Pineapple Lies (28 page)

“Stay back,” said Charlotte throwing out an arm.

“The hell I will,” said Darla. “I’ve lived my life. You get behind
me
.”

The two of them began to wrestle, both vying for human shield status.

“Stop it!” barked Harry. “I’m not going to hurt either of you.”

He turned and shuffled into his living room, flopping into his La-Z-Boy and breathing heavily.

The girls followed him.

“Are you okay?” asked Charlotte.

Harry’s eyes opened and focused on her. “Cancer.”

Charlotte remembered Harry’s makeshift belt. She’d suspected as much.

“Harry, we need to get you to a doctor,” said Charlotte. “You don’t look well.”

“Or maybe we’ll just bury you in a yard for safe keeping,” muttered Darla.

Charlotte shot her a look. “Call 911.”

Darla found Harry’s phone and dialed.

“I deserve that,” he said, “I wanted to solve one case…I saw the blood. Thought George shot her…”

“But you buried her!” said Charlotte. “How could you do such a thing?”

“She was already dead. Nothing could change that.”

Harry clenched his fists.

“Harry?”

“Hurts,” he hissed, straining against the pain.

“Just take it easy. Someone will be here soon.”

Harry looked at her with his milky blue eyes.

“I’m sorry—”

“Harry, please relax. I’m not the one who can forgive you. What you did was a horrible thing. You kept her family in the dark for years.”

“Tell them I’m sorry,” he said, his voice a whisper.

“You’re going to confess everything now, right?” she asked.

He nodded, grimacing with the pain. “If I can…I…I give up.”

Harry’s eyes closed and Charlotte heard the sound of sirens in the distance.

“They’re almost here, Harry.”

Harry didn’t move.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Hey Frank,” said Darla. She was on her cell standing in Harry’s front yard as they loaded him into the ambulance. “You wouldn’t believe what happened.”

“Darla!” said Charlotte. If Darla told Frank they broke into Harry’s house, all the evidence they’d found could be inadmissible.

Darla waved her away.

“I was walking with Charlotte when we saw Harry just about collapsing as he went into his house. We helped him inside and they’re taking him away in an ambulance now.”

Nice
.

“He doesn’t look good. But I’ll tell you what looks worse…”

Darla told Frank that while they were waiting for the ambulance they stumbled onto Harry’s fake police station. The replaced floorboards were in plain view but she’d let Frank come and inspect the rest of it.

“Who knows what you’ll find,” said Darla before disconnecting.

When she hung up Charlotte caught her eye.

“Did he buy it?” she asked.

“Not a word. But it’s enough for plausible deniability. He’s on his way over.”

Terrified that Frank would forbid her from sharing all her new information with Declan, Charlotte put herself half way down the street by the time he arrived at Harry’s house. Mariska and Darla joined her and they walked home together.

“I never saw Harry,” Mariska said. “I’m so sorry! I swear I kept guard the whole time.”

“I think he stopped his walk early,” said Charlotte. “He didn’t look good. He probably took a shortcut home.”

They told Mariska about what they’d found, Mariska gasping at every new morsel of information. By the time they reached the bit about the bloody shirt, Charlotte was worried they might need a second ambulance for her.

Charlotte went home and called Declan. She tingled with excitement knowing she was a phone call away from giving Declan the closure he needed.

Case solved!

It wasn’t until she began the story that she realized how horrific it was. Being accidentally shot by a jealous wife while hiding in the closet of a married lover wasn’t the most glamorous way to die. Being buried by an obsessive-compulsive cold case detective was adding insult to injury.

Charlotte heard her voice relaying the details as if it didn’t belong to her. Who was this girl telling Declan all this painful information? Why would she want to do that?

“So no one did it,” said Declan when she was done.

“What?” She felt relieved that he was still on the phone and hadn’t decided to kill the messenger. “I said it was
Penny
, remember? And then Harry buried her hoping to solve the case.”

“No, I know,” said Declan, his voice monotone. “But no one really did it. Penny shot her by accident. What Harry did afterward is disgusting, but she was already dead. There’s no real villain. No one for me to blame except maybe…”

Charlotte waited, but as the silence stretched, she realized who he had in mind.

Erin
.

Erin and George had cheated on Penny, and she’d paid the ultimate price.

“I’m going to go,” said Declan. “I have to tell Seamus.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Charlotte.

“It’s not your fault. Thank you for letting me know. Thank you for your help.”

“I—”

Charlotte fell silent. Nothing made anything better.

The phone disconnected.

A day went by, then two. Was she supposed to call Declan, or give him his space? She began scoring the days on her chalkboard, like a prisoner whiling away her sentence.

On day three, she broke down and called him, but the phone went to voice mail.

She understood Declan’s need to be alone. Being accidentally shot by a jealous wife while hiding in the closet of a married lover wasn’t the most glamorous way for his mother to die. He had a lot to process. He had every right to his space.

But she didn’t have to like it
.

On day four,
she bought a shelf and neatly arranged the pile of books from her living room floor. She thought,
build it and he will come.

He didn’t.

It had taken her three hours to assemble the shelf and he never showed. Apparently,
Field of Dreams
and IKEA had little in common.

On day five, Harry passed away. It didn’t help that there would be no earthly justice for his part in Erin’s disappearance. The doctors said he died of complications from bone cancer, but Charlotte suspected he’d succumbed to a broken heart. Even after doing unspeakable things to ensure his success, he couldn’t solve a murder. At eighty years old, he’d blown his last shot at cold case glory.

Harry lived long enough to confess everything to the police, including how he stole George’s trash for weeks in hopes of finding more evidence against him. He discovered George and Erin’s love letters, which he buried beneath George’s favorite orange tree. For Harry, the letters confirmed George’s guilt. He never dreamed Penny might have pulled the trigger, or that Erin’s death could have been an accident.

