What am I missing?
It kept gnawing at Mitch as he toodled down Dorset Street in his pickup en route to the A amp;P. The something, whatever it was, that he wasn’t seeing. The key to Augie’s murder. The link between Augie’s death and the Dorset Flasher. Because there was a link, he told himself, munching on the last of the four apple-cider doughnuts he’d picked up at McGee’s diner on his way to the market. At a time like this he needed to be fortified by one of his native fat-boy food groups. Well, two actually. Here lay the sheer genius of doughnuts-they counted as both sugar and grease. The Dorset Flasher, he was convinced, was not just some random kid from the neighborhood. This whole mess was linked together somehow. Had to be. Because this was Dorset-ground zero for hidden links that went back God knows how many generations. Like that whopper of a hookup between Beth and Bertha, her grandfather’s one-time tootsie. Therefore, the identity of the Dorset Flasher was critical. Had to be. The Flasher had not indulged in any targeted weenie waving last night, according to Yolie. Not a single sighting of him. Which signified what-that he was dead? That Augie had been the culprit? Or that he was alive and in hiding now?
What am I missing?
Maybe nothing. Maybe he just had a case of Chattering Monkey Brain, as Kimberly called it in yoga class. His head spinning around and around. No outlet for his jumbled thoughts. Nowhere to run with them. He was the only one of them who had no assignment this morning. Des was on her way to Boston to check the tollbooth security cameras for Kenny’s comings and goings. Very was on his way back to New York City to grill Vinnie Brogna. Yolie was preparing to take another crack at Beth, who Very was convinced had been holding out on him. Mitch? He was heading to the supermarket for a half gallon of low-fat milk. And then it was back to his computer to flesh out this week’s column on icebox questions. After he’d filed that he had a mountain of spade work to do on his new film encyclopedia. This was his chosen profession. He wrote about movies. He didn’t solve crimes. Augie’s death was strictly a job for the pros.
What am I missing?
Or maybe he was just shook up from meeting the real Beth after all of these years. The Beth who was a member of the crime family known as the Seven Sisters. The Beth whose first husband, Sy Lapidus, had been in jail for bookmaking back when Mitch befriended Kenny in Stuyvesant Town. The Beth who had been carrying on a ten-year affair with a married mobster. No doubt about it-the first great love of Mitch Berger’s life had never been the woman he’d thought she was. And maybe a man doesn’t just shrug off something like that. Maybe it was hitting home more than he wanted to admit. Same as the Deacon’s impending coronary bypass surgery was. It was body blows like these that made Mitch miss the blissfully clueless innocence of his youth. Before he’d loved and lost Maisie. Before he’d become acutely aware of the pain and pitfalls that lay before him in the years to come-no matter how careful or smart or lucky he might be. Real life in all of its ugly glory. No grand finale. No stirring John Williams musical score. Just a small, quiet fade-out.
Maybe that was it, Mitch reflected, as he eased his old truck through the Historic District. Kids were out enjoying their last week of summer freedom. A couple of giddy thirteen-year-old girls were riding their bicycles. A boy on a skateboard was showing off for them. The girls were pretending they weren’t watching him. As he cruised past the firehouse, Mitch saw the Sidell boys, Phillip and Peter, walking down the street together, the pair of them playing a spirited little game on the sidewalk as they ambled along, chattering away. He honked and waved to them. They looked up and waved back, the pair of them seemingly as happy as could be. Less than eight hours ago Phillip had been screaming in blind terror. And yet now he seemed fine. Bright eyed and carefree as he strolled in the morning sunshine with his younger brother, totally absorbed in their game, smiling and laughing and…
Mitch hit the brakes right there in the middle of Dorset Street, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Of course! Why hadn’t he seen it before? Why hadn’t any of them? He sat there watching the boys in his rearview mirror, his eyes bulging, head spinning. Then he pulled over and grabbed his cell phone. Des answered on the second ring.
“Listen, how close are you to Boston right now?”
“I had to make a pit stop in Glastonbury. I’m not even in Hartford yet. Why are you asking?”
“How long will it take you to get back here?”
