Death on West End Road

by Carrie Doyle

  The rustic red barn doors were propped open by two enormous slate pots hosting abundant ferns. Inside, there were three women helming various desks in the large open-plan office space, one of whom kindly escorted Antonia to Kevin’s work area, which was around the corner and separated by a thin wall of glass.

  “Hi, Kevin, thanks for seeing me this morning,” Antonia began, glancing around his immaculate work area. Everything was neatly filed and organized, and even the pens and desk paraphernalia were color-coded and aligned. Antonia would hate for him to see her office.

  Kevin swiveled around in his chair before rising and presenting Antonia with one of his calloused palms for a firm handshake. Kevin Powers had the appearance of a man who had lived hard in his early years but had made an effort to clean up his act and put himself back together as best he could. In his late forties (early fifties?), he was slight of build but muscular, as if he made an effort to keep himself in shape. Antonia spied a yoga mat neatly rolled and cinched in the corner of his office; perhaps that was what kept him fit. He had leathery skin that had seen way too much sun and his black and steel hair was gelled back from his forehead. His eyes were a filmy blue, and he had deep lines springing out from the sides of them as well as firmly etched wrinkles on his forehead. He wore a landscaper’s uniform of boots, faded jeans, a Carhartt button-down shirt with a pack of cigarettes in the breast pocket. There was something inherently sexy about him, Antonia recognized, although she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. He was not her type, and yet, he had that look and insouciance of someone who was comfortable in his own skin, which was highly attractive. And yet . . . there was a mild slickness to him that caused a minor red flag to pop up in Antonia’s mind.

  It was odd to Antonia how little Kevin resembled his brother Len, a beefy Santa Claus–type man, who, if he wasn’t a gentle giant, would be a force to be reckoned with. In fact, Antonia could believe that Len probably did scare the panties off some of the interlopers at the Dune Club, where he ran security. Funnily enough, Kevin looked a lot more like Matt, Len’s son, who was an EMT and physical therapist. They had the same heart-shaped lips and small straight nose. The genes had gone somehow rogue in that family, Antonia surmised.

  After the requisite small talk, Antonia got down to business and explained why she was really there, rambling on a bit about Pauline Framingham so that Kevin could digest the idea before she interrogated him. He did seem a bit taken aback when Antonia initially mentioned Susie, and she watched carefully for any clues in his body movements or facial expressions to decipher if he was in fact her killer.

  Kevin remained quiet, swiveling back and forth in his armchair, as Antonia blathered, hoping that he would interject. She finally took a breath and, although she was one who definitively did not enjoy sitting in awkward silence, she forced herself to shut her trap so that Kevin would be compelled to speak.

  “I’m really surprised,” he finally responded, before taking another long pause.

  Antonia prompted him, “That Pauline Framingham wants to find Susie’s killer?”

  “No . . . I’m surprised that you’re involved. Why would you get yourself mixed up in all this?”

  “Oh,” said Antonia. “Right. I know, it’s odd. It’s a long story. I won’t bore you with it.”

  “Antonia, I really think you should rethink this. I would stay away from . . . this tragedy.”

  There was urgency in his voice, the motive of which Antonia couldn’t quite decipher. Before she could respond he continued.

  “I mean, is it for the money? ’Cause I don’t think it’s worth it.”

  Antonia was offended. “No, it’s not for the money. I want to find out who killed Susie. Is there a reason you don’t want me to look into it?”

  “I just think it’s a bad idea.”

  “Why? Do you have something to hide?”

  Kevin held her stare then finally shrugged. “No. Nothing. Ask me what you want to know.”

  Fueled by his resistance, and rather than be delicate, Antonia jumped right in.

  “I heard you had some problems back then.”

  “To say the least,” he said. “I was partying a lot in those days. Doing a lot of stuff I shouldn’t have been. Lots of what happened is a blur because I was so stoned.”

  “Right. Well, I just want to cut to the chase a bit. Were you and Susie, I don’t know what word to use . . . dating? Intimate?”

  Kevin ran a hand through his hair. A black watch peeped out from under his sleeve. “I feel . . . I don’t know, what’s the word . . . indiscreet, talking about this.”

  “It’s okay. I promise it will just be between you and me. I just need to . . . contextualize . . . what happened.” She couldn’t believe she had just quoted Pauline.

  Kevin appeared lost in thought, his brain traveling back twenty years to when times were very different. Finally he shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to tell the truth. I mean, what difference does it make now?”

  “Exactly,” Antonia reassured him.

  “Yeah, Susie and I . . . had a thing. I don’t know what you would call it.”

  “How did it start?”

  “I used to do the landscaping for the Framinghams, as you know. Look, I just want to say up front I’m not really proud of how I was back then. But, it is what it is. I’ve owned up to it. I had a legit job, but on the side I sold some weed. Pauline sussed that out right away, and soon she and her gang were my best clients. It’s funny, because I don’t even think Pauline smoked it. She just provided it to her friends, especially that boyfriend, Dougie. He also enjoyed the harder stuff, which I have to admit I provided for him a few times.”

  “A little ironic that Pauline the pharma heiress is a drug pusher,” joked Antonia.

