The Bright Silver Star (23 page)

“All the more reason for him to come after Tito that night,” Chrissie went on. “The man was publicly humiliated. Guys hate that. It drives them nuts. Seriously, shouldn’t you be talking to him?”

“We
have
talked to him,” Yolie blurted out.

“Really, what did he say?” Chrissie asked eagerly, smelling a choice morsel she could feed to the hungry horde outside.

“We’re talking to everybody,” Soave said brusquely, shooting a warning look at his young partner. Boom Boom still had a lot to learn about the Chrissie Hubermans of the world.

“And I sure do hope I don’t pick up the paper tomorrow and read that we’re focusing our attention on him,” Des added in a low, steely voice. “ ‘According to a high-level source close to the investigation.’ ”

“You have to admit it makes a good story,” Chrissie said.

“Good for who, girl?”

“You do your job, I do mine.”

“I’m down with that, only maybe you ought to pull into Jiffy Lube and get your value system checked.”

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“That you are not going to pump up the volume by trashing
Mitch Berger,” Des told her. “If you try that I will come after you and I will put you in the hospital.”

“You’re a law officer,” Chrissie objected. “You can’t threaten me that way.”

“This isn’t the badge talking. This is me. Do we understand each other?”

“Sure, whatever. I mean, God, it’s so obvious that you people have nothing.”

“We’re talking to everybody,” Soave repeated coldly. “We’re especially interested in Tito’s lovers.”

“Well, don’t look at me,” she said. “A meaningless fling—that’s all we had, I swear. Why would I lie to you about it? I have no reason to.”

“You have every reason to,” Des countered. “Not only were you and Tito involved but you have no one to vouch for your whereabouts at the time of his death.”

Chrissie sat there in heavy silence for a moment. “You’re right, I don’t. So I can’t help you
or
myself. Live and learn. The one night when it would have paid for me to drag a warm body home, I have to hop into bed with my cold hard cell phone. There’s a valuable lesson to be learned here.”

“What lesson is that, Miss Huberman?” Soave asked.

“If you don’t watch out, being a good girl can get you in a whole lot of trouble,” she replied. “Now can I get the hell out of here? I have a client who needs me.”

C
HAPTER 11

“W
HY WOULD
B
ECCA LET
Dodge treat her that way?” Mitch asked Bitsy Peck as the two of them sat there in rocking chairs on her shaded porch, gazing out at the dead calm Sound. “What was she even doing there?”

“Mitch, that man has always had a peculiar power over her,” Bitsy replied, sipping her iced tea. “It’s something I had to face up to a long time ago. When it comes to Becca, Dodge is leaning on an open door. She’s weak and she’s pliable and she so wants to please him. He was her first, you see.”

“Her first lover?”

“Love had nothing to do with it,” Bitsy said bitterly.

Becca hadn’t said a word the whole way home in Mitch’s truck. Just sat there in between Mitch and Will, staring out the windshield as if she were in a trance. And she smelled bad—rank and coppery, like a handful of moist, dirty pennies. Will was very quiet himself. He seemed terribly upset by the scene they’d walked in on.

As for Mitch, he could not get over that this shell-shocked, twenty-three-year-old recovering heroin addict was Dodge’s idea of a lover. True, Becca was a consenting adult, as Dodge had taken pains to point out. But strictly in a legal sense. In a human sense, she was a lost little girl. What was she to Dodge—someone who he cared about? Or merely a limp rag he could tie up and plug to his heart’s content? Mitch had no idea. How could he?

He obviously didn’t know Dodge Crockett at all.

When he pulled up next to Will’s van at the entrance to Peck’s Point, Mitch told Becca he’d be right back, then hopped out with him, and said, “Will, did you have an idea that this was going on?” Keeping his voice low.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Will unlocked his van and got in.

“You seemed so worried about Dodge not showing up. Did you know about him and Becca?”

Will didn’t respond. Just started up his engine and sat there behind the wheel, a remote and silent keeper of secrets.

Mitch found himself wondering what those secrets were. What else did Will know about the man? How much was he holding on to?

“Don’t judge him, Mitch,” Will said, putting his van in gear. “The man’s not perfect, but here’s some news for you—none of us are.”

