“Certainly, but can you tell us what this is about? All we did was find the body. There were several other people there,” Finley pointed out. “Why are the police involved? We assumed it was a heart attack or illness.”
“The captain can explain everything once we get over to Gurney’s,” Stephens replied.
“Whitt, let’s walk up to the spa and give our statement,” Finley said. “Let me tell Mama where we are going.”
“We would prefer that you come with us in the squad car,” Stephens said.
“Well, we would prefer not being seen in the back of a police car. So, unless there is a specific reason for that request, we will meet you at the spa.” Finley’s voice was quiet but firm. “If you are afraid we will abscond, then you may have an officer walk with us.”
Stephens’s cheeks grew slightly red. He wasn’t used to murder and didn’t like talking to people from the city. More often than not, they were hard to deal with. This lady wasn’t much different, however valid her point.
“No need for you to be escorted. We will meet you at the spa in fifteen minutes.” Stephens nodded to the other officers, and they headed for the cars. “Good afternoon.”
When they had left, Finley turned to her sister who retained her seat on the lounge chair. “What were they asking you?”
“They asked about what we saw, where the body was, and who was doing what when we found it. They said it wasn’t an accident or heart attack. It was nicotine poisoning.”
“Any chance he double-patched himself?” Whitt asked.
“I didn’t ask after they said murder,” said Finley.
“Fair enough. Let’s tell Mama and Mooney where we are going and then walk over.”
***
Captain Harris, a fifteen-year veteran of the force, met them some twenty minutes later in the reception area of the spa. He leaned against the reception counter as he finished his conversation with another officer before turning to address the sisters. He was a solidly built man of medium height with light brown hair and matching eyes. He came from a long line of cops—his father, uncle, and two brothers. He was by the book but fair.
Patty still sat behind the reception desk, but it was clear she had been crying. Her face was as colorless as Suzanne’s had been this morning. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her nose had been rubbed raw.
“Good afternoon. I am Captain Harris of the local police department. I believe my officers informed you of why you have been asked to join us.” Harris paused, placing a file on the stack that graced the receptionist desk.
He had heard from Stephens that the sisters had been reluctant to ride in the squad car. He was amused at the notion that their reputation would be besmirched by a trip in the back of a police car but hid his smile.
“Hello, Captain. I’m Whitt Blake, and this is my sister, Finley. We were told that we were to return to the spa, but we were not told why.” Whitt stepped forward to shake hands as did Finley. Finley caught Patty’s eye over the desk and smiled sympathetically.
“I apologize, then. As the officers may have told you, this is now being treated as a homicide. As such, we need to get statements from everyone who was in the spa this morning so we can begin to piece together what happened.”
He led them into a small office off the reception desk, talking as he closed the door and offered the sisters seats. He pulled out a small notebook and began writing. “Can you tell me why you were here at the spa this morning?”
“Certainly. We had appointments with Rachel for sessions,” Finley replied.
“How many of you had appointments?”
“All four of us—my mother, my sister, a friend of ours, and I,” Whitt said.
“Who made the appointments?”
“Mike…the victim…. He made them last night. Directly with Rachel,” Whitt replied.
“Lanahan made the appointments for you?” Harris looked up from his pad, his brows beginning to furrow. “How well did you know the victim?”
“Not well. He was a client of the friend I mentioned. We ran into him in East Hampton yesterday, and he invited us to dinner that evening,” Whitt replied.
“Just out of the blue? Just like that, he invited you to dinner?”
“Yes. He said he was having some other friends over and hoped we would join him,” Finley responded. “Is there something unusual about that, Captain?”
Harris wasn’t used to having his questioning turned back on him, so he hesitated a moment before answering. “No, I suppose not…. So, when did he make these reservations? If you were at dinner, it would’ve been hard to book those appointments after the spa had closed.”
“Rachel was at the house. He was commending her skills as a masseuse and must have asked her to do sessions for us,” Finley said. “Mike just announced it over dinner, and we accepted. We just figured that Rachel took care of the actual booking.”
“Let’s shift gears a bit. What did you see when you walked into the session room?” Harris flipped through his pages of notes and then resumed his questioning. “Can we go back some? Why did you go into the room in the first place?”
“Someone screamed while we were sitting in the waiting room. Then Rachel and Patty came in, and we opened the door to the room that we thought the scream came from,” Whitt replied.
“Then you opened the door, and what did you see?
“Suzanne was cowering in the corner. There was a man on the massage table with his face away from us. Suzanne said he was dead, so we went to check. Whitt looked for a pulse. She was the one that noticed the rigor.”
“Rigor had begun to set in?” Harris was flipping through his notes as he spoke.
“Yes, but it hadn’t been long. What did you estimate as the time of death?” Finley asked.
“Ms. Blake, I am not at liberty to say. If you don’t mind, I would like to ask the questions.” Harris smiled. As frustrating as it was, the sisters were asking good questions—ones that he had thought of but had few answers to.
