Chapter 26 Notes #2
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, one fight, 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 was very loosely, as in the teensiest bit, 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 that comes 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 angry verbally. That’s all. Not physically. He gave me an ultimatum, the book or him, and while I dealing with that—thank you, it IS the writer’s Sophie’s Choice!—he disappeared. I texted him and emailed him and called him and . . . crickets.
So I started to wonder Hmmm, 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 you seeing 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 just such a 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 was not clean. 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.
[Drinks water.] I got my key from the front desk, Cyndi had left me one, saying I was her sister, and I went up to the room,
and there was William—
About 2:00 . . . 2:05? I’d guess? Maybe 2:10?
No. No. Definitely no sound or sign of struggle. Not then and not before I came in. Just William saying What the hell are you doing here, Simone, and I was like, We want to ask you the same question, and I called for Cyndi but she didn’t answer, so I went looking for her, and—[Sobbing.]
I’m sorry. It was just such a shock. Although maybe it shouldn’t have been. I saw signs, when we were at the café—she took
meds at the table, and one of them was lithium. Plus I saw the semicolon tattoo on her wrist, and I know that means the person
has had suicidal ideation or past attempts. As in, My sentence could have ended here, but I keep going. It’s a suicide survivor thing—my former fiancé has one too. He got it after his release from the psychiatric hospital.
So I’m shocked but not surprised that she took her own life. Are you—do you suspect it could be something else? I guess you
can’t say, but . . . I just want to clarify for the record that if it IS foul play, I do NOT think it’s William. He’d have
no motive, and as mad as I am at him, I think he’s seriously sketchy about women but not more than that.
There is one other possibility you could investigate if you think it’s foul play. There’s a woman who’s been stalking me—actually she’s William’s stalker, but I inherited her. The
Rabbit, he calls her. Because . . . Never mind. I don’t know her real name. She started following me and leaving me threatening
notes while I was dating him, but since he ghosted me I haven’t heard from her.
No, I didn’t save the notes because I turned them in to the Boston PD, but they would have them on file. Nothing too gory.
Just stay away from William Corwyn if you know what’s good for you, stuff like that.
Nothing physically violent, or I would have gotten a restraining order. Still, I would ask William about her. He’d know more.
There was another supposedly disturbed woman he mentioned, too—a complication, he called her, though God knows what the real
story was there. As I said, his relationship style was hot mess. And women in love can be crazy.
Of course. I’m happy to help. Well, not happy, but you know what I mean. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know. [Sighs.]
I’m sure Cyndi’s death is what it looks like. But I would check out the Rabbit, if you can figure out who and where she is.