The sour cherry surprise

“I absolutely do. Don’t sweat it, Mr. Mundy. And thanks for your time.” Des tipped her big hat at him and headed back across the lane, thinking about how she was going to run a criminal background check on these two just as soon as she had a chance.

Molly was still over there shooting baskets. A silver VW Passat was now parked behind her in the driveway.

“It’s happened to her, too, hasn’t it?” Molly said glumly.

“What has, Molly?”

“My mom’s body is still there but she isn’t. She’s been taken away same as my dad. It’s just like I Married a Monster from Outer Space with Mr. Tom Tryon.”

Des snagged the ball and bounce-passed it to her, feeling sorrier for this bespectacled little waif than she had for anyone in a long while. “How do you know about such a black-and-white oldie?”

“Mitch was always uber-cool about loaning me DVDs. I’m really into old-school sci-fi. Also anything that has haunted houses with secret passageways and dungeons.”

“You and Mitch really spoke the same language, didn’t you?”

“Totally. I really miss Mitch. He’s like my dad-real smart but he doesn’t try to make you feel stupid.” Molly drove to the hoop and laid it in off of the glass. “Why’d you break his heart?”

“Is that what you think happened?”

“Duh. It’s why he left town. Everybody knows that.”

“Sometimes two people just don’t belong together anymore.”

“Will you guys ever get back together?”

“No, Molly, we won’t.”

“But you’re supposed to be together,” Molly said insistently. “You belong together.”

“You’ve been talking to Mrs. Tillis about us, haven’t you?”

“Have not. I just know it, that’s all. I know about a lot of things.”

Des glanced back across the lane. Clay and Hector had gone inside the house. “Do you know if your mom has been to see a doctor lately?”

Molly shook her head. “She hasn’t been anywhere in weeks. Just sleeps all day. Clay does all of the grocery shopping and stuff.”

“Do you like Clay?”

“I hate him,” she said flatly. “He’s bossy and he’s mean. Always acting like he can tell me what to do.”

“Has he ever put his hands on you?”

“You mean like hit me? No way.” Molly lowered her eyes evasively before she added, “Hector’s okay. He shoots hoops with me sometimes.”

“And where does he live?”

“With us. Except sometimes he goes away for a few days. So does Clay.”

“They go away together?”

“No, when one of them leaves the other one stays behind. Hector crashes on the sofa usually. Except if Clay’s out of town. Then he gets to…” Molly trailed off, her pink nose twitching. “One morning I saw Hector coming out of my mom’s room without any clothes on. He sleeps in her bed just like Clay does. And sometimes they’re both in there with her at the same time.” Molly gazed up at her now, wide-eyed and earnest. “Trooper Des, what’s wrong with my mom?”

“Nothing we can’t set right,” Des answered confidently, even though she sure wasn’t feeling that way. The girl’s father was out to lunch and her drugged-out mother was getting it on with the entire staff of Nutmegger Professional Seamless Gutters. The truth was that this situation was edging dangerously close to actionable-if Des had reason to suspect that Molly was being abused, neglected or exposed to criminal behavior then she was supposed to toss it to the Department of Children and Families.

A driveway side door to the Beckwith farmhouse opened now. A fortyish, frizzy-haired redhead in a short-sleeved pink blouse and white slacks came bustling out with a basket of laundry and started around back with it.

“Don’t you worry, Molly,” Des said with a reassuring smile. “And hey, my folks split up, too. So if you ever want to talk I’m around, okay?” She offered the girl her card. Molly just stared at it. “Look, I know you were mad at me this morning, but I need for you to come up big for me now, okay?”

Molly frowned at her. “Big how?”

“By being my eyes and ears. If anything goes down over there that scares you, pick up the phone and call me, deal?”

Grudgingly, Molly tucked the card inside of her sneaker. Then she went back to draining jump shots.

Kimberly Beckwith’s small backyard was weedy and untamed. She was hanging sheets and towels on the clothesline when Des made her way back there, the wet sheets billowing and flapping in the breeze off of the river.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Beckwith.”