by Carrie Doyle
“Once bitten, twice shy.”
“I don’t know any guys like that. And I knew Tubby Walters, the chief. He was under heat. He would have nailed Kevin. What about the guy in the kitchen with Pauline? Do you think it was Scott?”
“Or maybe her brother Russell . . . ‘I heard her call him darling’ . . . I mean, heck, we know now Alida was there. Maybe it was her . . .”
“Alida? Are you crazy?” Larry asked. “No way would that knockout kill anyone. Just wipe her off the list.”
“But why did she lie about being there?”
Larry shook his head frantically. “I won’t even entertain that thought.”
“Blinded by lust,” Antonia murmured.
“Listen, Bingham. The good news is this: we are closer. The fact that they want to end it means we are on to something.”
“Yes, but I have to figure out what.”
“We have to figure it out.”
Antonia didn’t respond. Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
25
That night at the inn, Genevieve came by to talk to Antonia. She waited patiently in the library until Antonia could take a break from dinner service, and when Antonia was finally liberated from the kitchen she found Genevieve more serious than usual. It was actually this Genevieve that Antonia preferred. It was great when she was fun and goofy, but she was also a person of true substance even though she often chose to hide that fact. She was capable of being an incredible sounding board and a loyal and brave friend and had been so helpful to Antonia when Antonia was trying to extricate herself from her ex-husband. But Genevieve too often chose to be topical or superficial, as if she didn’t want to challenge herself or be serious. There was an infantilism in her that Genevieve couldn’t seem to totally relinquish.
“How’s it going?” Antonia asked before planting herself in the sea of cushions on the sofa.
Genevieve put down the magazine she had been flipping through. “I wanted to talk.”
“Uh-oh. Boy trouble?”
“No, I actually wanted to talk about Holly.”
“Oh?” said Antonia. “What’s going on?”
“I think she’s hiding something.”
“Well, she recently informed me that she was living with Scott Stewart, the tennis pro who lived in the Framinghams’ guesthouse. Is it that? She did it in such an odd, roundabout way. I wonder why she didn’t confide in me when we were all at Cittanuova.”
Genevieve nodded. “I know, that was strange. Maybe she just assumed I told you? The thing is, I didn’t make the connection that “her Scott” was the same guy until later. But it’s not that . . .”
“Then what is it?”
“I hadn’t seen much of Holly in recent years, and we only really reconnected after Victoria was here. One day they came into the store and she went gaga over these adorable sandals. Dark blue with gold piping, can be worn during the day but also could work for casual dinners and cocktail parties if worn with the right outfit. They finally went on sale, and I used my store discount to help her buy them so they were a total steal. I should get you some by the way, but they would probably sit in your closet getting dusty like every other decent pair of shoes or clothing that I have given you. Meanwhile you wear those god-awful Crocs . . .”
“Let’s not go there, please continue.”
“Okay but you simply must stop the avoidance of a wardrobe upgrade. If there is one thing in my life I need to do it’s make you dress better . . .”
“Back to Holly,” commanded Antonia.
“Okay, so I call her and tell her and she says can I bring them by and stay for dinner, so I head over after work. We’re hanging out, she tries the sandals on, and shows me this cute dress she bought online—it’s A-line striped black and blue—then the front door opens. There’s this tall guy there and Holly instantly gets this annoyed look on her face, and then so does he. He’s like, ‘Who’s she?’ and Holly says, ‘Don’t worry about it. My friend Genevieve.’ At this point I stand up and say ‘Hi, I’m Genevieve,’ and he doesn’t even shake my hand or nod or anything. He just walks to the kitchen as if he’s been there a bunch and it’s totally okay to make himself at home. Holly tells me to wait a minute and then follows him. I hear them talking but can’t hear what they’re saying so I peer around the corner and I see him hand Holly a wad of cash. After that he leaves and he doesn’t even say a word.”
“Who do you think he was?”
“It was Russell Framingham.”
Antonia felt her interest piqued. “Russell? Why was he giving Holly cash?”
“I don’t know. I asked her who he was, and she kept changing the subject and then finally I cornered her and she admitted it was Russell. And I asked what he was doing there and she said ‘Taking care of business.’ I tried to ask about the money, like, ‘Did I see him hand you a wad of cash?’ and Holly didn’t even answer, totally ignored the question.”
“Was it a payoff?”
“I have no idea, like I said. I just thought it was bizarre. And Holly was so strange about it. And then all of the things Holly has said over the years about the Framinghams came floating back to me . . . like they can buy anyone, they get whatever they want, people are disposable to them. And then I wondered if it was some sort of hush money? Maybe Russell did murder Susie and he’s paying Holly off to be his alibi.”
“It could be. At this point, I wouldn’t put anything past these people.”
“Okay, then later on, Scott comes home, we’re all in the kitchen cooking—nothing like you make, just pasta and meatballs and some salad. And Scott goes to open a drawer to get a can opener and quickly slams it and looks at Holly. I figure that’s where Holly stashed the cash from Russell because Scott says, ‘So he finally came?’ Holly says, ‘It only took ten phone calls and some serious threats.’ Then Scott says, and this part I was like, WOW! Scott says, ‘He really thinks he can take things from everyone and get away with it.’”
