“How dare you!” Jenna shouted. “Roland would never kill himself. And our argument had nothing to do with it. We made up this morning.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you made up,” Vicki said, extracting a tissue from her bag, dabbing one cheek then the other, making a point of staring at Jenna’s bagged hands before staggering over to her and Nate. Bending down, Vicki gave Jenna a small peck on the cheek, saying, “Oops, am I not supposed to touch you? I might be disturbing forensic evidence.”
Jenna just looked at her incredulously.
It was Nate who came to Jenna’s defense. “I think it would be a good idea if before speaking, Ms. Fortune, you put a filter on your comments.”
“Well, I never,” she said. “I understand you’re sticking up for your cousin. But in this situation, I was just trying to console Roland’s second wife.
Cousin! Nate and Jenna were cousins. That one hit me between the eyes. Served me right for assuming Jenna was cheating on her dead husband.
Vicki’s gaze darted from Nate to Morgana. Morgana was watching the show and taking notes at the same time. It was all good theater, except for one thing. Roland didn’t kill himself, because I’d been the one to throw the extension cord under the steps. By Vicki mentioning that Roland and Jenna had argued, it cast a very unfavorable light on Jenna. That, coupled with Jenna’s bagged and bloody hands, didn’t help either.
Kuri, who had gotten up from the sofa in the middle of Vicki’s performance, was pulling leather volumes off the bookshelves, then thumbing through them. She looked over at Jenna. “Around four thirty, you told me Roland texted you to meet him at the pavilion. I think it’s safe to say he was alive until then.”
It was surprising that Kuri would throw Jenna under the bus like that. Just because Jenna had gotten a text from Roland it didn’t mean Roland was alive when it was sent. Anyone could have sent it. Grabbed the phone after they killed him, then kept it until the time was right to frame Jenna. I’d been down to the beach around ten in the morning and there hadn’t been a body, giving the time of death a window of seven hours, between ten and five. Anyone here could have killed him.
I was contemplating who had the most to gain by Roland’s death when Morgana received a phone call. I got up and nonchalantly slithered over to a shelf of gold-spined antique books about the history of England. I cracked one open and peeked from the pages to read Morgana’s lips as she whispered into the phone. Her eyes caught mine and she said, Yes, sir . . . gun . . . I’ll keep them here.
Five minutes later, Chief Pell made his entrance by throwing open the double doors so hard that the door handles slammed against the paneling with a loud bang! He strode to the center of the room, then held up a clear plastic bag with a small silver gun inside. Fingerprint powder had sifted to the bottom of the bag like fine black sand. “Fess up. Whose gun is this?” For some reason he looked straight at me.
Had Roland been shot in the back of the head and strangled? “Not mine,” I said, answering his piercing gaze. “Never owned one, never will.”
From the back of the room, Jenna squeaked, “It’s mine. Roland got it for me. It was for my safety when I had to stay here alone last weekend when he had to go out of town for business.” She started to cry.
Everyone froze. We were as still as the pair of Chinese jade Foo dogs that flanked the fireplace.
Jenna looked up at Chief Pell with weepy eyes. “He wasn’t shot, was he?”
Pell ignored her and pointed to Frank, and said instead, “I need you to come down to the station with me.”
“And if I don’t?” the ghosthunter asked, jumping up with his fists clenched, no longer intimidated by the oversized chief. “I have an alibi for being here. Ask her!” He pointed at me.
Pell didn’t seem surprised as he jeered in my direction.
Frank protested. “I don’t know one person in the room besides her.” Again, he pointed at me. “And I don’t even know the guy who was killed.”
“Exactly,” the chief said. “You don’t belong here.” He turned to Jenna. “Mrs. Cahill, I mean Eastman, I’m afraid you’ll have to come along with me too. Perhaps one of your friends can get you a lawyer to meet you in East Hampton.”
“I need a lawyer?” she croaked.
Chief Pell motioned for her to come forward. Then he looked over at Morgana. “Please send me the audio of both his”—he looked at Frank—“and Ms. Eastman’s interviews.”
I shot up from the sofa. “I have someone I can call for you, Jenna. He’s the best lawyer in the area.”