“A half hour. Twenty minutes if I put my cherry on.”
“Put it on, girlfriend.”
“Why, Mitch?”
“Because I need your help. And you’ll want to call Yolie. She needs to be there, okay?”
“Needs to be where? Mitch, what in the hell is going on?”
“I’m about to tell you. But first answer me this: Can you get your hands on a good, sturdy pair of bolt cutters?”
He’d never been inside of their place before.
It was exceedingly formal. A stately grandfather clock ticktocked discreetly just inside of the front door. Oil portraits of dead ancestors hung from the living room walls. The gleaming antique furniture smelled faintly of lemon oil polish.
“What a wonderful surprise, Mitch,” Maddee exclaimed as she led him inside. She wore a floral print summer dress today. And her pearls. And a fresh coating of her alarming magenta lipstick. “Dex will be so pleased to see you.”
“I was out running errands. Hope it’s not too early to pay a social call.”
“Not at all. Dex still keeps Wall Street hours. Once an early riser always an early riser. He’s already done his calisthenics and eaten his breakfast. And Kimberly’s left for her eight o’clock Vinyasa class.” Maddee eyed him critically. “Nonetheless, I’m terribly cross with you.”
“You are? Why is that?”
“You’re empty-handed. Are you honestly telling me you couldn’t find one item of old clothing to pass along to the Nearly New shop?”
“I’m still searching, ma’am.”
“Please keep at it, Mitch. There are people out there who are hurting. They depend on us.”
Dex Farrell was parked at a teak table on the screened-in porch with a cup of coffee and the Wall Street Journal. He wore a crisp white shirt, blue-and-gold bow tie, pressed khaki slacks and white bucks. Maddee had been seated across from him clipping supermarket coupons from the local shoreline weekly newspaper, Mitch gathered. Her coffee cup sat next to a tidy stack of coupons and a small, pointy pair of scissors.
“Why, good morning, Mr. Berger,” Dex said, gazing at him over his rimless eyeglasses.
“Good morning, sir. You suggested I drop by some time for a chat.”
“And here you are. I’m glad. Pull up a chair.”
“Can I get you anything?” Maddee offered as Mitch sat at the table. “Coffee, lemonade?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“Then I’ll leave you two boys to talk. I have my Meals on Wheels duty this morning.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go just yet, Mrs. Farrell. Can you stay a few minutes? There’s something I wanted to ask you about.”
“Certainly.” Maddee sat back down across from her husband and resumed her coupon clipping. She performed the little task same way she gardened-with focused tenacity. Whipping through an ad supplement before she paused, zeroed in, and pounced. Her sharp little scissors going snip-snip-snip in the morning quiet. “Look at this, Dex, the IGA at Four Corners has ten cans of Bumble Bee tuna for ten dollars.” Snip-snip-snip. “You say there’s something you wish to ask me about, Mitch?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, don’t be shy. It’s a sign of weakness. I’ve always encouraged Kimberly to speak right up and tell me what’s on her-”
“How long have you known that your husband is the Dorset Flasher?”
Dex Farrell didn’t so much as blink. Just stared straight ahead, his face impassive.
But Maddee paled instantly, her eyes darting wildly about the porch. “Why, whatever do you mean…?”
“I mean that our Flasher isn’t a sexually frustrated kid. Or an overheated man child like Hal Chapman or J. Z. Cliffe. It’s Dex who has been exposing himself to various prominent ladies in the Historic District, and leaving little presents on their doorsteps.” Mitch looked at him. The man still hadn’t moved a muscle. “Actually, this whole crazy business fell right into place once I realized it was you. For one thing, the Flasher never seems to-how shall I put it-rise to the occasion. Makes total sense. You’re, what, sixty-seven years old? That’s not to say you can’t stand and deliver from time to time. I certainly hope you can. Otherwise I don’t have a whole lot to look forward to in the years ahead. But sex has never been what this was about. Has it, sir?”
Dex reached for his coffee and took a small sip, his hand steady as a rock. He didn’t respond. Or look at Mitch. Just gazed out the porch screen at the rosebushes that flanked the Captain Chadwick House’s front path. The Blush Noisettes that Maddee tended to so passionately.
