A Design to Die For

by Kathleen Bridge

  After Nurse Marie squeaked out of the room on her white rubber-soled nurse shoes, I said, “I’ll smuggle you in some shrimp fritters from Mickey’s Chowder Shack. How does that sound?”

  “Heavenly. Any last takes on Mr. Holden’s interview?”

  “I don’t know. Something seems off. Vicki Fortune left Montauk Manor yesterday morning. I stopped by before coming here, and the hotel manager said she didn’t leave a forwarding address.” I didn’t tell her that I’d talked the manager into giving me Vicki’s pink iPad, which she’d left under a stack of towels by the bathtub. His mother was one of my Cottages by the Sea clients. Any time I came across a piece of white antique ironstone, I sent it her way.

  “Do you think Vicki and Frank Holden were in it together? I’ll look into where she went. But I think you’re overthinking things.”

  “I’ve called her number—no answer.”

  “Now that you mention it, she never showed up to sign her statement yesterday. Not that it matters, seeing we have our guy.”

  “Innocent till proven guilty, Officer Moss.”

  “Not innocent of almost killing me.”

  “True.” I got up. “I’m going to let you rest. Text if you need me.”

  “I will. And Meg?”

  “Yes?”

  “Stay out of trouble.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, saluting. “But only if you get better so we can celebrate.”

  She didn’t answer because she’d nodded off to sleep with her mouth open. I grabbed a tissue from her bed tray and removed the wad of gum dangling from her lips, then blew her a kiss and exited the hospital room.

  I was happy to leave. Hospitals weren’t my thing. The smell of disinfectant and moans from open doorways, not to mention the waiting rooms filled with anxious family members praying for good news about their loved ones, brought back memories of a sad time in my life.

  My mother had wanted to go home. The arrangements had been made with hospice care. But she didn’t make it through the night. Fortunately, my father had been lying next to her when she’d passed.

  I wondered if Patrick Seaton had been able to say goodbye to his wife and daughter one last time.

  With dark thoughts swirling, I stepped out into another dismal, fog-drenched day.

  Chapter 28

  Jenna was waiting for me, suitcase in hand, outside the lobby of the East End Yacht Club. I swung my Wagoneer around the circular drive, parked and got out. Before putting Jenna’s suitcase in the back of the car, I gave her a bone-crushing hug. “I’m so happy things are settled and you can go home.”

  She hugged me back and said with tears in her eyes, “I’m so grateful for all you did in capturing that monster.”

  “Anything for you, dear friend.”

  I expected Jenna to look wan and washed out, but there was a blush to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She wore a tan sweater set and dark jeans with boots. Her long hair extensions were gone, and her shiny auburn hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. She appeared just as I remembered her when we’d worked together at the magazine. Now that the weight of who killed her husband had lifted, she looked ready to face the world. And as she walked to the car, there was no sign of a limp.

  My assessment was confirmed when she said, “I had an epiphany while holed up in my room for two nights. I plan to embrace each day as if it were my last, and not complain about anything.”

  I liked the new-and-improved Jenna. I just hoped it would last. “Sounds like a plan.” I grabbed her bag, put it in the back and we both got in the car.

  “How’s Officer Moss doing?” she asked.

  “She’s doing amazingly well. If she could, I know she’d escape from Southampton Hospital and hitchhike back to Montauk.”

  “That’s a relief. I hear you’re her savoir. I’m not surprised,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” I started the engine, put it in gear, and took the lane that led us off Star Island to the main road. At the stop sign, we had a choice of going left toward downtown Montauk or right, toward the harbor. I asked, “Did you have lunch?”

  “No. Breakfast in the suite. I had to charge it on your account, they wouldn’t take my debit card. By the way, thank you for that.”

  “No problem.” Thank cheating Cole, I thought, smiling inside. “Hey, let’s do Morgana a favor. Save her from the awful hospital food. You’d think in the ritzy Hamptons the hospitals would serve gourmet food. Let’s go to Mickey’s and drop her off some real food. We’ll still have time to meet everyone at Enderly at three. Are you sure you’re up for going back to the house?”