Chief Pell looked down his hooked nose at me. “Of course you do, Ms. Barrett.”
“Am I being arrested?” Jenna squeaked.
“Not yet,” Pell answered. Addressing Morgana, he added, “Get everyone’s contact information and address,” adding to the rest of us, “and don’t leave the Hamptons.” Then he corralled Jenna and Frank together and followed them out the open doorway.
I ran after them. “It’ll be all right, Jenna. I’ll call Mr. Marguilles; he’s the best in the Hamptons.”
Jenna’s limp had returned, and she’d looked pathetic as she wobbled up the hallway. She stopped short and turned around. “Thank you, friend.”
I was about to ask Chief Pell if I could come along to the station but decided against it. Instead I said, “Don’t worry, Jenna. Call me when you’re done. I’ll pick you up.”
Jenna looked at me with tear-filled eyes, then jutted out her chin, attempting to put on a brave face. I believed she was innocent of killing her husband, and if the police thought differently, I would do anything I could to help her. “Don’t worry, Jenna. Everything will be okay.”
But would it?
Chapter 15
After I called the Hamptons’ number-one celebrity defense lawyer for Jenna—don’t ask me how I knew who that was—I promised Morgana a tour of the main house. Other than the two CSI teams who were working the crime scene at the pavilion, Morgana and I were the only ones left in the main house. I’d brought her to the kitchen and was giving her an explanation about how Jenna had come in and made her announcement about her husband’s death. Naturally, I left out the part where I’d snuck outside in my booties and did my own investigating. That was something I would only tell my diary. If I kept one.
Vicki had been escorted to Jenna and Roland’s Amagansett rental, where she’d been staying while working on the showhouse, and was told to pack an overnight bag until forensics had a chance to collect evidence. I’d taken it upon myself to get Vicki a room at Montauk Manor. I figured at least I would know she’d be close by and available for questioning. I recalled her resentment and disgust when talking about her former stepfather, who also happened to be the chief operating officer of Veronica’s Interiors. I also remembered the not so subtle way she made the comment about Roland and Jenna’s argument. I ascribed to the saying Make sure to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Freya left the same time as Vicki. I’d heard her call someone to pick her up, explaining she’d been dropped off by one of her camera crew for some pre-shots of Enderly Hall for her show, Hamptons Home and Garden. When it came to Freya Rittenhouse’s possible motive for killing Roland, I couldn’t come up with a thing. I’d never heard her say a bad word about him, but of course he’d been so starstruck by Freya coming to him and asking to be on the decorating team that he’d been on his best behavior.
Maybe that was it! Why would Freya contact Roland about working on the showhouse? Wouldn’t Jenna have been the logical contact for such a request? Freya did have an eye for décor, and she had promised to video my outdoor spaces for her show. When I gave it some thought, I realized she was one of those people who you immediately felt comfortable around. Even though she showcased wealthy estates in the Hamptons, interviewing their celebrity owners and top-notch interior designers, she never came off as pretentious or snobby. The same couldn’t be said for most of her guests, the reason I chose to only decorate small Montauk cottages. I’d had en
ough social climbing in Manhattan, all the surface friendships only formed because of my ties to American Home and Garden. I didn’t miss the invitations to social events that came as a perk for being the editor in chief of a national magazine, because even then I would have rather stayed at home and read a book, or gone shopping at the myriad flea markets in the city.
I also thought about the way she smiled and the caring in her eyes when she’d talked about her disabled sister. The only thing I couldn’t wrap my head around was how friendly she’d seemed around Roland. Of all of us, including Jenna, she was the only one who didn’t seem to despise the man.
When it came to Freya as a suspect, I needed to caution myself. It was early days, and with a little digging I might come up with a reason she might have killed Roland Cahill, recalling the time I’d trusted someone else’s innocence, then almost paid the price with my life.
Frank, the paranormal investigator, was still on my radar, as was the entire ghosthunter crew. Mostly based on the fact someone had been in Shepherds Cottage yesterday and Jenna’s claims of seeing lights inside the cottage and on the grounds. I’d locked the cottage’s only door. Was someone looking for Captain Kidd’s ghost? If so, they’d be better off traveling to Gardiners Island.
