During boating season, boisterous young sun-kissed singles crammed their way into the Mucky Duck’s narrow barroom to drink up and hook up. There were forty-five different kinds of beer, at least a dozen on draft. There were dartboards. The sound system blared good time rock ’n’ roll.
On a chilly weeknight in March, the dockside pub was still home to a singles crowd, but nobody rocked and absolutely nothing rolled. These regulars were older and gloomier, not to mention exclusively male. By unwritten accord, this was Dorset’s designated haven for divorced men. It was their place. Night after night, they parked their tartan-slacked selves at the bar and drank their martinis and watched the business news wrap-up on CNBC, eyes hollow, shoulders slumped. Most were professional men between forty-five and sixty. Most knew each other. But they didn’t converse. And they didn’t go home. Those belonged to their ex-wives now. So they came here and they sat at the bar and they drank, night after night.
There was a name in Dorset for these men. They were called Mucky Duckers.
Mitch had to pass through the bar to reach the dining room. During the summer, this could be something of a battle. Tonight, hardly anyone blocked his path. Just one rather pouchy man in an Izod shirt and rumpled khakis who was paying his tab at the cash register. It was Mark Widdifield. Mitch only knew him from around town to smile and say hello to.
In response, Mark instantly turned bright red and fled for the door. The man just took off. It wasn’t quite so extreme a rejection as the one that Mitch had received from the late Pete Mosher. But it wasn’t exactly a warm fuzzy either.
The Mucky Duck’s dining room served burgers, fish and chips, a pretty decent clam chowder. It was a small room, no more than twenty tables. Only two couples were eating in there. Seated at a table in the corner, over a nearly empty glass of red wine, was Danielle Vickers. She’d called his house ten minutes ago and asked him if he could meet her there. She’d sounded quite frantic.
As Mitch sat down across from her, he sensed that something serious was up. Danielle looked rattled. Not to mention tousled. Her hair and clothing seemed unusually disheveled. And she smelled sweaty. Behind those smudged, unflattering wire-framed glasses, her eyes seemed puffy. To Mitch, she came off like a guilt-wracked married woman who’d just had a furtive tumble upstairs on the office sofa with her lover. This would certainly explain the way Mark had bolted out of there.
“Are you okay, Danielle?”
“W-Why, yes,” she stammered, tongue flicking at her lips nervously. “I just… needed to talk. Hope I didn’t drag you away from Des.”
“No, she needed to spend some alone time in her studio. This case is getting to her. What about Eric?”
“Tonight’s his night to watch pro hockey on TV with Rut,” replied Danielle, glancing up anxiously as the waitress approached.
Mitch had already hoovered up two immense bowls of his world famous American chop suey, so he settled for a Double Diamond on draft. Danielle asked for another red wine. When the waitress left he said, “Danielle, I just bumped into Mark in the bar. He was not happy to see me.”
She lowered her eyes, swallowing uncomfortably. “You have some ideas about us, haven’t you?”
“I don’t, but Eric does. He asked me if you were mixed up with someone. I got the feeling he actually thought it might be me.”
“Is that so hard to imagine?” Danielle squinted across the table at him, her gaze slightly unfocused. She was quite tipsy, he now realized. “Do you find me that unattractive?”
“I wasn’t suggesting that. I just meant that you and I know we’re not involved.”
“We know that, but Eric doesn’t,” she said, gripping the wine glass in her work-roughened hands. “And it so happens he’s insanely jealous. He’s so upbeat and positive. Hates negativity of any kind. And yet he’s prone to unfounded jealousy. He was a tongue-tied nerd when we met at Bates. He’d never even kissed a girl before. He’s still deeply insecure when it comes to women. And he feels threatened by Mark, who he thinks is very dashing.”
The waitress returned with their drinks. Danielle reached for her wine and tossed back half of it right away. Mitch sipped his beer, watching her carefully.
“We did have a drink together just now,” she admitted. “An innocent drink. Mark wouldn’t let me leave this afternoon unless I promised to come back for one. Then I told him I needed to speak to you and he’d have to go. That’s why he took off in such a huff when he saw you. Mark has…” Danielle let out a jagged sigh. “Mark has problems. I’m beginning to think there’s no such thing as a man who doesn’t.”
“Well, we are people, after all.”
Her eyes met and held his. “I’ve given Eric no reason to be jealous, Mitch. You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Sure, I do,” he said, because she needed to hear the words.