“I’ve been asking myself why the Flasher always strikes on weekends-which just happens to be when Kenny’s in town visiting Kimberly. I kept thinking there had to be some connection. Again, the obvious answer fell right into place: You do your thing on the weekend because Kimberly isn’t here on the weekend. She’s out of the apartment-over at Beth’s place with Kenny. Plus, who knows, maybe you’re a teensy bit conflicted about that. Daddy’s little girl across the hall, lying in bed naked in some geeky young stranger’s arms. But, hey, that’s a little Freudian for me so I don’t think I’ll go there. Armchair psychology is not my thing. I’ve never been a big fan of Spellbound, have you?”
Dex continued to stare out at the rosebushes. He was very still. Scarcely seemed to be breathing.
“Which isn’t to say that it belongs in the pantheon of Hitchcock’s truly awful films,” Mitch went on. “Such as, say, The Paradine Case. Which, interestingly enough, also happens to star Gregory Peck. He and Hitch were clearly not a match made in Selznick heaven. But Spellbound has never appealed to me. So heavy-handed. And, wowser, talk about icebox questions.”
“Talk about… what?” Maddee asked hoarsely.
“You still haven’t answered my question, ma’am. How long have you known? You may as well tell me. I can help you. I certainly don’t wish to hurt you. I’m a friend of the family. And we both know that Mr. Farrell already has a well-documented history of behaving, shall we say, eccentrically in public.”
Maddee lunged for her coffee cup and took a sip, her own hand shaking so badly that Mitch could hear the cup clonk against her front teeth. “I think you’d better leave, Mitch. I think you’d better leave right this minute. I refuse to sit here and allow you to speak such-such vile, awful, despicable…”
“Please stop talking now, dear,” Dex spoke up, his voice quiet but firm. “Kindly shut your mouth and keep it shut. Mr. Berger has shown me the courtesy of paying us a personal call on this matter. In return, I owe him the courtesy of the truth. It’s the only honorable thing to do. Although I’m afraid, young man, that you won’t understand the purpose behind this little undertaking of mine.”
“I’d like to, sir. I really would.”
“Very well. I’ll do my best to explain it to you,” he said to Mitch as Maddee sat there across the table from him in obedient silence, a stricken expression on her face. “Over the years, Mr. Berger, there have been occasions in my life that have called for me to act in an extraordinary fashion.”
“By extraordinary you mean…?”
“Kindly don’t interrupt me. I assure you that I will answer all of your questions at the appropriate time.” Dex folded his hands before him on the table and resumed. “Occasions that have forced me to invent an alter ego so as to do what needed doing. Whether it be escaping the bonds of a rigid, recalcitrant authority or the righting of egregious wrongs. Wrongs that could not be dealt with by traditional means. Maddee and I have endured a great deal of personal humiliation since we’ve returned to Dorset. Perfectly understandable. I put my faith in the wrong men and cost a lot of innocent people a lot of their hard-earned money. I ask for no sympathy. I fully deserve the scorn and derision that is directed at me wherever I go. But not Maddee. It isn’t fair that this good woman has been made to suffer along with me. She had no part in the institutional failures of Farrell and Co. She was an innocent bystander who wished nothing more than to retire in peace to this village that she loved. That’s not so much to ask for, is it? And yet I saw how the old biddies whispered about her behind her back. Shunned her, humiliated her. Made her grovel to regain their precious approval. A fine, caring lady like my Maddee. Someone of breeding and taste. Her folks were very, very fine people. She was quite a stunner in her day, too, my Maddee. You should have seen her in a bathing suit, Mr. Berger. She would have taken your breath away. And yet just look at how these awful women have treated her. They’ve made her sort through other people’s soiled clothing like a ragpicker. Deliver meals around town just like one of those high-school dropouts who drive for Domino’s Pizza. All because she wanted to book the Yacht Club for Kimberly’s wedding. I’ll have you know I paid for that club’s new dock out of my own pocket seven years ago. Yet now my Maddee has to beg her way back into their good graces. They’re intolerably vicious and cruel, these women. Believe me, each and every one of them richly deserved a dose of her own medicine. And that’s exactly what I gave them.”