  “Yes, I’m up to it. Mickey’s sounds good. I need some normal in my life. I made cremation arrangements this morning after the coroner called to say he’s releasing the body. I know Roland would want to be interred in the Eastman columbarium.”

  “Elle and I are here to help with any arrangements. You only have to ask.”

  Jenna remained silent.

  I glanced over and saw tears spilling from her beautiful emerald eyes, making tributaries through the peach blush on her cheeks. “Oh, Jenna. You don’t have to be strong for me. Why didn’t you go to Nate’s last night? When I saw him yesterday, he said he invited you.”

  “He offered, but I told him I would stay another night at the yacht club until I could get in contact with Vicki to tell her I would be staying in the Amagansett rental until they caught Roland’s killer. But now that the maniac is behind bars, I plan to move into Enderly Hall. I’m going to kick Vicki out. I’m not happy about the way she acted in front of Officer Moss and Chief Pell. So, I’m sending her packing, anyway. She never said a kind word about Roland. I’ll sublet the Amagansett beach house before I let her stay there.”

  “Good for you.”

  She looked out the passenger window, where stunning water views would be if not for the fog. Her voice had a slight edge to it when she said, “Vicki left a voice mail at six a.m. yesterday morning saying she needed to see me about something. When I called back, her mailbox was full.”

  “Maybe she was calling to say goodbye. She left town yesterday morning.”

  “Well, if I decide to move forward with the showhouse, she definitely won’t be invited back. I was thinking Labor Day weekend for our new date. What do you think? That’s why I called everyone together for this afternoon. I’m also going to pay for anything you, Freya and Kuri spent on your spaces. I love everything the three of you have done, and I look forward to living at Enderly Hall among all your choices.

  “What to do about Vicki’s rooms is simple. If she doesn’t answer my calls, I’m going to pack everything up that didn’t come from Enderly’s attic and put them in storage. Good riddance!” With that, she broke into heaving sobs.

  I pulled the car over at a scenic overlook, took out a package of tissues from the storage compartment under the center armrest and handed it to her. Jenna removed half of the pack, then alternated between drying her tears and blowing her nose.

  “Darn! I thought I was doing so good,” she said between sniffles.

  “You are doing good. You’re doing amazing. And don’t worry about putting Shepherds Cottage back together. Elle and I will take care of it.”

  She blew me a kiss. “Thanks, friend. Please don’t worry about me. I held off taking the benzodiazepines that Dr. Sorenson prescribed. But maybe that was a mistake?”

  Uh-oh, was the old Jenna back?

  “On second thought, no,” she said. “They make me sleepy and my head gets as foggy as what we’re seeing out the car window. Plus, I need a new doctor. I only had one session with Dr. Sorenson and Roland was there. I don’t think that was appropriate, do you?”

  “Not really. Was he Roland’s doctor too?”

  “Yes. Roland went through a traumatic event about twenty years ago. He would never tell me what. Just that Dr. Sorenson helped him make peace with it. Of course, I’m heartbroken and sad about Roland’s death. How could I think he wanted to kill me? The po
lice told me that Frank Holden owns a silver car and admitted to trying to scare me when I was jogging. I was also told that Frank’s father is the man my grandfather shot. What kind of twisted mind would kill my husband to get back at me?”

  “Things will get better. You have a lot of people pulling for you. Elle, me, and your cousin Nate. Have you and Nate been close since you were children?” I asked. “What does he think of your grandfather’s story?” Even though Frank Holden was in custody, I still had a niggling doubt that it hadn’t been him who killed Roland.

  “Oh, Grandpa Eastman wasn’t Nate’s grandfather. Grandpa was Nate’s great-great-uncle. His great-grandmother and my great-grandfather were siblings. And sadly, no, we just reconnected about six years ago. Being an only child, it would have been nice to have him in my life. At least he was there for me when my father died. And he’s here for me now.”

  Did that mean if something happened to Jenna, Nate would inherit Enderly Hall? I didn’t have time to contemplate all the Machiavellian scenarios, because we’d reached Mickey’s Chowder Shack’s parking lot.

