision that was right for her and I have to respect it. It’s nobody’s fault. In the immortal words of that great philosopher Donald Rumsfeld, “Stuff happens.” I’d love to see you any time you can make it into the city. But I must warn you that I can’t take Quirt. He is a roamer, not an apartment cat. He belongs out there. I don’t mean to sound cold and heartless, but he would not be happy here. Molly’s a terrific kid. One hell of a first step to the hoop, too. I e-mailed her recently but never heard back. Tell her I said hey. And I’m sorry to hear about her folks. Best regards, Mitch p.s. Honestly, I have no idea what you mean about my eyebrows.

It was past midnight when he finished his dishes, by which time Clemmie decided she was in the mood to frolic. Mitch tossed her mousy toy up and down the hall and she chased after it with murderous intent until she’d tired herself out. Then she padded into the bedroom, jumped up on the big brass bed and waited there for him. She liked to sleep on his chest.