“I apologize, Captain.” Finley sat back in the chair, her hands in her lap. “Please, continue.”
“What happened then?”
“We had Patty call the EMTs,” Whitt answered. She was sure these basic facts had already been secured by the captain from someone else. Was he trying to trip them up? He couldn’t think they were suspects, could he?
Harris was starting to get whiplash following the conversation. For one question, Whitt would answer, and for another, Finley would. It was as if they orchestrated these maneuvers to keep him off balance.
“Why didn’t you call the police?” he asked.
“Why would we? We were all under the assumption that he had had a heart attack. There wasn’t anything to indicate otherwise,” Finley answered. “And it was up to the EMTs to suggest that it was anything but a natural death.”
“Once the EMTs arrived, what happened?”
“They checked the victim’s vital signs, agreed he was dead, loaded him into the ambulance, and drove off.” Whitt was starting to get bored by the exchange. Her foot was tapping—a sure sign that the captain’s time was up.
“And what happened then?” It was starting to sound like the retelling of a bad B-rated movie. Whitt wanted to roll her eyes badly but realized the man was just trying to do his job.
“We waited until Suzanne’s color had returned and then headed back to the house,” Whitt responded.
“What did the others who were with you do?”
“We haven’t the slightest. They were still there when we left.”
“What time did Rachel get to the spa?”
“We don’t know. When we checked in, Patty said she was setting up and would come get us from the waiting room once we changed.”
Harris sat quietly reviewing his notes, both those he had written while Finley and Blake were talking and ones
from earlier in the day.
“No more questions, ladies. Thank you for your time. Until further notice, please do not leave the house. Please let the other ladies know. If you need groceries or dinner delivered, it can be arranged.” Harris rose and opened the door. “Thank you in advance for your cooperation.”
Five
“Don’t leave the house? Mama is not going to like being under house arrest for her birthday!” Whitt was muttering as she walked—or, more accurately, stomped—up the beach. “That idiot must think we had something to do with Mike’s death. That’s absurd!”
“Calm down, Whitt. It’s only until further notice, and that may be lifted quickly. In the meantime, we don’t really have to say anything about it to Mama or Mooney. We were going to stick around on the beach anyway.”
“True. And if we need anything, we can always feign fatigue and have it delivered. Or send Miles.” Whitt turned to look at her sister. “Do you think he is confined to the grounds too?”
“Probably not. We’ll find out.”
Mooney and Mama were reclined on lounge chairs not far from the water’s edge. Mama appeared to have dozed off with a sunhat covering her face, but Mooney was aware of their approach.
“So, did they give you the third degree?” she asked, pulling herself into a sitting position.
“No, just a lot of questions about what we saw, why we were there, and who was where.” Finley stood looking out at the water as she spoke.
“The captain did confirm that nicotine poisoning was the most likely cause,” Whitt added, tilting her head with a bit of a frown. “How do you think that is done?”
“Haven’t the slightest, but I guess we could find out.” Finley pulled out her phone and Googled nicotine poisoning. “It says here that while it is not common, you can overdose on nicotine. Children, and those with heart and other ailments, are most at risk because it can cause arrhythmia.”
“If it is murder, then whoever did this had to have had personal knowledge of Mike and his habits—and potentially his health problems,” Whitt realized.
“That would be his wife, any of his longtime friends…” Mooney trailed off.
“Or mistresses!” Whitt added.
“Mistresses?” Finley looked up from her phone. “Are you suggesting Rachel might have been involved?”
“Possibly. She does know him very well, from all appearances,” Whitt replied.
“Well, I am not going to waste my time speculating,” Finley decided, rising from the edge of Mooney’s chaise longue. “I am going to change and head into the water.”
“You’re right. Why waste a lovely day solving a murder for the cops?” Whitt followed her sister into the house. “Let them figure it out themselves.”
It didn’t take long for Whitt and Finley to change and settle in on the beach. Mama had adjusted the beach umbrella to block most of the mid-day sun. Mooney had simply rotated her body so that both sides were evenly baked. Whitt was slathering herself with sunscreen while Finley went for a dip.
“The water is surprisingly warm.” Finley shook herself like a puppy to release the water from her cropped hair when she came out of the ocean.
Once, her hair had been long—almost to her waist. A mass of heavy, lolling curls. Max had loved her hair, which she normally wore twisted into a messy bun while she was at work. But when she was home with him, she let it down. He was mesmerized by its volume and fluidity.
“You look like a Phoenician goddess,” he would say.
“You don’t even know what a Phoenician goddess looks like, silly.”
“Yes, I do…like you.”
Finley stopped herself as she was toweling off. Suddenly, she remembered the resonance of his voice, the elegance of his hands, the laugh lines around his mouth, the sweet smell of his body—bergamot and spice. She missed him.
Whitt had slowed her slathering and was looking at her sister. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Finley lied. “Just enjoying the sun on my skin.”