He planned to plant evidence until the police found it impossible
not
to arrest George. Along the way, he also intended to claim responsibility for the identification and capture of Erin’s killer.

His last words were,
“I moved the file…”

The nurses didn’t know what it meant, but Charlotte did. Harry had prematurely moved Erin’s file from
Unsolved
to
Solved
. Maybe he thought he’d jinxed the case by moving it from cabinet to cabinet before his suspect’s conviction.

Or maybe, in the last moments of his life, he relived the fleeting joy he’d felt moving that file to the
solved
drawer.

On day eight,
Charlotte returned to Harry’s home when his son arrived to run an estate sale. She hoped Declan would show, but he didn’t.

When it was clear the pawnbroker wouldn’t appear, she bought Harry’s forty-gallon fish tank for twenty dollars. The yellow tang alone was worth that. She thought adding the tank to her living room could be a first step towards “décor.” What was more Florida décor than a fish tank?

By day nine,
Charlotte had to wonder if Declan’s absence meant more than a need for alone time. She couldn’t enter her kitchen without remembering the way she’d spied on him in the shower. The way she’d pounced on him like she’d been lost in the desert and he was a tall drink of water.

Mortifying.

He was probably
terrified
to see her again.

So embarrassing.

They seemed to get along so well and then…

Shameful
.

Every time she recalled petting his leg hair her face burned and her stomach flipped like a small-time crook. Only a complete
psycho
would do something like that.

What had come over her?

She needed to embroider a scarlet ‘N’ to all her shirts for ‘Nymphomaniac.’

Was he
so
irresistible?

Well, yes.

But still… Why? Why? WHY?

On day ten, she was considering the pros and cons of Googling the proper way to commit hara-kiri when there was knock on the door. She peeked through the window.

Seamus.

She flung open the door.

“Is he okay?” she blurted, her heart swelling with hope.

This explained everything!
Declan was in a terrible accident and slipped into a coma. He’s in a wheelchair and that’s why he can’t meet me on top of the Empire State Building…

“Whoa! Hello, Charlotte.”

Seamus held up his hands as if protecting himself.

“Hello. What’s wrong with Declan?”

“Declan? Nothing.”

“Oh,” Charlotte’s heart and face fell.

So this wasn’t
An Affair to Remember
. Bummer.

Seamus tilted his head. “Did you
want
something to happen to him?”

“Huh? No! Of course not. It just would have been conven—never mind. What’s up?”

“First, thank you for all your help with Erin. I haven’t had a chance to thank you.”

“I didn’t really do anything, but you’re welcome.”

“Second, I need you to do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Go to the pawnshop.”

“Is Declan there?”

“Yes. That’s the point.”

“But…he hasn’t called or returned a message…I don’t think…”

“Just take my word for it and go. He’s thinking of you, I promise.”

Charlotte grimaced.

“Did he ask?”

“In a fashion.”

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll give you twenty bucks,” said Seamus.

“You don’t have to pay me!”

“Then go!”

“Fine! Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

Charlotte closed the door and went to her room to get ready. She would have taken more care with her appearance, but through her bedroom window, she spotted Seamus waiting for her in the driveway. She reached for a summer dress and then changed her mind, opting for a less form-fitting polo and shorts outfit. She would have worn a goat-hair turtleneck and a solid gold chastity belt if they’d been handy. She didn’t want to scare him away again.

Sweetness and light. Humility. Decorum.

“I’ll drop you off,” said Seamus when she left the house.

She looked at his truck. It felt strange to drive off with him. Just a few days earlier, she’d thought he was a murderer.

“I can borrow Mariska’s car,” she said.

He shook his head. “I’ll drop you off.”

“Fine.”

Charlotte allowed Seamus to chauffeur her to the store. Though she begged, he refused to offer any further hints as to what she would find there.

Seamus pulled up to the door of the Hock o’ Bell and stopped the vehicle.

“Get out,” he said.

“Yeesh, fine. You are the rudest kidnapper.”

She got out of the car and stood in front of the entrance. She wondered if Seamus would give her a moment to vomit.

“Go
in
,” he said.

“I am.”

“Now.”

“I am.”

“
Open the door
.”

“Fine!”

Charlotte shoved the door and it opened to the familiar tinkling bell.

She stepped inside and froze.

This is a bad idea.

She was about to turn and leave when she heard him.

“Hello! Welcome to—”

She turned towards the voice.

“Charlotte?”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Declan stared at her for a moment before speaking, just in time to stop her from babbling.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’m not entirely sure.”

She turned to motion to Seamus, but he and his car were gone.

Figures.

“Um, so how are you?” she asked beginning to stroll around the shop. It was too uncomfortable to stand and stare at him. She wanted to hug him and tell him how sorry she was for his loss
and
her behavior, but she couldn’t touch him. It was like being a monkey in a cage and someone had left the bananas just out of reach.

Bananas? Really Charlotte? What is
wrong
with you?

She squinted, trying to think of a better simile and stubbed her pinky toe on a dresser.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, keeping her face turned from his.

“Well, to answer your question, I’m good,” he said. “I think I’ve come to terms with everything. I realized not much has changed, really. Either way, Mom’s gone, but now I know what happened to her. That’s better than
not
knowing.”

Charlotte nodded, still avoiding his eyes.

“Good. I’m glad. If there’s anything I can do…”

Something touched her shoulder and she turned to find Declan standing behind her, a tiny smile on his lips.

“You’re walking away from me and I need you to stay right here,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because there are two things you can do for me, actually.”

“What?”

Declan touched the side of her face with his hand, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. Both Charlotte’s natural urge to deflect affection and her desire to appear less aggressive failed her. She leaned into his touch.