Finley hesitated. Where had Miles been during all this murder mischief? This is crazy. I am beginning to suspect everyone now. She needed to think logically. She needed to figure out whom she could trust. And right now, she needed help, so she took a chance.
“I am calling the EMTs. I think it is carbon monoxide poisoning. Can you see if you can get her up and take in some fresh air?” Finley nodded over at Mooney, who was still stretched out on the grass.
“What makes you say carbon monoxide poisoning? Where? How could that happen?” Miles asked.
“I’ll explain later. Let’s just get her some help and then get the police out here,” Finley said.
The EMTs arrived before Captain Harris and Officer Stephens. Miles was walking Mooney—actually, more like side-carrying her—around the yard when they arrived. They took her vital signs and gave her some oxygen. She was conscious, but still a little groggy. While the EMTs worked on Mooney, Mama and Whitt huddled around the firepit, trying to ward off the dampness of the morning air.
“Can someone fill me in on what happened here?” Harris approached Finley who had joined her mother and sister on the benches around the firepit.
“Someone tampered with the AC unit. I don’t know what they were trying to pump in, but it wasn’t freon,” Finley said.
Miles concurred. “I looked at the canister that is attached to the unit. It is carbon dioxide—CO2, not freon. I didn’t touch anything, but this wasn’t an accident.”
Stephens followed Miles over to the side of the house. He called over another officer who began taking pictures of the area. After a while, the two of them began scouring the nearby area for anything that might shed some light on who might have tampered with the AC system. In the meantime, Harris interrogated the others.
“Looks like you were right. Stephens said the freon cylinder was replaced with a CO2 canister and put on a timer. Clearly not an accident. Although not as deadly as carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide can still make you pretty sick,” Harris said, looking over at Mooney. “Why is it she was affected and none of you seem to be? But before you answer that, who found this and how?”
“I couldn’t sleep and came outside. I heard a noise and went to investigate. I thought the freon to the AC was leaking, but I saw a canister with a ‘C’ on it. I thought it was carbon monoxide and went to open the windows and get the others out,” Finley recounted.
“Luckily, it wasn’t carbon monoxide, but CO2 still isn’t harmless. She is likely to have a nasty headache later,” Harris said.
“Do you think this is related to Mike’s murder, Captain?” Mama asked. “As you said, this was not accidental.”
“As much as I hate to say it, there is indeed a likely connection.” Harris cast a side glance at Finley and Whitt. “It’s possible something you have been doing has gotten whoever the murderer is pretty angry. Have you done or seen anything unusual?”
“Nope, not we can think of. We have been sightseeing and shopping.” Whitt tried to remember all the places they had been in the last couple of days. It was hard to believe that it was only yesterday Mike had been found dead.
“It may not matter, but we ran into Mike’s widow earlier,” Finley said. “She was upset about not getting the body for burial, but we didn’t have anything to do with that. She should have come after you, not us.”
Harris smiled at the suggestion before returning to his all-business demeanor. “Anything else?”
Whitt kicked her sister’s foot and whispered, “Tell him! Tell him!” under her breath while Finley shook her head in refusal.
“Tell me what?” Harris asked, his eyes bearing down on Finley. He waited.
Finley sighed. “I saw Rachel’s husband buying nicotine patches at the CVS in Southampton earlier today. But that could just be a coincidence. I mean, why buy them after the murder? It would have had more significance if I had seen him before Mike was killed.”
Harris paused for a moment, absorbing this information. “That’s rather interesting, but I will need a bit more than that to be able to bring him in,” Harris said. “Not that I don’t want to.”
Finley gave Whitt an I told you so look.
“Sir, you might want to come and look at this,” a junior officer called to Harris. Stephens was standing near the AC unit with something in his hand. It looked to Finley like a paper of some sort. She could only catch snippets of the conversation, but she heard the words “receipt” and “daily.” Harris grabbed the paper, put on his cap, and headed toward the front of the house with the junior officer in quick pursuit.
“The captain will be back tomorrow—I mean, later this morning—to get your statements. The medics say your friend’s lucky. She recovered with oxygen.” Stephens was their keeper now.
“Do you think whoever has done this will be back?” Mama asked.
“No, ma’am. The captain is going to pick up the suspect now.”
“Who is it?” Whitt leaned forward, waiting for the great reveal.
“I am not at liberty to say,” Stephens replied. “I would suggest you ladies go in and get some sleep. They tested the air, and the gas has diffused. You should be okay.”
“We were planning on leaving tomorrow morning,” Finley said. “What time will you be around to talk with us?”
“We’ll try to make it early, but if you could stick around the area until tomorrow afternoon, that would save us from having to contact you in the city later.” Stephens looked like the prospect of driving into Manhattan to follow up on a statement was worse than getting a tooth pulled.
“I think that can be arranged.” Finley pulled her sister and mother to their feet before going to check on Mooney. Cleared by the EMTs, Mooney followed Finley into the house.
“Somewhere out there is a wine glass, but I will find it in the morning when I get up. I think I can sleep now.” Finley yawned.
