“You’ve obviously never gone skinny-dipping with a white boy when the moon was full.”
“No, I’m serious, Mitch. Check out your stomach-you look like you’ve swallowed something radioactive.”
“Only because my stomach happens to be sticking up out of the water,” Mitch growled at her. “But thanks for pointing it out to me, slats.”
“What I’m here for, doughboy,” she said sweetly. “Got anything else for me?”
He fed her the highlights of his morning. How he and Will had walked in on Dodge and Becca having rough sex together. How Becca had told him she and Dodge were taking a midnight stroll on the beach together when Tito died, meaning that he had someone to vouch for his whereabouts-and Martine very likely didn’t.
“Why would Martine want to kill her own son-in-law?” she wondered.
“Maybe she was romantically involved with Tito, too. Maybe he broke her poor, cheatin’ heart. It makes about as much sense as Martine and Esme both having extramarital affairs with Jeff Wachtell. I mean, once you get your mind around that unwholesome factoid nothing seems out of the realm of possibility, does it?”
“Now that you mention it, no.”
“Did Esme know about Jeff and her mom?”
“Totally, judging by the little smirk on her face when she gave out with the news. It was her own special way of inflicting pain on mommy dearest. For what specific reason I don’t know.”
“I do, Des,” Mitch said quietly. And now he told her about how Dodge started molesting Esme when she was fifteen. How Martine had refused to believe her. How Esme had attempted suicide. How Dodge had long been a plague on Dorset’s young girls and Will had been his enabler, in exchange for future considerations.
Des listened in stony silence before she said, “Well, that does explain the way Esme reacted this morning when Martine smacked her.”
“How did she?…”
“Like she’d been getting smacked around her whole life.”
“What, you think Dodge beat her up?”
“Believe me, a bright, beautiful fifteen-year-old girl doesn’t spread her legs for daddy without a fight. I’m with you, Mitch-she hates her mom for not protecting her. But I don’t buy that Martine didn’t know what was going on. She knew. That’s why she was so anxious to go to the police this morning. Because the longer this drags out, the deeper we’ll dig. And she’s terrified we’ll unearth it. How did you hear about it, anyway?”
“From Bitsy. Becca told her. I don’t think anyone else knows, except for Will.”
“And possibly Tito. Esme may have told him.”
Mitch glanced over at her, wondering where her mind was going. “Bitsy said I could tell you this. Does Soave have to know about it?”
“Maybe I can withhold it from him,” Des answered slowly. “If it’s not vital to the investigation, that is.”
He smiled at her. “You’re one of us now, you know that?”
“One of who?”
“A Dorseteer.”
“Let’s not get carried away, doughboy. I said maybe.”
“Sure, sure. Are you getting cold?” he asked, paddling gently to stay afloat.
“A little, but I’m okay. You?”
“I’m fine. This is why I maintain the extra layer of subcutaneous fat.”
“So that’s it.”
“Ab-so-tootly.”
“Mitch, I want you to promise me you’ll never say that word again.”
“Promise,” he said, grinning at her. “Bitsy did tell me one other thing about the Crocketts-they’re so strapped for cash that Martine can’t write a check anywhere in town. Apparently, just to round out the whole bogus illusion, Dodge sucks as a businessman.” He gazed back ashore at Bitsy’s rambling house. There were several lights on upstairs, a porch light downstairs. “She’s real worried about Becca being mixed up with him again. Becca’s fragile and vulnerable, and there’s no way that having some guy stuff your panties in your mouth can be good for your… Oh, hell, never mind.”
“No, it’s okay, baby. What are trying to tell me?”
“I just don’t want to be friends with Dodge anymore, that’s all.”
“I don’t blame you. But what about the Mesmers?”
“I won’t be walking with them again.”
“I’m sorry, Mitch.”
“So am I. That was something I really looked forward to doing every morning. But I can’t now. Not without my skin crawling. Would you believe Will actually defended the guy to me this morning? ‘Don’t judge him,’ is what he said. He and Donna are having some problems of their own, by the way. Donna told me.”
“Since when does Donna Durslag talk to you about her marriage?”
“Since she had one too many margaritas at the beach club.”
“Sounds like maybe she made her a little play for you, too.”
“Jealous?”
“I already told you. I’ll ask the questions, mister.”
“Des, I don’t belong around these people,” Mitch confessed. “I gave it my best shot. I tried to be a normal, socialized member of the species. But if this is what passes for normal-”
“Believe me, Mitch, this is normal. It’s what I deal with every single day of my life.”
“Then I’m proud to be a maladjusted geek who sits in the dark by myself all day, staring at flickering images on a wall.” He reached for her hand in the water and found it and squeezed it. “When do people stop surprising you?”
“They don’t. But the surprise doesn’t always have to be an unpleasant one. In fact, when you least expect it, you might bump right into somebody who just makes you feel good all over.”
“Are you trying to cheer me up?”
“Actually, that was me flirting with you shamelessly. Not very good at it, am I?”
“That all depends-do you put out?”
“Only for a certain glowing gentleman.”
Mitch maneuvered his way over closer to her and planted a salty kiss on her wet, cold mouth. “Am I that gentleman?”
“Could be,” she said, her almond-shaped green eyes glittering at him in the moonlight.
“Then as far as I’m concerned, you flirt great. Care to start back in?”
“Hell, I’ll even race you back to the house.”
“You’re on. Provided you promise me one thing.”
“Name it.”
“Let’s steer clear of the kitchen floor tonight, okay?”
“Not a problem, boyfriend.”
They dashed back in the crisp night air, teeth chattering, and jumped right into a hot shower together, howling and snorting like a couple of rambunctious little kids. After they’d toweled each otherdry they made their way up into Mitch’s sleeping loft, where they forgot about everything and everyone and there was only the two of them and it was wonderful.
They were blissfully asleep at 4:00 a.m. under a blanket and a Clemmie when Des got paged. She started rummaging hurriedly for her clothes as the Westbrook Barracks dispatcher gave her the details over her cell phone.
“Wha’ is it?” Mitch groaned at her after she’d hung up.
She was already lacing up her shoes. Des could get dressed unbelievably fast. It was her four years at West Point. “Night manager of the Yankee Doodle Motor Court just found… There’s a woman dead in the tub with part of her head smashed in.”
Something in her tone of voice set off alarm bells. Mitch swallowed, fully awake now. “Who is it, Des?”
“Baby, it’s Donna Durslag.”
CHAPTER 12
If Dorset possessed what could be truly called a seedy side it was found up Boston Post Road just before the town line for Cardiff, Dorset’s sleepy, landlocked neighbor to the north, which benefited not at all from summer tourism and which elderly locals still called North Dorset, even though it had been a separate town since 1937. Here, just past Gorman’s Orchards, could be found a tattered strip of businesses operating out of wood-framed buildings that had once been residences. If someone needed to have their sofa reupholstered or their unwanted facial hair removed, they came here. Pearl’s World of Wigs, Norm’s Guns, and Shoreline Karate Academy were here. The Rustic Inn, a beer joint popular with the Uncas Lake swamp Yankees, was here.