The Bitterest Pill

Forty-eight

The North house was around the corner from Doc Goldfine’s. It was a modest-sized Victorian, but unlike the doctor’s house, it was kept in pristine condition. There wasn’t a missing, rotted, or wrongly painted spindle on any of the complicated woodwork. There wasn’t a chipped shingle — fish scale, diamond, square, or scalloped — on any of the siding. And the blue, turquoise, red, and pink paint job was refreshed every other year. The wrought-iron fencing that surrounded the home showed not an ounce of rust, and the English-style gardens on three sides of the home were meticulously maintained. But Jesse had learned long ago that the perfection on the exterior of the house wasn’t a commentary on the people who resided within.

The North family, along with other prominent local families like the Cains, Grays, and Salters, went back to the founding of Paradise. As the Cains had, the Norths chose to stay in their Pilgrim Cove home and not build gaudy, oversized manor houses up on the Bluffs. While many of the descendants of those founding families had given up the pretense of their heritages, Ambrose North, like R. Jean Gray, played his patrician role to the hilt. Jesse wasn’t fond of pretense, and he wasn’t particularly fond of Ambrose North. North was a partner in an old Boston law firm and was a vocal leader of the “not in my backyard” movement in Paradise. He opposed anything that threatened to change either the face or the vibe of the town.

Jesse stepped up onto the wraparound porch and knocked on the front door. He was pleased to see that Annette North, not her husband, had pulled open the door.

“Chief Stone,” she said, her voice and demeanor calm. “Would you like to come inside? Please.” She made a sweeping gesture with her arm.

While her husband enjoyed throwing his weight around, Annette North was always proper and polite. She was thin, more handsome than pretty, and dressed the part of an upper-crust conservative New England housewife.

“Thank you, yes.” He stepped in and followed her as she retreated into the parlor.

“Please, sit.” She gestured at the period settee. “I fear Ambrose is in Boston and won’t be back for several days.”

“That’s fine.”

“How rude of me, Chief Stone. Would you care for some refreshments?”

“No, thank you, Annette.”

She sat opposite him on a green leather wing chair. “How can I help you today?”

Jesse decided to play things a little differently with the Norths than he had with Etta and Moss Carpenter. He had felt comfortable with the Carpenters, knowing that they would eventually trust him enough to tell the truth. Although he liked Annette far more than he liked her husband, he wasn’t at all as confident in the answers he would receive in the North household.

“Several months ago, Ambrose filed a report concerning a stolen watch.”

Annette rolled her large brown eyes and looked up at the ornate plaster and woodwork on the ceiling. “That again! I told Ambrose he had simply misplaced the damn thing, yet he insisted on filing a report with your department. Would I be correct in assuming you’ve come as a courtesy to do your due diligence, to check to see if the watch has been recovered?” She leaned forward. “Thank you again, Chief, and please forgive Ambrose for wasting your department’s time.”

“So,” Jesse said, baiting the trap, “you’ve found the watch?”

Annette North opened her mouth to answer, then thought better of it. She was sharp and sensed that she may have misjudged Jesse’s reason for being there.

What she said was “No, unfortunately, the Rolex has yet to turn up. Why do you ask?”

Jesse removed the evidence bag from his pocket. It was barely detectable — a slight flinch, a twitch at the corner of her mouth, a fleeting widening of her eyes — but there was no denying the shock in Annette North’s reaction. She had clearly never again expected to see the Rolex she had purchased as a gift for her husband.

Jesse thought she might be tempted to push back because it was pretty obvious he had tried to trap her. Wisely, she didn’t go there.

“My goodness.” She shook her head. “I owe Ambrose an apology. I must have told him twenty times since he filed the report that he was foolish to do so. Now I may have to buy him another watch to make up for my wrongheadedness.”

“I don’t know, Annette. I think he’ll probably be happy enough to get this back.”

“May I ask where you found it?”

Now it was Jesse leaning forward. He spoke in a soft voice, as if he didn’t want anyone but Annette to hear. “In a drug dealer’s bedroom.”

That hit her a little harder than just showing her the watch, but instead of fighting it, she went with it, clapping her hand over her mouth.

“Goodness, no. How do you suppose it ended up there? Was this in Paradise?”

“I can’t discuss that, Annette. Sorry.”

She had regained her composure. “When may we retrieve the watch, Jesse?”

“A month, probably. I will let you know.”

Annette North stood, letting Jesse know she was ending the discussion before it went any further. She made that arm-sweeping gesture again. “You’ll excuse me, Chief, but I’ve got a meeting of the Paradise Women’s Club and I have to get ready.”

Jesse walked with her to the front door. “I saw your daughter today at school.”

“Petra? Why were you at the high school?” Her voice cracked, though she cleared her throat to try to cover it up.

“Drugs. Since Heather Mackey’s death, we’ve found there’s a problem at the high school. I’d hate to see any of the kids caught up in the net.” Jesse quickly said his goodbyes, not wanting to give Annette North any room to maneuver or to ask more questions.

He had little doubt that Django Carpenter’s list was accurate. Even Petra North had been forced to steal to support her addiction, and she’d done it with the complicity of her mother. But Jesse didn’t judge Annette any more harshly than he’d judge Etta or any other parent. As a drunk, he knew what the addict’s side of things felt like, and now, as a father, he understood the parents’ side, too.