I had to ask, “Why would paranormal investigators be looking for your grandfather’s ghost?” I’d seen the paranormal crew she was talking about and had assumed they were from a local television station wanting to promote the showhouse.
Elle retrieved a tissue from her handbag and handed it to Jenna.
“For the years that Enderly Hall had been left empty, there’ve been rumors of unusual happenings. They ascribed them to Shepherds Cottage’s history. Only I’ve had my suspicions something else might be going on. You see, Grandfather died in an unusual way . . .”
Elle looked at me and rolled her big brown eyes. Jenna continued, “It’s a long story. My grandfather was on the eccentric side. He died when I was thirteen. Before that, he lived like a hermit at Enderly Hall. You see, my grandmother died after giving birth to twins, my father and Uncle James. She’d had a choice of saving herself or her children, and she chose her children. Apparently, my grandfather never forgave my grandmother for making that decision. Afterward, Grandfather wasn’t the same, wanting nothing to do with his sons, retreating into his shell. The shell being Enderly Hall. My great-aunt moved in and raised my father and uncle. After they went away to college, she moved out and left my grandfather to his obsession—Enderly Hall.
“Grandfather was a packrat. On the few times my parents took me to visit him, I remember seeing him throw hundred-dollar bills, stock certificates and other papers into the fire for kindling. He didn’t want anyone getting his money.”
“Jenna, that still doesn’t explain why you think your grandfather is haunting Enderly Hall,” I said. Elle gave me a look that I interpreted as don’t encourage her.
“I’m getting to that. Shortly before my grandfather’s death, Social Services rendered Enderly Hall uninhabitable. Grandfather refused to leave the grounds, so my father and uncle stuck him in Shepherds Cottage. They made arrangements for grocery and drugstore deliveries, and that’s where he stayed until . . .” She dabbed the corners of her eyes and continued, “They found him down on the rocks. Still in his bedclothes. The strange thing was, he had a wad of hundred-dollar bills stuffed in his mouth. I think my father suspected my uncle of fighting with Grandfather, then accidently killing him. And my uncle must have thought the same thing of my father. There was also the suspicion someone pushed him off the cliff in revenge for something he’d done. And then there was the simple explanation that he’d been crazy. Instead of burning money, he’d thought he’d eat it so my father and uncle couldn’t get their hands on it.”
Not so simple, I thought.
“Even in his last years, he blamed his twins on my grandmother’s death. The courts looked into foul play, especially because of what had happened on Enderly’s grounds a few years before Grandfather died . . .” She paused dramatically, looking off in the direction of where the ocean would be visible if not for the fog and heavy mist.
“What happened?” I asked, knowing I could have Googled the whole thing in the time it took her to tell the story.
“You see,” she said, “in his last year before his death, Grandfather had become very paranoid, posting No Trespassing and Private Property signs. A local man wandered onto the grounds and Grandfather shot him.”
“Did the man die?” Elle asked.
“No, but the man spent the rest of his life paralyzed from the neck down. The Eastman Foundation took care of him until his death. Grandpa was acquitted of any wrongdoing, but following the hearing, that’s when Grandfather officially went off the deep end. Soon after, he was found beneath the cliff. There was an inquiry into his death because of the bills stuffed in his mouth. The coroner ruled it accidental because of his state of mind, which had been documented by Social Services.” Jenna’s hand trembled as she reached for my teacup. “So, you see . . .” Another dramatic pause. “There are multiple reasons why ghosthunters are banging on Enderly’s gates.”
“Surely you’re not scared of your grandfather’s ghost?” I asked.
“Oh, not at all. It’s the man he shot’s ghost that has me on edge.”
“You said he didn’t die from his injuries,” I reminded her.
“That’s true, but my father said even though the man received a million dollars in the settlement, he told everyone in the Hamptons that ‘The old man looked him in the eye, then pulled the trigger,’ claiming it was no accident. He died four months after grandfather shot him, refusing to be put on a feeding tube.”