Then he’d driven off and Mitch had taken Becca across the causeway to Big Sister, where a silver VW Beetle was parked outside of the Pecks’ sprawling summer cottage.

Esme was seated there cross-legged on the veranda in a string bikini, calmly shucking peas with Bitsy, her signature mane of tousled blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Mitch couldn’t get over how much the beautiful actress resembled a ten-year-old child as she sat there intently popping open the pea pods, her pink tongue flicking distractedly at her raw, swollen lip. She had a girl’s tiny, delicate ears and snub nose, a girl’s blond peach fuzz on her tummy. But she was not a girl. She was a lithe, voluptuous woman who had cheekbones the camera loved, an Academy Award to call her own, and a very famous, very dead husband.

As he stood there looking at her, Mitch noticed that Esme Crockett also had thin, faint white scars on the inside of each of her wrists.

“Hey, girlfriend!” the actress called to Becca, smiling at her warmly. Until, that is, she spotted the thousand-yard stare coming from her old school chum. Then Esme said no more—just put down the bowl of shucked peas, hopped nimbly to her bare feet, and led Becca inside the house by the hand.

“She wasn’t . . . isn’t on drugs, is she, Mitch?” Bitsy had asked him first thing, her eyes wide with fright.

“I don’t believe so, no.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I only worry about that girl every minute of every day. I don’t suppose you feel like telling me what happened to her, do you?”

Mitch hadn’t felt like telling her one bit. “What brings Esme by?”

“The poor dear’s having such a hard time, what with the police and the media and the grief. She needed a bit of a breather,” Bitsy said, fanning herself with her floppy straw hat. “We’ve been sitting here shucking peas and making girl talk, just like we used to.”

Esme came padding back out onto the porch, alone. “Becca’s taking a hot shower,” she said, reaching for a man’s white dress shirt to throw on. “I’d better get going. Mommy will freak out if I’m gone for long.”

“I’m sorry about Tito, Esme,” Mitch said.

“I know you are,” she said coolly. “Everyone is.”

“What I mean is, I liked him.”

Esme glanced at him searchingly, as if she were noticing him for the first time. “Thank you.” Then she went over to Bitsy and kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, Bits.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” Bitsy said affectionately. “Come back any time. You’re always welcome.”

Then the actress had headed off and Bitsy had asked Mitch, once again, what had happened to Becca. And so Mitch told her, Bitsy’s round cheeks mottling with anger as he detailed where and how they had found her.

“Dodge has always had a thing for teenaged girls,” Bitsy revealed to him now as they rocked back and forth, the floorboards creaking under them. “Some men can’t be trusted with other men’s wives. Dodge Crockett can’t be trusted with their daughters. That’s why they couldn’t run him for lieutenant governor—he’s left too many tender young virgins in his wake.”

“Like Becca?”

“Like Becca. And now he wants her again, apparently. And if that man nudges her off of her road to recovery, I swear I will load up one of father’s old hunting rifles and shoot him down like the wild dog that he is. I don’t care if I go to jail for the rest of my life.”

“Don’t talk crazy, Bitsy.”

“Mitch, I’m telling you the God’s honest truth.”

A long black cigarette boat filled with sunburned summer people
went tearing by the island, leaving an incredible roar of noise in its roiling wake.

“God, I wish they’d outlaw those horrible things,” she observed irritably. “What kind of morons ride around in them anyway?”

“Morons who like to make a lot of noise.”

“Why on earth would they want to do that?”

“So that people like you will notice them. Otherwise, you wouldn’t.” Mitch glanced at her curiously. “Exactly how old was Becca when she and Dodge first got together?”

“She was of legal age, eighteen. It wasn’t statutory rape, just unsavory. And drugs were involved. She was high on pot half the time, and eager to try anything new. He took advantage of her poor judgment to grab himself a piece of fresh young girl. I’d like to point out that Becca wasn’t in any serious trouble before that, Mitch. She was just a headstrong girl who liked to kick up her heels. It wasn’t until after she got mixed up with Dodge that she got into heroin.”

“I wondered why you called him a cannibal before. Now I know why.”

“Mitch, you don’t know the half of it,” Bitsy said darkly.

Mitch rocked back and forth in guarded silence, wondering what else there was. Part of him hoped she’d spill it, part of him hoped she wouldn’t. Because there were some things about people that you were better off not knowing, he had come to realize.

