Murder in Montauk

by Carter Fielding

  “Bless you for whatever you can do to help her. Like I said, she’s a good person.”

  Only Mama was up when Finley returned to the house. She was perfectly coifed, as always, each strand of her salt and pepper hair in place. She had opted for pants, instead of a skirt, today—off white silk straight-legged ones with a heather gray linen button down shirt.

  “Where’d you go off to this morning?” Mama was spooning ground coffee into the filter as she talked. “I thought after all the wine and pasta we had last night, you would have slept in. I needed a few extra minutes myself this morning.”

  “We did paint the town a little red, didn’t we? How many bottles did we go through? Three or four? I can’t quite recall.” Finley dropped her satchel on the kitchen chair and took a seat on one of island stools while her mother made the coffee she desperately needed. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mama. No, I was up early to see Rachel at the jail this morning.”

  Mama stopped fiddling with the coffee maker and turned to stare at Finley. After a moment, she asked, “You really don’t think she did it, do you?”

  Mama’s hazel eyes stayed fixed on Finley as she shook her head gently. With a deep sigh, Mama said, “Well, then, you have to help her.”

  Finley nodded. “I sent Maryanne, my classmate from law school, a message. Maybe she can help. She is a tenacious litigator, especially when she gets a whiff of a case with a cause. She has a reputation for getting justice in cases like this. I only hope that I can get her interested enough to take a whiff.”

  “If anyone can convince her, you can,” Mama stated without reservation and then turned back to the coffee maker, pouring in the water, and pushing on the switch.

  Whitt came into the kitchen barefoot and still in her pajamas. “She can what?”

  “Help Rachel,” Mama said.

  “How’d the meeting with Rachael go? Any new information that will help us figure this out?” Whitt asked, joining her sister at the island seating. “Mama, you aren’t eating, so I am assuming we can have this conversation without upsetting your digestion?”

  “Yes, dear. It’s okay now, but please cease before we head to breakfast.” Mama poured herself coffee and held out the pot to Finley. She stopped mid-pass and cut her eyes at Whitt. “Wait one hot second! You knew that Finley was going to see Rachael this morning?”

  Whitt smiled timidly, trying to dodge the look that Mama was casting in her direction.

  “So, what did you learn?” Whitt asked, pouring coffee into a mug.

  “Rachel explained her friendship with Mike to me. Says he was her big brother’s best friend before her brother was killed in a car crash.”

  “Dear Lord! How horrible!” Mama pulled out a stool and sat nursing her coffee as Finley explained.

  “She said she had a rough time of it afterward and that Mike helped get her back on her feet. Became like a surrogate brother to her.” Finley dropped a piece of toast in the toaster. “Rachel said she did a massage with Mike early Saturday morning, which apparently wasn’t that unusual. She cut the massage short after Mike received a call. After that, she just packed up and left.

  “She also mentioned that she brought Mike the new nicotine patches he had asked for earlier. Appears this was not unusual either. She said she picked them up on her way home after we saw her at Mike’s.”

  “Then, she could have tampered with them and put them back in the box,” Whitt said.

  “But aren’t each of the pouches sealed so they are tamper-proof?” Finley asked.

  “Yeah, so how did she open them and then reseal them? And why? Why would she do it? Sounds contrary to the surrogate brother story she mentioned. Did something change?” Whitt took half of her sister’s slice of toast and began smearing it with butter absent-mindedly. Finley prepared to protest and then let it go.

  “Maybe the police have an answer to those questions since they’re the ones contending that Rachel did it. They must know something we don’t.”

  Whitt wiped her mouth and took another sip of coffee. “A bit more shopping and touring might trigger some creative solutions to this case. Any preference on which shops we hit and what we see?”

  “Can we go to the lighthouse at some point before we leave?” Mooney had moved into the kitchen looking for coffee and something to tide her over until she could get a real breakfast. She found a few leftover cruffins in the tin and offered them around before taking one for herself.

