The sour cherry surprise

“Haven’t the slightest idea. I wasn’t very conscious of what went on outside of my bedroom.”

“Do you remember when I came to your house to tell you that Richard had been hospitalized?”

“Maybe,” she answered drowsily. “Not really.”

“How about when Richard showed up there last week?”

“He wanted to come home. I didn’t want to see him. Or him to see me. I told Clay to make him go away.”

“Carolyn, what can you tell me about last night? Think hard, please. Any light you can shed will be a tremendous help. Did Richard show up there again? Did he knock on your door? Ask to see you?”

Carolyn’s eyelids were starting to droop. “I don’t remember anything like that. Richard knocking on the door. Or anybody else. Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I was so high that anybody could have been… They heated up a pizza.”

“Clay and Hector?”

“They were in the kitchen playing cards. I was in bed with my iPod, blissing out on Green. I still love R.E.M. When I was in college they were the coolest band. So smart and hip.”

“What else do you remember?”

“Hector,” she replied, curling her lip in disgust. “He came in and did what he felt like. He smells really bad. I don’t know, maybe I crashed after that. Until there was this huge commotion.”

Des leaned forward slightly. “What kind of commotion?”

“You coming in to tell me that Richard was dead. Only I didn’t believe you. I wanted to see him for myself. And there were police cars. And neighbors standing out there staring at me and…” She trailed off. “I wigged out, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.”

“Now I’m so tired,” she murmured, her eyes falling shut. “I’m just so completely, totally tired.”

A nurse bustled in to check Carolyn’s vitals and change her IV bag. Des put her big hat back on and left the lady to it. Megan followed her out into the hospital corridor.

“May I ask you what else her doctor has told you?” Des said to her.

“That the emotional burden of Richard’s death will make it even harder to wean her off of the meth. No surprise there.” Megan jammed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, rocking back and forth on her heels like an old-timey New England farmer. “He asked me if she’s a strong person emotionally. I told him she is. But dear God, nobody’s that strong.”

“He discussed short term memory loss with you. How about the other possible side effects of prolonged meth use?”

“Such as…?”

“Paranoia and rage. Episodes of violent behavior. We have a lot of criminal cases on file that fit such a pattern.”

Megan glowered at her. “What are you saying-that you think Carolyn may have killed Richard herself and doesn’t remember it?”

“I’m saying we can’t rule anything out.”

“I know my sister, okay? She’s the gentlest soul on earth. She could never, ever do something like that. I don’t care how stoned she was.”

“We believe that two people were involved. The slasher and whoever helped him dispose of the body.”

“She wasn’t involved. And you’ll never make me believe so.”

“I don’t mean to be harsh, Megan. I’m just trying to prepare you. Have you met Clay Mundy yet?”

“I have no interest in meeting him,” she said, yawning hugely. And looking plenty weary herself.

“I take it you sat up all night with her.”

“I did, yeah. I’m told there’s a decent motel across the street. I’ll get a room there until she’s ready to leave.”

“I was surprised it took you so long to get here yesterday from Blue Hill.”

Now she eyed Des very guardedly. “What do you mean by that?”

“When I phoned your partner, Susan, she told me it’s an eight to ten hour drive, depending on the traffic. You left there at noon and yet you didn’t get here until midnight.”

“That’s all true. Except Susan didn’t tell you that I was up at five a.m. putting in a solid six hours of chores before I left. My eyes started to get tired after a few hours on the road, so I pulled off at a rest stop outside of Ogunquit and took a nap for a couple of hours.”

“That would be Ogunquit, Maine?”

“That’s right. Now you’re making it sound like I’m the one who killed Richard.”

“Just connecting the dots, as I said before.”

“And I didn’t like it when you said it before,” Megan blustered. “I’m not a dot. My sister’s not a dot.”

“I take it you and Richard had issues.”

“Richard Procter was an overbearing, pompous jerk. I could barely tolerate the man. Is that what you mean by issues?”

“Did he have a problem with you?”

“Do you mean because I’m gay? As a matter of fact he did. He was not comfortable spending time with us at the farm. Didn’t care for his precious Molly being around ‘The Girls.’ He was petrified that somehow Susan and I would indoctrinate Molly into the secret ya-ya sisterhood of queerdom. When we were here for Christmas he made it abundantly clear to us that he did not want to return to Blue Hill this summer.”

“How did you feel about that?”