Death on West End Road

by Carrie Doyle

  “Sam?” Antonia’s face reddened. “No. That ended.”

  Nick nodded. He stared down at the steering wheel. “Are you upset about it?”

  Antonia shifted her weight in her seat. She didn’t love talking about past relationships. “I mishandled it. I’m pretty bad at relationships.”

  Nick smiled. “So am I.”

  “I guess we have that in common.”

  “I guess we do.”

  Something passed between them and they both felt it. Nick looked as if he was about to say or do something but then suddenly stopped himself.

  “I need to figure this out. I don’t want to bring you into my drama.”

  “I understand completely. I should head in, I have to be up early tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Well, wish me luck tomorrow. I hope I make it out of my meeting with Melanie alive.”

  “Good luck, Nick.”

  “Thanks so much again for being a terrific sounding board.”

  “No problem.”

  He leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek. That’s all folks, she thought as she walked up the path to the inn. That’s a wrap.

  32

  Antonia was about to open the door of the Windmill Inn when a figure in the shadows moved toward her. She almost jumped out of her skin. It was Officer Flanagan.

  “I swear I had absolutely no idea she was there! I tried to run away from her but she pursued me! I can prove it.”

  “Hang on a second, who are you talking about?”

  “Alida Jenkins. She was at the restaurant I was at tonight. But I promise you I didn’t know she was going to be there. And then she followed me into the bathroom. In fact, maybe I should be going to court and filing a restraining order against her!”

  “I believe you, Antonia, and that’s not why I’m here.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, okay.” Antonia felt her entire body relax. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came with bad news.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yes. Dougie Marshall is dead.”

  “Dead?” Antonia felt a wave of fear course through her entire body. “How? Murdered?”

  Officer Flanagan shook his head. “No. He abruptly left the hospital without being discharged, got in a rental car, drove down to the beach, and turned the gas on. He’s dead, Antonia.”

  “Oh, no! I don’t understand . . . do they know why?”

  “Maybe the accident did something to his head . . . we’re not sure. He had a visitor and was very agitated after that. The nurses sedated him, but in the middle of the night he checked out.”

  “Who was the visitor?”

  “They don’t know. Couldn’t even tell if it was male or female. The nurse only saw the visitor from the back and he or she wore a baseball cap.”

  “How did he get a rental car?”

  “It was in the parking lot. It had been rented in his name, and he had the keys.”

  “That’s so strange, when would he have had time to do that?”

  “We’re still working that out. The point is, Antonia, I came here as a friend to reiterate to you how dangerous this whole thing is. Don’t get wrapped up in it anymore. Stay away.”

  “Scout’s honor!” she said, although she had never been a scout. She made some sort of sign of the cross on her chest—she had no idea what she was supposed to do—but she wanted Officer Flanagan to understand her sincerity.

  “Good. Take care of yourself.”

  “Will do.”

  * * * * *

  Antonia eschewed her Monday-morning walk and spent the time with Hector in the garden instead. There had been some unwanted visitors in the vegetable patch who were feasting on all of the carrots and lettuce. At first it all seemed Disney adorable, but now Antonia and Hector were running out of patience. The challenge was that the source of entry remained elusive. The patch was wired and fenced and had basically a military gate around it, but still the pesky rabbit/mole/vole had been able to breach their security.

  Antonia was pulling out half-eaten arugula and chewed up celery and dumping them into a pail when Hector called out to her.

  “What?” Antonia asked.

  He motioned her over to the far side of the garden. “All along I think the animal was coming from the east side, because they eat the vegetables there. But I thought to myself, maybe they come from the other side and walk across? And look.”

  He pointed proudly at an almost invisible hole in the fencing.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Antonia said. “I think we’ve found ourselves the interloper’s access. Sorry, Fantastic Mister Fox. You’ll have to head over to the neighbors’ to feed.”

  “Yes. Sometimes you have to look at things from a different angle. It’s not always what you think at first.”

  “Sound advice.”

  After finishing up in the garden, Antonia returned to the inn. She placed her gardening gloves and boots in the mudroom and washed her hands in the sink. She took a stroll through the kitchen and made her way into the parlor. There was a stack of newspapers strewn all over the sofa in the far corner that Antonia began to refold and place neatly on the coffee table. When she had completed her task she turned around and gasped.

  Pauline Framingham was sitting in the armchair watching her.

  “What are you doing here?” Antonia exclaimed.

  “Dougie is dead,” Pauline said flatly. Although her tone was calm and neutral, her face appeared anguished.

