Murder and Mischief in the Hamptons

by T. L. Ingham

Chapter Seventeen

  Pia somehow managed to convince my mother to change the venue and led us all to the kitchen where she made us some tea and put together a plate of cookies. Olivia dove into the cookies with gusto, while I and my mother passed. After all that I'd just been through, not to mention how cold I was, all I really wanted was the tea.

  Once she had satisfied her need to play hostess, Pia joined us at the table. "Well, Judy, I really don't know where to begin."

  My mother narrowed her eyes. "Why not start with the disaster that seems to have taken place in your living room? Or the fact that both you and Olivia were cowering behind the furniture when I arrived? Or the fact that my daughter seemed to be talking to invisible people? I don't know. Pick anyplace you like. Just start talking."

  "I'm not certain how much you saw…" Pia began.

  "Enough. More than."

  "All right." Pia seemed to be stalling. It was very rare to find a situation in which Pia could not handle herself. I had stumbled upon one now.

  "Mom-" I started, but she interrupted me, "Not now. I'll get to you soon enough. Right now I'm talking to Pia."

  I clammed up. I knew when my mother's tone brooked no argument. And right now, there was no brooking. There was no brook, no stream, no creek, not so much as a rivulet.

  "All right."

  "You already said that."

  Yeah, Mom was pissed.

  Pia sighed. "You have every right to be angry, Judy-"

  "Mrs. Larson. My friends call me Judy. I'm not so sure you fall into that category anymore. And right now I'd like to know what you have gotten my daughter into."

  Pia sighed again. "It's very hard to explain. You see, as you've been told, my home is inhabited by three ghosts."

  "Yes. I've heard that nonsense before."

  "It's not nonsense," Olivia spoke up for the first time. Brushing cookie crumbs off of her massive bosom she continued, "It's quite true, you know. They've been here for some time. But until now they've posed no danger, so I never removed them."

  My mother rolled her eyes. "If you are going to persist in telling me fairy tales, then I can't possibly see how this relationship can continue. Sigreid, pack your things. We're going home."

  "We are not going anywhere Mom. I am home. You may leave whenever you wish, but I am not a child who can be ordered about. This is my home now and I'm staying here. My job is here, my friends are here, my boyfriend is here." I had never argued with my mother before, and my heart was pounding with the effort it took to do so now. But I stuck to my guns. I only hoped she didn't notice my hands shaking.

  "Sigreid Larson-!" my mother began, but this time it was Pia who interrupted. "Gloria, if you were ever going to be helpful, ever, at all, now is the time!"

  "Fine. Turn me into a circus act!" Gloria sniped, but she flew down from her position bobbing near the ceiling where she liked to hang out and picked up the tea pot and began carting it around the room. "Is this good enough?"

  Judging by the look on my mother's face, it might have been.

  But Gloria, determined to one-up herself then proceeded to open and close cabinet doors one at a time, turn on the faucet and pour the contents of the teapot onto the floor.

  "Okay! You can stop now!" Pia hollered looking at the mess she was making.

  Finally, as if it was the flourish to her act, Gloria moved over to my mother and blew in her face hard enough to ruffle her hair. I knew how cold that wind was. I had experienced it myself. So did it come as any surprise to me when my mother fainted and toppled out of the chair?

  No, it did not.

  Between us all (with the exception of Gloria who had disappeared as soon as she had seen what she had done), we managed to move my mother into the sitting room and laid her on the fainting couch- appropriate, I know. When she finally came to, she seemed a bit startled to be in a different room.

  "Is it- I mean- the ghost- is it still here?"

  "No," I comforted her. "She went away. She's harmless really. I promise."

  "Harmless my foot!" my mother exclaimed as she moved to a sitting position. "Ghosts are not harmless! And since when can you see and talk to them?" Then turning an accusing glare on Olivia she said, "And why haven't you gotten rid of them?"

  "One simply doesn’t go about banishing a person just because they happen to be a ghost. That's a bit extreme, don't you think? Shouldn't we try practicing tolerance?" Olivia defended herself.

  "We're not talking racism and segregation here. We're not talking religious separatism. We are talking about spiritual manifestations that could do us a significant amount of harm!"

