by Carrie Doyle
“Oh my gosh, this is crazy! So we think Scott crashed into Dougie to keep him from talking and then took off with Holly somewhere?”
“Bingo, Bingham. Takes you awhile, doesn’t it?”
“Did you tell the cops you suspected Scott?”
“Sorta,” Larry said. He took the lid off his coffee cup and began licking the milky layer of froth with his tongue. “I don’t want to hand this to the cops, I still need to be the one to solve the case for the book deal, but I told them he was a person of interest.”
“Larry! He could be in a homicidal rage. You have to tell the cops.”
“I will, I will. I first asked my buddy to find out anything else they might have on Scott. You know, past arrests. When he gives me that intel, I’ll give him mine.”
“Risky.”
“You know I like to live on the edge.”
“I should head to the kitchen.”
She stood up and stretched. So it was Scott, he was the killer. Of course she wasn’t sure why Scott would have killed Susie, but sometimes motive remained elusive.
Larry gave her a compassionate look. “Take care of yourself, Bingham. You’re a good egg. You deserve to be happy.”
* * * * *
Antonia was subdued for most of dinner service. Marty and Kendra could sense her mood and toned down their teasing. When orders had died down a bit, she made her way to the dining room to do a sweep and greet her guests. She found Len Powers and his wife, Sylvia, sitting in the corner, nursing coffees and sharing a crème brûlée.
“Delicious as always, Antonia!” Sylvia beamed.
“It’s very hard to stick to my diet!” Len grumbled. “We agreed to share a dessert, but I’m already regretting it.”
Both Len and Sylvia were what could be described as large or “big boned” people. Their bodies as well as their facial features were thick, and everything from Sylvia’s blond bouffant to Len’s Santa Claus stomach were robust.
“Life is too short.”
“Amen,” Sylvia agreed whilst scooping another large bite of the creamy confection into her mouth. “And I adore this crunchy sugar crust. One of the Lord’s greatest creations.”
Len took a sip of his coffee, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and glanced up at Antonia.
“So Dougie Marshall, huh?”
“Any update on how he’s doing?”
“The president of the club said he’s banged up and will be for a while, lotta broken ribs and lacerations, but he’s going to be okay,” Len said.
“I can’t believe it! Right outside the inn, Antonia,” said Sylvia. “And I thought you had put the curse of the inn behind you.”
“Wow, so did I. I didn’t even think of it that way.”
“Sylvia, don’t get her all riled up,” Len admonished.
“Did Dougie say if he saw the person who did it?”
Len shook his head. “If he did, he isn’t talking. I heard he’s totally spooked. Now this doesn’t have anything to do with your discussion with him does it?”
Antonia gulped. “I hope not,” she fibbed.
Len cocked his head to the side. “Because I caught wind that you were looking into the Susie Whitaker murder. I think it’s a shame to bring that all up. No good can come of it.”
“I’m learning that the hard way.”
“I mean, you got Dougie getting hit by a car, and my brother Kevin has taken off—it’s like you unleashed Pandora’s box.”
She was taken off guard. “Wait, what do you mean Kevin has taken off?”
Sylvia answered for Len. “I know, very strange, it being the busy season and all, but he called last night and said he had to head out of town. I was a little nervous . . . you know, because of his past troubles and all, so I pressed him to see if everything was okay. He mentioned that Susie’s death had come up again and no good would come of him getting involved so he decided to take an extended vacation.”
“Where did he go?”
“He wouldn’t say,” said Sylvia.
“Look, Antonia, sometimes you have to let sleeping dogs lie,” counseled Len. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, and damn if I don’t want to find out who killed Susie. That was a terrible tragedy and no one should get away with it. But there are consequences. A lot of people involved were troubled back then or became troubled after.”
“Like Kevin and his girlfriend Kimberly?” interjected Antonia.
Len sighed. “Yes. That was terrible. I can’t defend that.”
“We didn’t speak to him for years,” Sylvia chimed in. “But he kept begging our forgiveness so we talked to our priest and he said we had to open our hearts to him.”
“Kevin running away doesn’t look too good, especially after what happened to Dougie. It could make it seem like Kevin caused the accident,” Antonia said.
“Oh, dear, no,” Sylvia said with a shake of the head. “Kevin wouldn’t do that. I really think he’s turned over a new leaf. And he was genuinely scared when I talked to him. I think someone had warned him or threatened him . . .”
“Why didn’t he go to the police?” asked Antonia.
Len gave her a look. “You mean with his history? When you’ve been arrested you steer clear of the cops.”
“You’re right.”
“I hope you can solve this murder, Antonia,” Sylvia said. “It’s time to catch a killer and have everyone who was caught in the fray move on with their lives.”
* * * * *
That night Antonia read over Susie Whitaker’s diary again. Antonia was Catholic and tried to attend church as much as possible. She respected the beliefs of her church. She also chose to believe that the dead could send signs to the people they loved, or the people they needed to connect with. This belief made it easier to reconcile the loss of her parents. As she held Susie’s diary in her hand, she felt a burning sense that Susie was trying to send her a message. It was as if she was telling Antonia that she was so close to finding the killer that she had to stay the course. Antonia wanted Susie Whitaker to rest in peace. But it was clear that Antonia would have to uncover her murderer in order for Susie to do so.