And here I’d thought proving Stanford White had been the architect of Enderly Hall might be one mystery I could sink my teeth into that wouldn’t involve dead bodies. Boy, was I wrong. What a crazy tale. I was beginning to understand why Jenna was the way she was. “But Jenna,” I said, getting back to her initial accusation that her husband was trying to kill her, “why do you think it was Roland in the car? You have a prenup. What would he gain? And do you know how many silver Mercedes there are in the Hamptons?”
“Oh, I’m sure he could find some lawyer, somewhere, to nullify our agreement. You know Roland. If he wants something, he’ll get it.”
Jenna shivered, and Elle said, “Let’s move inside by the fire.”
I got up and stood by Jenna’s chair. Elle grabbed Jenna’s elbow and helped her up, then handed me her cane.
As we walked toward the French doors, Jenna said in a whiny voice, “And I keep seeing lights in the cottage. Roland says I’m imagining things. But I know I’m not. Unless . . . it’s a ghost and that’s why those ghosthunters are lurking around. That’s all I need! Icing on the cake. Maybe the ghost will kill me before Roland does.”
In Jenna’s mind, if lights flickering in the cottage behind Enderly Hall meant there was a ghost, then maybe the car she saw in the fog had nothing to do with her husband or anyone else trying to kill her. It was just another instance of her overblown imagination.
Then again, maybe not.
Chapter 2
“Well, that wasn’t the luncheon I expected,” Elle said, signing her credit card receipt.
“We both know Jenna’s a hypochondriac and an alarmist,” I said, “but we also know that people have murdered for far less reasons than money and prestige. I’ll try to spend as much time as possible with her before the cocktail party. To err on the side of safety, you should tell your detective fiancé about Jenna’s concerns. Have him check into her hubby’s past.”
“Arthur’s not a detective anymore. Remember? He’s in Manhattan as a liaison between the NYPD and City Hall.”
“You’ve never told me how he likes his new job.”
“That’s because he never tells me anything. It’s like he’s James Bond or something. I know he goes to enough public functions, hobnobbing with all the city politicos. I also know this will be another weekend I won’t see him.”
There was something I knew that Elle didn’t. And it was a whopper. Her fiancé, Arthur Shoner, former detective for the East Hampton Town Police Department, would be coming back permanently to the East End of Long Island in three weeks’ time. Three weeks from Saturday would be the large party I was throwing for Elle and Arthur in my walled garden. Arthur and I had a top-secret surprise for the party that was going to blow Elle’s vintage anklet socks off. I said cheerily, “So, let’s make the best of it. He tries hard to see you, unlike someone else I know.” I pushed the palm of my right hand in front of her mouth to let her know Cole’s and my breakup was not a topic for discussion.
She must have seen the hurt in my eyes because she let it drop. I’d exhausted all the ways I could think of to keep our relationship going. After Cole’s business partner at Plantation Island Yachts sadly passed away, the fates had been against us. Cole was now in charge of both the North Carolina office and the one in Sydney, Australia. He’d had to cancel our big trip to Cornwall, England, where I’d had hopes of relighting the spark we’d felt the first time we’d kissed on the beach. When we’d said goodbye, we were both teary-eyed. Knowing it was for the last time. That was a month ago, and we hadn’t talked, or eve
n texted, since. I agreed with Sally in the movie When Harry Met Sally, you can’t go back to being friends after a love affair. And another thing, long-distance relationships were impossible, especially with two pigheaded people like Cole and me. Enderly Hall’s showhouse event couldn’t have come at a better time. I’d been too busy in the past couple of months to take time out to feel sorry for myself.
Jenna had put me in charge of decorating the interior of Shepherds Cottage. It was a small four-room saltbox that had historical pedigree. Jenna had recited its history to me like she was a docent at a museum. The cottage had been brought over by barge from nearby Gardiners Island in the late 1800s by Jenna’s great-great-grandfather, a distant relative of the Gardiners. It was then pulled by horse and flatbed wagon down Old Montauk Highway to its current location.
Gardiners Island, the oldest privately owned island in America, was also where Captain Kidd had buried a king’s ransom of gold and jewels. Before Kidd could return to collect his booty, he was captured, tried in Boston and convicted of being a privateer. He was shipped to England, where he was executed. Still, I doubted his ghost would be hanging around an eighteenth-century sheepherder’s shack, even if it did come from nearby Gardiners Island, where his treasure had been dug up and sent back to the King of England’s coffers.