  "Mom, honestly, most of the ghosts I have met really are harmless." I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with my mother.

  "Exactly how many ghosts have you met?" she narrowed her eyes at me.

  "Oh, I don't know. Three or four." I was not about to tell her the truth about how many ghosts there really were wandering around the Hamptons. And I only knew a fraction of them.

  "There are three in this house," my mother said. "Who's the other one?"

  "There's a nurse at the hospital," I replied.

  At the same time Pia offered, "Well, there's Raphael at the gallery. Oh, and now J.D. too."

  And Olivia, not to be outdone, supplied, "My husband, Jean-Luc."

  "Okay, maybe seven," I amended.

  "That’s a darn sight more than three or four."

  "I miscounted," I said lamely.

  "The point is, Mrs. Larson," Pia began.

  "Judy," my mother said. "I'm sorry. I was so angry because I thought you all were lying to me. Although, now I can certainly see why. Who in their right mind would believe this?" She lay back on the fainting couch again and began mumbling to herself. "In fact, maybe I'm not here at all. Maybe I'm at home in bed and this is all a bad dream brought on by the stress of my worrying about Sigreid. Or, maybe I really have gone nuts and I'm in a hospital somewhere, in a straight-jacket and being shot up with who knows what kind of anti-psychotic medications. Maybe I've gone round the bend. I'm crazy as a bedbug, loony as a toon, batty as, I don't know- whatever's batty."

  "Fruity as a nutcake," I added in Mom-speak.

  "You're not helping," she glared at me.

  "I thought you were running out of similes."

  Pia frowned at me. Everyone was making a habit of doing that these days.

  "No, Judy. You're not insane. You're quite sound. It's just very difficult to accept, dear. I understand that. And so does Reid. We all had a difficult time accepting it when it happened. I mean, believing there are ghosts hanging about is one thing, but actually seeing them and communicating with them, well that's entirely something else."

  "And yet again I ask- when did this, this thing, start?"

  "Remember when I got hit on the head with that sculpture not too long ago?" She nodded. "Well, apparently marble packs quite a wallop."

  My mother considered this information for a minute. "Then maybe, if a blow to the head is how it all got started, then another might put an end to it?" my mother offered.

  As if by my no longer having the capability to see ghosts, they would no longer be there. Nice assessment, Mom. Of course I didn’t say that.

  Instead I said, "Good idea, Mom. Pia, break out the marble statues. Let's turn me into a piñata! Who wants to take the first whack?"

  "Don't tempt me, dear," Pia scolded. "Judy, the girl's had more knocks to the brain lately than any normal human being could logically withstand. Which might account for how addled she's acting right now. That being said, her ability has never ceased. She simply sees and speaks to ghosts. That's it. On a side note, if someday she should wake up and no longer have that ability, it wouldn't necessarily mean the ghosts wouldn't be there. Only that she could no longer see them."

  My mother closed her eyes. "How am I going to tell your father about this?"

  "I'd recommend not," Pia suggested.

  My mother's eyes flew open. "You mean, lie to him? The sa
me as you all have been doing with me?"

  "No, dear, I mean don't bring up the subject. How likely is it that he's ever going to ask, 'So when did Reid start talking to ghosts?' I am suggesting mere avoidance, not lying." Gotta love Pia's brand of truth-telling.

  "It still feels so wrong."

  No doubt my mother was going to have difficulty going to church on Sundays, given the kind of secret she was now carrying.

  "It's either that, or announce it to the world," Olivia postulated. "There's no shame in what she can do. Look at me. I make a living at it."

  "Yeah, think of the money we can raise at the next church bake sale if instead of selling pies and cookies we hold a séance," I suggested.

  "Point taken," my mother said. "Avoidance. It's the only way."

  Glad to see we were all on the same page.

  "So, what exactly is it that you were all doing?"

  I took a backseat on this one and allowed Pia and Olivia to fill my mother in on all the details. My mother was surprisingly accepting for a woman whose world had just been turned upside-down and inside-out and otherwise mangled.

  "So, this Cecilia is actually angry at Alex and not Sigreid at all. She's just more jealous that Sigreid is alive and she is not," my mother contemplated.

  "What do you mean?" Pia asked.