Nine
Finley finally pulled her long limbs out of bed at a little after ten o’clock. The ruckus coming from downstairs suggested she was the last one up. Mama probably had Mooney and Whitt cleaning and packing for the trip back into the city. Although, given Mooney’s near-death experience, Mama might have given her a pass. Which meant that was Whitt making all that noise. Even so, Finley didn’t rush.
She opened the window wider and looked out at the small waves that capped on the shore. The rhythmic sound of the ocean threatened to lull her back to sleep. She took several deep breaths and let the clean air cleanse her lungs. Think more than my head got cleared this weekend. My soul feels lighter. Being able to focus on something else…anything else, even a murder…has been good. He’s not gone completely, but maybe now there is room for someone else to take root. Let’s see who Mooney finds.
After showering and getting dressed, Finley stripped the bed and packed up her clothes. When she got to the kitchen, the rest of the group had moved to the deck for their second cup of coffee. Finley grabbed a mug and poured out the last of the pot.
“Thanks for saving me a cup,” she said, gratefully raising her cup in greeting.
“You finally got to sleep, dear.” Mama’s brow creased slightly in concern. “You seem to have been fighting it the last couple of nights.”
“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you,” Finley said.
“Sweetheart, if I want to sleep, I sleep,” Mama cooed. “I just noticed you up and about. A mother’s ear.”
Finley diverted the conversation before her mother or sister started probing the cause. “Well, whatever was keeping me up is gone. I slept like a baby. Sorry, I wasn’t up to help with the cleanup.”
“No problem. We left the trash for you.” Whitt’s lips twisted into a devilish grin. “And there is a lot of it.”
“I can get it for you.” Miles stood on the dunes at the edge of the deck. “You needn’t have cleaned; I would have taken care of that when you left. Yo
u gave me little to do while you were here, so the least I can do is clean after you have gone.”
“We didn’t do much,” Mama said. “The beds are stripped, and the towels are on the washer.”
“Because you freed my time, I was able to get some painting in.” Miles held out a small painting to Mama. “I hope you like it.”
Mama took the watercolor from him and held it so that it caught the light. In the space of a postcard, Miles had condensed the essence of Montauk—the white froth of the waves, the opalescence of the water, and the crisp blue of the sky, tied together by the ribbon of sand that was the coastline.
“This is exquisite!” Mama whispered, in awe of the gift’s intricacy. “I shall treasure this always.”
“I claim it when she passes on,” Whitt said irreverently, looking over her mother’s shoulder at the little masterpiece. Finley shook her head, taking the painting from her mother to get a better look.
“You’re overseas, so I’ll have it hung in my place before you even get home for the service!” Finley said, her eyebrows raised in challenge.
“Do they always bicker like this?” Mooney asked Mama in mock horror.
“Yes, always have.” Mama smiled at the two sisters peering at the painting before she addressed Miles again. “Thank you again for your kindness.”
“And for your help last night,” Mooney said. “I hear you were the one that got the bad air out and the good air in me.”
“I did very little. I am just glad you are all okay,” Miles responded. “I will leave you to your coffee. There is no rush checking out. I’ve informed Mr. Jameson that, given the events of last night, you may be slow in leaving. He is so sorry for the inconvenience.”
Having my whole family wiped out by poisonous gas is more than a little inconvenience, but I’ll allow him the sentiment. “It wasn’t his fault,” Finley replied as Miles took his leave. “By the way, have the police been by yet?” She directed her question at Whitt.
“Harris called and said he would swing by around eleven o’clock, take our statements, and then leave us to wander around before clearing us to go home,” Whitt said over the rim of her coffee cup. “So, I guess we are stuck here a little longer.”
“There are worse places to be stuck,” Mooney noted.
“Since we can’t leave immediately, and Miles has so kindly secured us a late checkout,” Finley began, “why don’t we head to the lighthouse after talking to Harris, grab a lazy lunch, and then head out? We can pile the bags by the front door, so they aren’t in the way.”
“That works well, dear,” said Mama, and with that, the plans were laid.
Finley bit the bullet and made another pot of coffee. It would take a good hour for Harris and his team to get all the statements, so there was more than enough time for everyone to get another cup—or, in Finley’s case, two. She had just poured her second when Harris and Stephens walked around to the back.
“Sorry for not knocking, but no one answered the doorbell. So, we figured you were around back,” Harris explained.
“That’s fine. Can we offer you some coffee?” Whitt asked, pulling out two more mugs as the men nodded.
“Have you released Rachel yet?” Finley would be none too happy with Harris if the answer were anything but yes, and her glower at him communicated it well. “Her attorney is coming in this afternoon if there is still to be an arraignment.”
“No, that’s all canceled. She was released this morning when we brought her husband in.” Harris fought a smile, knowing what the sisters were thinking. We told you she didn’t do it. “And she contacted your friend to let her know she didn’t need to come to court.”
“Her husband?” Mooney looked at Finley and nodded.
“Yeah. We picked up Ted Daly shortly after we left here this morning. He’s the one that substituted the carbon dioxide for freon in your AC unit, and when we started questioning him about that, he spilled the beans on the rest,” Harris revealed.
