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SHERRY!” I EXCLAIMED. “What a surprise.”
“Good to see you, Molly. We’ll catch up later, okay?” She pushed away from Davison and turned to go.
“Nice to see you back in town,” I said. “So have you stopped in to see Davison’s father yet?”
She paused, then turned back and winked at me.
“Haven’t had the chance yet. Been so busy.”
I looked at Sherry, and at Davison, and back at Sherry.
“And yet, here you are. Out and about, in public, just a couple blocks from Donnie’s Drive-Inn. Where you could run into someone you know.”
“Yeah, I’m not too worried. Sometimes people get so buried in their work, they don’t notice what’s going on right in front of them.”
Davison looked bewildered. “I’m not buried in my work,” he said.
“Of course not, honey.” She patted his muscled arm and handed him a set of keys. “Go wait in the car, ‘kay? I’ll be right there.”
“Look,” I said, when Davison was safely out of earshot. “I’m not judging or anything. I just need to know what’s going on. Does Donnie know you’re back in Mahina?”
“Nah. What’s the point? It would just bring up a bunch of bad stuff.”
If Sherry was telling the truth about not having seen Donnie, then maybe Donnie had been telling the truth too. Uh-oh.
“Donnie really doesn’t know you’re here.”
“Nope.”
“He doesn’t know you were in his house.”
“No way.”
“Well, that certainly explained some things. I knew the tacky black satin bathrobe couldn’t be Donnie’s.
“All right. Well, now maybe I am judging. Sherry, Davison is your stepson.”
She shrugged.
“I didn’t know it when I met him.”
She was telling the truth. When Davison had met Sherry as an adult, neither of them had had any idea they had been a family once. Sherry had eventually figured it out. Donnie never knew about any of it. I had kept quiet about the whole thing. I hadn’t wanted Sherry, who was my student at the time, to know I was dating her ex-husband.
“You obviously know who Davison is now.”
“It’s not like I watched him grow up or anything. I mean, he was only, what, six when I left.”
“He was eight, Sherry. You left on his eighth birthday.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I got over it. Listen, I gotta go.”
“Just one more question. I need to know who knows what, so I don’t put my foot in it. Does Davison know you’re his long-lost stepmother?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t think it ever really came up.”
“Right. I think I owe someone an apology.”
I climbed into my car, shut the door, and dialed Donnie’s number. It went to voicemail, so I hung up without leaving a message. I would catch him later at Donnie’s Drive-Inn and talk to him in person. I hadn’t figured out yet how I would explain away my accusations about Sherry.
On the way home I stopped by Natural High Organic Foods, where I could replace some of the delicious, allergenic foodstuffs Melanie had forced me to part with. I bypassed the gluten-free shelves and instead loaded up my shopping cart with sourdough bread, tomato sauce, peanut butter, chocolate, and aged cheese, then went to look at the fresh produce. I was admiring some overripe but wonderfully fragrant strawberries, when I saw Fontanne Masterman a little way off, examining fuchsia and green globes of scaly dragonfruit.
We exchanged ladylike cheek kisses. People in Mahina didn’t do the mwah-mwah California air kiss. A Mahina kiss had actual lip-to-skin contact. I still wasn’t used to it. Emma claimed I was overly fussy about germs. I needed to make my immune system earn its keep now and then, she said. I hoped she was right. What choice did I have? I couldn’t exactly walk around Mahina in a hazmat suit.
“Oh, Molly.” Mrs. Masterman set her basket down. “I feel so terrible about what happened. It’s absurd they arrested you. You were sitting right there in my garden the whole time.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry it had to happen in your backyard.”
“So are you coming to the next Garden Society meeting? I do hope you haven’t been put off.”
Whether I bought the Brewster House or not, I realized I should probably maintain my membership in the Pua Kala Garden Society. Now I was single again, it was important to have a social network. And I really did have a lot to learn about gardening. I was not one of those persons gifted with a green thumb. In fact, I seemed to have the opposite of a green thumb, whatever that would be. A red thumb? That didn’t sound right, although green and red opposed each other on the color wheel. A brown thumb? A black thumb? Was that racist? Maybe a skeleton thumb, like the Grim Reaper.
“I’ll be there. In fact I just ran into Iker Legazpi at Mass this morning, and he said he was planning to attend too. So the next meeting will be at the Brewster House?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Masterman said. “I suppose I won’t have moved by then, alas.”
I thought of suggesting if she were really eager to move, she could go ahead and list the Brewster House on the Multiple Listing Service, but then I selfishly held back. Why invite competition? I still wanted the Brewster House, despite its grisly history. I didn’t want to give up on the chance to live in a gorgeous landmark just because my wedding plans had fizzled.
“The police took my gardening shoes as evidence,” I said. “I’ll have to buy new ones.”
“Oh, just wear comfortable flats. We won’t be digging ditches.”
“I wish I’d known that earlier.” If the police hadn’t found those latex-laden shoes outside my house, I might not have a murder charge hanging over my head.
“Are you still interested in buying the house?” Mrs. Masterman asked. “One could hardly blame you for losing interest, considering.”
“No, I am still interested. Definitely. Oh, and speaking of that. Leilani Zelenko told me your house is haunted, of all things.”
“She did, did she?” Mrs. Fontanne Masterman picked up a spiny red rambutan, examined it, and dropped it into her basket.