“Oh my gosh!” exclaimed Antonia. “What did you say?” She pulled her hair out of a ponytail and readjusted it into a bun as she waited.
“I said, ‘Are you talking about Russell?’ and neither Scott nor Holly answered. So I repeated the question. Holly rolls her eyes and says ‘Yes, he’s such a spoiled brat,’ but she doesn’t want to spend one more minute on this topic because it is an extremely sore subject. Well, I’m not going to let it go this easy, so then I ask, ‘Why’s he paying you off? Hush money?’ and Scott says ‘Services rendered.’”
“What services?”
“I was about to ask that but then their friend Barry showed up and we were interrupted. By the way, turns out they were totally trying to set me up with Barry, I had no idea. He’s kind of cute, but recently divorced and has three young kids. I’m not sure I’m quite willing to take that on. Although he did have a hot body. He says he works out at the rec center every day. I didn’t love his outfit, but with my store discount I could definitely find him some cute pants and a nice shirt . . .”
“Genevieve!” interrupted Antonia. “Back to Russell. Was that all? Any other details?”
“Nothing else.”
“Do you think you could straight out ask Holly why he gave her money?”
“Oh, that’s the last part I forgot. So, we’re all done with dinner, just sitting there drinking some wine. Not Scott, though. He doesn’t drink anymore. I try and turn the conversation to Russell one last time. And Holly, who’s well into her cups now, says Russell owes Scott big time. And then she makes a whacking gesture like this.”
Genevieve held up her arm and swung it.
“Oh no.”
“I know,” Genevieve said quietly.
Antonia’s mind raced. “The trouble is, Pauline Framingham dismissed me from investigating the case today.”
“Why?”
“Her family is apparently against it.”
“You can’t stop now! I feel like you’re really on to something.”
“So do I.”
“You’re not going to listen to her, are you? I mean, what’s the worst thing that can happen?”
“I don’t want to imagine that. But I’m so close, I know it. If I can do a little more legwork, I’ll have this case wrapped up.”
“You know you will, girlfriend! You are my hometown Miss Marple.”
26
Antonia incorporated the knocking into her dream. She was back in California and knocking on the door of her father’s house, which was locked for some reason. That was peculiar, as her father never locked his back door. Her father wasn’t expecting her. She was knocking and knocking, but he wouldn’t come to the door. When she glanced through the window in the kitchen she saw him with a woman in an embrace. They were smiling and gazing at each other as if they were in love. Antonia remembered feeling both anger and confusion. She began tapping on the window, knocking and knocking, but neither of them looked at her. In fact, they were oblivious. She knocked harder.
“Antonia!”
She shot up in bed. It had been a dream, alas, but it felt so real, almost as if it were a memory. But now someone was knocking on her apartment door.
“One second,” she called, as she slipped on her bathrobe. A glance at the alarm clock next to her bed told her that it was 2:24 in the morning.
“It’s me, Antonia. Jonathan.”
Antonia slid the lock open and found the manager of the inn standing on her threshold. Jonathan looked tired and a bit disheveled, unlike his usual immaculate self.
“Jonathan, what’s wrong?”
“There’s been an accident. Looks like a car was turning into the driveway of the inn and another car crashed into it. Hit and run.”
“Oh no! Is anyone hurt?”
“The driver is in pretty bad shape. A helicopter is landing on the town green to take him to Stony Brook.”
“Is he a guest of the inn?”
Jonathan shook his head. “The car is not in our registry, so I don’t think so. It’s a red convertible.”
The blood instantly drained from Antonia’s face. “A Mercedes?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“That’s Dougie Marshall’s car.”
“Oh no, is he a friend?”
Antonia shook her head. “No. An acquaintance.”
Jonathan went back outside while Antonia quickly dressed. Why had Dougie been coming to the inn? He must have wanted to tell Antonia something. He had been so shaken and paranoid that afternoon, and now it was clear that he’d had reason to be. Antonia had never heard of a hit-and-run in East Hampton. It seemed very purposeful.
The scene at the end of the driveway was dramatic. The entire driver’s side of Dougie’s car had been hit head-on and pushed into the streetlight. The front window was cracked, the airbag had exploded, and the door was crumpled. It was a mess of broken metal and smashed glass. Several emergency vehicles were parked around the car, including an ambulance where a team of paramedics was hovering over a stretcher. Antonia could make out Dougie’s feet, which were shoeless, but couldn’t see his face as the paramedics were administering oxygen and other lifesaving measures.
Officer Flanagan, the cop that Antonia had worked with on her last investigation, saw her and approached. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, his suit was neatly pressed and his dark cropped hair was brushed. Antonia was cagey with all police officers because of her past experience, but she had begrudgingly grown to like Officer Flanagan and certainly admired him. He was extremely astute, very accurate and professional, and meticulous about himself and his work.
“You were able to sleep through the big bang?” he asked.
“Like a baby. But I must have heard something because I was having the most unsettling dream,” Antonia confessed.