Nate and Kuri had apparently come to Enderly together in Nate’s car and left together. Working in the same firm, Klein and Associates, I supposed it made sense. I’d learned from reading their lips as Morgana was writing down their addresses that they both lived in East Hampton. Nate and Kuri had harbored bad feelings toward the deceased. Kuri’s hatred, more like disgust of Roland, had been apparent when Elle and I had seen them in Amagansett. However, Nate Klein’s dissatisfaction with Roland I’d only learned about from word of mouth. Vicki’s mouth. She’d mentioned that Roland must have been holding something over Nate’s head to get the job at Nate’s firm. Blackmail gone bad? One thing my father always taught me, unless you see it for yourself, or you have a credible witness, innocent until proven guilty must prevail.
Morgana gave me a light tap on my upper arm and I startled, realizing that she’d been talking to me and I hadn’t heard a word.
“Sorry, you caught me. I was going over possible suspects and their motives. You know me. My mind’s been swirling with all the possibilities. Even the one that Jenna might still be in danger, and whoever killed Roland also planned to murder Jenna.”
“You understand things don’t look good for your friend.” I nodded my head. She said, “I’m lucky you’re here. This is my first time on a homicide. I need to prove myself, and hopefully catch whoever killed Mr. Cahill. With your help, of course.”
“I hope you’re not trying to impress Chief Pell,” I warned. “He’s not easily impressed, and will be even less so if he learns we’re friends. I also wouldn’t follow the unprofessional way Pell is handling this case. I don’t understand why he’s showing us his hand by displaying all the forensic evidence—the gun, extension cord and Roland’s phone. Arthur . . . Detective Shoner, would hold those things back, at least until preliminary reports came back on time of death.”
“No, I don’t care about what Chief Pell thinks,’ Morgana said, reaching into the breast pocket of her black uniform shirt and retrieving a stick of gum that she opened then folded into her mouth. Morgana was a big gum chewer. As she’d once explained it, she had to make a choice between her three-pack-a-day cigarette habit or the morgue. She said gum seemed a healthier choice, confiding that another reason she’d stopped smoking was to get more men interested in her dating profile on her matchmadeinheaven.com dating site, saying, “You’d be surprised how many guys put nonsmoker as a nonnegotiable.” Never married and in her mid-forties, I hadn’t asked her more, not wanting to open the floodgates to one of her past matchmadeinhell.com sagas.
“Pell’s with Suffolk County,” Morgana continued. “I’m more interested in not screwing up in my new position with the East Hampton Town PD. Just happy to be off traffic detail. Not much traffic here in Montauk. I’m lucky I was the only one around when the call came in from dispatch.”
No, I thought, I’m the lucky one because I no longer have Elle’s fiancé to fill me in on case details anymore, but now I have you.
I tested out our friendship connection by asking, “Can you share with me if Roland was not only strangled with the extension cord but also shot? Possibly with Jenna’s gun? I know for a fact that Roland is the one who gave Jenna the gun for her protection. I bet it might even be registered to him.”
Instead of answering my question, Morgana said solemnly, “I don’t want anyone from East Hampton Town PD to know we have a connection because of my sister-in-law. Seeing you might have been on the grounds at the same time Mr. Cahill was murdered, I think after we leave here, we should keep things on the down low.”
Her last sentence threw me off. Way off. I never considered myself a suspect. But there it was—like a slap in the face.
“I would never think you were involved,” she added, “but you know the drill.”
Unfortunately, I did. And, since my move to Montauk, I’d been drilled a few too many times. Even my father couldn’t believe all my misfortunes. It hadn’t stopped him from helping me and lending a hand in solving a few cases from afar. As I was contemplating on letting my father in on this latest development, weighing the pros and cons, my cell phone buzzed.
I tapped the Bluetooth feature on my right hearing aid and heard Jenna’s breathless voice on the other end. “Meg, they’re letting me go. Thanks for sending Mr. Marguilles. He was amazing.”