And it appeared now that it was not such a sure thing that Scott Stewart had killed Susie. The range of suspects had again reopened with Scott and Kevin both on the run. Antonia felt that she was unable to clear anyone in the case as of yet. Agatha Christie’s detective Hercule Poirot always said to look at the victim in order to solve the crime. Was that wishful thinking? Especially when the victim was a teenaged girl—not the most reliable narrator of her own life. There was one passage that Antonia had noted, but thought she was just being optimistic. On July 17 Susie wrote:
I know secrets. I am good at keeping them. But sometimes when something is really bad, you can’t keep your mouth shut.
What had she meant by that? What was she referring to? Antonia wanted to know. Oh, Susie! Antonia wanted to return back in time and help her out. She wished she had been there to advise her. There were some secrets that were better off remaining secrets, and others that demanded discovery. With Susie’s case, as well as the revelation that Bridget was her half-sister, Antonia was confronted on all sides by an insistence for the truth, no matter how harsh and brutal it was. It was strange to Antonia that these long-ago decisions made by others were profoundly affecting her now. In one case, the murder of a young girl, and in the other case, the birth of one. Life was strangely cyclical. Not to mention unexpected. Antonia had been thrown some curve balls in life, and she’d had to call upon her inner strength to deal with them. As bitter as it was, she had to accept Bridget and not blame her. She could sort through her new sour feelings for her father later on. As for Susie, Antonia needed to bring her justice.
30
It rained the following morning. Not torrential, but crying jags of hard pellets interspersed with small sprinkles of d
rizzle. For various reasons Antonia was not a fan of rain on summer days, especially Saturdays. First, it made the guests cranky. They had planned their vacations and paid a lot of money to come and stay in East Hampton so they could enjoy the beautiful award-winning beaches. They were frustrated and angry when their plans were thwarted. Coupled with that, in rainy weather, the guests often didn’t have anywhere to go so they ended up hanging around all the public rooms, grumpy and bored. Town was always a mob scene on rainy days, and as East Hampton had the largest movie theater on the East End (the only other theater being the slightly smaller one in Southampton) there were long lines and sold-out shows on days with inclement weather. The fact of the matter was that a cozy inn was not so cozy on a wet summer day.
Antonia and Soyla baked extra batches of fruity muffins and scones for the morning breakfast service as well as several frittatas with feta, spinach, and tomatoes. When there was little to do, people tended to graze on food all day. Despite the wet weather outside, the inn had the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, bacon, and a hint of cinnamon buns. Jonathan had lit a fire in the parlor and purchased extra copies of the newspapers at Scoop Du Jour in an effort to avoid a showdown between guests over the various sections that were most often in demand. The parlor was buzzing with the hum of morning conversation and the clink of cutlery.
“How are you doing this morning?” Joseph asked somewhat sheepishly as he zipped up to the buffet table. Antonia had been rearranging the breadbasket, adding warm popovers and replenishing the scones.
“I’m okay.”
“I’m sorry about what happened yesterday. We didn’t mean to ambush you with that information.”
Antonia leaned down and hugged him. “I know you always have my back, Joseph. And I’m glad you were there. It was so much to take in . . .”
“I can’t even imagine. But before you do anything, I think it’s of the utmost importance that you talk to your friend, Officer Flanagan, and let him know what’s going on with your ex-husband. He should have Philip on his radar at the very least. I think it’s crucial that he has the information about your past and alerts his colleagues to be on the lookout.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” conceded Antonia. “I hate the fact that I have to tell everyone here about my messy past, but I agree that, with Philip, safety is an issue.”
“Paramount.”
“I also need to check in with him about Dougie Marshall. I hope he’s on the mend. In addition, Scott Stewart and Kevin Powers have both made a hasty exit out of town. I want to make sure the police are aware of that.”
“I think it’s prudent to keep them involved. You need them, Antonia. Be careful.”
There was worry in his eyes. Antonia patted his hand.
“I’m going to be okay.”
“I know.”
“Really,” she insisted.
He nodded, still pensive. “I know this part is delicate, but how do you want to proceed with Bridget? She is staying with a friend in town until tomorrow. Do you wish to see her again?”
“I suppose I should. I’m still processing the fact that she exists. It’s so bizarre.”
“I can imagine.”
“I never thought of myself as the typical only child and always wanted a sister or brother. Maybe it will all work out.”
“I hope so.”
* * * * *
Officer Flanagan was in his office but led Antonia into a conference room where he closed the door. She loathed police stations, for a multitude of reasons, and had forgotten how tense they made her. The garish lighting, the blank walls, the ominous energy that permeated the hallways—there was no place she would less rather be. There were people reporting for parole at the desk when she arrived and she conjectured that they shared a similar anxious reaction to the location. She internally commiserated with them and promised herself to avoid any more murder expeditions that would bring her into contact with the law.