  I turned in, found a spot close by the door. Through the wipers I saw a trio of commercial fishing boats rocking wildly in choppy waves. We waited until there was a break in the rain, and I said, “Ready for some chowder and shrimp fritters?”

  “You bet,” she said.

  I waited for her to complain about the blustery cold wind that lashed our faces on the way to the restaurant’s front door, but she didn’t complain then, or through the whole meal. The conversation was light, with Jenna deciding that Elle would take over Vicki’s spot for the showhouse. I thought it was a happy solution to the Vicki problem.

  It was only when a local news station broke through regular programing on the TV over the bar that we were reminded of the past few days. The camera zoomed in on a familiar hulking figure. The caption at the bottom of the screen read Chief Pell, Suffolk County Homicide. I motioned for the check and asked Jenna, “Do you want to leave? I don’t think he’ll say anything we don’t already know.”

  “No, I’m good. I want the world to know what happened to Roland. Then everyone can feel safe and sleep better tonight, knowing his killer was caught.”

  I didn’t want to tell her that the chief hadn’t told the press that Roland’s death was a homicide until now. Knowing Pell, he wanted to keep it under wraps until he could charge in, shove Morgana off her white stallion, hop on, take the reins, and get all the glory. But what if Frank Holden only did the things he confessed to? Not the murder of Roland Cahill?

  That was a question that would keep me from sleeping tonight.

  Chapter 29

  Jenna and I dropped off Morgana’s takeout from Mickey’s Chowder Shack at Southampton hospital. You would have thought we’d served her a meal from a three-star Michelin restaurant. Jenna tearfully thanked Morgana for capturing Frank Holden, then Morgana deferred to me as the true heroine in his capture—the opposite of how Chief Pell had just painted things at his news conference.

  After Nurse Marie shooed us away, Jenna insisted I call Elle to invite her to Enderly Hall for the three o’clock meeting to discuss the showhouse.

  I put the call through as we walked to my car in the hospital parking lot. It was fortunate that I’d connected the small wireless microphone to the lapel of my jacket and used the Bluetooth feature on my hearing aids, because when I told her that Jenna planned to move into Enderly Hall, Elle shouted loud enough to puncture an eardrum. “She what! Alone in that rambling mansion! The press is gonna go crazy after that news conference, not to mention those paranormal investigators will be circling to talk to Roland’s ghost.”

  Watching how I answered, because Jenna was looking over at me expectantly, I said, “Yes. We’re going to discuss the new date for the showhouse. Jenna wants you to take Vicki’s place. Apparently she’s gone back to Manhattan.”

  “What about Roland’s funeral? The whole grieving process?”

  Ignoring Elle’s questions, I said, “She’s thinking Labor Day Weekend for the showhouse and she wants you to take Vicki’s place. Oh, you’d love to. I will tell her.” I gave Jenna a thumbs-up, opened the passenger door of my Woody and closed it after she got inside. Then I whispered into the microphone, “Elle, this will be good for her. Get her mind off things. Just be at Enderly Hall at three.”

  “Okay. But I think this is a recipe for disaster. She should go away to an island or something and recuperate. I’ll be there. Don’t forget tomorrow we have to meet on the set of Mr. & Mrs. Winslow. I have the perfect 1940s dress for Zoe Stockton to wear, the same one Rita Hayworth wore in Gilda. And you promised to bring that silver samovar you found at Fort Pond Thrift that the set designer was looking for.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. Can you do me a favor?” I didn’t wait for her to agree. “Please ask Arthur to check Vicki Fortune’s apartment in Manhattan. Jenna told me she lives above Veronica’s Interiors on Bleecker Street in the Village. Something’s up with her leaving town yesterday morning before Frank Holden was even arrested.”

  “All right. I had the worst nightmare about Jenna last night . . .”

  “Oops. Jenna’s waiting for me. Gotta go.” I pressed the button on the microphone, disconnected the call and got into the car. Once Elle started analyzing her dreams, I would be in for the long haul. Plus, I had my own bad feelings about Jenna staying alone at Enderly Hall.