“What about that poop sample you left on resident trooper Mitry’s welcome mat? Did she ‘deserve’ that?”
Dex’s jaw muscles tightened but he didn’t respond. Didn’t care for inconvenient questions. Just sat there gazing at Mitch.
“The resident trooper referred to Dex as ‘seriously disturbed’ on Channel Eight News,” Maddee explained, her voice quavering slightly. “It was very hurtful. Dex has been under a doctor’s care for these past two years. He knows-we know-that he has a problem with his… moods. He’s coping with his condition bravely. And, believe me, he’s never harmed a soul.”
Dex nodded in agreement. “I’ve done no actual harm to any of the ladies, Mr. Berger. Merely taken it upon myself to mete out an appropriate measure of justice. You can see that, can’t you?”
“Absolutely, sir. You’ve been making a statement.”
“That’s correct. A statement.”
“And no harm has come to anyone. Unless, of course, you count Augie Donatelli getting his brains bashed in. A man is dead, Mr. Farrell. That kind of throws your whole tit-for-tat thing out the window, doesn’t it?”
Dex clucked at him reproachfully. “You don’t understand a thing.”
“No, sir, I understand perfectly. It’s like Mrs. Farrell just said-you’ve never hurt a soul. And she’s the one person in the world who’s in a position to know that for sure.”
“Because I love my husband,” Maddee said, gazing warmly across the table at him.
“I don’t doubt that for one second, Mrs. Farrell. Tell me, when did you first realize that you weren’t the only one who was following Dex around on his nightly excursions?”
Maddee shook her head at him. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
“Did you know that it was Augie from the get-go?”
She didn’t answer him. Went back to clipping her coupons instead. Snip-snip-snip. Her entire being focused on the task at hand. Snip-snip-snip.
Mitch pushed harder. “I’m curious-how did Augie get onto him?”
Again, no reply. Just that same snip-snip-snip…
“Did Augie have the building staked out?” Snip-snip-snip. “Did he spot Dex sneaking home one night in his ski mask?” Snip-snip-snip. “Is that why you decided you had to kill him?”
Maddee halted, gazing up at Mitch. She seemed quite calm. Almost serenely so. She was smiling at him. A kindly, motherly smile. As Maddee sat there like that, smiling, a strange noise began to emanate from her. A low moan that seemed to originate way down deep in her diaphragm. As it traveled its way up her throat, the moan became a feline roar-a roar that erupted out of her mouth at the same moment she sprang to her feet, kicking over her chair. “You’ve been spying on us, too, haven’t you?” she snarled at him, clutching those sharp little scissors in her fist. Her eyes bulged with rage. “Yes, you have. You’re a nosy little spy, just like that awful, filthy man was. Lurking there in the darkness. Do you know what happens to nosy little spies?” Now she raised those scissors high over her head. “They get their eyes poked out!”
“I wouldn’t try that if I were you, Mrs. Farrell,” Mitch said quietly. “Not if you value your health and well-being.”
Her husband said nothing. Just sat there.
“Put those scissors down on the table right now, ma’am. You’re in a great deal of danger.”
Maddee gaped at him in disbelief. “From who? You?”
“Not exactly, no.”
“That would be from us, Mrs. Farrell.”
Maddee whirled-and discovered that Des and Yolie were standing shoulder to shoulder just outside of the screened-in porch with their SIGs aimed right at her.
“Drop those scissors,” Yolie ordered her. “Drop them right now.”
Maddee wouldn’t. Just continued to stand there brandishing them high overhead.
“Please put them down, Mrs. Farrell,” Des said.
Maddee refused. She even took a step toward the two of them, opening the screen door wide. This was when the awful words “officer-assisted suicide” jumped into Mitch’s head.
“Don’t do this, Mrs. Farrell,” Des pleaded. “We don’t want to hurt you. Just put those scissors down.”
Maddee hesitated, glancing fondly over at her husband, then she turned back to Des and Yolie, her jaw clenching.