  "Well, these attacks, they only occurred after Sigreid moved in. I think it's only coincidental that they occurred whenever Sigreid had contact with Alex, since she's done so practically daily since her arrival. Or soon after.

  "Anyway, Cecilia has to know that Sigreid doesn't pose any threat in the relationship department, therefore, it doesn't stand to reason that she's envious about their friendship. Moreover, from what she's said, she's furious at Alex since she blames him for her untimely death. Doesn't it stand to reason, that a girl who's had her life taken from her too young, who has remained a quiet spirit up until now and only became vengeful after another young girl took up residence, is envious about that? About the fact that Sigreid is still enjoying life while she has had her own taken away?"

  Say what you want, but my mother is a very astute person. She may not always be able to communicate the thoughts that she has, but that doesn’t stop her from putting them together in a better manner than anyone else.

  "Brilliant deduction, Judy!" Pia enthused. "If I didn't already have a Watson, I'd want you!"

  "What?"

  "Nothing," I said, waving my hands to dismiss it. "So if Cecilia really is jealous that I'm still alive and she's not, what does that mean for me? I mean, she's not going to try to kill me or anything is she?"

  "Unlikely," my mother said. "If she was, I think she would have done it by now. It sounds like there's really nothing she can do. So instead, she tries to scare you and make your life difficult."

  "She succeeds," I grumbled.

  "I don’t suppose you have any more of that tea Gloria wasted- that was her name wasn't it? Gloria?" My mother was apparently well over her initial shock.

  "Of course, Judy!" Pia headed for the kitchen with my mother following close behind. "Would you like some of those cookies now?"

  "Cookies?" Olivia hoisted herself out of the chair and trailed along behind them.

  Jean-Luc stayed behind for a moment, something I'd never seen him do.

  "Did you need something?" I asked him.

  He nodded, then finally said, in his thick French accent and a voice barely above a whisper, making it nearly impossible to understand him, "Toi et moi, nous allons parler. I was zinking. Eef, say, Alex and Cecilia zey were a couple and zey died togezer, like Gloria and- well comprendrez vous, comme c'est triste! Eh bien, I am curious. What if zere was a zird person involved? I mean, eef Olivia had found out where I was before zat fire killed me, I'd still be dead, zough by ozer means. Creuse-toi la tête!" As if realizing he'd said more than two words to someone other than his wife, he suddenly scurried after Olivia.

  While I hadn't understood all that he had told me, I'd gotten the gist of it. If I wanted any peace in this house, I was going to have to find Alex and Cecilia's murderer. Add that to my to-do list. Find two murderers and one art thief, check, check, and double-check. How hard could it be to solve a forty year old case?

  As it turns out, not nearly as hard as one thinks. As soon as I got to the gallery the next day, I began to do some research, via Google. I had no luck at all with finding much about Alex McDaniel. But less than an hour's research into Cecilia, I hit pay dirt. Having no last name to go on, instead I followed a different track. You'd be surprised how many pictures are on the internet from the Woodstock Festival. And, as it turns out, Cecilia was one of the attendees. There she was, bold as day, in her giant afro and the same suede skirt she was wearing now, though she was wearing a different top. She was busy making the peace symbol at the camera, while just to her left and only partially hidden by her leg, was a man who looked enough like Alex to be him. He was either passed out on the ground, or he was making out with the woman he was laying partially on top of. It was hard telling. Either was plausible I suppose.

  Either way, I now had hard evidence of their lives together. Or at least together with other people. Or something. Hey, it was the free love era, maybe they had one of those weird open relationships. I wasn't going to judge.

  After finding no further evidence of them on the internet (the picture was in no way labeled or tagged other than to say, Woodstock Festival, NY, 1969), I decided to go at things from another route.

  Logging onto the local government website I clicked on the assessment office tab and looked up Pia's property. Before long I had the information on the original owner of the property, the man who had sold the property to Pia over twenty years ago, a man named Howard Martin, who had actually built the original main house. I vaguely remember Pia telling me this when I first told her about Alex. At that time Alex had been claiming he died while trying to rescue a little girl from a swimming pool on the property (his story had since changed dozens of times). Pia had failed to believe me (thanks to Alex's lies) telling me that there had only ever been one owner of the property- the man who had built it- and he had personally sold it to Pia. Further, according to him and the plans that he had turned over during the sale, there had never been a swimming pool.

