The sour cherry surprise

He smiled at her and said, “Clemmie, old girl, we are doing pretty damned good, know that?” Because it was true. Hell, if he’d had a sword, Mitch would have launched it triumphantly into the ceiling just like Tyrone Power had in The Mark of Zorro. But Mitch had no sword. So instead he wept.

CHAPTER 3

It felt very strange to be easing her cruiser thumpety-bumpety over the narrow wooden causeway out to Big Sister again. Des couldn’t help recalling the very first time she’d set eyes on this private Yankee eden with its choice handful of Peck family mansions scattered across forty acres of meadows and woods. That snug little carriage house where she’d first met a certain pudgy, sad-eyed widower named Mitch Berger. She’d driven down from Central District headquarters in Meriden that day to investigate the body he’d found. She was still a homicide investigator on the Major Crime Squad then. A lieutenant. One of only three such women in the state. And the only one who was black. She’d been hot stuff all right-until she stepped on the wrong toes.

Seeing the place once again, Des realized that Big Sister felt a lot like home. There was that strip of private beach where she and Mitch had walked together for the very first time. And the sandy, twisting path they took home the night they went skinny dipping in the moonlight. And the lighthouse where he’d proposed marriage to her.

It all seemed so long ago now. And yet it was still right there inside of her heart. She could feel her chest tighten as she pulled into the driveway next to Mitch’s plum-colored 1956 Studebaker pickup. He’d left it behind for Bella. Had no use for it in the city.

Quirt came running across the garden toward her when she got out, rubbing up against her leg and yowling in outrage over her prolonged absence. She bent down and picked him up. He wouldn’t let her hold him. Just squirmed in her arms until she released him. When Bella came out the front door to greet Des he darted inside the house.

“Oh, thank god!” Bella said excitedly. “I’ve been trying to get him inside for weeks. Quick, quick, close the door…”

Des shut the door behind them. “What are you going to do with him?”

“Find a good home for him-unless you want him.”

“Bella, you know I can’t take him.”

“I don’t know anything anymore,” Bella blustered, standing there in her ratty, ancient black ERA-YES sweatshirt and black stretch pants. She looked like an angry Jewish bowling ball. “I used to, but those days are over.”

Des let her rebuke slide on by. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” she said, glancing around.

Bella had opened up Mitch’s drop-leaf dining table and moved it in front of the bay windows, which gave the room a much homier air. There was a bowl of fruit on it. Also her laptop computer. Mitch’s sky blue Fender Stratocaster and stack of amps were stashed in a corner by the door. Des was surprised he hadn’t taken it all with him to New York.

“He said he hasn’t felt like playing his music lately,” Bella explained, following her gaze.

“He called that music?”

“To him it was. Which, being an artist, you ought to be able to understand. How is your drawing coming?”

“I’ve been a bit short on time lately.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means uh-huh.”

“Sounded like something more.”

“Then you’re having a conversation with yourself, not me.” Bella looked her up and down, brow furrowing. “Tell me, just exactly how many pounds have you lost?”

“Who says I’ve lost any?”

“I do. You’re nothing but skin and bone. As for your color…”

“My color?”

“It’s distinctly sallow. You used to glow. You don’t glow anymore.”

“Bella, is this a for-real prowler call or did you just lure me out here to tell me how lousy I look?”

“You don’t look lousy. You look unhappy.”

“Just step off, okay? Brandon and I are getting along great. Why can’t you accept that?”

“Because I lived through this before, that’s why. I remember how close he came to destroying you.”

“Bella…”

“And don’t you tell me he’s changed because he hasn’t. People never do.”

“Bella, if we’re going to stay friends then the subject of Brandon will have to remain off-limits. Deal?”

“Fine,” she snapped. “But only if you eat a little something. How about a nice, thick brisket sandwich? I’ve got fresh challah.”

“Why don’t you just tell me about this prowler?”

“I’m not sure it’s a prowler. But I do keep finding signs that someone has taken up residence out here.”

“You mean like a homeless person?”

“Come, I’ll show you.”

She led Des outside to the barn. The stray cats that they’d rescued together were parked inside in their cages, waiting not-so-patiently for homes. A lanky, bespectacled girl of about ten was feeding them.

“Hey, Bella,” the girl said, studying Des guardedly.

“Molly, this is Trooper Mitry.”

Molly had curly blond hair and freckles and a pink, busy little nose. “Hullo…”

Des smiled at the girl. “Hello, yourself.”