Gone With the Woof (27 page)

“D
etective Wygod will meet us at the house.” Charlotte shoved her phone back in her pocket. “Let's get you into your car.”

“No keys,” I said. “They were . . . in my purse.”

“Where's your purse?”

“Gone.”

That earned me a hard look. “Your parka?”

“Charlotte . . . we need to talk.”

She didn't answer. Instead, she walked around behind me, looped her arms beneath mine, and hoisted me to my feet. Lighting our way with the flashlight, she walked me into the cottage and deposited me on a love seat.

“Be right back.”

With an agility I could only envy, Charlotte dashed up the stairs. A minute later she returned holding a large sweatshirt and a polar fleece jacket. A puffy down comforter, thrown over her shoulder, trailed along behind.

She added the layers to my attire one by one, dressing me with brisk efficiency, as if I were a child who'd been left in her care. When she was finished, Robin hopped up onto the love seat and climbed back into my lap. The setter seemed to understand that I needed her there.

Charlotte stepped around behind me. She trained the beam of the flashlight on the side of my head and sucked in a breath.

“You were here with my mother.” Her tone was flat, devoid of emotion, as if she had already begun to think things through and knew what I was going to say.

“Yes.”

“She did this to you?”

“Charlotte, there are things you don't know—”

“Obviously.” It was hard to tell in the unlit room, but it sounded as though her voice caught on a sob. She leaned down and gathered me into an awkward hug. “Melanie, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. . . .”

“I know.” If my arms hadn't been bundled up inside the comforter, I'd have hugged her back. “It's not your fault.”

“I shouldn't have left you here with her. Maybe on some level I already knew that. But she's my mother. . . .”

“I know,” I said again.

“She gave me Andrew's phone and told me to bring you here and give it to you. I thought that was all she wanted. When she left the cottage, she called and told me that you were on your way home, too.”

I nodded. Once again, Maribeth had been careful to cover all the bases.

“So what brought you back?” I asked.

“I didn't understand what was going on. I asked her why she had Andrew's phone, and she wouldn't answer me. She was treating me like I was still a child, like she thought I should just take her word for things no matter what she said. But I couldn't do that. Not anymore.”

Charlotte lifted a hand and scrubbed it across her face. “I told Mr. March I was going to take Robin for a walk. I needed to be alone. I wanted to think about things and decide what I was going to do next. But as soon as we got outside, Robin took off. She came running down here to the cottage. All I did was follow her.”

“I'm glad you did.”

“Me too,” Charlotte said softly.

 

After that, things seemed to move quickly. Although I probably wasn't in the best position to judge. Considering the severity of the concussion I'd sustained, my perception of time was unreliable at best.

Charlotte left Robin with me in the cottage while she ran back to the main house to intercept Detective Wygod. It must have taken longer, but it seemed like only minutes had passed before the two of them returned. By then I was considerably warmer and a good deal more lucid.

Nevertheless, the detective took one look at me, bundled me into the back of his car, and headed for the hospital. We spoke along the way.

I told him about Maribeth's past connection with Edward March and the truth about Charlotte's paternity. Then I skipped ahead to Julia's pregnancy and the reason that Andrew's callous behavior had so enraged Maribeth. I ended with the argument that had left Andrew lying in the snow by the side of the road.

Some things about that conversation remain fuzzy in my mind. I'm pretty sure that somewhere along the way I informed Detective Wygod that my son had a new puppy named Augie. I might have also mentioned that my aunt believed in free love in the sixties.

Despite the extraneous details, the detective seemed to take everything in stride. He had nearly all the same pieces that I did; he'd just been looking at them in a different order. But once everything was properly aligned, he immediately knew what I was talking about.

By the time Detective Wygod delivered me to the emergency room, Charlotte was already giving a statement to another officer. An arrest warrant was issued for Maribeth, who hired a lawyer and turned herself in later that night. She claimed that Andrew's death had been a tragic accident and that she had no knowledge whatsoever of what had happened to me.