  “Certainly, dear,” Mama said. “I want to see it as well. Then can we go into Southampton and Bridgehampton just to see what they are like?”

  “Why don’t we do the lighthouse tomorrow before we head out? Let’s see if we can get a day pass at the Harbour in Southampton today, and then we can mill around in the Hamptons before we change for dinner,” Finley suggested. “Mooney got us into Cinq Rouge for dinner tonight.”

  Mooney turned to Mama. “I hope you like it.”

  “I am sure it will be lovely. I can’t wait,” Mama said. “What is the attire?”

  “Hamptons’ chic,” Mooney replied. “Finley can wear that jumpsuit again or the palazzos. Both would be appropriate.”

  “Then you know which one I am opting for!” Finley shot her friend a smile as she passed her on the way to the dishwasher.

  “Not if I have my way!” Mama countered. “It is my birthday, after all.”

  Finley knew her outfit for the night had been chosen. She sighed. “Let me go throw my things in a bag, then. Thirty-plus years old, and I can’t even dress myself!”

  Mama chuckled. “You never look as cute as when I was dressing you! Except for when Mooney is!”

  Beach bags, day totes, camera bags, and satchels in the car, the crew headed toward Southampton. A slight detour into Bagels and Bananas yielded the making of a decadent moveable feast—bagels, lox, grapes, strawberries, and apple cider doughnuts, of course.

  Finley hadn’t driven more than a mile down the highway before she turned onto a side road that led to a lookout over the beach.

  “I thought this would be a good breakfast spot,” Finley said in response to the puzzled looks on the rest of the group’s faces. “That, and the smell of the doughnuts was too much for me.”

  “How did you know about this spot?” Mooney asked. “I didn’t see a sign.”

  “Grant and I used to park here and have picnics back in our salad days,” Finley explained. “We always talked about a house in the Hamptons. So, until we could afford it, we had sandwich and boiled egg picnics in the neighborhood.”

  “Grant! I haven’t thought about him in ages,” Mama said as she unpacked the bags of food and spread them on a beach towel. “I knew you were in love, but I always thought what a strange one he was. You were indeed an odd couple.”

  Finley smiled in agreement. We were a couple of odd birds. Never really matched. But that’s water under the bridge.

  “None of our activities today is that far away from the other, so I figure we can drop off the things at the hotel first and go from there,” Whitt said, changing the subject as she bit into a strawberry. “They aren’t heavily booked, so they were really accommodating.”

  “Dinner is in Southampton at 7:30 p.m. Between now and then, we can comb through the shops in both Bridgehampton and Southampton. Both towns are supposed to have great shopping, according to Goop,” Whitt chimed in.

  “And I can get some pictures while you all shop,” Finley added, chewing the last bite of a doughnut and licking the cinnamon and sugar from her fingers.

  “You and that camera!” Whitt scoffed with a smile. “I think we are going to have to pry it out of your cold, dead fingers when you pass on.”

  “Well, I’m going to have to do the same with your American Express card,” Finley countered. “Your dying breath will be, ‘Be sure she gives you the discount. I’m a frequent shopper, dearie!’”

&nb
sp; “You girls are incorrigible.” Mama smiled, but she couldn’t deny that the descriptions had each sister down to a tee.

  “Shall we be off then?” Mooney asked.

  The Harbour Hotel was more a boutique metro-transplant than a hotel, per se. With only ten rooms, it didn’t make its presence in the village known, but rather hugged the edges of town, offering an alternative to the quaint country cottage bed and breakfasts that dotted the beachscape. The imposing stone building appeared to have been a large private residence that had been converted into a hotel.

  “Let’s just drop our stuff and be off again.” Whitt suggested when they pulled into the vine-covered hotel entryway.

  “Fine with me as long as I get a pit stop,” Mooney said as they alighted.