  Kevin didn’t smile. “I guess.”

  Antonia decided to resume the serious tone. “What about Susie?”

  “She took the occasional toke, but not really. Those girls were all pretty clean and pure.”

  “Then why would Pauline want to have the drugs around?”

  “Honestly? I think she liked to see everyone messed up so that she could be in control. Almost to lord it over them. But maybe that’s wrong. I shouldn’t be so harsh. And anyway, we were all stupid back then. She’s made up for it. Who knows anything at the end of the day?”

  “When did things happen between you and Susie?”

  “Beginning of that summer, there was one day when Pauline was off riding and Susie was hanging by the pool, and well, we got to talking. She was always more relaxed when Pauline wasn’t around, more herself. I liked her; she was funny and just . . . really positive. You don’t see that a lot, people who are so upbeat. I thought it was cool. We’d talk a lot when Pauline was gone, and then one night I ran into her at the Talkhouse. Pauline was there, but she was outside on the patio, and Susie had come in to buy some drinks. I was at the bar with a buddy, and we started shooting the breeze. Then Pauline came in all mad because Dougie threw up and she wanted to go, but Susie wanted to stay, so I offered to drive her home later. Pauline was pissed, but I think she was also more pissed at Dougie at the time, so it wasn’t really a scene . . . that was the beginning of it. I know it was wrong. I was older, but, as I said, I was troubled in those days.”

  Antonia felt a wave of tenderness toward Kevin that washed away her residual irritation from his accusing her of poking around in Susie’s murder for money. It was really sweet how he genuinely had appreciated Susie. She did not sense that he had any sort of homicidal rage toward her, but then she had been wrong before, and it really was her duty to press, considering that Pauline was paying her.

  “I hate to ask, but did you kill her?”

  Kevin blinked twice. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Antonia smiled. “Yes, I mean, no. It’s a box I need to check off in my investigation.”

  Kevin gave her a
look as if she were insane. “The answer is a strong no. But, Antonia . . . I have to say there is a major flaw in your . . . investigation . . . if you think you can just ask someone and they’ll confess.”

  “But I know they looked hard at you.”

  “And cleared me,” he said confidently. “I didn’t kill Susie. No way. Why would I kill her? Because she wouldn’t sleep with me? Well, she would. Because she was going to tell the Framinghams and I would be fired? Well, they basically knew and I didn’t really care if I was fired; it wasn’t hard to find a landscaping job back then. Because I sold drugs and she threatened to tell the police? She didn’t, but if she had, that’s not something that would have worried me then. I had little thought of consequences at that age. I had no reason to kill her, and I think it’s a shame she died.”

  Antonia let that hang in the air before her follow-up question. “First off, I didn’t mean to offend you. But I can’t wrap my head around this. Who do you think killed Susie?”

  Kevin folded his hands in his lap. “I always thought it was someone in their group, you know, someone they hung around with.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, there wasn’t much foot traffic back then. No one rode those damn Lance Armstrong bikes, and it was early days even for roller blading. People on the street in those neighborhoods in those days stuck out. So the whole idea that someone came off the road and killed her was too random. Besides, I was there that day. I didn’t see anyone come in.”

  “Yeah, why were you there that day?” interrupted Antonia.

  Kevin stopped. “I had to mow the lawn.”

  “But Pauline said you weren’t supposed to do it when they were there.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, that was true. But I probably bailed the day before, I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to see Susie. Like I said, I was pretty drugged out.”

  Antonia wondered if he was being honest or if that was a clever defense. She nodded. “Yes, continue, sorry to interrupt. You were saying about someone coming off the street.”

  “Yeah, I think if anyone came from anywhere, they would have come up from the beach, walked through the house and down all the way to the tennis court. Pauline or the housekeeper would have seen them. And that’s just strange—no one ever did that before or after. And it doesn’t make sense. Why would some stranger do that, then kill Susie?”

  “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. But why would one of her friends kill her?”

  “I don’t think it was one of her friends. I said someone in her group.”

  “Like who?”

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe Dougie? He could get really violent and paranoid when he was all coked up. Susie told me one time he trashed Pauline’s room when he thought she had cheated on him.”

  “When was that?”

  “A few weeks before Susie died.”

  “But if that was the case, why kill Susie and not Pauline?”

  “Exactly,” conceded Kevin. “It’s not a case of mistaken identity or anything.”

  “Did Dougie dislike Susie?”

  “That’s another point. I don’t think he really thought of Susie. She was around but not a threat or anything. And she could be trusted to keep her mouth shut if she saw anything.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Kevin ran his hand through his hair. “I just know. She never told anyone about our . . . us. And, also, one day we were in the yard and we’d just . . . well . . . we did what we did and said goodbye and I went one way through the back paths and she went the other way toward the house and we hadn’t gone ten feet when there was a noise. We both froze. And it was that girl, I forget her name but she’s a local who grew up in Springs—Russell’s girlfriend.”

  “Holly Wender?” Antonia offered.

  “Yeah, that’s it. I’ve seen her around. Okay, now that you know her, I feel like it’s not appropriate to say . . .” His voice faded.