“Put ’em down!” Yolie said once more.
Now Mitch heard it again-that same low moan coming out of Maddee. The one that would soon turn into a roar. She was going to charge them.
“Don’t do it,” Des warned as Maddee took another step toward them. “Please, Mrs. Farrell.”
This was when Mitch dove for her. He tackled Maddee to the wooden deck, her body under his. She went down hard-but not without a fight. She wrestled with him, snarling and gasping. His hand found her right fist, the one that was wrapped around those scissors. He pinned her fist to the floor. But she still wouldn’t let go of the damned things. She was amazingly strong.
By now Des and Yolie had charged inside. Des stomped on Maddee’s wrist with her shoe. Maddee’s hand immediately went dead, her fist opening like a clamshell. Yolie snatched the scissors away from her.
“You see, Des, this is why I’ve never gone in for coupon clipping,” Mitch explained. “It’s much too dangerous a hobby. What took you so long anyhow?”
“We had to search through two whole bins before we hit the jackpot,” responded Yolie, who was still wearing a pair of white latex crime-scene gloves.
“But I was right, wasn’t I?”
Yolie nodded at him. “You were right-about all of it. Dunno how.”
“I don’t either.” Des looked at him in amazement. “I swear, boyfriend, sometimes you scare me.”
Yolie went back outside for a pair of bulging, black plastic trash bags and dumped them on the floor.
Maddee’s eyes widened when she caught sight of them. And the last bit of resistance went out of her. Her body slackened. She was subdued now. And unhurt-aside from a bruised wrist. Mitch helped her back up onto her feet and into her chair.
Her husband continued to take all of this in with no expression. In fact, Dex Farrell barely seemed to notice the two large, gun-toting black women who were standing there on his porch.
“Happily, you ladies got here just in time,” Mitch informed them. “Mrs. Farrell was just about to tell me how and when she realized Augie was following Mr. Farrell around.”
“I knew about Dex’s activities from the beginning. That very first night he slipped out of our condo,” Maddee explained quietly. She sounded weary now. Utterly exhausted. “We retire early. By nine, nine-thirty at the latest. Always have. Wall Street men keep early hours. Dex thought I was asleep, but I don’t sleep very well. I haven’t in years. I heard him go into the bathroom and get dressed. I had no idea what he was up to but he was being so-so secretive that I became concerned. I threw on some dark clothes, put a scarf over my head and followed him. Not that I would have recognized him unless I’d seen him leave our unit with my own two eyes. He wasn’t dressed at all like his usual self. He had on a black nylon windbreaker, jeans, a pair of sneakers…”
“And don’t forget the ski mask,” Mitch said.
“He could have been anyone. Except he wasn’t anyone. He was the man I’ve loved for thirty-seven years.” Maddee reached across the table and put her hand over Dex’s, smiling at him.
“A real stunner, Mitch,” he said softly, his eyes blank and lusterless. “She would have taken your breath away.”
Yolie glanced down at the trash bags on the floor. “I’m not going to open up these bad boys again. Don’t want to compromise any evidence. But the Flasher’s whole outfit is bundled up in this one here,” she said, poking it with her foot. “Including a mud-caked pair of Chuckie T. All Stars and the ski mask, which will provide us with excellent samples of Mr. Farrell’s DNA-his saliva, nasal secretions, hairs from his head. A ski mask is what the forensics people call a target-rich environment. Your own outfit is in that other bag, Mrs. Farrell. Dark blue slacks, long-sleeved blouse, purple scarf. Your garden gloves, hiking shoes. Everything you were wearing on Saturday night when you were out there keeping watch over your husband. I have zero doubt that we’ll find traces of Augie Donatelli’s blood all over them. You’re bound to produce blood spray when you beat a man’s head in with a baseball bat.” She turned to Mitch. “Lay it on me, hon. How did you know where we’d find this stuff?”