  Whitt pointed out to the young boy serving as bellman which bags were to go inside and which were to stay in the car, before the women followed the bellman into the lobby. While Mooney ran off to find the ladies’ room, Mama, Finley and Whitt settled into the dove gray wing-backed chairs that were grouped about the small tray-ceilinged room that served as the lobby. The décor was an eclectic mix of updated traditional and timeless modern furnishings in soothing muted seascape colors. Oversized black and white photographs of the dunes of the Hamptons graced the walls. The resulting ambiance created by the cool stone of the building, the timelessness of the interior design, and the quietness of the color palette reminded Finley of the inside of a cocoon.

  When Mooney rejoined them, the group nodded at the desk clerk and headed toward the door. “Where do you want to go first?” Whitt directed her question at Mama, then listed off a few of the stores that they had no doubt talked about during previous shopping forays.

  “I will let you lead, dear,” Mama answered. “Is there a High Street or town center? I just want to be sure that we know where to meet Finley if she’s going off with her camera.”

  With map in hand, Whitt led the group back onto the main road and around to the town center. Even more than East Hampton, Southampton looked like Hometown, USA. From the shop windows to the picket fencing to the diagonal storefront parking, the gingerbread buildings had been cut from the pages of a magazine and assembled, picture-perfectly, along the main street.

  “This is darling!” Mama drawled languidly. “Perfect Americana.”

  “Until the mayor is seen beating his wife!” Finley added with a smirk. She gave Mama a side glance, waiting for the reaction.

  “Finley Walker, must your mind always be so sordid?” Mama asked, incredulous.

  Finley grinned. “Just being real, Mama. Just being real.”

  “Look, I need to find a drugstore before I head off to the pier,” Finley continued. “I’m not sure I packed my contact solution, and I don’t want to be without any tonight.”

  “We’ll meet you back here in an hour and a half. Then we can get something light to eat before heading off to the shops again. Don’t want to end up drunk,” Whitt commented, instantly struck by visions of Finley and Mama swinging from the chandeliers after wine tasting on an empty stomach. She giggled as she, Mama, and Mooney headed for the shops.

  Finley wandered around the main street for several minutes, trying to find her way using her GPS before finally asking someone where the nearest drugstore was. Given that it was tucked away on a side street, she was glad she didn’t eat up precious daylight looking for the CVS.

  Once inside, she easily found her contact solution, another lens case, and a travel-size toothpaste, and moved toward the line. She glanced at the few people in front of her, seeing someone she thought she knew but couldn’t place. The young man was near the cigarette counter, beside the front checkout. The cashier had used the key to open the cabinet and pull out two packets of nicotine patches.

  Finley watched as the cashier rang up $83 on the register.

  “Damn, those things are expensive,” the woman in front of her said to no one in particular.

  Hearing the woman, the young man turned, and Finley caught his full view. It was Rachel’s husband. Finley’s eyes darted to the patches that the cashier was putting in a bag. Rachel’s husband quickly gathered his purchase and exited, looking back at Finley only once he was out the door.

  As Finley headed to the pier, she contemplated calling Harris and letting him know what she had just seen. But why? He’d only accuse me of being a hysterical woman who is pointing fingers at everyone. A lot of people buy patches. Quitting smoking may be the only thing the man has ever done right in his life.

  But just because she didn’t add him to Harris’s list didn’t mean she couldn’t put him on hers.

  Seven

  Finley spent the better part of her hour of shooting time walking the waterfront. For some reason, she was content observing the waves without the camera lens protecting her. Maybe it was because there were very few people along the beach. Maybe, it was because they didn’t know her. Whatever the reason, she didn’t raise the shield of her camera except to take a few frames. She didn’t need it today.

  When she arrived at the designated meeting place, Mooney and Mama were already there, sitting on a bench near the town green and chatting.

  “Am I late?” Finley asked hurriedly.

  “No, dear, not at all.” Mama smiled, aware that Finley was trying hard to please her. “We were a little early. Whitt is still shopping.”

  “Oh. What did you buy?” Finley stood in front of the two so she could get a better view of their purchases as they pulled tops and dresses as well as accessories from their multiple shopping bags.

