Oh—right. Ms. Vetiver. I’d estimate she arrived about five minutes before we found Cyndi. Actually, Ms. Vetiver—Simone—found her. She went into the bathroom and made the awful discovery. But I was seconds behind her. Of course, she was hysterically upset.
We had met before this. She’s also a novelist, published by my publisher. And... yes, I did know her in a more intimate way. We had a fling earlier this year. I stopped seeing her after I learned we had... irreconcilable artistic differences. To be blunt, she tried to appropriate material from me. In... early September?
We haven’t spoken since I jettisoned her. Until today. I have no idea why she was there. Possibly Cyndi was in Simone’s novel class? Or they’d arranged some Wiccan writer ritual and Simone got the time wrong?
You’re not suggesting . . . No. That’s ludicrous. Simone would never harm anyone. Even if there were motive. Well, yes, I suppose you’re right. Jealousy is powerful. And I have been its object before. Women do tend to form strong attachments to me. But if this were a crime of passion, wouldn’t that be a very different death? More—well, passionate? Impromptu, violent . . . I can’t imagine, given the pills, the razor, Cyndi’s note, that this was anything but a suicide.
Then again, I don’t have that kind of mind. It’s why for all my range I’ve never written a thriller. Nor do I aspire to. You’ll think I’m an old softie, but I just can’t stand the blood.
If youdidsuspect foul play, I’d take a look at my stalker. I’ve filed numerous complaints about her. They’re in all the law enforcement databases. I went to graduate school with her, and she became obsessed. She’s only ever tailed me, however. Not threatened me physically. She’s too wily for that; she knows it would get her in real trouble. But perhaps this time...
I don’t know her name. I know that sounds absurd, but I have no idea. I know what itusedto be, when we were in the program together. But she’s obviously changed it, because when I hired an investigator to find her—the police have been pathetically useless, no offense—her trail had gone cold. She’d just vanished. I’m sure she’s operating under a pseudonym. But yes, I’m sure it’s the same woman. You can’t mistake her appearance. She has a pronounced overbite.
Ask Ms. Vetiver about her. She’s received written warnings, as have my other paramours over the years. Ms. Vetiver has filed her own reports and been told the same thing I was: Nobody can do anything.
So I’d concentrate my efforts on the stalker, if I were you. IF Cyndi’s death is anything but what it appears...
Yes, if you have more questions, feel free to get in touch. You have my number. Although please be advised I’m about to start my next novel, so I may not always be readily available. But I will try my best. Thank you, officer, for your sensitivity and empathy. Under other circumstances, I’d say it’s been a pleasure.
Salem Police Department
Transcript: interview with Simone Vetiver, Hawthorne Hotel Pickman Conference Room, Oct. 30, 3:31 p.m.
Recording officer: Kimberly Lowrance, Badge No. 1756
Thank you. I’m okay. I don’t need water. [Crying.] This is so terrible. Sorry. I’ll get it together. [Sobbing.] It’s just such a shock.
Sure, you can record. Can I record too? And I don’t need my attorney for this, right? Otherwise you’d read me my Miranda rights?
Okay. [Sighs.] I got here this afternoon around 2:00. I was supposed to be here earlier, but it was so nuts out there. I was a half hour late. I’d told Cyndi 1:30... [Blows nose.]
I didn’t know her very well. We’d met only once before this, at Gulu Gulu in Salem—yes, the café. I set up the meeting on social because I thought she was seeing William, the guy who was upstairs with me in the suite—oh, duh, of course you already know this. Sorry. I’m still so shocky.
So what happened is, William and I had been dating, and it was serious, like marriage-level. He kept talking about a life together. And I was literally ecstatic we’d found each other. We met when he was in town on tour for his latest novel—yes,All the Lambent Souls, did you read it? [Sighs.] Of course. Everyone’s read it. And loves it. Say hi to your book club from me!