“Basic human nature, Yolie. It’s all perfectly good clothing-including the ski mask. Mrs. Farrell couldn’t destroy it. Not when there are needy souls out there who could wear it. It’s just not in her nature to waste anything.” To Maddee he said, “You delivered a load of used clothing to the Nearly New shop at St. Anne’s yesterday morning. Kimberly told us she helped you load up your car before church. You’re a smart, careful person. You didn’t dare bring that ski mask and clothing to the Nearly New. We’re talking about incriminating evidence. But you could toss it in one of those Goodwill bins behind Christiansen’s Hardware, figuring it would get carted halfway across the country and no one would ever be the wiser. Clever move, ma’am.”
“Hell, you’ve been nothing but clever,” Des said to her. “When I answered Bertha’s 911 here on Friday you went out of your way to play the frightened victim. Telling me how scared you were you’d be the Flasher’s next victim. But you made one small mistake, Mrs. Farrell. The Goodwill truck only empties out those bins once a week-on Tuesdays. So the evidence hadn’t left town yet. It’s just been sitting in that bin ever since you dropped it there yesterday on your way to church. It would still be sitting there if Mitch hadn’t put two and two together. He’s the one who advised us to pop the locks and start searching. Sure enough, there it was. But I still don’t get it, Mitch. How did you know?”
“Because of something Mrs. Farrell said to me yesterday when I was here with Lieutenant Very. She was out in the backyard working on the Captain Chadwick roses. I happened to say how nice they looked. And she said it wasn’t easy, what with the insects and diseases and ball-playing louts. I kept thinking what ball-playing louts? There’s nobody living here but well-heeled older adults, right?”
Des studied him curiously. “Right…”
“Until, wham, it hit me just now as I was driving down Dorset Street. That’s when I saw them.”
“Saw who?”
“Phillip and Peter Sidell moseying down the sidewalk kicking a soccer ball back and forth to each other. Phillip and Peter who live two doors over in a small place that doesn’t have much of a backyard. Certainly nothing like the four acres or so of lawn that this place has. Phillip who suffered a full-blown freak-out last night.”
Des nodded her head slowly. “Because he knows who killed Augie. They both do. They looked out of their bedroom window and saw her running from the scene. Must have. But I couldn’t get them to admit anything.”
“Because they’re totally petrified of this lady. Why is that, Mrs. Farrell?”
“Those boys trampled one of my Blush Noisettes just like a pair of wild animals,” Maddee explained matter-of-factly. “They uprooted it. Broke its branches. Nearly killed the poor thing. So I told the little hooligans that if I ever caught them kicking their damned soccer ball into my roses again I’d sneak into their bedroom in the night and take my pruners to their little dickies.”
Mitch drew his breath in. “Okay, that sure would have given me night terrors when I was twelve. In fact, it still may. But I’m not clear about one thing: How did you come to be in possession of Augie’s Louisville Slugger?”
“I can answer that,” Des said. “Augie told me he’d found her in his apartment Friday morning searching through his trash for recyclables. Or so she claimed. What he didn’t tell me-what he didn’t know-was that the real purpose of her visit was to grab that bat from under his bed. How did you know it was there, Mrs. Farrell?”
“Augie told me it was,” Maddee replied. “He said that even though he felt completely safe in this neighborhood he’d slept with his Mickey Mantle bat under his bed for thirty years and was not about to change his ways. He was a stubborn man. Also a filthy one. There was dust everywhere. Stacks of dirty dishes, soiled underwear…”
“You stashed it here,” Des continued. “And when Dex slipped out on Saturday night you brought it with you to use as a weapon on Augie. Augie was on to him and you had to do something about that. I was tailing Augie myself that night. He left his apartment, crossed the backyard and perched there in the darkness, waiting. I didn’t know why. Now I do-he was waiting for Dex to come tiptoeing out of the building. When Dex took off into the night Augie went after him. I tailed Augie. And you were tailing all three of us. As soon as you had a clear swing at him you used that bat to take him out.”