“This afternoon, I found Mark sitting up there in his office weeping uncontrollably. I’m holding out a lifeline to him. If I don’t, I’m afraid he’ll crawl into a deep black hole and Claudia will never get him back.”
“Does she want him back?”
“In her heart, I believe she does. She’s just so intolerant of weakness. She probably thinks I’m meddling. Maybe I am. But I can’t stand to see Mark lose hold of himself this way. He’s acting so crazy. Today he…” She leaned across the table toward Mitch, lowering her voice. “He withdrew the last five-thousand dollars he had left in his account. He wants to run away with me to St. Kitt’s. He has a friend with a house where we could stay.”
“Danielle, you just told me you two weren’t involved.”
“We’re not. Nothing has happened between us, Mitch. And nothing ever will, as far as I’m concerned. But Mark is so starved for affection that I’m afraid he’s taken my feelings for him the wrong way. It’s insane, I know. He’s married to a glamorous, accomplished beauty. I’m a Sheetrocker’s daughter who smells of the barnyard. Why on earth would he want me?”
“Strange things happen,” Mitch said, reflecting on the unlikely-hood of himself and Des. Himself and Maisie. Himself and, well, anyone.
“He thinks I’ll make him happy. That’s what he keeps saying.” Danielle tapped her wine glass distractedly with a chipped fingernail. “Maybe it’s my fault. When he kissed me goodbye yesterday, I-I let it go a bit farther than I should have. But I was caught by surprise, and flattered. Maybe I gave him the idea that we… that something is going on between us. I’m concerned that Des and her people may think so, too. They’ll get around to examining the banking records of everyone in the family, won’t they?”
“Most likely.”
“By withdrawing his money like that, Mark has invited speculation that he used it to pay someone off. They might even think he’s behind the whole thing. I’m so afraid they’ll jump to that conclusion. Mark is deathly concerned about it.”
“Why doesn’t he just put the money back in the bank?”
“He’s being juvenile, that’s why. He thinks that by casting deep, dark suspicion upon himself this way he’s proving how much he loves me.” She drank down what was left of her wine. “Like I said, he has problems.”
“What do you want me to do, Danielle?”
“Tell Des. Tell her quietly, so there won’t be any fallout. This mustn’t get back to Eric or Claudia. It would be needlessly hurtful.” Her eyes searched his face imploringly. “Can you do that?”
“I can try. Only, are you sure Mark isn’t involved in Pete’s death?”
“Mitch, this is a man so paralyzed by depression that he can barely dress himself, let alone arrange a car theft and a killing.” Danielle snuffled, her eyes filling with tears. “He wants to run away to an enchanted isle with me. How screwed up is that?”
“Stop running yourself down, will you? I’ll talk to Des. I’m sure she can keep it confidential. God knows Eric and Claudia already have enough on their plates.” He reached for his beer mug and took a sip. “Pete’s identity must have come as quite a surprise to them.”
“Oh, it absolutely did,” Danielle acknowledged. “I was just putting supper on the table when Poochie called and told Eric to meet her at Claudia’s right away. And as soon as we sat down Poochie dropped this bomb on them about old Pete.” A slight smile lifted Danielle’s downcast face. “I don’t know which upset Claudia more-finding out she had a homeless man for an uncle or that she shares a blood link with the Kershaws.”
“How did Eric take it?”
“Eric never lets on if something has gotten to him. He just sticks out his chin and says, fine, okay.”
“Is there any chance that he’s known the truth about Pete all along?”
“I doubt it, Mitch. Eric’s notoriously bad at keeping secrets. One sip of wine and he just blurts them out. I’m almost certain he didn’t know. Besides, this situation doesn’t affect us one bit. Pete’s fortune goes to Poochie, and she’s already rich, and we’re already not.” Danielle let out a brittle laugh. “The more things change, the more they don’t.”
Mitch studied her. Despite all she’d gotten off her chest, Danielle was still giving off an edgy, animal vibe. Something was roiling her. Talking wasn’t helping. The wine wasn’t helping. “Can I give you a ride home?”
“I’m going to sit here a while longer.” She signaled the waitress for another glass of wine. “And put away your money. I’m treating.”
“Thanks. Will you be okay to drive?”
“Not to worry. I’ll have a coffee before I leave, okay?”
“Sure, okay.” Mitch saw no point in pressing the issue. Danielle wasn’t driving anywhere. Not for a while anyway. As soon as he walked out that door she’d be heading right back upstairs to Mark’s office for another sweaty round of inside-the-family boinkage. He was positive. “Take care of yourself, Danielle.”