After pleasantries, Antonia cut to the chase and filled in Officer Flanagan about her ex-husband, Philip, and the recent revelation that he was meticulously plotting some sort of revenge. Officer Flanagan listened carefully and took copious notes before briefly leaving the room to alert his colleagues. Antonia was grateful to have that part of the conversation over and done with. She was still unable to reconcile the part of herself who had married a maniac, and although she knew she had nothing to be ashamed of, it offended her sense of self that she had to continually revisit the situation. When Officer Flanagan returned he held two mugs of coffee bearing the logo of the police department and set one in front of her before sitting down.
“I am sure you are also here for another reason,” he said. His face remained stern but his eyes showed a trace of . . . humanity? Amusement?
“You know me too well.”
“What’s up?”
“Both Scott Stewart and Kevin Powers left town abruptly. I think it has to do with the Susie Whitaker murder. I’m not sure if either of them is the killer or if they feel threatened. In fact, I’m not sure what to think. But after Dougie Marshall was hit, something changed. People are scared. When I interviewed Alida Jenkins she was very forthcoming until she received a text and then she totally clammed up. I’m not sure what to make of Pauline Framingham. Is she a sociopath? A psychopath? I’m actually not sure of the difference. But her friends have suggested she is playing me and this is all a game.”
Officer Flanagan let Antonia ramble without interruption. When she was done he nodded.
“I was planning on paying you a visit today, so it’s fortuitous that you came to see me first. Here’s the problem, Antonia. I received a call from a friend at the courthouse. It seems that there has been a petition submitted for an order of protection against you . . .”
“Against me?!” exclaimed Antonia. “Who did that?”
“It was on behalf of Pauline Framingham, Russell Framingham, Scott Stewart, Alida Jenkins, and Kevin Powers . . .”
The blood rushed to Antonia’s head and she felt dizzy. “I’m speechless. Are you sure? Is this true?”
He continued. “Unfortunately, yes. They have to prove reason to the court as to why they need this protection, and if it’s approved, a sheriff will serve you notice . . .”
“I feel faint,” mumbled Antonia.
“I understand. Look, I know you, Antonia. And I told my friend at the courthouse that this was a bunch of junk, that you had been hired to look into the Susie Whitaker murder and then Pauline Framingham had a change of heart. But the fact remains that she had a change of heart. I am not sure this order of protection will be approved, but my advice to you is to walk away from this case. No good will come of it, and you could lose everything.”
“You’re right. You’re totally right,” Antonia agreed. “Do you really think the order won’t go through? It would be horrible if it did. My business would suffer, my reputation . . .”
“I’ll do the best I can. But it will help your cause if you firmly agree to drop everything.”
“I promise. It’s not worth it anymore.”
“That’s right. It’s not worth it anymore.”
“I feel bad for Susie . . .”
“I understand. It’s hard not to commiserate with the victims. Occupational hazard.”
“Maybe you can look into it?”
He sighed. “I’ll see what I can do if you stay out of it.”
“I promise.”
“Smart lady.”
* * * * *
Antonia drove back home along the wet roads, embarrassed, scared, and demoralized. Officer Flanagan was right, she had to walk away. She said a few prayers on her way home—to her mother to keep her safe and out of jail; to God to solve the murder of Susie Whitaker so that Susie might rest in peace; and to Susie for forgiveness for abandoning her case. There were forces far too powerful at play for Antonia to compete ag
ainst.
Attempting to put a cheerful spin on the situation, Antonia took a critical look at her inn as she pulled her car into the driveway and couldn’t deny that she was lucky. A successful inn, a well-respected restaurant, good friends like Joseph and Genevieve were truly all she needed. She had to stop dabbling in these murder investigations. People relied on her. What would she tell Marty, Kendra, Soyla, Hector, Jonathan, and all the others if she had to close the business because she was just too damn nosy? It would be pathetic.
The inn was noisy and alive when she strode through the front hall. She shook the raindrops out of her hair and placed her umbrella in the stand by the front door.
“Antonia!”
Giorgio Leguzzi lifted his hat toward her as he made his way to the front door.
“How are you, Mr. Leguzzi?”
“I’ma okay.”
“Are you heading out to Cittanuova?”
“I am. But I am sad to inform you that the time has soon come for me to depart. I am needed back home and must leave Tuesday. It will be difficult to depart, but I must.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m almost afraid to ask, but any progress with Elizabeth?”
“Unfortunately, my love eludes me. I am living in a tragedy where the lovers are star-crossed. Alas, it is no doubt my destiny.”
“Oh, don’t say that! Maybe you can come back and try again?”
“I would like that very much, but I no longer possess the optimism.”
“Well I possess it! Please return. Perhaps if I have more time I can assist you. We can really dig deep, put an ad in the paper, reach out to people. You know they even run local ads at the movie theater . . .”
“You are very kind, Miss Bingham.” He took her hand and kissed it. There was a sweet sadness in his face, and Antonia’s heart broke for him. “I thank you for everything.”
“I’ll pray for you!” Antonia blurted out.
He bowed before selecting one of the inn’s long green umbrellas out of the stand and venturing out into the rain. Antonia watched as the funny little man walked down the steps toward the path to town. She hoped he would be successful in his quest for love.
