by Carrie Doyle
Those were the last three entries in Susie’s diary. Antonia had read them again and again and was now waiting for Joseph to finish and provide his assessment. They were sitting on the front porch of the inn, watching the cars speed by on their way to the beach or work. The backdrop of the Wednesday-morning hustle and bustle was a strong contrast to the plaintive missives of a diary written by a girl buried so long ago.
“Wow,” Joseph sighed as he put the diary down on his lap. “Harrowing stuff.”
“I know. Not to mention heartbreaking, depressing, and everything else. It really makes you want to head back in time and tell Susie to run for the hills! It’s sad that she knew someone was following her and yet she felt too alone to talk to anyone.”
“How does Pauline still have possession of this diary? Shouldn’t it be with the police? Or her family?”
“She told me she didn’t find it until years later—Susie had hidden it very well in the floorboards of the bedroom she slept in. Pauline had decided the police were useless at that point and never even told them she found it. But now that I know Pauline is a confirmed liar I have no idea if that’s at all true. She probably hid it herself.”
“Did she say anything about the contents?”
Antonia shook her head. “She was very blasé, like, ‘Oh, here, this might be of interest.’ And obviously it’s so strange because of what Susie wrote! It’s incriminating. But Pauline handed it off to me without even clarifying or trying to defend herself. It’s all a game to her.”
“Entitled and bored. The dangerous consequences of possessing extreme wealth and receiving everything she ever wanted. People like her look for entertainment in the most devious ways . . . Do you think the boyfriend that Susie is referring to is Dougie Marshall?”
“That’s who Pauline was dating. But people have suggested Pauline was fooling around on him so perhaps it was someone else . . . This all brings me back to square one. I’m going to have to interview everyone all over again. Not to mention check off all the other boxes.”
Joseph nodded. “No one said it would be easy.”
“I know. At least I have a little more time now that I know that Barbara Whitaker is already dead.”
“True.”
“By the way, I went through those clips you sourced for me, thank you again, but there was really nothing.”
“Agreed. As I said it’s the absence of evidence and leads that I find most intriguing with this case.”
“As if they didn’t care.”
“Or if the people who cared had the money to silence it.”
* * * * *
“Scott Stewart?”
The tall man in the tennis whites turned around and smiled at Antonia. He was probably in his early fifties, and the years were evident on his face. He had handsome features and blondish shaggy hair peeking out from under his baseball hat. His skin was raisin brown and freckled from the sun, and his body was taut and muscular, as was to be expected from someone who made his living on a tennis court.
“I’m Antonia Bingham,” she said, thrusting her hand toward him.
“Nice to meet you. I don’t think you’re my next lesson, seeing as you’re not wearing sneakers . . .”
“No.” Antonia chuckled. “I’m afraid I don’t play. Tried my hand at it when I was young, but I am sadly uncoordinated. It was not pretty.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. I’m a pretty good teacher.”
“I’m sure you are. But that’s not why I’m here, actually.”
“What can I do you for?” he asked in a folksy manner, as he dumped yellow balls into a basket.
“I’m actually here because . . . well, Pauline Framingham asked me to look into the murder of Susie Whitaker . . .”
Before Antonia even finished, a flash of darkness crossed Scott’s face.
“I don’t want to talk about that.” He bent down and picked up more balls with his racket.
“I understand it might be painful . . . but Pauline is looking for closure . . .”
“Are you a detective?”
“No, I’m actually an innkeeper. I own the Windmill Inn . . .”
He interrupted her. “Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I am not interested in talking about that.”
He started walking toward the other side of the court where there was a pile of balls. Antonia trotted alongside him.
“I’m sure it was a terrible time, but I think it would be great for everyone to have closure . . .”
He laughed to himself. “Yeah, right.”
“This is obviously a very difficult topic for you.”
“You got that right.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He stopped abruptly and stared at Antonia. “Look, I’m sure you mean no harm, but I’m done with this. I don’t want to talk about that time at all. And if I can offer you some advice it would be to stay away. Nothing good will come out of this for you. I don’t care how much money she’s paying you. It won’t be worth the sacrifice.”
He walked off the court, slamming the gate behind him.
“He didn’t want to talk about it, did he?”
Antonia swung around and came face-to-face with Holly Wender. She was clad in a short tennis dress, with her hair up in a ponytail under a visor and her eyes obscured by dark sunglasses.
“Holly! What a surprise.”
“Not really,” Holly replied.
“Oh right. Yes, it’s a small town. Actually, I’m glad I ran into you because I have a few questions for you. Do you have a sec?”
Holly glanced at her Fitbit and then shrugged. “Sure. My lesson isn’t for ten minutes.”
“Do you have a lesson with Scott?”
“No.”
“He really doesn’t want to say anything about Susie.”
