“Not in a million years.” Abby sniffed. “Never.”
“I don’t blame you at all. Still, you have to admit that, well, Jeff is Carleton, isn’t he?”
“Carleton is fiction,” Abby shot back, bristling. “Carleton is my creation. Jeffrey had nothing to do with him. Not one thing!”
“Are you ab-so-tootly sure of that?”
“And he does not own the copyright to that stupid expression! No one does. I was free to use it. And I’ll keep on using it for as long as I damned please. Carleton is not Jeffrey Wachtell. How could he be? Carleton isn’t a liar. Carleton doesn’t whine about every single thing twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Ask yourself this: Can you imagine Carleton hosing his wife’s sister?”
“No, of course not. Carleton’s not old enough. He’s still a little boy. Or fish. Or…”
“Carleton is good is what he is,” she asserted. “Carleton is honest and brave and true. And I will bankrupt Jeffrey Wachtell with lawyer fees before I ever give him one shiny nickel of my proceeds.” Abby took a deep breath and let it out slowly, silently mouthing a ten-count. Jeff was way under her skin, no two ways about that. “How is his bookstore doing, anyway? Chrissie told me it’s a real dump.”
“Not true. It’s a lovely little store. Although he is struggling to get by.”
“Good.”
“In fact, that’s the reason why I’m here-he was wondering if you would stop in and do a signing. You’ll be passing right by Dorset on the interstate, and he could really use the boost.”
“Not a chance,” she replied sharply. “After Boston I’m in Bar Harbor, then Martha’s Vineyard, then home. I am not stopping at some neighborhood bookshop in some out-of-the-way village no one’s ever heard of. It’s not worth my while, Mitch. How many books could he move-fifty? I just sold ten times that this afternoon.”
“Still, you could do it if you really wanted to.”
“It’s true, I could,” she admitted. “But you’ve put your finger right on it, Mitch. I really, really, don’t want to.”
“It sure would help him out, Abby.”
Abby cradled her chin in her palm, gazing at him in wonderment. “Cookie, have you been totally ignoring every single word I’ve been saying to you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then answer me this-why on earth would I help Jeffrey out?”
“Because you still love him. And he still loves you. You two should be looking out for each other, not trying to draw blood.”
“You’re sweet, Mitch, but you’re living in a make-believe world. In real life, people who hate each other really do hate each other.”
“You want real life? A tabloid has offered Jeff a quarter of a million dollars for dirt on you.”
“Dirt?” Abby immediately paled. “What dirt? What has that weasel been telling you about me?”
“That you hate kids so much you made him get a vasectomy.”
“That was his idea, not mine,” she said heatedly. “He’s the one who’s terrified of parenthood. I want to be a mother more than anything in the world. Don’t you think I’d make a good mother?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Well, I do, because I know what’s in my heart. Besides, the procedure he had is totally reversible. God, I don’t believe he’s trying topeddle such crap! Wait, what am I saying? Of course I do. This is Jeffrey we’re talking about.”
“My sense is that he really doesn’t want to dish, Abby. In fact, I don’t believe he will. But he’s in a tight spot financially.”
Abby recoiled, shaking her finger at him. “Wait one lousy minute. Now I know why you’re here-you’re trying to strong-arm me! Sure, that’s it. You came here to tell me that if I don’t show up at his crummy store he’ll go to the tabloids. You’re his stinking messenger boy, aren’t you? Tell me I’m wrong, Mitch. Go ahead!”
“Okay, you’re wrong. The thought never even occurred to me.”
“Maybe it didn’t,” she conceded. “But I can guarantee you that it occurred to him.”
“Abby, that’s really not how I read the situation.”
“Then you’d better go get your eyes checked, cookie. I know Jeffrey. I know how his mind works. And he’s telling me, through you, that if I don’t do this for him he’ll sell me out.”
“But he swore he wouldn’t,” Mitch pointed out. “He told me you were the only woman he’s ever loved, and that he’d take you back in a second.”
“And you believed him?” Abby demanded incredulously.
Mitch drained his milkshake and slumped there in the booth, suddenly feeling profoundly deflated and used up. “Abby, I honestly don’t know who to believe anymore.”
“If I were you,” Mitch advised, feeling the gentle lift and dip of the swell beneath him, “I’d do some checking up on Abby Kaminsky’s whereabouts the past couple of days. Or, more specifically, nights.”
“Jeff’s ex-wife?” asked Des, who was floating on her back next to him, wet skin gleaming in the moonlight. “Why is that?”
“Because she slept with Tito Molina.”
“No way. Her, too?”
“Scout’s honor.”
“You think she might be involved in this?”
“She’s certainly in the mix. Quite the humid little pepper pot, too.”
The two of them were enjoying a late-night skinny dip off BigSister’s private beach. The water was bracing and the night air had turned gloriously crisp and clear. Overhead, the moon was full, the stars bright.
Mitch had spent much of the evening seated there on his favorite beach log, gloomily sampling the bottle of peppermint schnapps he’d bought out of morbid curiosity. It tasted awful, in his opinion. Strangely familiar as well, although he could not imagine why. Des had pulled up outside his carriage house at around ten o’clock and joined him on the beach a few minutes later, clutching two cold Bass ales and two towels.
He had never been happier to see her in his life.
As they floated there naked in the moonlight, the lights of the town a glow in the distance, Mitch reminded himself just how lucky he was to be here on this night with this woman. It was the one positive thing he had taken from losing Maisie the way he had-not a day went by when he took the good things for granted.
“How did you happen to meet up with said humid little pepper pot?”
“Jealous?”
“I’ll ask the questions, mister.”
“Jeff asked me to look her up. He wants her to sign books at his store.”
“Since when do you do Jeff’s bidding for him?”
“Since everything stopped making sense. I need for this to make sense.”
“It may not, Mitch. A lot of times things just get more and more confusing.”
“That’s not what I need to hear tonight, Des. Tonight I need to hear that life is nothing but one big long Frank Capra movie. And I actually detest Frank Capra-with the possible exception of Dirigible with Jack Holt and Fay Wray.”
“My miss,” she said, flashing a smile at him. “And thanks for the heads-up. I’ll pass it along to Rico.”
“Abby’s been sleeping with her escort, too-a big goon named Frankie. I don’t know his last name, but he might be worth lookinginto. Meanwhile, get this, Jeff’s actually been two-timing Martine with her very own-”
“With Esme. Yes, I know.”
“Esme told you?”
“She had to. Jeff’s her alibi. And, believe me, the news came as a real unpleasant surprise to Martine. I had to pull her off of the girl.”
“What did Jeff say about it?”
“He backs Esme up all the way. At the time of Tito’s death, she was getting busy with him at his condo. Yolie and I confirmed it with him this afternoon.”
“Hmm, that means each of them is the other’s alibi…”
“Where do you think you’re going with that?”
“Nowhere,” Mitch said, as they floated along. “Except, well, what if Esme and Jeff killed Tito together?”
“Why would they?”
“Revenge. He hated Tito for getting it on with Abby. Esme hated him because he beat on her and cheated on her. Do we know for a fact that Tito’s killer acted alone?”
“Mitch, we don’t know anything for a fact,” she said wearily, glancing over at him. “You cast an awesome glow in the moonlight, you know that?”