Shepherds Cottage was perched on a bluff behind Enderly Hall, and I had to wonder if that was the same bluff where Jenna’s grandfather fell to his death with Ben Franklins stuffed in his mouth. When I’d first viewed the cottage, it had been completely empty, except for one piece of furniture. No signs of Grandpa or his ghost. Or the ghost of the poor guy Grandpa had shot.
Along with furnishing Shepherds Cottage, Jenna had thrown me the gold-plated bone of letting me decorate Enderly Hall’s sweeping verandas and porches, along with the gazebo and the pavilion that topped the stairs leading down to the ocean.
Jenna knew I had a small space and porch fetish.
Who didn’t?
“Where’d you just go?” Elle asked, nudging me on the arm. “Sorry about you and Cole. But I truly think it will turn out for the best. And I promise not to bring him up unless you do.”
“Thanks, buddy,” I said wistfully, feeling slightly sorry for myself. Not my usual M.O. “I wasn’t thinking of Cole, just the Twilight Zone episode we just saw Jenna starring in.”
We both stood and Elle pocketed her credit card, then we moved toward the exit.
“Promise I’ll get the next check,” I said, holding open the door for her.
“Sounds good,” Elle answered, even though I knew she’d never let me pay her back. I tried to make up for her generosity by leaving little anonymous vintage presents on the doorstep of her Sag Harbor shop, Mabel and Elle’s Curiosities. Or I’d pay her back by inviting her to my cottage for dinner, ordering in something wonderful from the myriad top-rated local restaurants. I wasn’t a fan of cooking like my gourmet home-chef retired-cop father was, but I was a fan of eating.
“Care to come with me to Grimes House Antiques?” I asked, joining her on the deck. My hair immediately sprang into action from the humidity. “Rita has something Jenna’s been looking for to complete Shepherds Cottage for the showhouse.”
“I’d love to,” she said without hesitation.
I grabbed the handrail and cautiously followed her down the steps into the parking lot, not wanting to twist my ankle like Jenna had.
“Rita and I have been swapping things to sell in our shops. I give her some antique pieces and she gives me some vintage items.”
“She must make a bundle with those high price tags of hers,” I said, waiting for her to unlock the door to her early-model aqua pickup. “Rita’s a sly entrepreneur when it comes to her antiques.”
In season, Grimes House Antiques was a good place to spy celebrities looking to furnish their summer homes. They had no qualms about paying Rita’s prices. I, on the other hand, had only been able to afford a handful of items. Small items.
“Don’t worry about me getting ripped off,” Elle said once we were in the truck. “Rita’s from the old school, she thinks things that aren’t over a hundred years old are junk. Little does she know this entrepreneur”—Elle pointed to her chest and the array of vintage brooches displayed on her sweater—“makes a pretty penny on what Rita gives me in our trades.”
I laughed. “I’m just curious. How much of what she gives you do you sell? And how much do you keep for yourself?”
“I’ll have you know that the last basket of stuff she sent went right to the set of Mr. & Mrs. Winslow’s head costume designer.
“Touché!” Mr. & Mr. Winslow was a mystery miniseries being filmed in nearby Bridgehampton for a premium television network. Elle and I had been called in last December to help the set designer recreate the late-1930s time period. The premise for the series was similar to Dashiell Hammett’s Thin Man detective movies starring Nick and Nora Charles. In this case the characters were named Jack and Lara Winslow. And instead of a wire fox terrier named Asta, the Winslows’ dog was a Scottie named Whiskey.
After we put on our seat belts, Elle pulled onto a hazy Old Montauk Highway, the curvy, hilly road that ran alongside the Atlantic. The same highway where Jenna claimed to have gotten run off the road by her husband in a murder attempt. I waited to speak until after Elle turned west onto flat Route 27. “So, what’s your gut feeling about what Jenna told us?”
Elle took her right hand off the steering wheel and ran it through her glossy shoulder-length dark hair. “I think she’s exaggerating.”