  On the outskirts of Amagansett, Jenna spoke for the first time. “I know I should stop at the rental and get a few more things to bring with me to Enderly Hall. I just can’t bear going in and seeing all of Roland’s things.” She’d been putting up a brave front about her husband’s death, which was confirmed when she said, “Meg, I feel such guilt and remorse that I accused Roland of trying to kill me. I wouldn’t blame him if he haunted me to the end of my days. And how did I let my obsession with Enderly Hall get so out of control. I’m no better than my father and uncle. I have the resources to build a hundred Enderly Halls. They are just things. I think I got caught up in all the fanfare of having a Stanford White house. It’s just a house. No more, no less.”

  I kept quiet because I knew Jenna had to deal with her feelings. But I wanted to say that even though Roland hadn’t been the one behind the wheel of the car that ran her off the road, he still planned on selling Enderly Hall out from under her and also intended to forge architectural drawings that may or may not have been by Stanford White.

  “I hope Frank Holden gets the electric chair,” she said, anger clouding her green eyes.

  I didn’t want to tell her that New York didn’t have the death penalty, but as Elle had recently reminded me, anger was a step up from depression. I said, “We still have an hour and a half until three. I’ll drop you at Enderly and go to Amagansett. Just text me what you need.”

  “You’re a lifesaver. What would I do without you?”

  “You’d be fine, Jenna. You’re tougher than you think.”

  And I truly believed it.

  About a mile from Enderly Hall, we got caught in a hailstorm. As we pulled through the gates, lightning flashed, with thunder soon following. It wasn’t the best welcome home for Jenna, so when she left me to go to the kitchen to make a pot of tea, I ran up to the attic to make sure there weren’t any more surprises in Jenna and Roland’s bed. There weren’t. Just fingerprint dust on top of the nightstand.

  I turned to leave, when a large hardcover book under the nightstand caught my eye. It wasn’t the book Stanford White: The Man, Murder, and his Legacy that caught my eye. It was the gap near the end of the book, where a white envelope peaked out.

  I reached down and picked up the book. It had to weigh five pounds. The cover photo showed Stanford White with his handlebar mustache and piercing eyes, standing next to the Triumphal Arch in Washington Square Park.

  The story of how he was murdered in 1906 by the jealous husband of his mistress, actress Evelyn Nesbit, had been one of the biggest scandals of the new century. But I wasn’t
interested in learning about Stanford White’s murder, more about Roland Cahill’s. Flipping to the center of the book, I took out the envelope. I wasn’t surprised when I saw it was the subpoena Roland had been served with on Friday. I quickly glanced at the plaintiff’s name, Marjorie Salerno. The name didn’t set off any warning bells, but at least I had the court document number, which could be looked up legally. I got out my cell and took photos of all five pages. Then I sent them to Morgana with a note to please look into the case. I returned the envelope to the book and went downstairs.

  When Jenna came into the great room a few minutes later, holding a silver tray laden with a full tea service and a plate of shortbread cookies, I had a fire burning in the hearth.

  She set the tray down on a small brass serving table. I grabbed a shortbread cookie and said, “I better run to Amagansett. We only have an hour until everyone arrives.”

  “Thanks, Meg. There’s a key hidden under the green urn on the porch.”

  “Be right back. Text me if you’ve forgotten anything.”

  I went into the hallway, grabbed my jacket, then stuck my head through the great room’s open doorway to check on Jenna. She was safely ensconced in a cushy armchair by the fire, a cup of chai tea in her hand and a copy of Architectural Digest on her lap.

  Good. Maybe she would be okay staying alone at Enderly Hall.

  I left quietly, going out the front entrance, where I grabbed an umbrella, then hurried to my car. I needed to make this trip a quick one, which would be hard in all this fog and rain. I got into the car, started the engine and headed west toward Amagansett. On the way, I tried Vicki’s phone number. A recording said her mailbox was still full. I had ulterior motives for wanting to go to the beach house rental. I wanted to see if there was anything in Vicki’s things that might help rid me of this nagging feeling that Vicki had something to do with her former stepfather’s murder.