“He fell to his knees, groaning, when I struck him,” Maddee recalled. “I surprised him more than I hurt him, I do believe. It was so dark I wasn’t sure where I’d hit him. So I hit him again-this time with greater force and accuracy. After that, he didn’t make a sound. I dropped the bat and ran back to the house. Bagged up my clothes, washed myself off and waited for Dex to return, hoping and praying that he’d make it home safe. And he did.” She gazed at him, her eyes shining with love. “My husband needed me, Master Sergeant Mitry. That awful man meant to do great harm to my Dex. It was up to me to protect him. I’d do it again if I had to.”
“Sir, did you know what your wife did?” Yolie asked him.
Dex didn’t answer her. Just sat there, gazing out at the Blush Noisettes.
Yolie tried again. “Mr. Farrell…?”
He blinked several times before he said, “We always talk things over. It’s the key to a successful marriage. That’s something you young people ought to remember for the future. Never keep secrets. Never go to bed angry. Talk everything out.”
“So you did know?”
“He just told you, Sergeant. We don’t keep secrets. We’ve been through so many ups and downs over these past thirty-seven years, haven’t we, Dex? This little episode-this is just one more thing.”
“It’s the only thing,” Yolie countered. “You murdered another human being, lady. Don’t you understand that?”
“What I understand,” Maddee replied, “is that I made a sacred vow to this man the day I married him. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. This right here is the sickness part. My Dex isn’t well. But I wasn’t about to abandon him when he needed me most. What kind of a wife would that make me?”
“The kind who has to take a little ride to New London with me,” Yolie said to her. “You and your husband both. Maddee Farrell, you are under arrest for the murder of Augie Donatelli. Dexter Farrell, you are under arrest for being an accomplice to the murder after the fact-as well as for multiple counts of public indecency, criminal trespass and malicious mischief. You both have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney and to have-”
“I’d like to phone ours before we leave,” Maddee told her. “And to finish dressing as well.”
“Of course.”
“Dex, do you want your seersucker or your madras?” Maddee asked him, as if they were off to the country club for a game of bridge.
He considered his reply carefully. “The seersucker, I think.”
Maddee went into the kitchen to make her phone call, which was quite brief. Then she went down the hall to their bedroom. Yolie stayed right with her, not trusting her one bit. When they returned Maddee had a yellow cotton sweater on over her summer dress. She was carrying her purse and her husband’s seersucker sports jacket.
As she helped him on with it Maddee said, “Sergeant, you don’t need to handcuff us, do you?”
“No, ma’am. That won’t be necessary. We’re just taking a little ride.”
“You’re very considerate. Thank you.”
They all left together by way of the front door. Yolie toting the black plastic trash bags of evidence. Maddee pausing to make sure the door was locked behind them.
Beth and Bertha stood there waiting for them in the hallway of the building. They’d seen Des and Yolie pull up outside in their cruisers, apparently. Bertha had a defiant look on her wrinkled little face. Beth, on the other hand, seemed uneasy. Her eyes avoided Mitch’s. She couldn’t, wouldn’t look at him.
“I was hoping to run into you, Bertha,” Maddee exclaimed brightly. “Could you phone Cissy and tell her I won’t be able to help with Meals on Wheels today? It would be terribly inconsiderate not to call.”
“Certainly, Maddee.”
“And if I’m not back by late this afternoon will you please make sure my roses get a good watering? It’s been terribly dry. Also, the recyclables go out tonight and Augie isn’t around to…”
“Don’t worry about a thing, Maddee,” Bertha said. “I’ll find someone to do it. Hell, I’ll do it myself if I have to. Won’t be the first time I’ve pitched garbage.”
“Thank you, dear. Come along, Dex.” And with that Maddee Farrell marched out the front door of the Captain Chadwick House, her head held high, her husband’s hand in hers. Yolie trailed along behind them.
Mitch stayed there in the hallway with Des.
“Lieutenant Very was convinced that you two were holding out on us,” he said to Beth and Bertha. “You knew who the Dorset Flasher was all along, didn’t you? You knew that Maddee killed Augie to protect him. You knew everything.”
“Of course,” Bertha responded airily. “Nothing goes on in this town that I don’t know about.”
“Why didn’t you speak up, Mrs. Peck?” Des demanded.
