Death on West End Road

by Carrie Doyle

  Pauline smiled but didn’t say anything. Something about her expression made Antonia shudder.

  There was tension in the room. Antonia couldn’t take it, so she spoke. “Why were you and Kevin Powers looking friendly at the Hampton Classic a few years ago? I understand you disliked him and didn’t think he was good enough to date your friend Susie.”

  “Kevin was a druggie back then. He’s cleaned up his act and has a successful garden center.”

  “Did you invest in his garden center?” Larry asked.

  “My family owns various buildings all over the Hamptons.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I prefer not to talk about my business. There are too many copycats out there. I really hate copycats. So if I say I invested, then everyone else will invest in a garden center and there will be too much competition.”

  “There are already a ton of garden centers out here. It’s hardly unique,” Larry said with a chuckle.

  Pauline gave him a look. “True. I may need to diversify my portfolio. Invest in newspapers or inns.”

  Antonia ignored the comment. It felt like a subtle threat. She had more serious concerns.

  “I only recently found out that Kevin had gone to prison for violence against his ex-girlfriend,” Antonia said. “Is that why you thought he might have killed Susie? Was he violent with her?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “It just seems strange that you would enter into a business relationship with a felon who you suspected of murder,” Antonia pressed.

  “I didn’t say I was in business with him . . .”

  “Was it some kind of payoff for something?” Larry asked.

  They were interrupted by the French doors opening. A man in a coat and tie appeared on the threshold. He had steel-gray hair slicked back from his forehead, and he appeared to be in his early sixties. He wore a look of frustration and contempt on his face.

  “I have to interrupt. I’m Tom Schultz, the Framinghams’ family attorney. I would prefer to put an end to this conversation right now.” He strode into the room with an air of authority and planted his briefcase on the coffee table.

  Pauline looked annoyed. “Mr. Schultz, really. I can handle this myself.”

  He didn’t even glance at her and kept staring at Larry and Antonia in a menacing manner. “Ms. Framingham is one of the largest shareholders in a publicly traded company. It does not behoove her or the other family members and shareholders to continue this dialogue. Those closest to her have decided to put an end to this endeavor.”

  “But Pauline hired me to look into this . . .” Antonia protested.

  “I’m sorry she has wasted your time.”

  “Mr. Schultz . . .” Pauline sighed with irritation.

  “I think Ms. Framingham can speak for herself. She’s a grown-up,” Larry said, turning toward Pauline. “Do you want to finish this conversation?”

  The lawyer swiveled around and gave Pauline a seething look.

  She spoke to Antonia while her eyes remained fixed on her lawyer, giving him a contemptuous sneer. “I suppose we can wrap this up for today.”

  “We are wrapping it up indefinitely,” Mr. Schultz said sternly. “We will remit payment to you and thank you for your time. Please consider the case closed.”

  “I don’t know about that . . .” Pauline said, squinting at her lawyer. “What incentive do I have to end this?”

  “Your loved ones have asked you to end this.”

  “Do I really owe them anything?”

  Her lawyer appeared irritated. “They are willing to work with you and ensure your personal demands are met.”

  “Loved ones,” interjected Larry. “I thought you just had a brother.”

  “There’s my mother as well,” Pauline said.

  “What? I thought your parents were dead,” exclaimed Antonia.

  “My father is. My mother is in assisted living in Massachusetts. Waiting for death and remaining a burden until it comes.”

  “Is she there with Barbara Whitaker?” sneered Larry. “Is this another one of your lies?”

  Pauline scowled. “You can ask Tom.”

  “Her mother is alive,” he said impatiently. “And now Miss Framingham, let’s end this.”

  “All right then.” Pauline stood up. “That will be all, Antonia.”

  Antonia stood up. “Pauline? What do you mean?”

  “It was fun while it lasted.”

  Antonia was stunned. This was not the ending she expected. “So that’s it? You don’t want me to continue investigating?”

  “It sounds as if my lawyer has good reason to shut this down.”

  He cleared his throat. “I trust, Miss Bingham, that you will adhere to the nondisclosure documents that you signed, and that the discoveries made during your investigation will remain confidential. That goes for you as well, Mr. Lipper. If we read anything about this in your newspaper, you will face litigation for the rest of your natural-born days.”

  After that, Larry and Antonia were bum-rushed out of the house.

  24

  I can’t believe it’s over, just like that,” Antonia sighed as she and Larry zipped out of the driveway in his sporty little car.

  “Hang on, Bingham. It ain’t over until the fat lady sings.”

  “Do you want me to start singing now?”

  He glanced over at her. “You’re not fat. You have a dangerous future ahead of you if you don’t watch out, but you look okay to me right now. And I’m pretty critical.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Don’t involve me in your weight self-esteem drama and then criticize me for it.”

  “Fair enough. Okay, why don’t you think it’s over?”

  “Basically we’ve narrowed it down. It’s either Dougie, Ambassador Framingham, or the guy that Pauline was sleeping with.”

  “Or Holly, or Scott, or Alida . . .”

  Larry shook his head. “No.”

  “What about Pauline? Turns out she’s totally bonkers.”