“Mitch, am I a huge disappointment to you?” she asked suddenly.
“Who am I to judge you?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed, her lower lip quivering. “I just wondered.”
“We all do the best we can, Danielle. Sometimes we do better than others. But I’d never sit in judgment of you. You’ll get only friendship from me. And a ride home if you need one. Call if you do, okay?”
She reached for Mitch’s hand and pulled it to her weathered cheek. “Okay, Mitch,” she said softly, grazing his knuckles with her lips before she let go.
Then the waitress brought Danielle her wine and she took a sip and gazed off into space, somewhere else. Mitch left her there that way as he trudged his way past the legion of the lost and lonely at the bar and back out into the cold March night.
McGee’s was shutting down for the night. The diner’s illuminated sign was off, most of the inside lights out. Two cars were left in the parking lot. Mitch idled there in his pickup and waited.
She came scuffing out of the kitchen door at a few minutes past ten, a denim jacket thrown over her waitress uniform. He pulled up next to her, rolling down his window.
Allison peered at him with a hopeful smile on her round, freckly face. “Hey there, Mr. Movie Guy,” she exclaimed, resting her forearms on his door. “Didn’t expect to see you back here tonight.”
“You did say you wanted to have a drink some time, didn’t you?”
Allison weighed this, her lower lip stuck out. “I dunno, it looked to me like you and the trooper lady were getting along pretty good this afternoon.”
“Is that a problem?”
“You want to get into some trouble, don’t you?” Allison shook her head of short, streaky hair at him. “Try another waitress. Try another diner.”
“This is the only diner in Dorset.”
“Then try screwing yourself,” she snapped, starting away from his truck.
“Wait a minute, will you? Can I please get a do-over?”
She didn’t say yes or no. Just stood there in the empty parking lot with a distrustful expression on her face.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind tonight, and I didn’t feel like being alone. Sometimes, it helps to talk things out. I was driving by and I thought of you, okay?”
“Mitch, I appreciate the offer or whatever this is, but I’ve been on my feet for like twelve straight hours. All I want to do is go home and soak them.”
“I have a perfectly good bathtub at my place. Also a fresh box of Epsom salts.”
“What kind of a guy keeps Epsom salts around?” she said in disbelief.
“You don’t have much experience with Jewish men, do you? Believe me, once you’ve gone Semite you’ll never go back.”
“So, what, you’re inviting me over?” she asked him shyly.
“I’ll make a fire. We’ll have a glass of wine. I’m harmless.”
“No way you’re harmless. But sure, why not?”
He waited for her to start up her Volkswagen Jetta before he pulled out of the lot and headed down Old Shore, Allison following a cautious distance behind him. When he pulled into the Peck’s Point Nature Preserve he flicked on his brights, startling three deer right there before him. They pranced off into the darkness and disappeared. At the end of the dirt road Mitch used his access card for the security gate. It lifted up and he went thumping and bumping slowly across the narrow quarter-mile-long wooden causeway out to the island, Allison tailing him as the gate lowered after her.
It was a good ten degrees colder out here than on shore. The light of the rising three-quarter moon shimmered on the calm waters of the Sound.
He opened the front door and flicked on a light. Allison followed him inside, looking very wide-eyed and uncertain. Clem-mie moseyed over to check her out. Decided she didn’t like the smell of her and darted upstairs to the sleeping loft. Mitch took off his jacket and started building a fire in the fireplace.
Allison stood there in her waitress uniform gazing around at the exposed chestnut beams, the pieces of found furniture, stacks of books, papers, DVDs. “This is not what I was expecting at all,” she told him, her voice hushed.
“You were expecting a mansion?”
“God, no, it’s just… it’s like a fantasy, you know?”
“I absolutely do.” Mitch lit a match to the crumpled newspaper under his kindling and took a bellows to it. Right away, the wood began to crackle. “Sometimes I look out the window and I can’t believe I’m living here.”
Her gaze fell on his Stratocaster. “Can you play me something?”
“I’m not that kind of guitar player.”
“What kind?”
“The kind who can play you something.” But he did pop Neil Young’s After the Gold Rush into his CD player and crank it up. “Have a seat in front of the fire, Allison. Wait, what am I saying? I really do have Epsom salts if you-.”
“Naw, I’m good right here.” She flopped her plump self down on his love seat, yanked off her sneakers and ankle socks and put her feet up on his coffee table, which he’d made himself by bolting a discarded storm window onto an old rowboat. Her bare legs seemed kind of stubby. Compared to Des, all women’s legs seemed stubby.