“Because we look out for one another in Dorset, that’s why. All we have is each other. We’re not perfect. Lord knows, the men who we choose to marry certainly aren’t. We do the best we can with them. We prop them up, stroke them, coddle them. And yet it happens anyway-in the blink of an eye they go from Mr. Dependable to Mr. Depends. That’s what happened to my Guy. And now it’s Maddee’s Dex. She was simply looking out for him. I can’t condemn her for that.”
“She killed a man,” Des pointed out.
Bertha made a face. “Oh, please. Augie was a drunken, leering boor. A predator who took pictures of my friend when she was undressed.”
“You knew about that?” Mitch asked Beth.
“Of course,” she replied, shivering slightly. “Women always know when we’re being watched.”
Mitch considered this for a moment, wondering if that meant Beth knew he used to watch her outside his bedroom window every morning as she left for work, her hips swaying, her blond hair shimmering in the sunlight. He didn’t want to know the answer. It fell under the category of Don’t Ask, Please God Don’t Tell.
“Augie hounded Beth everywhere she went,” Bertha went on. “He was determined to destroy her and her lover. Just as he was determined to unmask Dex Farrell and take away what little dignity the man had left. Dex has already suffered enough from the financial scandals. Maddee certainly has. She’s been ostracized by everyone who quote-unquote matters, poor woman. I’ve never considered her a close friend. I like to be around people who are light-spirited and fun. Maddee isn’t. She’s a pain, quite frankly. But she’s a decent lady. And she didn’t deserve this.”
“Mitch, I’m so sorry I wasn’t more candid with you yesterday,” Beth said, her big, brown eyes gleaming. “I owed you the truth. But I gave Bertha my word that I’d keep quiet about it.”
“I understand, Beth.”
She tilted her head at him. The old Natalie Wood tilt. “You say you understand, but you don’t. You’re disappointed in me. I can see it in your eyes. And it really hurts, Mitch. Please phone me this week, will you? We can meet at The Works for coffee, okay?”
“Sure. If you’d like.”
“I would, very much. I want us to stay friends-for Kenny’s sake. And for Kimberly, whose life is about to become a total nightmare.”
“I’m heading to the fitness center right now to give her the news,” Des said. “And I’ll let Lieutenant Very know that he no longer needs to question your friend Vinnie. It’s all over.”
“Thank you, Des. That’s very good of you.”
“Just doing my job.”
Out in front of the Captain Chadwick House, Yolie had gotten the Farrells settled in the backseat of her cruiser. She waved good-bye to Des and Mitch, then hopped in and took off down Dorset Street.
“I could see it, too, you know,” Des said, standing there on the front steps.
“See what?”
“The disappointment in your eyes.”
“It was that obvious, was it?” He glanced over at her. “You’re smiling. Why are you smiling?”
“Can’t help it. I’m kvelling.”
“Kvelling? That’s a new one on me. Where’d you pick up such a funny sounding… Okay, ow, that hurt.”
“You aced it, doughboy. Figured this whole thing out all by yourself. I guess you don’t need me anymore.”
“Guess again.”
“No, no, it’s finally happened. You’re all grown up now. Cracking cases on your own. Tackling armed suspects to the floor…”
“Yeah, right. An old lady with a pair of coupon scissors. I was afraid she wanted you to shoot her.”
“There, you see? Nothing gets by you. Your eyes are wide open now. You realize that your one and only dream girl is human. Hell, you don’t even blush anymore when we talk about her.”
“I never blushed.”
“Oh, right. You were having hot flashes. Maybe you should have your doctor check that out.”
“Des, if I didn’t know you better I’d swear you were jealous.”
“Not a chance.”
“Besides, you couldn’t be more wrong about my one and only dream girl. Would you like me to tell you a little bit about her?”
“I’m listening.”
“Okay, here goes. She’s a long, lean, bootylicious Connecticut state trooper. She has amazing legs. I’d trust her with my life, and have on numerous occasions. She’s a tremendously gifted artist. She has amazing legs. Or did I already-?”
“I don’t mind if you repeat yourself.”
“Plus I happen to know she’s plenty human and…”
Des raised an eyebrow at him. “And…?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, thinny.”