  “Let’s go see Dougie Marshall.”

  * * * * *

  Dougie lived in the guesthouse of his parents’ large estate on Middle Lane. Antonia wondered if he had squandered most of his inheritance, forcing him to move back in with his parents. Or perhaps he was a freeloader. Although, to be fair, the cost of houses in the Hamptons had risen so precipitously that if you had access to a fully functioning gratis bungalow, why not take advantage?

  There was a fork in the driveway, one prong of which directed traffic to the main house on the right. It was called Spring Cottage according to the white sign with the embossed black font. The fork to the left had a small wood sign inscribed D. Marshall in shaky black spray paint. As they drove toward the guesthouse, Spring Cottage loomed in their peripheral vision. Antonia wondered how anyone could describe a house that big as a mere “cottage.”

  Dougie’s house was a neatly kept affair, two-stories, small, shingled, and adorned with green shutters. A brick path led to the front door, which was flanked by two slate planters full of straggly white geraniums. Despite a new red convertible Mercedes parked close to the entrance of the guesthouse, no one answered the door when Larry and Antonia knocked.

  “This is a joke,” said Larry. “Didn’t you have an agreed upon time?”

  “Maybe he’s in the shower? He said he was playing golf . . .”

  “You don’t sweat when you play golf, Bingham. You drive around in those little carts with the wind in your face, and then you get out and swing a club at a tiny little ball.”

  “Maybe he walked the course?”

  “He’s avoiding us.”

  “Larry, you think the worst of people.”

  “And I’m usually right.”

  Larry leaned on the doorbell. They stood a mom
ent and waited for someone to open it, but no one appeared.

  “I guess we should leave.”

  “Hang on.” Larry cupped his hands and glanced through the window of the door. There was no movement. He walked along the side of the house, peering in the windows.

  “I don’t feel so hot about this. Let’s go.”

  “Not yet.”

  Antonia did not want to add trespassing to her résumé so she walked back to the car as Larry made his way around the circumference of the house. She leaned against the passenger door and glanced up at the second story, her eyes skimming the windows. Suddenly she saw movement. Dougie’s face was in the window, and he was peering down at her. He quickly jumped back as soon as she saw him.

  “Larry!” she said in a stage whisper.

  “What?”

  “Come quick.”

  “Hang on.”

  Antonia rushed over to him. “Listen, I see Dougie upstairs. He knows we’re here and he’s not answering.”

  “See! I told you! Listen to me, Bingham. I’m always right.”

  Larry walked backwards, his head extended so he had a view of the second floor. “Which window?”

  “That one.” Antonia pointed.

  Larry picked up a pebble from the driveway and hurled it at the window.

  “Larry!”

  “What?”

  “You could break it.”

  “I won’t break it if he comes down,” he said, whilst scooping another pile of pebbles into his hand. He threw yet another, which snapped off the window. Then another. Antonia noted that he had surprisingly good aim for someone who did not appear to be athletic in the least. The next pebble ricocheted off the window onto the eave that hung over the front door with a clatter. Finally, Dougie opened his window and thrust his head out.

  “What the hell?”

  “Sorry, Dougie . . . we wanted to see if you were home,” offered Antonia lamely.

  “We need to talk to you,” Larry demanded with a force Antonia was unfamiliar with.

  “I can’t talk now, I’m busy,” Dougie said, his eyes scanning the yard.

  At the same time as Antonia said, “It’s okay,” as she opened her car door, Larry yelled, “We won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Dougie asked.

  “I’m your worst nightmare. Let me in.”

  Dougie gave one more furtive look around before slamming the window shut. Antonia was convinced she had seen the last of him when the front door opened and he ushered them inside.

  “Quickly, come on. Hurry.”

  He pressed the door closed behind them. The cottage smelled slightly of mold, cigar smoke, and air freshener and was host to a random assortment of discarded antiques, miscellaneous furniture and wall hangings, and other decorative touches that had no doubt been liberated from the attic of the main house.

  Dougie walked over to the front windows and closed the curtains. He motioned for them to sit down.

  “What’s going on, man?” asked Larry.

  Dougie turned to Antonia. “Is this the newspaper reporter?”

  She nodded. “Larry Lipper.”

  “Why all the cloak and dagger?” Larry asked, plopping himself on a tired sofa. He picked up a small bronze of an elephant that was on the coffee table and then, after scrutinizing it, replaced it.

  “I’ve been told not to talk to you.”

  “Who told you that?” Antonia asked.

  Dougie ran his hand through his hair. He appeared different from the previous time she’d met him. He was jumpy and wired. She liked to think the best of everyone, but it almost seemed as if he was on drugs. Was there something about Susie and her death that drove everyone around her into a life of debauchery?

  “Pauline and Russell’s people. They want this shut down. You all don’t understand . . . there are bigger things going on here. They’re pretty powerful.”

  “But why now?” Antonia asked. “Why involve me then decide to end it?”

  Dougie walked over to a bar cart on the side of the room and poured himself a large tumbler of bourbon. “Want some?” he asked feebly but both Larry and Antonia demurred.