It was mid-afternoon when Officer Stephens called to release them from house detention. Finley was glad they hadn’t said anything to Mama. And glad too that they could move around because she was starting to get hungry.
“Anyone besides me feeling a bit peckish?” Finley asked.
“I am ravenous.” Mooney made her first movement in what seemed like hours. In reality, she had indeed been rotating herself—like a chicken on a spit—so she didn’t burn. Her skin was a burnished, nut-brown now, offering a stunning contrast to her blond curls.
“Where shall we go? Something light to hold us over until dinner.” Whitt looked at her mother. Mama would set the tone—an upscale salad bar in Amagansett, an American bistro in East Hampton, or lobster rolls on the pier in Montauk. “Don’t forget, we have reservations tonight at Scaparelli’s.”
“In that case, I would opt for a salad or bruschettas at the Nest in town,” Mama suggested.
“I had forgotten about that place,” Whitt said.
“No need for us to get dressed up then.” Finley looked at her watch. “Fifteen minutes, and then all of us meet back downstairs, ready to go.”
They were all assembled in the hallway in less than ten.
“Y’all must be really hungry,” Finley said, picking up the keys and holding them out to Whitt. “You driving, or am I?”
“All yours. I am still sleepy from all that sun,” Whitt said.
The Nest occupied the dunes overlooking a sliver of beach just west of town. Not much to talk about on the outside, but the inside of the restaurant offered diners a clean, modern esthetic with a few homey touches, such as the finches in wooden baskets that graced the Ficus trees throughout the interior. The tiny chirps of the birds brought the outdoors in, even in the rawest of weather.
Today, the weather was nice, so all the windows were thrown open to let in the sea breezes. Nancy, the proprietor, greeted them as they came in. She was an earth mother if ever there was one with long straight dark brown hair parted in the middle and welcoming blue-gray eyes. She was clad in a flowing denim skirt, a Save Mother Earth T-skirt and the requisite Birkenstocks.
“Well, I don’t think I have met this group of lovely ladies. Where are you guys from?” she asked, taking menus from the rack and leading them to a table that overlooked the water.
Mooney and Finley both answered “New York,” which Nancy immediately understood to be Manhattan. Mama responded South Carolina in her loveliest drawl, though she lived in Chevy Chase now.
Whitt pondered her answer. “That’s a good question. I’m an Army brat, so from everywhere and nowhere, I guess. I live in the Philippines now, but I’m not from there. I could say DC, or South Carolina, perhaps, but to be honest, I don’t know where I’m from.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now,” Nancy said. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Do you have sparkling water?” Mama asked. Nancy pointed to the beverage list on the menu. “After all the sun we had today, let’s just get a large bottle.”
Having decided on a collection of small dishes to share, Whitt turned the group’s conversation to Mike and his ultimate demise.
“Finley, you were reading about nicotine poisoning…” Whitt had lowered her voice even though there were no other diners in the restaurant. Most people in Montauk ate at regular hours, it appeared, rather than the hodge-podge schedule this crew was keeping.
“Girls, are we going to have another meal in which murder is the only topic of conversation?” Mama asked.
“Not the only one, Mama, but it will be one of the topics, if you don’t mind terribly.” Whitt put on her sweetest baby-girl face. While Finley was a Daddy’s girl, Whitt and Mama were cut from the same cloth. Whitt could get her mother to do almost anything—within reason.
“I know you will not let it rest, Whittaker,” Mama
said, resigned. “Go ahead. Discuss this ghastly little murder now so that we can find a more suitable topic of conversation when the food arrives.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Whitt smiled sweetly before shifting her attention to Finley. “Well?”
“What do you want to know? I am not sure the article covered everything we need to know, but it was informative.”
“First off, how can you poison someone with nicotine? That seems like it would take an awful lot of cigarettes, and I didn’t see any ashtrays in the house.”
“The most common way is with e-cigarettes. Most people believe they aren’t harmful and smoke too many,” Finley said. “Or accidentally getting the liquid nicotine on themselves when they are filling the e-cigarettes, according to the article.”
“So, the nicotine is absorbed through your skin?” Mooney asked. “Then how much do you have to get on you before you OD?”
“I think it said 30 to 60mg in one article and then multiples of that in another—so, I don’t really know. But if you have something else wrong with you, it may not take that much.” Finley was searching Google for the articles that she had read previously.
“You’re telling me that someone poured liquid nicotine on him and then left him there to die?” Whitt asked. “That’s cold-blooded.”
“We don’t know that,” Finley reminded her. “All we know is that he died within the four hours during that this article says is critical for someone with nicotine poisoning to get help.”
“Our food has arrived, and this topic is now off the table!” Mama asserted. “Mooney, what sorts of events do you have coming up? When is your busy season?”
Mama deftly changed the subject and managed to lead the conversation to more palatable topics throughout the rest of the lunch. When they had paid the bill, they decided on a quick walk around the town center. They strolled up the path from the beach toward the plaza, stopping in kitschy shops along the way.
Murder in Montauk Page 5