Mitch uncorked a bottle of Gabbiano in the kitchen and returned to the living room with it and two glasses. He filled them and handed her one. “I’m glad you could make it out, Allison.”
“Me, too.” She took a sip. “Hey, son, this is good wine. What is it?”
“A Chianti Classico.” He sat next to her on the love seat and patted his lap. “Park ’em here. Time for your massage.”
Allison narrowed her eyes at him. She wore altogether too much eye makeup, in his opinion. He wondered whether she’d look younger or older without it. “Mitch, are you the answer to my prayers or just a perv?”
“Does that matter?”
“Not really.” She swiveled around and plopped her pudgy feet in his lap. “I just don’t get why you’d want to.”
“Please don’t take this as a rebuke,” he said, kneading the ball of her left foot with his thumbs. “But I don’t think you’re accustomed to being treated very well.”
“Damn, I could get used to this in a hurry,” she groaned, squirming with animal pleasure. “Do all Jewish men do this or is it your own special thing?”
“I don’t like to brag, but I possess certain skills.”
“I guess our resident trooper would know about that.”
“That’s not fair, the way you keep mentioning her. I haven’t said anything about the Kershaws.”
“Kershaw,” she corrected him, gazing into the roaring fire. “I went out with Stevie for a while before he got sent up. He wrote me some letters from prison. When they got out, he wanted to get together. But it’s nothing serious between us. And I do not do both of them, if that’s what you were thinking. That would be skanky and disgusting. And, Mitch, my other foot is feeling really lonely over here.”
Mitch went to work on it. Allison let out a soft moan, grinding her hips into the sofa cushion.
“So you three didn’t spend the night together at the Yankee Doodle?”
“No, we did. I’m just saying that squirrely Donnie crashed in a chair, not in bed with us.” Allison glanced at him curiously. “Trooper Des thinks they did it, doesn’t she?”
“What do you think?”
“I can only go by what Stevie’s telling me, which is he really wants to clean up his act, get out of the old man’s house. He’d like to move in with me. I told him I’ve already got a nice, clean roommate who pays her rent on time. Besides, wherever Stevie goes Donnie goes. But I told him, hey, if you’re trying to stay straight I’m all for that. Not that I’ve made him any promises or whatever. I have to be kind of careful, because I have this habit of letting guys use me. You seem nice enough, and you sure have good hands. But tell me, Mitch, are you using me?”
Mitch gazed gloomily into the fire. “I sure hope not.”
“Wow, you sound bummed all of the sudden. How come?”
“I can’t stop thinking about my wife. I’ve started dreaming about her all over again, and it’s making me crazy.”
“She died, didn’t she? That’s why you moved here. You’re still hung up on her?”
“I can’t let go,” Mitch confessed, wondering why on earth he was sharing his most private feelings with Allison Mapes. Maybe it wasn’t so strange. He did need to talk it out with someone. Allison was here, and she did ask. “Maisie won’t let me go. In my dreams, I mean. I’m always leaving her, and she’s always begging me not to. I guess I’m feeling, deep down inside, that by being happy with someone else I’m abandoning her.”
“You’re not,” Allison said vehemently. “You’re just living your life, son. If you were moping around the house all day going boo-hoo then you’d be abandoning her. Because you’d be giving up. No way she’d want you to do that. Enjoy it while you can. That’s what I say. Not that I’m any kind of genius.”
He sipped his wine in brooding silence, staring into the fire. “It’s your life story, isn’t it? Justine’s book is about you.”
Allison totally freaked. Scrambled up off the love seat away from him. “Is that why you invited me out here?” she demanded, her eyes darting wildly about. “To talk about that?”
“I’m the one who’s been doing all of the talking. I’ve just confided something very personal to you. I’m hoping you’ll do the same for me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because a man is dead, Allison.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“This is what I’m trying to find out.”
She stared at Mitch in hurt, angry silence. “Justine told you?”
“Not a chance. She keeps trying to make me think it’s her story. I just didn’t buy it, that’s all.”
“Hey, thanks for the wine…” Allison snatched up her sneakers and jacket and fled for the door.
“Please don’t go, Allison. We have to talk about this. I’ll make it easier for you, okay? I already know that your older brother, Lester, was heavy into dope back in high school. I know he’s living in a VA hospital now, minus the limbs and genitalia that he left behind in Baghdad.”
“He got what was coming to him,” she said savagely.