“Yikes, if that’s coming from you, my scaredy-cat friend, I tend to agree.” Like Jenna, Elle had a tendency to be a worrywart. She was also someone who had your back in do-or-die situations. Of which I’d had my fair share since moving to the East End of Long Island.
She turned to me. “Scaredy cat? What are you? In the first grade?”
“Eyes on the road, it’s still misty.”
“Don’t change the subject. Just because I don’t stick my neck out at every opportunity and butt into things that have nothing to do with me. Oh, and get involved in murder investigations instead of letting the authorities, like Arthur, handle it. Doesn’t mean I’m a timid mouse.”
“More like a steady mountain goat, I would say.”
“You’re right. I’m cautious. It’s an asset. I don’t have a hero complex like someone I know.”
“Hero complex?” I asked incredulously. “That’s what you think I have? I beg to differ. I can’t help it if I’m a chip off the old block. Curiosity runs in my genes.”
“I know, blah, blah, blah. That excuse only goes so far. Big whoop, you share the same genes with your retired homicide detective father. I suppose when Arthur and I have kids, they’ll all be poking their noses where they don’t belong and find themselves in dangerous situations.” She covered her mouth with her hand at the thought, the diamonds in her antique engagement ring sparkling in all their splendor.
“Geez,” I said, “next time I’ll think before I mention my genetics.”
“Sounds good,” she said sternly, then forced a smile.
It seemed I had struck a nerve. “I was just teasing, buddy.” I reached over and patted her hand.
“Well, lately I’m not in a very teasing mood,” she said. “At this point, I’m not even sure Arthur will make it to our engagement party. Which would be a shame, seeing how much planning you’ve been putting into it. It’s not like you don’t have other things on your plate, like your Cottages by the Sea clients and working on the showhouse. Not to mention, if needed, we’re both on call to go to the set of Mr. & Mrs. Winslow.” She took her hand and affectionally patted mine, like I’d done to hers.
There wasn’t anything in the universe to break our bond of friendship. I’d just have to move cautiously until the party. “Hey, I’m just doing the outdoor spaces at Enderly Hall and a small, teensy cottage. I have plenty of time to plan my best friend’s engagement party. Back to Jenna,” I said, “if she d
idn’t have that prenup, I might give her theory some credence.”
“I agree,” Elle said thoughtfully. “I think Jenna is more upset about the thought of selling Enderly Hall than worrying if her husband was behind the wheel of that car. With that story she just told us about her grandfather, no wonder she seems so high-strung.”
Elle slowed to go through the small town of Amagansett. It seemed the miserable weather hadn’t kept anyone from visiting the East End Farm Stand, as cars were parked on both sides of the road. As we passed Ocean Surf Coffee, a long line snaked its way out the door of the white shingled cottage. The line wasn’t just for their coffee. Each table came with a pan of fresh-from-the-oven, gooey, on-the-house cinnamon rolls. I rolled down my window for a heady whiff of coffee and cinnamon layered with salty sea air.
Breaking me from my sensory nirvana, Elle asked, “Did you notice the color of the car we passed a little while ago on Old Montauk Highway?”
“What car?”
“I rest my case. Two days ago, the fog was just as thick as it is today. All you can make out are dim headlights, not the color, make, and model of a car. I’m betting Jenna just got scared by a passing car that was similar to her husband’s.”
I agreed, but there was still that niggling seed of uncertainty Jenna might be in danger. If I knew Elle, which I did, I was sure she had her own worries too.
After we left Amagansett, a drizzling rain misted the truck’s windshield. Even though Elle and I thought Jenna’s claim that her husband was trying to kill her was probably pure fiction, dark thoughts swirled in my head like the fog blanketing the view of the dunes out the car window. I glanced at Elle, who was gnawing at her bottom lip, a sign that something was bothering her. I told myself as soon as I delivered the blanket chest to Shepherds Cottage, I would go to the main house and check on Jenna.
For security purposes, until the showhouse closed, Jenna and Roland had moved out of their beach house rental in Amagansett and were staying in Enderly Hall’s large attic. Vicki, the interior decorator and Roland’s former stepdaughter, was now staying in the rental until the showhouse closed. Jenna, who basically loved everyone, had a few issues with Vicki. After meeting Vicki over the past month, I could see why.
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