The sweet golden parachute

Epilogue

(TWO DAYS LATER)

The old lighthouse out on Big Sister was kept padlocked shut. Mitch had one of the keys. Des held the kerosene lantern for him while he used it in the darkness of midnight, hearing the forlorn foghorn from the lighthouse across the river at Saybrook Point. The hinges creaked mightily when he swung the lighthouse’s massive steel door open. Inside, the spiral staircase up to the lantern room resembled a six-story-high corkscrew.

“We won’t be able to see a thing in this fog,” Des pointed out, remaining there in the doorway with the light. “Visibility’s less than a quarter-mile.”

“There’s something up there I want to show you,” Mitch said as he began to climb the twisting cast-iron stairs. “It’s a surprise, okay?”

Des didn’t budge. “Mitch, I hate surprises.”

“I know this. Just come on, will you?”

Reluctantly, she joined him, their footsteps echoing in the narrow enclosed cylinder.

It was the first evening they’d managed to spend together since Yolie Snipes shot Eric Vickers dead on the floor of the Congo Church. Danielle had been arraigned in New London Superior Court on two counts of murder in the first degree. She was being held without bond and, as Soave had predicted, was talking her head off. Blaming it all on Eric. The news of her arrest had served as a major wake-up call for Mark Widdifield. That very same day he paid a visit to Claudia at their cottage. Stayed for dinner and never left. The two of them were trying to work things out, Mitch had heard. Claudia was also spending more time with Poochie. Her famous mother was lonely and adrift without Guy Tolliver in her life. Plus she still wasn’t allowed to drive. So it was Claudia who was now chauffeuring her around Dorset. Claudia who was helping her shop for a vintage Mercedes to replace her fabulous, long-gone Gullwing. Claudia who was bringing her around to the idea that someone ought to catalog her art collection. There was even talk that she’d convinced Poochie to get a physical exam, but Mitch was fairly certain this was merely idle gossip. Likewise the rumor that young Bement was going to take over operation of Four Chimneys Farm.

Mitch’s literary agent had started reading Justine’s manuscript and couldn’t put it down. Called Mitch immediately to tell him that he wasn’t crazy-She’ll Do Ya was indeed great. And that he wanted to represent her. Justine had shrieked with girlish delight when Mitch phoned her with the news.

Actually, Justine was the one person in town who wasn’t shocked by what Eric and Danielle had done. “Well, what did you expect?” she said to Mitch. “All people are liars. Except for you. You’re okay, even if you are stuck in a hopeless relationship.”

Mitch didn’t know what she meant by that last comment.

When he stopped by McGee’s Diner to see how Allison Mapes was coping, Mitch discovered that she’d cleared out of Dorset a few hours after Eric was shot. Taken off for Daytona Beach, Florida, with Stevie and Donnie Kershaw. She’d told Dick McGee that the three of them planned to find work down there and never come back. Which didn’t sit very well with Milo. The snarly little swamp Yankee seemed like a broken man when Mitch encountered him at the A amp;P So downcast he didn’t even bother to be nasty. Rut Peck told Mitch that the little guy was positively devastated by his boys leaving him.

Maybe, Mitch reflected, the little guy should have been nicer to them.

Mitch was huffing and puffing by the time they’d climbed their way up to the old lighthouse’s lantern room. Once upon a time, twin thousand-watt lamps had been positioned up here to warn seafarers of the treacherous rocks. Now there was only an empty, glass-walled chamber with amazing views in every direction. On a clear night, the lights from Long Island’s north shore were clearly visible across the Sound. Tonight, Mitch could barely make out the lighthouse at Saybrook Point. He’d already been up here twice today. Once to sweep up. Once to lug everything up here and arrange it just so. The bottle of Moet amp; Chandon in its ice bucket. The long-stemmed glasses. The dozen roses in a vase, candles that he’d positioned everywhere. There was a blanket for them to sit on.

“What’s all this now?” Des wondered as she watched him light the candles, one by one. “We holding a seance?”

“No, I’ve got something for you.”

She flashed her hugest smile at him. “Is it your magic feather?”

“You really like that feather, don’t you?”

“Baby, what is this?”

“Have a seat, will you?”

“Okay…” She arranged her long, taut self on the blanket. “Now what?”

Mitch swallowed hard and plunged ahead. “I’ve been thinking that when I talked about us getting, you know, married, I didn’t exactly go about it the right way. I didn’t tell you how much you mean to me. I didn’t tell you that I can’t possibly live the rest of my life without you. And I didn’t give you this.” He handed her the small box that was in his jacket pocket.

It was not a fancy ring. The diamond was small. It was not a new one either. The gold had a burnished glow.

“It was my grandmother’s. I had my mom send it to me.”

“Baby, baby…” she gasped. “I thought you gave Maisie your grandmother’s engagement ring.”

“You’re the detective. See if you can work it out.”

Des nodded her head sagely. “You had two grandmothers.”

“This one was Sadie Mandelbaum’s. I’m sorry I bungled this whole thing the way I did. I should have made it more special. I can be a bit socially challenged, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Mitch, this is all so incredibly sweet of you, but that was never the issue. You were never the issue. It was all about me needing to get some things straight in my own mind. And I have. And the answer is yes, in case you’re wondering. Soon as you want.”

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

She frowned at him. “Are you okay?”

“Absolutely. Just feeling a little dizzy all of a sudden. Must be that climb up here. So, wow, I’m going to be Mr. Des Mitry.”

“Tell you what-you can keep your own name.”

Beaming, he worked the cork out of the champagne and filled their glasses. They drank, her pale green eyes shining at him in the candlelight.

“Do you have a where in mind?” she asked.

“Anywhere is fine by me, just as long as it’s not the inside of the Congo church. Deal?”

“Deal. Shall we shake on it?”

He leaned over and grazed her lips with his. “Oh, I’m absolutely positive we can do better than that.”

Des left Mitch’s little island in the Sound shortly after dawn, utterly sleep deprived and caring not one bit. She felt positively giddy as she piloted her cruiser up Old Shore Road toward home. Didn’t feel the road beneath her at all. All she could feel was Sadie Mandelbaum’s ring around her finger.

She was so dreamy that she didn’t notice someone sitting in the sedan parked across the street from her house. Didn’t even notice the car there.

She put the coffee on as soon as she walked in. Changed into her sweats, then woke up Bella, who was snoring away in her room like a lumberjack. They were planning to check out that Dumpster behind the Rustic Inn this morning.

“We’re on dawn patrol, girl,” she sang out. “Ready for your coffee?”

Bella groaned, blinking at her.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Des headed toward the kitchen to get it. That was when her doorbell rang.

It was so early in the morning that she couldn’t imagine who it could be. Which was pretty amazing, considering how big a believer Des was in self-preservation. And yet no survival instinct warned her that here was trouble. No inner voice said, “Something’s got to go wrong because I’m feeling way too good.” She was simply caught there, flat-footed, when she yanked open that door.

And standing there before her, wearing a charcoal gray flannel suit and a smile, was the single most beautiful black man she had ever seen in her life.

The air went right out of her body as soon as she saw him. Her knees wobbled, stomach clenched. “H-Hello, Brandon…” she stammered, barely getting the words out.

“Right back at you, Desi,” he said in that rich burgundy voice of his. “We need to talk. It’s important. May I come in?”