“I think a lot of your guests will be sleeping in tomorrow.”
He gestured up to the windows of the inn, where many guests had turned on their lights and were peering out at the action below.
“Oh dear,” Antonia said.
“Yeah, we’re going to have to talk to some of them. See if they saw anything.”
“The car just took off? Were there no witnesses?”
“There was another driver who witnessed the accident, said it was a dark sedan, but he was focused on assisting the victim and didn’t take time to note the plates.”
“It probably never occurred to him that the driver would leave the scene of the crime.”
“That’s for sure. Do you have any surveillance cameras that might have captured the accident?”
Antonia silently cursed herself. After the last incident at the inn both Joseph and her insurance agent had implored her to install cameras, both for safety and liability issues. She had not possessed the extra cash in her budget to do it at that time, and then even when Jonathan found less expensive cameras she had delayed it as she had been busy with other things. It was her nature to be a Luddite and eschew anything technical, she wasn’t quite sure why. Now she was regretting it.
“Unfortunately no.”
“That’s okay. Didn’t think so. The library has them so we’ll check their feed. Maybe some of the neighbors.”
“It’s Dougie Marshall who was hit, right? I mean, that’s his car.”
“The car is registered to Dougie Marshall. I cannot identify him . . .”
“It’s okay,” Antonia said quickly. “I know it’s him. Will he be okay?”
“They’re working hard on him.”
“I hope so. I didn’t really take him seriously.”
Officer Flanagan gave Antonia a quizzical look and then sighed. “I should have known you had something to do with this.”
Antonia bristled. “Me? I had nothing to do with this. Although I do believe that it’s possible that Dougie might have been coming to tell me something.”
“About?” Officer Flanagan said with an arched eyebrow.
“About a case I’m working on . . .”
He took out his notebook and flipped it open. “Let’s start from the beginning.”
* * * * *
It was several hours before Antonia returned to bed. The parlor of the inn had become something of a meeting center for the emergency responders and the police, who were interviewing any witnesses and guests who might have seen or heard something. Jonathan had put on pots of coffee and brought out the cookies and cakes that were leftover from dessert the previous evening. Joseph had come down to sit with Antonia as she attempted to make sense of what had happened. They could only conjecture about who they thought had hit Dougie with the car. But their first choice was Pauline Framingham. Antonia had wanted to rush over to her house and see if she had a black sedan that looked like it had gone through the meat grinder, but Officer Flanagan dissuaded her and, in fact, made her promise not to bother Pauline. He and his own officers would head over to talk with her.
After a fitful two hours catching up on her sleep, Antonia rose and helped Soyla with the breakfast service. She then headed to her office to field any calls and troubleshoot any potential problems with the sleep-deprived and no doubt grumpy guests.
“Good morning, get me some coffee as soon as possible,” commanded a rumpled Larry Lipper as he stood at her doorway.
He had arrived at the scene of the accident last night almost as soon as Antonia and had remained at the inn to pester the police for information. Antonia had informed Officer Flanagan that Larry was privy to as much information as she was about Dougie, and persuaded Flanagan to hound him instead of her. (She was very pleased with her chance to deflect attention away from herself and cause Larry to squirm.) Antonia had been careful in what she told the police, and was not as candid as she would normally be. This was most
ly because she had signed all of those nondisclosures and feared that Pauline’s lawyers would come after her, but partially because she always instinctively held something back from cops. Larry was also cagey about what he knew, but mostly because he wanted to keep the information to himself so he could personally solve the crime and then write a best-selling book and sell the rights to Hollywood and have Nick Darrow play him.
“Good morning, Larry. Didn’t make it home?” Antonia asked, pouring Larry a steaming mug of coffee from her pot.
“No, I didn’t make it home. Some people have to work for a living, Bingham. I have to be on the scene at all times. It’s a demanding job, you know. I’m not like you—curling up and heading to bed with my teddy bear. Although I did try to get into your apartment but you had locked the door.”
“I always lock the door. Only Joseph has the key.”
“No wonder you have no love life.” He slumped into the seat across from her. “You have way too many pillows drowning your sofa, Bingham. I had to throw them all on the floor.”
“I hope you retrieved them.”
He leaned over and snatched a pastry off the tray Soyla had brought in earlier. Antonia watched as he sank his tiny teeth into the cherry Danish and hungrily ripped off an oversized piece that flapped from his lips as he chewed. Larry’s manners left a lot to be desired.
“You think we go first to see Pauline or head to Stonybrook to see Dougie? It’ll be a nightmare traffic situation heading up island with all the summer traffic. Will take all day. So probably Pauline first.”
“Officer Flanagan warned us to stay away from her . . .” Antonia said.
“Whatever. Free country. Let’s go see her. Why don’t you ask your kitchen to fire me up a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich so I can operate on a full fuel tank while I hit the john then we’ll head out.”
“How about a ‘please’?”
“Don’t push it, Bingham.”
Antonia picked up the intercom to ask Soyla for Larry’s sandwich. When he returned, he picked up the stack of articles about the case that Joseph had copied for her. He started flicking through them, leaving jelly stains as he discarded them.