“Of course not. Everyone was burned by what happened.”
“How so?”
“Living under the cloud of suspicion, people gave you strange looks and treated you like dog poop. Not to mention, if you tried to say anything the Framinghams would sue you.”
“It sounds terrible.”
“It is terrible. Pauline derives pleasure from it, that’s why she asked you to look into it again. The Framinghams enjoy manipulating people.”
“Listen, I recently came across some information that Susie was afraid before her death. She felt someone was harassing her. And it seems as if the person who was harassing her was in a relationship with Pauline, possibly. It could be Dougie Marshall, or perhaps not. Did Susie reach out to you at all and discuss this with you?”
Holly sneered. “Me? No. Those girls didn’t even glance my way.”
“But I think . . . I know Susie was considering talking to you about it. It sounded as if she needed a friend, and although you might think she didn’t like you, it sounded as if she did.”
“I never got that vibe.”
“Do you have any idea who Susie was referring to? Who was Pauline seeing?”
“I only know that idiot Dougie. I’m sure she screwed around on him, but I never saw her with anyone.”
“Was there any other man lurking around at that time? Anyone following the girls.”
“No one I noticed.”
“I don’t mean someone that was unfamiliar to them, I’m suggesting someone they knew but who didn’t like Susie?”
“Everyone kind of thought she was annoying.”
It was arduous for Antonia. She decided to try a new tactic. “That last week, who do you remember being at the house?”
“Well . . . Russell, Pauline, Susie, me . . . Alida and Dougie . . . Scott and Kevin . . . the housekeepers . . . Ambassador Framingham.”
Antonia perked up. “Ambassador Framingham was there? I was told he was in Europe.”
Holly looked
perplexed. “I’m pretty sure he was out that week . . . he met with his lawyer.”
“Are you sure?”
Holly nodded. “Yes. I totally remember now. The day before Susie was killed, Russell and I were searching for the badminton net. I went into the front hall closet next to Ambassador Framingham’s office and I heard him with that Schultz guy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“That’s strange . . . I wonder why he said he was out of town.”
“Everyone lies.”
“It’s starting to feel that way. But you don’t think Ambassador Framingham would have killed Susie?”
“Who knows? He was a jerk.”
Antonia wasn’t sure what to say next.
“Can I go now?” Holly asked impatiently.
“Sure.” Antonia began to walk toward the exit. “So, you and Scott are still in touch?”
“Yeah, we live together.”
Antonia froze. “You didn’t mention that before.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“How long have you been together?”
She smiled slightly. “Seems like forever.”
20
Antonia returned home to the inn to find Kendra slumped on the back steps by the kitchen, wiping tears from her face.
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, brushing away the teardrops with the back of her hand. “Don’t worry.”
Antonia sat down and patted her on the back. “Did Marty finally go too far? Just tell me and I’ll read him the riot act.”
“It’s not that. It’s stupid.”
Antonia dug through her bag and found a small packet of tissues. She handed Kendra one. “I’m sure it’s not stupid.”
“It’s just that . . . I lost the Instagram contest. I know, so dumb that I care. But I really thought I had a shot. People were voting like crazy on my pictures and then, at the last minute, this other chef signed on and he got about a million hits and won.”
“That’s disappointing. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Everyone loved his picture of shrimp and grits. Shrimp and grits—I can make that with my eyes closed! He added some peculiar variable like pickled something and bam! He wins.”
“Kendra, your pictures were incredible and your food is incredible.”
“Just not incredible enough.”
“Hey, I bet that other chef has a celebrity following or is paying off a ton of people or something. Don’t worry.”
“Actually, what stinks is that he’s a nice guy. You know him.”
“Who?”
“It’s that guy Sam Wilson. Remember him?”
Did she remember him? Antonia felt the blood rise to her cheeks. Of course she did. He had arrived last spring and complimented her on her food and then one thing led to another and they had a brief affair. She had liked him, until she accused him of being a murderer. But what really broke it up was that he could see that her feelings for Nick were stronger than her feelings for him. It had been awkward. She still thought of him a lot, wondering if she had made a mistake in ending their relationship.
“Well, at least it went to a good guy. And hey, maybe you can win next year? Or at least place?”
“Oh, I did place. I came in second.”
“Kendra! That’s great! Congratulations.”
“I guess. I’m a sore loser, I know. I don’t even want to go to the photo op that we need to take on Tuesday for the East Hampton Star.”
“Come on, you have to go.”
“Will you go with me?”
“Where?”
“To the photo shoot? It’s at Wölffer Vineyard. I’d feel so much more comfortable if you were there.”
“Um . . . I don’t know. What time is it?”
Antonia was hedging because she really didn’t want to see Sam again. She was embarrassed at how she’d behaved, and there was actually nothing that appealed to her less.