“That’s great.”
She let out a long exhale that sounded like a rush of water in my hearing aid, then said, “I don’t want to spend the night in Amagansett or at Enderly. Can you get me a room at Montauk Manor? I’ll take a Pink Tuna Taxi, just text me the room number. And do you mind packing up a few things of mine from the attic? Toothbrush, toothpaste, change of clothes, my makeup bag, and, oh . . . the prescription bottle of sleeping pills next to the bed. And my laptop. I’m not a pill-popper but tonight I plan on taking one. Maybe two,” she said with a laugh that ended in a sob.
“Sure. How about instead of Montauk Manor, you stay at the East End Yacht Club? I still have Cole’s suite at my disposal. The press won’t even know you’re there. And in the meantime, we’ll get everything straightened out.” Having her stay at Montauk Manor, where I’d sent Vicki, would be a big mistake. Especially if it was Vicki who killed her former stepfather. I was starting to feel like the Hamptons concierge for murder suspects. Who needed a room next? Frank the ghosthunter?
“That sounds perfect,” Jenna said. “Thank you.”
Don’t thank me. Thank Cole. My stomach dropped as I boarded the Cole Spenser roller coaster—my first emotion was the thought of his safe recovery, then the downward plunge when I viewed the photo of the kiss. Letting us use his suite was the least he could do. Served him right for not asking for his keycard back. The jerk. Or was I being a jerk? We’d officially broken up. Cole had every right to move on. Too bad it had to be plastered all over social media. Hopefully, soon, I would find relief in the finality of it all. For now, I felt exposed. Gutted.
“You’re welcome,” I said into the phone, noticing Morgana pointing at her watch. “I’m sure Officer Moss will be able to escort me to the attic to get your essentials. Though I’m not sure about the laptop.”
Morgana shook her head in the negative.
“Soon you’ll have full access to everything,” I added with false cheer. “It just depends on how fast the investigation proceeds.”
“I didn’t kill Roland,” Jenna said in a raspy, drained voice. “Meg, you have to believe me.”
“Jenna, I do believe you.”
“Thank you for believing in me.”
“Of course.” I could have invited her to stay at my cottage, but I selfishly wanted my own space. A place to free my mind, and hopefully see things in a clearer light. The murder and Cole. Or was there another reason I’d he
sitated? I’d told myself she was innocent. How could I know that for sure? I knew how. By finding out who had killed Roland Cahill. I said, “I’ll call the yacht club and collect your things. Oh, by the way, I didn’t know Mr. Klein was your cousin. It must be a relief to have him nearby.”
“It is. Though he warned me about marrying Roland. I should have listened. Maybe Roland would still be alive? I know Nate’s angry I made him hire Roland. I better go. Someone wants to use the phone. I feel a migraine coming on. With all this stress I’ll probably have an aneurysm . . .”
“Sorry, Jenna, you’re breaking up.” Not really. “I better get up to the attic. I’ll see you soon.”
There was immediate relief in her voice. “Oh, Meg, what would I do without you and Elle? Please believe me. I didn’t kill Roland.”
“Of course I believe you,” I replied.
But would Chief Pell?
Chapter 16
On the way up the narrow staircase to the attic, Morgana handed me a pair of disposable gloves. “The crime scene unit hasn’t been inside yet, but I’m sure they’ll be here soon. This way you won’t leave any prints.” She stopped on the second step from the top and looked down at me. “Unless you’ve been in the attic before? Even so, you might want to wear these so as not to disturb any other prints that don’t belong.”
“No. I’ve always meant to check out the attic but didn’t want to run into Roland.”
“It seems not too many people were fond of the dead guy,” Morgana said, continuing up the steps. When she reached the top, she waited for me under the large arched opening.
I stopped next to her. “That’s an understatement.” I told her about Roland’s subpoena but held back on Jenna’s claim that Roland was trying to kill her with his car and the fact she’d asked him for a divorce. “He was a piece of work. The only person I saw him play nice with was Freya Rittenhouse. But most likely, that was so he could get Enderly on a Hamptons Home and Garden episode.”
A Design to Die For Page 10