Perhaps having learned her lesson when she kept Andrew's cell phone, Maribeth had left my parka and my purse, with phone and car keys, locked inside my car in the driveway. She insisted that I'd been fine when she left the cottage. It wasn't her fault, she maintained, if I'd been stupid enough to stumble around in the dark and injure myself.

I learned most of this from Sam the next morning. He had arrived at the emergency room as a doctor with very gentle hands was finishing putting four stitches in the side of my head. Luckily, I didn't have a skull fracture. I was only slightly dehydrated, and my body had returned to the normal temperature without incident.

Sam and the doctor shared a joke about my hard head, which I pretended not to hear. All of us were grateful that my injuries weren't worse. Sam took me home, tucked me into bed, and watched me like a hawk for several days.

By the time I surfaced again, Maribeth's lawyer had gotten her released on bail, and she was proclaiming her innocence to anyone who cared to listen. In the spirit of confession, Maribeth had told Charlotte the truth about her father the night I went to the hospital. That revelation, coming on top of everything else, was too much for Charlotte to process and she quit her job as March's assistant.

Three days later she came to see me. Though I'd told Sam repeatedly that he didn't need to treat me like an invalid, I found his desire to pamper me hard to resist. I was reading a book in the living room, Faith and Eve curled up contentedly on either side of me, when Charlotte arrived. Sam showed her in, then left the two of us alone.

“I'm glad you came,” I said. “I wanted to say thank you in person.”

Charlotte smiled wanly. “And I wanted to apologize.”

“There's no need.”

“I appreciate your saying that.” Charlotte perched on the other end of the couch. Her hand reached out to stroke Eve's back. The Poodle's tail wagged gently in acknowledgment. “My mother . . . she's always had issues. But even so, I can't quite seem to wrap my head around everything that happened. She says Andrew's death was an accident.”

I nodded. Maribeth was the only family Charlotte had ever known. I wasn't about to tell her what to believe or not believe.

“So what now?” I asked.

Charlotte shrugged. “I guess I'll have to see. You heard I quit my job?”

“I did.”

“Under the circumstances, I figured Mr. March was going to fire me, anyway. But . . .”

I pulled Faith over into my lap and waited.

“He says he doesn't blame me for what happened.”

“Of course not,” I told her. “Nobody does.”

Charlotte shook her head. She didn't look entirely convinced.

“Mr. March wants me to come back,” she said. “He says he needs help getting his house in order. That maybe it's time to finally throw out some old baggage and start fresh.”

“Do you think he's speaking literally or figuratively?” I asked.

“Both, apparently. We talked about it.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

Unexpectedly, Charlotte smiled. “I think I'm ready for it. And besides, I really miss Robin. Who's going to walk her if I'm not there?”

So the two of them are back together again. Father and daughter are working on building a new relationship, one that's founded on truth this time. I think they're both enjoying figuring out what comes next.

The one thing Charlotte hasn't been able to do is convince March to let Julia move back into the cottage. It continues to sit empty. In the meantime, Julia has dropped the idea of a lawsuit and has put some distance between herself and Sherm. That recommendation came from Bonnie Raye. It turns out that now that Bonnie's children are grown and gone, she has some extra room in her house and in her heart. Julia has gratefully left the small apartment in Norwalk and gained a Mother Hen.

As for me, I'm steering clear of Aunt Peg's pet projects for the foreseeable future. Between diapers to change, homework to oversee, and a new puppy to housebreak, I have plenty to keep me busy at home. If that makes my life sound dull, right now that suits me just fine.

Maybe someday Edward March will find another coauthor and
Puppy Love
will be published. If so, I'll put the book on my reading list. Right at the bottom, where it belongs.

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

 

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

 

Copyright © 2013 by Laurien Berenson

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

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Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2013940649

ISBN: 978-0-7582-8452-5

First Kensington Hardcover Edition: September 2013

 

eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-8454-9
eISBN-10: 0-7582-8454-3
First Kensington Electronic Edition: September 2013