  Still, there was at least one human body (if you discounted Mike's) which had been long buried on the property, so either someone had dug a very big hole for that purpose, or there had in fact been a pool.

  After a little more research, I was able to discover that Howard was an architect who lived with his wife Alyssa. The two were featured in many news stories in both magazines and newspapers for not only his successful career as an architect, but also because they were society favorites who partied harder and more often than Charlie Sheen. Winners.

  There was one gossip column report in 1973 that spoke of a separation, but they must have gotten back together not long after that, because in New Year's of seventy-four there was a picture of the two of them tripping the light fantastic at some upscale hotel party. And who should be hanging around in the background but Alex himself, dressed in a tuxedo and hanging on the arm of some grand dame dolled up in diamonds and furs a la Olivia, though much smaller. Cecilia was nowhere to be seen, but I'd seen enough to put it all together and so I called Pia into my office. Naturally, Gloria was with her.

  "All right, this is what I've got so far. The guy who sold you the house, one Howard Martin, was married to this chick," I showed her the pictures I'd been saving to my desktop. "From all reports, they were pretty heavy partiers and enjoyed the night life to the nth degree. Now look here, this party, New Year's 1974, look who's standing in the background."

  "Alex!" Gloria exclaimed, which instantly reminded me that other than my painted depiction, Pia had never seen Alex. "That's Alex McDaniel."

  "Ooohhhh. Who's the woman with him?"

  "No clue. Just some society dame. Doesn't matter. I was looking at these pictures when I remembered something Gloria ha
d said to me. I dismissed it at the time, but now it makes sense. She called Alex a gigolo. I thought she was just insulting him. It turns out she was just calling the kettle black."

  "Hey!" Gloria protested.

  "If you're a pot, own it," I told her.

  "Gloria, stop interrupting!" said Pia. "Okay, so how does that connect Cecilia?"

  "I'm not sure," I said. Then I showed her the picture from Woodstock. "Obviously they knew each other."

  "It looks to me like he knows that other woman better."

  "No doubt. I don't know if they were dating at that time or not. Or if they just met there. There are too many variables. Anyway, let's suppose for a minute, that Alex was dating Cecilia, and let's suppose that Cecilia allowed the free love behavior not so much because she liked it, but because it was expected. It was the free love era."

  "Don’t remind me," Pia rolled her eyes.

  "Let's also suppose that Alex was never able to give up on that behavior and while attending one of these mucky-muck parties, gigolo status of course, he met Alyssa- Howard's wife."

  Pia was catching on. "And let's suppose that Alex was conducting an affair with said wife when Howard came home from a long day's work and finds Alex cavorting with his wife."

  "Exactly."

  "So how does Cecilia fit in?"

  "Like I said, I'm not sure yet. I'm still trying to work that out. But, I tell you Pia, finding information on these people is not that easy. Especially since I don't even know Cecilia's last name."

  "And she's not likely to offer it up any time soon. So what do we do now? Should we call the police and give them this information?"

  "I thought you didn’t trust the police?"

  "I never said I didn't trust them. What I said was, they are incompetent and can use all the help they can get."

  I laughed. "Thanks for straightening that up for me. I'll call Jase."

  "All right, dear. See you later," she wiggled her fingers and left the office.

  "Nice work," Gloria said, disappearing through the door.

  I wasn't sure what to think about a compliment from Gloria.

  Before I had the opportunity to pick up the phone though, Ricky popped in, nearly scaring the wits out of me. "Holy cow! Wear a bell or something!" I said, bringing my hand to my chest to still my thudding heart. There was a chance it might need a nudge to put it back behind my ribcage where it belonged.

  "Sorry," Ricky said. "Raphael told me you wanted to talk to me."

  "Yes, as a matter of fact I did. I'm sorry about what happened to you."

  He shrugged. "It is what it is and no one can change it. I'm just sorry you got hurt too. We were both innocent bystanders," he shot me his patented sexy grin. "Some of us less innocent than others."

