“I’ve been better,” I admitted, my throat catching. “Today was the visitation. It was . . . hard.”
I ached to say more, to obey Melanie Cave’s (albeit misdirected) edict to tell the truth. I wanted to explain the painful twisting of my organs I had felt when I saw my mother’s body, the nearly inconceivable heartache I experienced when I realized any pipe dreams I had nurtured about reconnecting with my mother were gone, the particular exquisite agony of discovering my twin sister had married and had a child with the first man I had ever loved, and the crushing guilt I felt about abandoning Aunt A. But when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. There was a minefield of lies between us, and the only safe thing to do was to say nothing at all.
“God, Jo, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. I’m so sorry. How is Ellen holding up?”
“You know. As expected. This is hard on everyone.”
“I wish I was there. I should be there.”
“Honey, no,” I said sharply, hearing the wheels starting to turn in his head. Without seeing him, I knew Caleb was sitting up in bed, reaching for his laptop, about to start pricing flights to Illinois. “You can’t even stay awake right now. What good are you going to be here?”
“I could take a caffeine pill. I should be there. You need me.”
It’s time to tell the truth, my mind screamed.
But my mouth, unable to find words for the truth, continued to lie. “I need to be here for Ellen. This is harder on her than it is on me, and I really need to focus on her. I wouldn’t be able to give her my full attention if you were here.”
“That’s awfully noble, but don’t you think I might be helpful?”
“Please just trust me on this. This is something I need to handle alone.”
“If you say so,” he said, sounding unconvinced. “But I’m thinking about you.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. All right, look, I should probably get going. A bunch of Aunt A’s friends are downstairs, and I think there are wineglasses to refill.”
I froze, terrified I would be caught in an untruth, but Caleb must have assumed that Aunt A’s friends were there to mourn her, not get her drunk, and he just made a sympathetic noise.
“Of course, of course. You do what you need to do. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Excerpt from transcript of Reconsidered: The Chuck Buhrman Murder, Episode 3: “The (Un)Usual Suspects,” September 21, 2015
And then there’s Melanie Cave. She’s been a favorite suspect of armchair detectives right from the beginning. In broad strokes, their theory is this: On October 19, 2002, Melanie’s husband, Andrew, learned she was having an affair and told her he wanted to end the marriage. She tried repeatedly to contact her lover, but he rebuffed all advances. She grew angrier and angrier until late that night, she walked next door and shot him.
To corroborate this theory, they point to Andrew Cave’s statements that he had left town that day because he learned about the affair. According to these statements, the argument between them was intense. I sought confirmation on this fact from Warren, but, as he does whenever I mention marital discord between his parents, he clammed up.
They also point to the voicemails. On the day in question, Melanie called Chuck no less than twelve times. On half of those occasions, she left voicemails. The first five voicemails are Melanie simply asking Chuck to call her, notable only because the last three were all left within one fifteen-minute span.
But the sixth . . . well, listen to it yourself.
MELANIE, ON VOICEMAIL:
You arrogant son of a bitch. Call me back. Call me back immediately. This is all your fault, and you will answer for it.
“You will answer for it” sounds like a threat, especially knowing that Chuck Buhrman died not long after those words were uttered. In addition, many point to Melanie’s tone of voice, describing it as “chilling.” I have to admit, I was startled the first time I heard the voicemail. It sounded nothing like the pleasant woman I’ve gotten to know over these last months.
POPPY:
Melanie, tell me what’s going on in that last voicemail. You have to admit, you don’t sound particularly friendly.
MELANIE:
That’s no surprise! I wasn’t feeling friendly; I was very upset. Andrew had confronted me about the relationship with Chuck, and I told him the truth. I thought my marriage was over. I needed to talk to someone, and Chuck was the only one who would understand. I just wanted to talk. If I knew that would be the last time he heard my voice . . . well, I would’ve said something different.
Not everyone buys Melanie’s explanation. In fact, one of her former classmates, Patsy Bloomfield, is so convinced of Melanie’s guilt she self-published a book about the case called The She-Devil Next Door. I purchased an electronic copy from Patsy’s website, where she also shares pictures of her grandchildren and sells throw pillows with cross-stitched adages like “The early bird catches the worm,” and as soon as I read it, I knew I needed to talk to Patsy. She agreed to sit down with me for an interview.
POPPY:
In your book, you state Melanie was responsible for Chuck Buhrman’s murder. How did you come to that conclusion?
PATSY:
I consider myself a little prescient. When I heard Melanie’s next-door neighbor had been murdered, I instantly knew Melanie had been involved with him. And she had! I also had a very strong feeling that she was in some way responsible for his death.
POPPY:
I understand you are an Elm Park native as well. Did you know Melanie Cave?
PATSY:
I’ve known Melanie since we were both in diapers. We grew up on the same street, and were in the same class every year since kindergarten. The first slumber party I ever attended was at Melanie’s house. She was Melanie Richards back then, you know, and this was long before she grew breasts and learned to shake her behind to get what she wanted. I remember her mother made us ice cream sundaes with whipped cream and maraschino cherries on them. I thought I’d died and gone to hog heaven. Her mother was always such a nice woman.
POPPY:
Can we go back to something you just said? “Shake her behind to get what she wanted”? What did you mean by that?
PATSY:
Just what it sounds like. Melanie has always been too pretty for her own good. She learned early on she could use her looks to get anything she wanted.
POPPY:
Is that one of the “personality defects” that you reference in your book?
PATSY:
Women like her—women who use their looks to get what they want—never learn to take other people’s feelings into account. To Melanie, all that matters is male attention. Let me tell you about our senior prom. Melanie went through four dates before the dance even took place, and then she couldn’t stop herself from dancing with the date of just about every girl in the room. She was prom queen, you know, so she thought it was her God-given right.
POPPY:
Did she dance with your date?