“I know what’s in the book, okay? I know all of it.”
She let out a derisive snort. “You know jack.”
“So tell me the rest. Please. This is your chance.”
“My chance for what?”
“For something good to come out of it. You can even the score now, and get on with your life. Just like you were saying I ought to do.”
“Okay, do not try lumping us together, Mitch, because compared to yours, my life totally sucks.”
“Grab hold of this chance, Allison. If you don’t, you’ll regret it for as long as you live. Trust me. Please, trust me.”
Slowly, she returned to the sofa and sat, still clutching her jacket and shoes. She wouldn’t look at him. Only into the fire. He got up and fed it with two more hickory logs. Refilled her wine glass. Then sat back down, waiting her out.
“Justine’s book pretty much says it all,” she said finally, in a voice that was flat and emotionless.
“So you’ve read it?”
“I wasn’t… I’m not as bad as the girl in her story,” she said, swallowing hard. “Justine bigged it up some. It happened a few times is all. And, believe me, I never liked doing it. I may have said that to her once, like I was bragging. There’s a lot I don’t remember. I was stoned all the time in those days. That’s what I liked-being stoned. Mitch, I was fourteen and stupid. My mom had split on us. My dad’s a long-haul trucker, and he was always on the road. Mostly it was just me and Lester. And his friends. And their dope. They were major, major stoners. I’m talking coke, meth, oxy. Once they started getting me high things just got out of control, okay? But after a few months my mom moved back in with us, and as soon as she found out what was going on she got me right into a drug program, and they set me up with a shrink. I was fine after that. I am fine. I smoke a little pot now and then, but I’m good.” Allison turned and gazed at Mitch steadily now. “Justine asked me if she could write about it and I said sure-as long as she changed the names and everything.”
“It doesn’t bother you that she’s done it?”
“I think it’s cool, actually, because it’s not about me. It’s about them. The phony assholes who are always lecturing us about family values and personal responsibility. I did a few of those fine, upstanding hypocrites, Mitch. That part’s all true. I did our high school principal right in his office. I did the resident trooper. He was the one who had the fishing boat. And, yeah, I did my minister. Once they found out about me they all wanted to ‘help’ me. They’re all just a bunch of horny married bastards who can’t wait to get over on a messed-up fourteen-year-old girl. Hell, I wasn’t even cute. I’m not cute. Not like Justine is. I know that.” Allison trailed off, hugging herself in morose silence. “I know too damned much.”
“Did you know that you could still file criminal charges against them?”
“I don’t even want to go there. That’s all behind me now. These days, I try real hard to see the good in people. I work hard. I pay my bills. I stay healthy. And I let no one into my heart.”
“You can’t live that way, Allison.”
“You totally can. I do it every day.”
“Justine’s book mentions a boy named Tommy who her character is madly in love with. Was there a Tommy?”
“He wasn’t any boy,” she replied woodenly. “He was a married man. And, yeah, I was crazy about him. He was crazy about me, too, in his own sick way. Kept telling me I was too sweet and wonderful to treat myself like I was. That I was his princess. Pretty weird thing for a guy to call you when he’s banging you in a motel room, don’t you think? He took me with him on his business trips. He never traveled far. Just York City, Boston, Vermont a couple of times. We’d stay overnight in a motor lodge along the turnpike. He’d get us a bottle and we’d smoke a joint together and he’d just go and go all night long. I don’t think his wife ever let him have any. He did like to brag. Kept telling me he’d be really rich someday. And when I turned eighteen he’d leave his wife and marry me. I believed him, too. But he turned out to be as big an asshole as the others. Once he’d had his fill he dumped me. That’s when I really hit bottom. I won’t lie-I even thought about doing myself in. God, I was so into him. I still am. Every time I see him my little heart goes pitter-patter.”
“He’s still around Dorset?”
“Yeah, I bump into him all of the time. When he sees me he panics and runs.” Allison flashed a quick, uncertain smile at Mitch. “I guess we don’t have any secrets from each other now, do we?”
“Except for one-his name. I think it might be important, Allison. Will you tell me?”
She hesitated a moment. “I might. But there are certain conditions.”
“Name them.”
“You have to pour me some more of that wine.”
“Done,” he said, reaching for the bottle. “What else?”
“You have to play me something on your guitar.”
“It won’t be a pleasant experience for you, Allison. Everything I play comes out sounding like “Purple Haze” and not in a good kind of way. But, okay, I can do that, too. What else?”
“You have to let me spend the night with you.”