  "Yeah, well, I wasn't there to meet anyone, if that's what you mean," I remarked. Ricky had been in the warehouse because he was meeting with Simone. Or possibly Cat, now that I knew about her. I, on the other hand, was on an errand of mercy, in other words, Pia had sent me to 'investigate.'

  "Anyway. Is that all you wanted?"

  "No." Quickly I explained to him about the thefts and asked if he'd seen anything unusual.

  "Not really," he shifted around nervously. Something was up, though what it was, I couldn't tell.

  "What do you mean, not really? Either you saw something, or you didn't."

  "I haven't seen anything since I've been a ghost. I was having a little trouble at first, so I really haven't seen much of anything that's been going on."

  I instantly noticed the wording, 'since I've been a ghost.' "Okay, so you haven't seen anything since you've been a ghost. But what about before then? When you were still alive? Was there something going on you aren’t telling me?"

  Again with the shiftiness. This ghost had ants in his pants.

  "Ricky, whoever you're trying to protect, they can't really do anything for you anymore. So what’s the sense in protecting them?"

  "I just don't wanna be a sellout."

  "Was Simone taking the art work? Or was she using your affair to get you to help her?"

  His stunned eyes met mine. Even in death there was a startling clarity to the blueness of them. "No! Simone wouldn't do anything like that!"

  "Then who was it?" I thought I already knew, but I really wanted to get him to tell me.

  "I don't know what you're talking about! Leave me alone! I'm a ghost now, I can haunt you!"

  I laughed. "Honey, I'm currently being haunted by a rampaging lunatic of a poltergeist. What could you possibly do to me that she hasn't already done?"

  Ricky backed out of the room then, disappearing into the wall. Apparently he hadn't yet learned how to 'poof.'

  "Damn." I muttered to myself.

  I was fairly certain now that I had it mostly put together, but I really didn't have any hard evidence.

  Picking up the phone, I dialed Jase's personal cell. I was certain he was probably still at the station, but as I really didn’t wish to talk to half a dozen flunkies before reaching him, this was better.

  He picked up on the third ring. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise. Are you calling me because you're trapped in a hole, or being held hostage by a lunatic?"

  "Neither. I just wanted to say hi," I fibbed. Only slightly. I'd get to the information in a minute.

  "Well, then it really is a nice surprise. And, 'hi,' to you, too."

  "Well, also, there is the fact that I have some information for you. I've been doing some investigation regarding the bones at the construction site."

  "Okaaayyy." His good mood was slipping. Already. Just at the teeniest, tiniest mention of my investigation. We were going to have to work on this. I pressed on.

  "I was doing a little research and it turns out," I realized only now, after I had started the conversation, that there was no way to tell him why I was researching Alex McDaniel of all people. Now what?

  "Turns out what?"

  "Well, see, I was researching Howard Martin and-"

  "Why in the hell would you do that?" he suddenly interrupted me, his tone fierce.

  So much for his good mood.

  "Because he owned the house before Pia," I explained. "It stands to reason that this guy might know something about the bones at the site."

  "Let's assume you're right. Let's assume he does. Doesn't it, 'stand to reason,'" he deliberately mocked me using my own words- I wasn't sure I liked that, "that if he knows about the bones, it's because he put them there. And your little foray into investigative work has drawn a rather large target on you?"

  I snorted. "Hardly likely since all of my investigation has taken place via the internet from the safety of my office."

  "Ah, yes, because that certainly can't be traced."

  I blanched. Okay, so maybe he had a point. A small, itsy, bitsy point. That was all I was willing to give him.

  "All right, Nancy, what, may I ask, have you discovered that was so earth shattering regarding Mr. Martin?"

  I frowned. "Watson, actually. And with that attitude, you'd be lucky that I share anything with you."

  He chuckled. "Not much of a threat, honey. Remember, I am surrounded by professional investigators that do this sort of thing every day. As a matter of fact, the likelihood is, whatever you've discovered, we've known about for days. So keep the information to yourself if that makes you feel better. Either way, I gotta run, so if there isn't anything else?"

  I debated doing exactly as he suggested, but since his 'professional investigators' weren't in communiqué with any ghosts, the likelihood of them making the connection (based on what little information I had been able to obtain from the internet) to Alex was nil to none, so I swallowed my pride and spit it out. Better that than have them running in circles for days to come.

