by Carrie Doyle
“They could have used a reporter like me back then. None of these reports have any information or revelations whatsoever.”
“I know.”
He bit another chunk of the pastry. “They were too in awe of the family. My, how things have changed. Back then, they wanted to protect the rich and powerful. Now they want to take them down and destroy them.”
“Perhaps if they hadn’t use kid gloves on the rich, Susie’s killer would have been brought to justice.”
“Not sure. You got a shark lawyer like that Schultz guy and the cops don’t have a chance. I know those lawyer types—they’re an impenetrable wall that stands between authority and their loaded clients.”
“True. Intimidation and a law degree work magic.”
“Hey, this is interesting,” Larry sat up in his chair. “Listen to this Letter to the Editor. It’s from someone named Kitty Overwood who describes herself as a good friend of Susie’s.”
“I haven’t heard her name mentioned.”
“Didn’t you read this?”
“I scanned it. Thought it was just someone expressing her condolences. Why, what does it say?”
“It says: Susie was a kind and generous friend whose only fault was that she always chose to look for the good in people. She never should have done that with Pauline Framingham, who is a cunning and manipulative person. Sadly, Susie realized that too late. I was a counselor at a camp in Maine this summer and wish I could have been more help. In the last frantic letter I received from Susie it said only one line: If I die, it’s because I know their secret and they don’t want it to get out. I have no idea who she was talking about but I can guess. Of course I can’t write it because of libel, but we all know who I’m talking about.”
“Wow,” Antonia exclaimed. “We need to track her down.”
“Yes, but it’s obvious she’s talking about Pauline. Pauline and an accomplice.”
“Time to go.”
“First, my sandwich.”
27
There was no sign of life at the Framingham house. Larry sat on the buzzer but no one answered, not even the housekeeper. The driveway was also empty.
“Maybe they took her down to the station?” Antonia suggested.
“Could be. That’s perfect for us. I want you to show me the tennis court.”
“I don’t know, Larry . . .”
“Come on, don’t poop out on me now.”
Antonia reluctantly led the way down the path to the court. There was a slight breeze that morning that ruffled the leaves on the trees, causing the jagged shadows to jump around on the ground. Antonia glanced up at the sky where several seagulls were taking flight toward the beach. The mood in the air was ominous and Antonia couldn’t help but feel that she was walking toward something very bad. She knew that it was only because this was the spot where Susie was killed so long ago, but that didn’t lessen the ominous feeling she was experiencing.
When they reached the court, Larry opened the squeaky metal door and they stepped in.
“Where was she found?” he asked gruffly.
Antonia pointed to the corner. Larry walked over to the spot as Antonia glanced around at the empty court. What had Susie felt like as she waited here for Pauline to bring the lemonade? It was a day not unlike today, sunny and beautiful. Summer days when you’re a teenager are full of hope and excitement, which Susie no doubt felt. She was in the throes of a romance with Kevin Powers. She had fun parties to attend with her friends. But at the same time, she was worried. Someone made her feel scared and intimidated. Did she feel that way when she was waiting for Pauline?
Antonia suddenly remembered that Dougie had said that he had seen Alida talking to Susie on the court before she died. What were they talking about? Why had Alida always denied that she was there?
“Bingham! Come here,” barked Larry.
Antonia slowly strode over to him.
“You know, I’m looking around and I have to confess, I have a hard time buying the fact that some lunatic came off the street to kill Susie.”
“No one ever bought that, Larry.”
“I thought Alida Jenkins had some insight . . .”
“You weren’t thinking with your head.”
He ignored her response. “The hedge is too thick by the gate that abuts the street. Now, it might not have been at that time but if you look, you will see that it opens from the outside. Even if there was no hedge there was still a fence there that would have obstructed anyone from entering. Only the tiniest anorexic—and I mean superhuman skinny—could have entered.”
He demonstrated by attempting to open the gate. It was impossible to open more than five inches.
“I’m sure the police thought about that and that’s why they debunked that idea. You only entertained it because your crush suggested it.”
“Oh, Bingham, it is so cute when you’re jealous.”
“It also begs the question of how Alida entered and what she was doing here.”
“I’m not going there.”
“You may have to.”
Larry grew pensive and walked around the circumference of the court. He tilted his head up and down, examining the height of the fence. A puffy cloud floated past the sun, and the sky suddenly darkened. Antonia shuddered.
“Let’s go.”
“Hang on.”
“No, Larry. We’re trespassing now.”
“Fine.”
They walked to the end of the court and opened the gate, stepping into the dim path now shrouded in patchy darkness. Antonia exited first and waited for Larry to turn and lock the gate. She watched him slide the bolt into the lock. They both turned around to walk back toward the house when they stopped abruptly and emitted squeals. The small wizened gardener that Antonia had seen on her first visit was standing in front of them on the path, a large set of tree clippers in his hand.
“You scared the hell out of me!” exclaimed Larry.