“He killed Mike? But why?” Whitt asked.
“Appears he believed the rumors about Rachel and Mike. He thought they were having an affair. Mind you, he was cheating on her with some woman from Springs,” Stephens added. His enthusiasm for local gossip was snuffed out by a swift glance from Harris.
“He alleged that Rachel was carrying on with Mike, and he went to confront Mike when he saw Rachel leave Saturday morning.” Harris recounted.
Finley was confused. “But Mike died from nicotine poisoning.”
“That’s true. That was what he went to Mike’s to see—if the patches were working. Daly says he wanted to make him sick from the doctored patches, not kill him. He really wanted to implicate Rachel. That’s why the body was in her session room,” Harris confirmed.
“He didn’t know that the rooms had been changed, though,” Whitt said. “So, that is why Suzanne found the body, not Rachel. But did he explain what he did to the patches?”
“He saturated them with liquid nicotine,” Harris sighed. “He really was a pretty sick guy to go to all that trouble.”
“I know I am going to sound a little bloodthirsty,” Mooney said, “but how did he tamper with them and then put them back into the little pouches again? That has been puzzling me to sleeplessness.”
“He put them in new foil pouches. He got the foil and sealer from the supply store, cut the pouches, filled them with the soaked patches, and sealed them back up.”
“Excuse our fascination with this, but how did he get the patches into Mike’s house so he could use the doctored ones?” Whitt asked.
“This is the sickest part,” Harris said as Finley poured both men another cup of coffee before pouring some for herself. And Mama said all this coffee wouldn’t be drunk.
Harris took a sip and let it slide down his gullet before he said, “Daly tampered with two boxes of patches and marked them both. He uses a different brand than the one that Mike did. He knew Rachel frequently picked up patches for Mike on her way home from work and took them to him in the morning. He switched the boxes and waited.”
“So, he knew the night before that the tampered ones had been delivered and were going to be used fairly soon.” Finley shook her head at the twisted ingenuity of Daly’s plan.
“Yep. When he went to confront Mike about the alleged affair, he found him out of it and knew Mike had used one. He took the opportunity to suck Rachel into it by dumping Mike in her room to be found,” Harris said.
Stephens, who had been chomping at the bit to jump into the story, added, “But what he didn’t know was that Mike had a heart condition. He used the types of patches he did because they wouldn’t cause him heart palpitations.”
“So, that may alter what we can charge him with. The DA is trying to figure that out now. Not an easy case, but at least Rachel is out of it now,” Harris said with a satisfied sigh.
“That still doesn’t help me understand what her husband wanted with us,” Finley noted, looking to Harris.
“From the way he tells it, he got scared when you saw him with the patches. He figured you had it worked out, and he needed time to further implicate Rachel. He didn’t want to kill you, just slow you down,” Stephens replied.
“I wanted to thank you for sticking to your guns when it came to Rachel’s innocence. She really appreciates it,” Harris said. “Stephens will take your statements about last night, and once they are filed, you will be free to go. Sorry your stay was marred by all this unpleasantness.”
When Stephens heard the squad car pull away, he added, “Captain Harris appreciates it too. He was in a bit of a sticky situation.”
Mama was intrigued. “Whatever do you mean?”
“He’s been sweet on Rachel ever since she moved here. She was just out of high school. He hated seeing her with Ted. He wanted to protect her, but he could only go so far.”
“Then why was he
so quick to arrest her?” Finley had been puzzled by Harris’s behavior throughout this ordeal.
“He said the evidence pointed to her, and he had to follow the evidence.”
“That is commendable, indeed,” Mama said. “And now, if you wouldn’t mind getting on with our statements, I have some things I would like to do before I leave today.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Stephens said, passing out forms and pens to each of them. It took no more than fifteen minutes for them to write out their recollection of the events that occurred earlier that morning. Finley’s was the longest and Mooney’s, understandably, the shortest. Stephens collected the statements, said his goodbyes, and left.
“Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to say thank you.” Rachel, in her bagel shop t-shirt, hair still askew, had slipped onto the deck, unnoticed. She must have waited until Stephens and the other officers left before she got out of the car.
“Come on in, dear.” Mama went to embrace Rachel and lead her over to where the others were sitting. “Can we get you some coffee or something cool to drink?”
“No, ma’am, I can’t stay. I have to head over to the shop. Lyla will be buried with the lunch crowd. She’s had to manage single-handedly the last couple of days.”
She dropped her head, her words barely audible. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me. Someone you didn’t even know. Ted’s always been the jealous type, but I never thought he’d do something this crazy.”
“Are you going to be all right for money?” Finley asked. She could start a GoFundMe page for her if need be.
“Yes, I’ll be fine. Mike’s thought of everything. Seems he set up some sort of trust for me, so I’d have something to live on. Imagine me, a trust-fund kid! Ted never understood me and Mike. I don’t think he ever will.”
She made the rounds, giving each of them a hug. When she came to Finley, she held on extra tightly. “God bless you!” she whispered and walked away.
“Such a dear, sweet child,” Mama murmured. “I hope she will be okay.”
Murder in Montauk Page 9