  “It’s Pauline. She enjoys playing games. You have to understand—she’s a sick person. I tried to hint to you the other day. She likes to manipulate people. But then she always has someone come in and clean up her mess or stop her.”

  “Did Pauline kill Susie?” Larry asked.

  Dougie finished his bourbon and put it down to refill. “Either she did or . . .” He trailed off.

  Antonia and Larry both leaned in and said in unison. “Or?”

  Dougie slumped down in a chair. “The thing is . . . everything is all lies. It was all orchestrated to confuse everyone. They made it seem as if they were protecting all of us, but they weren’t. We all signed on for a life of misery.”

  “What are you talking about, Dougie?” Antonia asked.

  “None of us were where we said we were. I did play golf with my dad that day, but I bailed after the thirteenth hole and headed over to Pauline’s. When I drove in, I saw Susie on the court, she was talking to Alida. I drove up and went in the back by the kitchen. I saw Pauline getting the lemonade. She had the refrigerator door open. I was about to walk over and put my hands over her eyes and surprise her when I heard her talking to someone. A guy. I couldn’t see his face, because it was obstructed by the refrigerator door, but I saw his legs. He was wearing shorts and tennis sneakers. I didn’t think it was strange until I heard her call him ‘darling.’ Then I froze and listened. She said, ‘Darling, we have nothing to worry about. Susie’s fine.’”

  “Who was the guy?” asked Antonia.

  “I don’t know. I got the hell out of there. Got in my car and drove away. I thought they hadn’t seen me, but she must have heard my car because later she told me she knew I was there, and that I had lied to the police. But man, I was scared.”

  “Did you ask her who it was?”

  “Yes, but she didn’t answer. Just wanted to make it clear she knew I was there. She . . . she implied that she thought I had killed Susie. But I don’t know if she really thought that. I think she just wanted to lord it over me. And every time this comes up, her mother sends her lawyer after me . . .”

  “Wait a minute, her mother?” asked Antonia.

  “Yeah. They have a laundry list of my transgressions. Yes, I’m not perfect. But it’s stuff I don’t want released, so they have me by the balls.”

  “Murder?” Larry asked.

  “No! Nothing like that. Let’s just say activities that would not go well with my ex-wife. The Framinghams—they’re very thorough. They have eyes and ears everywhere. Not sure why I’m telling you this.”

  “Did they threaten you today? You seem awfully nervous.”

  “Let’s just say I was warned to keep out of it.”

  “I want to get back to Mrs. Framingham for a second, what is she like?”

  “Bitch.”

  “You don’t mince words, do you, buddy?” Larry asked.

  “It’s true.”

  “Hey, call a spade a spade, I get it.”

  “But she’s not well as I understand,” said Antonia.

  “She’s been in assisted living for years, but that didn’t do anything to her brain. She’s still the evil powerhouse she always was, sending all of us injunctions and legal documents whenever she catches wind of something she doesn’t like. Rumor is that Pauline had her declared mentally incompetent and shoved her away, made everyone believe she’s totally gaga and has dementia. But, you ask me, she seems totally lucid.”

  “You think she knows who the murderer is?” asked Antonia.

  “I think she must or why else does she want everyone to shut up about it?”

  “Dougie, did you kill Susie?” asked Larr
y.

  He glared at Larry with rage in his eyes. “Of course not!”

  “Then who do you think did?” Antonia asked gently. “You’re skirting the question.”

  Dougie took another swig. His eyes shifted all over the room, consumed with worry and fear. “It could have been anyone. She set us all up. We are all suspects.”

  “Was it Kevin Powers?” Antonia pressed.

  “I don’t know . . . I’m not sure. But there is one thing I know.”

  Larry and Antonia leaned in closer as he paused. “Yes?” Antonia prompted.

  “Whoever killed Susie did it because of, or for, Pauline. All roads lead back to her. And the sickest part is, she loves it. But that’s all I’m going to say now. You have to leave. I’ve already said too much.”

  * * * * *

  “All right, let’s go through this again,” Antonia said when they were back in the car. “Pauline asked me to look into this murder, then her lawyer shuts it down because her family is upset. Which family? Her dad is dead, her mom is in a home, but turns out she’s still meddling in everything. And then there’s Russell. He’s awkward and strange and people give him a get-out-of-jail-free card for that, but maybe they shouldn’t?”

  “Everyone seems to think Pauline had something to do with the murder. Not to mention, Pauline has something on all of her friends and acquaintances so that they do what she wants,” Larry said.

  “True. And there are sinister elements enough to scare Dougie. He stops talking. Scott the tennis pro won’t talk, and we know that he had a rough few years with alcohol that some people have suggested were a result of Susie’s death. Ditto Kevin. We need to look hard at Kevin, I think I exonerated him too early. Kevin was dating Susie and has a violent past.”

  “Now we know why the cops liked him. But the thing is, if they liked him so much, why didn’t they nail him? Everyone was gunning for him but they didn’t have enough evidence.”

  “Protecting their own? He probably grew up with people on the force.”

  “You have such a cynical view of the cops.”