Anyway, when we got together, it was like planets colliding. Being a writer is so strange and isolating, and we really bonded over that. He was talking about our future even in our first correspondence... The future perfect. [Sighs.] After only two months, we were already talking about my coming to his house in Maine.
Then we had a fight,onefight, and he got weird— Oh, weird as in offended, super-affronted, unable-to-get-over-it. The fight was about... Well, I started working on a new project that wasveryloosely,as in theteensiestbit, inspired by William’s losing his fiancée in grad school. I mean not even. Just inspired by actual events, as they say on TV. Not the plot or the people, just the original idea, like that spark thatcomes off a Zippo, you know, when you’re trying to light it. You put that together with the What Ifs of the story and that’s how novels are born. William knows this, of course. But he was so angry he couldn’t hear me, and he stayed so mad that—
Nononono, just angryverbally. That’s all. Not physically. He gave me an ultimatum, the book or him, and while I dealing with that—thankyou, it IS the writer’sSophie’s Choice!—he disappeared. I texted him and emailed him and called him and... crickets.
So I started to wonderHmmm, is there somebody else?I know you must be thinking I’m a moron, it’s not like I’m the first woman to get dumped, but I just had this feeling. So I started scrolling his social, and I saw him making flirty comments on a bunch of women’s posts—all writers, all my age-ish, they all could’ve been related to me. I was like,Huh. Does this guy have a type or what. Most of them responded just casually, but this one, Cyndi Pietorowski... [Sighs.] God. Poor Cyndi. She put hearts on all his posts, and wrote a jillion comments with egregious amounts of exclamation points, and then William mis-messaged me on social, sending me an invitation meant for her about meeting at the Blue Trees. Yes, the art installation here in Salem. Like,Whoopsie!You fucked up, dude. So I went to the park when they’d arranged to meet and I saw them—
No, I didn’t confront them. I just watched. And then, and I am not proud of myself, I looked up where she lived, and I went to her house—
Oh my God no, not to say anything to her! Honestly I had no idea why I was going. I just—went. I think to make it real, you know? So I was sitting in my car and I got lucky, or unlucky, however you want to look at it, because William pulled up. I recognized his car instantly because who the F else has a Mary Oliver bumper sticker?
No, I still didn’t do anything. I guess I’m way too cowardly to be a Real Housewife of Salem. I just sat there and watched him hug her and go inside and I felt seriously sick. Like I might throw up. So I waited until it passed and I went home. That was it.
Except I’d previously sent Cyndi a DM on social that said,Are youseeing William Corwyn?And when I got home I saw she’d answered, and she said he’d offered to help her with her book.
Of course he did. God, I was so angry. I mean, sure, it’s William’s prerogative to help whoever he wants. And he does run a writers’ support group, The Darlings. He’s justsucha helpful guy. But a week before he’d been talking about marrying me and already he was “helping” [subject makes finger quotes] a woman who looked so much like me and meanwhile not returning my calls or emails or texts? His side of the street wasnotclean. His relationship hygiene was terrible, to put it mildly.
So I arranged to meet Cyndi at Gulu Gulu—I guess about two weeks ago? I’ll check the date for you on my calendar. And again, I’m not really sure what my motivation was. Maybe to warn her about this guy. Maybe to find out what was really going on. I hate the word closure, but it would have helped to have confirmation.
We had lunch, and she was such a sweetheart... [Sniffles.] She reminded me of a puppy at a shelter. I know that sounds terrible and I don’t mean to be disrespectful, especially not when talking about the—the deceased... but it was just the way she looked at people. Me, the server. She was just so hopeful. And self-effacing, she kept putting herself down, saying she couldn’t believe I’d make time to talk to her, or that William had. She seemed truly confused about why he’d contacted her. She said they’d connected over her book and that otherwise she was sure he was just being nice...
[Deep breath.] ... which I did not in any way believe, and I told her I thought he was playing me, potentially us, and she was like, Oh, I hope not, how awful. So I said, Want to help me out? and we made a plan to lure William to a place where we’d be there together to confront him and see what was really up. Which leads us to today.