“Oh my goodness, we didn’t see you,” said Antonia.
The gardener, who was balding and wrinkled and appeared to be in his eighties looked quizzically at the two trespassers.
“Came down to see who was here,” he said in a low deep voice.
“We . . . were just . . .” Antonia fumbled to answer.
“We were looking at the murder site. Is Miss Framingham back yet?” Larry asked.
The man stared at them unblinking. There was something strange about him that made Antonia uncomfortable.
“Miss Framingham left a couple of days ago.”
“She did?” Antonia asked with surprise.
“Where did she go?” Larry probed.
“Don’t know, she didn’t tell me.”
“Well, is anyone at the house?”
“Mr. Russell was there yesterday but wasn’t there today when I got here.”
“What’s your name?” Larry inquired.
“Name’s Eddie.”
“Have you worked for the Framinghams for long?”
“I’d say . . . about twenty years.”
“So you didn’t work for them when Susie Whitaker was killed.”
“Can’t say that I did.”
Larry immediately became disinterested. “Okay, let’s go, Bingham.”
Antonia noticed a funny look pass across Eddie’s face. “Hang on a second, Larry.” She turned to Eddie. “You didn’t work for the Framinghams at the time, but did you know them?”
Eddie’s fingers tightened their grip on the tree clippers, and he switched them from his left hand to his right. “Knew them on sight, but didn’t know them personally. Didn’t start work here until 1995.”
“Where did you work before?” Antonia asked.
“Across the street. At the Miners’. They’ve since passed.”
“Were you there at their house
the day that Susie Whitaker was killed?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Larry turned toward the man, suddenly intrigued. “Did you see anything? Or hear anything?”
“I was mostly working in their vegetable garden in the back. Wouldn’t have heard anything. Besides, the Powers boy was mowing the lawn over here, one of those old loud, noisy contraptions.”
“And you saw no one?”
“When I brought the wagon to the side compost, I saw some cars go in and out, but nothing unusual.”
“No one hanging around the street?” Larry probed.
“Nope. Dead quiet back then.”
“Dead being the operative word,” Larry said, before turning to Antonia. “Let’s beat it.”
“Hang on. Eddie, do you have any thought as to who killed Susie?”
“No one’s ever asked me that.”
“Well she’s asking you now,” Larry sneered, becoming impatient.
“In my opinion, it was Pauline’s fellow that did it. I used to hear them arguing when I was clipping the front hedges. They’d be up in that guesthouse going at it really hard. Screaming and yelling. Those two just love a good fight. I imagine they still go at it. Saw him storm out of there two days ago.”
“Dougie Marshall?” asked Antonia, incredulous.
“Don’t know his name. The fellow from the country club.”
“I think he means Scott Stewart. The tennis pro,” said Larry. “He’s the one who lived in the guesthouse.”
“But he doesn’t live there anymore,” said Antonia. “He lives near the IGA.”
“What guy are you talking about?” Larry asked the gardener.
“Don’t know his name.”
“Why do you think he did it?” asked Antonia.
“From the screaming around that time it was something about his job being in jeopardy if anyone found out. I told Tubby Walters all this, but he didn’t want to listen. Ask me, he was hell bent on putting it on Kevin Powers.”
“Thanks, Eddie. You’ve been very helpful,” said Antonia.
“Unexpectedly,” confirmed Larry. “Who knew, old men do add value.”
* * * * *
“It makes sense,” Antonia said as she buckled herself into Larry’s car. “Scott was totally reluctant to talk to me. There was something fishy about the whole thing. And the fact that he’s dating Holly and she didn’t mention that at all? It was strange. It could be why Russell is paying them off. Maybe he’s doing it on behalf of his sister.”
“But you think Scott is still banging Pauline on the side?”
“Okay, hate the word choice. But yes, maybe that’s why Holly is so bitter. She wants him but knows he can’t be faithful.”
“Let’s hit the tennis club and ambush him.”
“Larry, that’s not going to work at all.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked. He pressed firmly on the gas and navigated the car out of its parking space and down the driveway. Antonia could already feel herself becoming carsick.
“Because he will just refuse to talk to us. He has no reason to whatsoever. And do you truly think he will ‘break’ under our questioning and confess?”
“Maybe he’s tired of keeping the secret. It’s tearing him up inside. He wants to ’fess up.”
“Unlikely. Here’s another question: do we think it was Scott who was harassing Dougie? Was he the one who crashed his car into Dougie last night?”
“One way to find out.”
Larry gunned the motor and floored it, forcing Antonia to start saying her Hail Marys.
* * * * *
“Didn’t come in today, called in sick,” said the bubbly blond behind the counter of the pro shop at the Cove Hollow Club. She was no more than twenty-one and wore an extremely tight baby blue tank top and tennis skirt that had rendered Larry a giddy mess right from the get-go.
“Does he do that a lot?” Antonia asked while she waited for Larry to pick his tongue up off the floor.