Bitsy took a long, slow drink of her iced tea before she said, “It was that golden summer when the girls turned fifteen. They were inseparable, those two. Esme was such a sweet girl, Mitch. A sunny, happy girl who loved to swim and windsurf. And so pretty that there were always lots of boys around. Nice boys, good boys. All of them so healthy and bright, full of enthusiasm. Mind you, she and Becca both had huge crushes on Will Durslag, who was lifeguard at the town beach in those days. All of the girls did. He was a great big handsome boy—an
older
boy. They were like pesky kid sisters to him.” Bitsy let out a long, pained sigh. “God, that seems like such a long, long time ago. . . .”

“What happened that summer, Bitsy?”

She rocked back and forth, her brow furrowing. “I’m not even sure I should tell you this. But I feel like you’re family, and I’ve always trusted you to do the right thing. You have to promise me you’ll never, ever tell a soul about this. Except for Des. I know you confide in her. But no one else, okay?”

“Okay . . .”

“Esme was Dodge’s first, Mitch,” Bitsy said quietly.

Mitch swallowed. “Freeze-frame, are you saying? . . .”

“I’m saying he started sexually abusing his own fifteen-year-old daughter that summer. The change in Esme’s personality was noticeable and truly alarming. She became gloomy and distant. She looked unwell. She . . . even tried to take her own life.”

Those scars on her wrists. Mitch discovered he was scratching at his own wrists now, as if something were crawling around under his skin. He stopped himself, squirming in his seat.

“I honestly don’t think Esme would have survived if she hadn’t found her way into acting,” Bitsy went on. “Acting was her escape. It got her away from this place. Away from
him.”

“Did she ever press charges against him?”

“No, never. All she wanted to do was go far, far away. And she did. She hasn’t been back here since she finished high school. Not until this summer.”

“What about Martine?”

“What about her?”

“How could she stay married to him? How could she stand by him?”

“By refusing to believe it. She insisted that Esme was making it all up. That she was merely trying to
hurt
her father.”

“So she was a full-time resident of the state of denial?”

“Denial is not uncommon under such circumstances, Mitch. The alternative is simply far too horrible to contemplate. Esme’s silence was also quite typical. She was afraid to tell anyone. The only reason I know about it is that the night before she left for New York she finally told Becca everything. And Becca told me.”

Just another day in paradise, Mitch reflected as he rocked back
and forth on Bitsy’s porch. One more slice of family life in this Yankee eden called Dorset. “Why did Esme come back now? Why did she bring Tito here?”

“I honestly don’t know, Mitch.”

“Maybe the wounds have finally healed.”

“Wounds like those never heal.”

“I’m thinking that one other person may know about this. . . .”

“Such as who, Mitch?”

“Will Durslag.”

“You’re not wrong,” Bitsy concurred, shoving her lower lip in and out thoughtfully. “Will’s role in life has long been to clean up the sobbing, broken messes that Dodge leaves behind. He delivers the parting gifts, mends the broken hearts. There was an au pair girl on Turkey Neck Road some years back, a lovely Scottish girl. And when she got pregnant it was Will who claimed responsibility and paid her way back home. Even though everyone
knew
she was Dodge’s little beach blanket plaything. Will has always stuck by him. He so looks up to Dodge.”

“My God, how can he?”

“Because he was so young when he lost his own father. Dodge is all he has as a role model.”

“Some role model.”

“Besides, it’s not as if he hasn’t profited from their little arrangement. Dodge put him through the Culinary Institute of America, after all. And Dodge has bankrolled The Works.”

“Between us, Donna told me they’re barely getting by.”

“Between us, I’m not surprised to hear that,” Bitsy said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Dodge is seriously cash strapped these days.”

“How do you know this?”

“I know it because there isn’t a plumber or an electrician in Dorset who will work for them anymore. The word is out—the Crocketts don’t pay their bills. Martine has bounced so many checks at the beauty parlor that Rita won’t let her set foot in the door unless she has cash on her.”

“But how could this happen?”

“The NASDAQ, that’s how. Dodge risked everything he had on tech stocks. When the dot-com bubble burst, so did his entire portfolio. The man’s not a wise investor.”