“It’s Tuesday at ten. It won’t take that long, please?”
Kendra peered up at her with the pleading eyes of a child. Antonia swallowed and then said with fake cheer, “Of course I’ll be there!”
* * * * *
“Thank you for coming to me. I would have been more than happy to meet you at your house again.”
“No worries. I was on my way back from The Salon in Amagansett, so it was only a small detour.”
Antonia was in the library of the inn, sitting across from Alida Jenkins, who was clad in a spectacular white sheath dress that was a beautiful contrast to her dark skin. As soon as Antonia had returned home she had called both Alida and Dougie to arrange a meeting. Dougie asked her to swing by after his golf game at five p.m. the next day (of course right in the middle of her crunch time for dinner service) and Alida was completely amenable and was at her inn within fifteen minutes. For someone who had world-class fame and an international career, she was surprisingly available.
“I won’t waste your time. I’ve recently learned that Susie was upset with the person Pauline was seeing. She found him menacing, controlling, and felt Pauline didn’t know what she was up against. Do you know anything about this?” Antonia asked.
“I know that Susie and Dougie were not on the best of terms.”
“Why’s that?”
“Maybe I misspoke. It’s not that they fought or there was contention—he paid very little attention to her, she was quite inconsequential to him, and that ruffled her.”
“But was he menacing toward Susie?”
“I doubt that very much.”
“Was Dougie threatening?”
Alida waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Absolutely not. Dougie . . . he’s a party boy. He’s not anyone you take seriously.”
“Was Pauline seeing anyone else? Someone who scared Susie?”
If Antonia had to swear on a Bible, she would assert that she saw a glimmer pass behind Alida’s eyes. She knew something.
“Well . . .”
Before Alida could answer, Soyla entered the library with a tray of tea and macaroons.
“Sorry to bother, I thought you might want something to drink,” Soyla said sheepishly.
“Thank you very much. That’s so nice.”
They waited in silence for Soyla to set up the tea tray. Alida’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. Antonia watched as Alida’s expression changed. As soon as Soyla left, Alida jumped up.
“I’m so sorry but I have to go.”
“Is everything okay?” Antonia asked, rising.
Alida gave her a small, tense smile. “Yes. I just have to be somewhere.”
“I’ll walk you out. Do you mind telling me what you were about to say?”
“I don’t quite remember,” Alida said as she strode through the library door toward the entrance.
“It looked to me as if you knew the person Pauline was seeing? Someone who scared Susie?”
Alida kept walking and didn’t look Antonia in the eye. She demurred. “No, I don’t know a thing about it.”
“Are you sure?” Antonia pressed.
Alida opened the front door and began walking down the steps. Antonia jogged along next to her, feeling dwarfed by the tall supermodel.
“Yes, I know nothing about this,” insisted Alida.
“Don’t worry; if you’re concerned about telling me anything that might be compromising to Pauline, I have her full cooperation on this. She wants very much to solve Susie’s murder.”
Alida stopped and emitted an acerbic laugh. She put her hand on Antonia’s shoulder. “Oh dear. You really think that, don’t you? You haven’t figured it out at all. I bet she told you that she needed to find out on behalf of Susie’s father who is on his deathbed.”
Antonia gulped. “She said it was her mot
her.”
Alida gave a fake laugh. “Of course. Listen, Antonia, I’d be careful if I were you. I think you might want to walk away before things get out of hand.”
“They already have.”
Alida shook her head. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
She turned and headed toward her car, passing Joseph along the way. He turned and gave Alida the once-over before revving the engine of his scooter and zipping up the ramp leading to the front door.
“I saw that,” Antonia said, wagging her finger at him.
“My dear, I have never been immune to the beauty of women. And that creature is a rare specimen.”
“Agreed. And that beauty of a woman just basically warned me that I should end this investigation. Told me to walk away.”
Joseph shook his head. “Hmmm . . . something to consider. She would know. In fact, I bring to you some interesting information about her.”
“Really? Well then, step into my office.”
As some guests had wandered in and planted themselves in the library, Antonia and Joseph really did need to meet in her office, which was a spectacularly untidy and overstuffed room off the lobby. There was barely enough space for Joseph to squeeze his scooter in, and the effort to orient him caused a number of overflowing mail trays to be overturned.
“Oh, dear, I really have to organize this. I’m sorry.”
“No worries. I suppose it is good news that we have to gather in here. It means business is booming and the inn is alive.”
“I suppose so. Would you like a sweet?”
Antonia offered him a plate of peanut caramel clusters that Soyla had baked for her that afternoon and left on her desk. Joseph took one and Antonia bit into hers. She had to admit that the protégée was beginning to overtake the master.
“Yum, these are amazing,” Antonia moaned.
“Delicious.”
“Probably my last supper, if I read into what Alida was hinting at.”