PATSY:
She did more than that. But that’s my point: Melanie has always just taken what she wanted, especially where men are concerned.
POPPY:
It seems like a long leap from date-stealing to murder, don’t you think?
PATSY:
Every killer has to start somewhere. My point is that Melanie has never cared about anyone but herself. She never believed that consequences applied to her, and I have no trouble believing she lashed out when she didn’t get exactly what she wanted for the first time in her charmed life.
POPPY:
Your book doesn’t address Lanie Buhrman’s testimony. If Melanie shot Chuck, why would Lanie say she saw Warren do it?
PATSY:
Maybe she did. Maybe Melanie convinced her son to do her dirty work, and he was the one to pull the trigger. Then again, I’ve been listening to your podcast. Lanie Buhrman is hardly trustworthy.
chapter 9
It was past midnight when I disconnected the earbuds from my phone. Melanie Cave. My stomach turned when I remembered how close I had been to her that afternoon, close enough to see the powder collecting in the lines around her eyes and smell peppermint on her breath. She had looked me directly in the eye and demanded the truth, but had she been honest herself? It seemed a bold move to bring on an investigative reporter if she was guilty, but then again, maybe it was a brilliant bluff. It made more sense than any of the other alternate suspects Poppy had floated, or that I had heard suggested back then—it even made more sense than Warren Cave. Melanie had motive—she had wanted our father, and he had (seemingly) used her. Could “You didn’t see anything” have been a threat rather than a plea?
Wide-awake, I began searching the internet for reactions to the episode, desperate to know what other people thought about Melanie Cave. One post on Reddit in particular caught my eye.
I think I saw Melanie Cave the night of Chuck Buhrman’s murder (self.reconsideredpodcast)
submitted 1 day ago by conspiracytheroress
I grew up on Cyan Court. In 2002, I was only seven, but I have this distinct memory of seeing a woman running through the trees the night Chuck Buhrman was killed. When I told my parents, they said that I must have been dreaming, but I’m sure of what I saw. I didn’t see a face or anything, but the more I think about it, the more I’m sure it must have been Melanie Cave, running to hide the murder weapon. I wish I still lived in Elm Park. I’d go looking for it.
armchairdetective38 197 points 1 day ago
How much of this memory came about after listening to episode 3? We know what time Melanie Cave called 911. She couldn’t have been running through the neighborhood.
conspiracytheroress 54 points 1 day ago
But we’re just assuming that she called 911 immediately. Maybe hiding the weapon didn’t take long, and then she ran home and called 911. How much do we really know about the timeline?
notmyrealname 158 points 1 day ago
You should call Poppy Parnell.
realitycheck99 200 points 1 day ago
You should call the police.
armchairdetective38 87 points 1 day ago
IF what you say is true.
deathbydefamation 91 points 1 day ago
so what’s your theory? that melanie cave killed chuck buhrman? or that she hid the gun for warren? don’t forget, lanie buhrman SAW warren cave
spinner65 200 points 1 day ago
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHA you’re kidding right? Lanie Buhrman is a lying liar who lies.
conspiracytheroress 32 points 1 day ago
Maybe she got confused.
I caught my breath. I could see how Lanie might have mistaken Melanie for her son. She might have camouflaged herself in his heavy metal T-shirts and black clothing, or maybe Lanie had only seen someone running into the Cave house and thought it was Warren. My stomach soured as I seriously considered for the first time that there might be some validity to Poppy Parnell’s theory.
Suddenly, I remembered one afternoon the spring before our father died. It was one of our mother’s good days: we had just finished a lesson on biology that had involved planting seedlings in cups. Our mother had spilled soil all over herself, and she had gone upstairs to clean up while Lanie and I wiped down the worktable. There had been a knock on the door, and I, eager as always to avoid housekeeping, hurried to answer it. I found Melanie Cave on our porch, her usually careful hair mussed and her eyes red from crying.
“Is your mother here?” she asked.
“She’s not available,” I said. “Can I help you with something?”
Melanie opened her coral-tinted mouth, and then shut it. Her green eyes watered.
“Mrs. Cave?” I asked. “Are you all right?”
“What are you doing here?” Lanie’s voice came from behind, suddenly cold.
Melanie hesitated, and then said, “Peaches got away.” It took me a moment to understand she was talking about their cat. She gestured with her hands, indicating something the approximate size and shape of a football. “She’s about this big, white with tan spots. Have you seen her?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t. Do you want us to help you look?”
“We can’t,” Lanie said staunchly.
“But her cat—”
“Come on, Josie,” Lanie insisted. “We promised Mom that we’d have the kitchen cleaned by the time she got out of the shower.”
“You’re good girls,” Melanie said, smiling sadly.
I shivered now, remembering that interaction. It was so obvious, in hindsight. Melanie had come over to confront my mother about the affair. Had Lanie been able to intuit that Melanie was going to harm our mother?
I shook my head to clear that train of thought and, reeling myself back in, I went to go get a cup of tea. From the hallway, I could see the kitchen light was still on. I assumed it had been overlooked in the semi-drunken cleaning attempt made by Aunt A’s friends, but I found Aunt A sitting at the kitchen table. Her shoulders were slumped; one hand was wrapped around a half-drunk mug of Sleepytime Tea, and the other around a box of tissues. Used tissues were mounded in front of her, and her eyes were red and leaking.
“Aunt A?”
“Josie, honey,” she said, looking up and wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Please, come in. I was just . . . thinking about your mom.”