  "I discovered there was this guy that was hanging around Howard's wife an awful lot, a gigolo. And when I say hanging around a lot, I mean an awful lot- as in incite-the-husband-into-a furious-murderous-rage lot. (I was desperately hoping Jas
e wouldn't want any evidence of this). The guy's name was Alex McDaniel. Anyway, I thought you might want to check into it."

  "That's your earth shattering news?"

  I was deflated.

  To say the least.

  And a little miffed.

  "That?!" One could not fail to hear the incredulousness in his tone.

  Slightly miffed quickly turned into full-blown peeved.

  But since Jase could not see me, he had no idea he was treading in dangerous waters and kept right on talking. "The wife was having an affair with a gigolo? It was the seventies! Affairs were as popular as LSD. Everyone was sleeping with everyone. Hell, Howard probably hired the gigolo himself."

  I couldn't hide the anger in my tone as I said, "Suppose for half an instant that he didn't. Also suppose that one day old Howie comes tripping home from work, briefcase in hand, only to find his wife and this Alex guy doing the nasty-"

  "Doing the nasty?" Now Jase was laughing. I was having a hard time remembering why I liked this guy so much.

  "Call it what you will! My point is, Howie loses his mind, kills the gigolo and tosses him in the pool, right before he fills it in. Next thing you know Pia's finding bones in her back yard. Makes sense, now doesn't it?"

  Jase let out a low whistle. "For a lot of supposition, it makes sense, yes. Except, while we are still excavating the rest of the remains and won't have any of the results back from forensics for at least a couple of weeks, we do know one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "The jawbone didn't belong to some guy named Alex McDaniel. Or any other guy for that matter. It belonged to a woman."

  "Oh."

  "Yes, 'oh.' Now will you leave this to the professionals?"

  "Yeah, sure, whatever," I said aloud, though what I was really thinking was that I still had hours of research in front of me. If the bones belonged to a woman, then it was either Cecilia, or Alyssa. Either way, I was still convinced Howard was involved. All those pictures on the internet made me read him as little more than a wealthy sleaze-bag.

  "Listen, what are you doing tomorrow night?" I could tell Jase was trying to soften the blow. I decided not to make it easy on him.

  "You've been awfully sarcastic to me for a guy who's looking for a date."

  "I have, haven't I? I'm sorry. I know you're trying to help and I get that. I just worry about you getting mixed up in the melee when it's so unnecessary. I don’t want to see you get hurt. Anymore."

  Maybe he had a point. And damn, I hadn't expected him to acquiesce so easily.

  He must have known he'd already won, because he pressed on, "So anyway, I was thinking, maybe you and I could get together and go out someplace, just the two of us, no Pia, no Robert, no anyone else. What do you say?"

  "And no my mother."

  "What?"

  "Yeah, she's back in town."

  "But didn't she just leave like a day or so ago? I thought she was only here for the weekend, for your birthday?"

  "She's like a boomerang. Or a yo-yo. Or another thing that comes bouncing back. After keeping the car accident from her, she didn’t trust me not to tell her everything that was going on regarding the investigation of Mike's murder, so, the day after she got home, she took the car and came back."

  "And your father's okay with that?"

  "He doesn't even try to stop her. It's like holding back a wall of water. You'll never succeed, you'll just get crushed and drowned for your effort. Anyway, he didn't come 'cause he has enough sense to know there's nothing he can do here and he has a farm to run."

  "Glad someone in your family understands the parameters of their own job descriptions."

  "Again I say, whatever. For a guy who's looking for a date, you sure aren't trying very hard."

  "Do I have to?"

  I thought about this for a minute before answering honestly. "No, you do not."

  "Okay then. See you tomorrow night?"

  "If I don't fall into another pit."

  "Or find another dead body."

  "Or get crushed into a building by a car."

  "Okay, now that one's not funny."

  "I didn't think any of them were."

  "I'm hanging up now."

  "Bye."

  "Bye." With that he disconnected.

  I stared at the receiver for a minute and then returned it to the base.

  A woman, eh?

  All right then, time to fire up Google.