“I’ve only been here this summer, so not sure about the past. But this is the first time this year. He said he had a stomach bug,” she responded with a giant smile as if reporting that Scott Stewart had recently won the lottery.
“What’s your name?” Larry asked.
“Brittany?” she responded, more as a question than answer.
“Beautiful name,” Larry said. “Listen, I’ve been thinking of taking up tennis. Do you teach?”
“No, sorry. We have some great teachers who I can hook you up with?” she said brightly.
Larry leaned across the counter toward her.
“But I want to hook up with you. Do you think you could make an exception?”
Brittany’s long fake eyelashes batted flirtatiously. She was no doubt very used to being hit on, Antonia surmised, and was completely unfazed by Larry’s advances. “I would teach you, but I don’t know how to play myself!”
Brittany erupted in giggles. Larry joined in.
“Then why the tennis outfit?” Antonia asked with irritation.
“Oh, well, that’s my uniform. Kinda like if I worked at say, McDonald’s and had to wear a uniform. Although this is much cuter.”
“Yes, it is,” Larry confirmed.
“My big goal is to work at Lululemon. They have the most rocking clothes.”
“And I bet you would look sensational in them,” Larry added. “Or you could work at Victoria’s Secret.”
Antonia cleared her throat. “Can we return to business?”
“What do you want, Bingham? Can’t we chat a little with Brittany?”
“I’m sure she’s busy and has other customers,” Antonia said tersely.
“Oh, it’s okay. It gets pretty boring in here. People just come in and sign in and then maybe buy a can of balls, but usually they just leave. I’m happy to talk.”
“See Antonia?” Larry said accusatorily. “She is happy to talk.”
“Okay, well, tell us more about Scott Stewart. What kind of car does he drive?” Antonia asked.
“One of those boring kinds. Japanese or something.”
“I drive a BMW,” Larry said. “Want to go for a spin sometime?”
Brittany found this hilarious and devolved into another round of giggles. “You are too funny!”
Antonia was losing patience. “What color is his car?”
“Whose?”
“Scott’s,” Antonia said firmly.
“Oh. Black or blue. Something like that.”
“Would you say it’s a dark sedan?”
“Yeah.”
“Larry, are you catching this?”
Larry’s eyes were glued to Brittany’s breasts. “Yes, I get it, Antonia. Same color and type of car as crashed into Dougie.”
“Was Scott acting strangely yesterday or over the past few days?” Antonia asked.
“Not really, I mean, we don’t talk a lot. But he did get into a big fight with his girlfriend.”
This finally caught Larry’s attention. “What kind of fight? Will you break it all down for us, sweetie?”
“I mean, I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but they were right outside. She came in to get some balls and find out which court she was on and then when she went outside he met her and they started arguing. It got pretty loud so I did overhear some things . . . like she said she didn’t want him to keep going there, it was wrong, and couldn’t he just stay away . . .”
“Going where?” Antonia and Larry inquired, practically in unison.
Brittany became nervous and bit her puffy pink lip. “I don’t know . . . why? Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this. I don’t even know who you are.”
“I’m Larry and this is Antonia. I’m with the newspaper, so you technically do have to tell me this.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I don’t really reme
mber. It sounded like some friend or something.”
“Did they say a last name at all?”
Brittany glanced up as if the answer might be in the sky. “This is really hard . . . I’m trying to remember.”
“Take your time,” Larry said, placing one of his small hands on top of hers and pressing. “We have all the time in the world. We want you to get this right.”
“Me too . . .” she said, still staring at the ceiling. “They did say some name . . .”
“Was it Framingham?” asked Larry.
Brittany beamed. “Yes! I think it was. Framingham.”
“Larry, you can’t just feed her the name. That’s entrapment,” chided Antonia.
Larry ignored her. “Good girl, Brittany!”
“Did I do well?” she asked eagerly.
“Extremely! In fact, you win!”
“Oh! What do I win?”
“Dinner with me,” Larry said. “And I’m taking you to her fancy restaurant in town, where Antonia will personally cook us anything our hearts desire.”
Brittany clapped her hands together and jumped up and down. “Yay! So cool.”
“I know, isn’t it?” Larry said with the grin of a Cheshire cat.
“Can I bring my boyfriend?” Brittany asked. “Oh, and maybe we can make it a foursome. My mom is single and about your age! What do you say, double date?”
28
Larry dropped Antonia at the inn. He was heading over to Scott Stewart’s house to see if he could glean if there was any damage to the car. As much as Antonia was desperate to join him, she absolutely had to return to the inn and check in on the guests and the kitchen. Her behavior had been downright reckless and she was astounded that she had been so carried away with the investigation that she had totally ignored her duties at work. It was beyond irresponsible—something she would have lectured Genevieve about at length if the shoe were on the other foot. But she had become so consumed with the entire affair that she had ignored all reason. And the crazy part was she wasn’t even on the case anymore! She had been dismissed and paid in full for the rooms in February, which gave her no excuse to carry on.