  “You guys ready?” Whitt slipped in behind Finley, acting as if Finley, Mama, and Mooney were the ones holding up the works, not her.

  “What had you so focused?” Finley asked as they headed for the SUV.

  “A few pairs of shoes that I will never be able to find in Manila,” Whitt replied. “And they were on sale!”

  If there was one thing her sister loved more than shopping, it was finding a sale. “How many pairs did you get?” Finley was putting all the bags in the trunk, and Whitt was rearranging them to be sure everything fit.

  “Only three,” Whitt said, finally assured that all the shopping bags would fit. “They didn’t have my size in the others.”

  Finley looked at the mounds of shopping items. “How are you going to get all of this stuff back to Manila?”

  This was a question she always had of her sister when they traveled together. Whitt, like Mama, was an inveterate shopper, finding the most unusual items in bazaars and shops worldwide. The trouble was always getting those great finds home. Somehow, though, Whitt always found a fellow traveler heading her way who was willing to take another bag or carry-on to accommodate Whitt’s purchases.

  “I’ll take an extra bag or two if I have to,” Whitt said casually. “Now let’s find someplace to grab a glass of wine and some tapas.”

  Whitt directed them to Sazerac’s, a nearby café-bar right on the water. They chose a table outside under an oversized patio umbrella and deposited their shopping bags on a chair pulled over from another table. The bar area was deserted, and the outside dining area had only one other table filled. It was the restaurant bewitching hour—between closed after lunch and not opened yet for dinner. “Susan—the owner of Kuky, the dress shop we were just in—suggested this place. We can sit here until it’s time to dress for dinner if that is okay with you.”

  Mooney and Finley nodded and started perusing the wine list.

  “That’s fine, dear,” Mama said. She paused and raised an eyebrow. “And it leaves you close enough to the shops, just in case there is something still calling your name.”

  Whitt smiled contritely and went about placing their order.

  “Mona, is that you?” a voice asked. A willow-thin woman with Bambi-eyes and long, straight, dark hair approached the table. When Whitt first saw her, she thought she had to be in he
r late thirties. She revised that number downward several years as the woman got closer. It was just a heavy hand with the eyeliner and false eyelashes that was making her look hard.

  “Oh, no!” Mooney said under her breath, even before she turned around to greet the woman. “Cathy, how are you? I am so sorry about Mike.”

  Mooney stood to air-kiss Cathy Lanahan, Mike’s widow, who had pulled a tissue from her bag and was dabbing at her dry eyes.

  “It was so fast,” Cathy whispered before continuing wistfully. “He was just away for the weekend and was supposed to be back home today.”

  Mooney knew as well as Cathy did that the scenario of Mike pining to return to his happy household and loving wife was a fantasy. Rumor had it that Mike was thinking of divorcing Cathy and moving on. Her prenup settlement would pale in comparison to what she would get as his widow. Mooney smiled sympathetically and said nothing.

  “I came in from the city to make arrangements—and now they tell me it was murder, and they won’t release the body to me for burial!” Cathy snapped. “I want this all to end as soon as possible. I need to have closure. There are only a few people anyone should suspect of his murder.”

  Finley knew she shouldn’t open up the discussion, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “I am so sorry for your loss.” She extended her hand to the new widow in introduction. “Finley Blake. I’m a friend of Mooney’s. We had just met your husband the previous evening.” Cathy delicately took her hand, shaking it. “This must be such a shock. Won’t you sit down?”

  Finley saw Mooney wince at the invitation and knew that she was trying hard to get rid of the woman. Finley, on the other hand, perceived this to be a perfect opportunity to get more information about Mike and anyone who might want to kill him.

  “Can we offer you a glass of wine?” Whitt, picking up on Finley’s cue, signaled the waiter for another glass and poured out a measure of wine. She passed it to Cathy, who continued her charade, wiping a non-existent tear from her cheek before taking a long swig of wine.