  “You have to tell me,” prompted Antonia with urgency. “Come on, what did you see?”

  He shook his head. “You know what? I take back what I said before. You’re really good at this, you know? Getting stuff out of people?”

  “Thank you,” Antonia beamed. “All for the greater good. So tell me what you saw.”

  With reluctance he continued. “I guess it can’t hurt now . . . Well, Holly was with that tennis pro who lived in the guesthouse. They looked very familiar . . . if you catch my drift. But neither Susie nor I ever spoke of it.”

  “Holly and Scott were having an affair?”

  “I didn’t say that. But they were talking in a way, I don’t know . . . It felt very personal. I felt uncomfortable ’cause I knew she was Russell’s girlfriend. I was glad Susie never mentioned it.”

  “And Holly didn’t see either of you?”

  “She definitely didn’t see me.”

  “What about Susie?”

  “I’m not sure. Susie was on the other side. I don’t think so but I can’t be sure.”

  Antonia was intrigued at the new twist. Holly had implied that she had been devastated by the Framinghams’ rejection of her and intimated that it had been the cause of the demise of her relationship with Russell. But if she had been cheating on him? That was a whole other story entirely. Maybe she had seen Susie that day and killed her so she didn’t tell Russell. But she had an alibi for the time Susie was killed.

  “Was there anyone else in their group that you suspected?” Antonia asked.

  Kevin shook his head. “It’s strange. It was a pretty violent murder, so despite what the press said about it being Pauline, I never thought she would be so aggressive and bash her best friend’s head in.”

  “Sounds like there’s a but?”

  He gave her a shrug. “I just remember feeling, well, girls at that age, they fight like hell with each other. Only a girl would get that mad. And I think whoever killed her was mad, really mad. It was very violent . . . But what am I saying? Pauline had nothing to do with it.”

  “How can you be so sure?” asked Antonia.

  He shook his head. “Wasn’t her.”

  Antonia felt there was something strange about his response, how he had quickly changed his tune. She continued to press him. “You were there that day. Tell me what happened.”

  “Yeah, I was there. I was mowing the lawn, and I wore earplugs and headphones to block out the noise from the mower. I didn’t hear anything. It wasn’t until I saw a cop car pull in the driveway that I even knew anything had happened.”

  “There were no screams or anything before from Pauline?”

  “May have been. But I couldn’t hear. The cop car comes, and at first, I don’t even dismount my lawn mower. Just thought it was a safety check or something. But when another car came, I stopped the machine and headed down to the court, where they were converging. That’s when I saw her . . .”

  He stopped, remembering. Antonia could see sorrow in his face. “Yeah, so, she was lying there. Her head was all bloodied. It’s funny the things you think, but I remember I kept thinking that it was a shame that her hair was all bloody, because she had really nice hair. Isn’t that an odd thing to think?”

  “No. It’s sad.”

  “Yeah, it was sad.”

  They were silent. After a few minutes they descended into small talk before Antonia rose and made her way toward the exit. Kevin escorted her out and they discussed some of the plants that were on sale by the entrance. Antonia promised to send Hector, her landscaper, over to pick some out for the backyard. As she was about to leave, she turned and asked a final question.

  “Just one more thing, Kevin,” she said as she opened her car door. “Do you remember what Pauline was doing when the police arrived? How did she appear?”

  “Honestly? I don’t even remember seeing her. She must have been there, but I was only looking at Susi
e. Poor Susie.”

  15

  Antonia was stopped at the crosswalk on Main Street in East Hampton for the throngs of people to meander their way across when she glanced over at White’s Apothecary and a figure caught her eye. She only saw the back of him flash by before he entered, but she could have sworn it was Nick Darrow. Could it be? Wasn’t he in Australia filming a movie? Antonia’s heart quickened. Perhaps he was already back! She was suddenly seized by a gust of emotions: hope, anticipation, excitement. How was it possible that against all of her better judgment she continued to harbor a crush on this man? This married man. This married celebrity man. She was a self-destructive idiot.

  The crosswalk cleared and Antonia pressed on the gas pedal. She had planned on heading straight, directly back to the inn, but then she slowed and quickly put on her blinker to turn into the town parking lot. If Nick Darrow was back in East Hampton, she had to know. But her decision backfired, and before she was able to turn, another car crashed into her bumper. Antonia was thrust forward with a jerk. Great. Just what she needed.

  “I am so sorry!” exclaimed the female driver, after she extricated herself from her car and ran over to Antonia. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

  “I thought you were going straight, I didn’t see the blinker, I am so sorry!”

  “It’s my fault, really. I decided to turn at the last minute.”

  The driver was an attractive middle-aged brunette, petite, trim, and well-dressed in a gray sleeveless sheath dress. Her face was friendly, but her expression was tortured with guilt and worry. She moved aside as Antonia exited her car and went to survey the damage.

  Antonia walked to the back of her Saab and leaned over the bumper to assess the damage. For such a strong hit, there were only a few scratches, and Antonia couldn’t honestly be certain that they had not been there before. She and her car had been through a lot together, and both of them had the wear and tear to prove it.