  “I know.”

  “Because of me.”

  “You killed him?”

  “Of course not. But I’m the reason he’s dead.”

  Antonia walked closer to her and sat down on the edge of the coffee table. “Why do you say that?”

  There were tears in Pauline’s eyes. “I’m jinxed. Everyone around me dies. It’s my penance. I’m not allowed to love anyone else or have anyone else close to me.”

  “Who doesn’t allow you?”

  “It’s my destiny.”

  “Pauline, is someone threatening you? Are you in danger?”

  “I am danger, Antonia.”

  “I don’t follow. Do you know who killed Susie? Did you kill Susie? Who killed Dougie? Maybe if you tell me, this can be stopped.”

  Pauline stood up abruptly. “Nothing can be stopped. And what does it matter anymore, they’re dead.”

  “But maybe we can stop more people from dying?”

  Pauline didn’t answer as she strode to the door. Then she turned around. Her face was no longer sad; it was now enraged. “We can’t stop anyone from dying, Antonia. We’re all going to die.”

  “I don’t understand . . . why did you come here?”

  Pauline composed herself and smiled. “I’m throwing the memorial service. I want it to be here next Thursday. Make sure it’s nice. Tea sandwiches and lots of booze.”

  Antonia was rattled the rest of the day. When she was at the front desk with Connie, she was completely unable to answer any of the guests’ queries as to where the best beaches were or what restaurants to check out. Those were normally answers that Antonia could recite in her sleep. She dropped a pot of chilled cucumber soup on the floor in the kitchen and she accidentally hung up on someone booking a private party in October. Jonathan gently persuaded her that maybe she should take a break in her apartment until she felt like herself again. She had to laugh, because when would that happen?

  Of course the first thing she did when she walked into her apartment was knock her pocketbook over and spill everything out on the floor. Lipsticks ricocheted under chairs; her keys were flung into the soil of her potted fig tree and a tangled mass of receipts spread out on the carpet like ticker tape. Antonia got down on her hands and knees and began crawling around the floor retrieving items. Perhaps th
is was a prudent time to weed through the garbage that had accumulated.

  Antonia pulled the trash can closer and began throwing out candy wrappers (it wasn’t her fault that they kept a dish of bite-sized morsel at the checkout counter at The Salon in Amagansett) and bank deposit statements. There were some old felt-tip pens that no longer worked that she chucked in the garbage. Not to mention a ton of business cards—how did she accumulate that many? She began making neat little stacks of cards that she would keep and those she would throw out. She held up Giorgio Leguzzi’s card and felt a wave of sadness. She hoped he would find his love. The next card belonged to Elizabeth Howard, decorator. Now, who was that, Antonia mused. Oh yes, the woman who had bumped into her car. Antonia was about to replace it in the pile when she froze. She picked up Giorgio’s card and Elizabeth’s card and put them in each hand and held them together. Could it be? Could the Elizabeth who he was searching for be the one who had crashed into her?

  Antonia immediately retrieved her phone and dialed. Her heart quickened and she prayed that she was right.

  * * * * *

  “Mr. Leguzzi!”

  “Giorgio,” he replied, turning and bowing to Antonia.

  Antonia had been waiting for hours for him to return to the inn. She had called Cittanuova, but they said he was not there. She knew he was planning on leaving soon, and she had little time.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you,” she said. “Where were you?”

  “I went to look at the Madoo Conservancy before I departed. Very beautiful.”

  “That’s great,” Antonia said, taking him by the arm. She dragged him into the parlor. “I have someone I want you to see.”

  The man was confused but went along with Antonia to the parlor. She flung open the doors.

  “Ta da!”

  Elizabeth Howard, who had been waiting patiently but had been somewhat startled by Antonia’s revelation that the nice man she had met last fall had come back to America to win her heart, stood up and smiled shyly. Antonia turned and glanced at Giorgio Leguzzi’s face. At first she felt as if she had done something terribly wrong. His face appeared stunned and confused. But almost immediately he broke into the biggest smile she had ever seen and wore a mask of ecstasy.

  “Elizabeth!” he said. He opened his arms wide and ran to her.

  Elizabeth’s face broke out into a hot flush. “Giorgio.”

  They embraced. Antonia was on cloud nine as she watched them. What are the odds that they found each other, mused Antonia. Was it fate? Destiny? She thought of herself and Nick Darrow. How had they found each other? Walking on the beach every morning. For a split second Antonia was lost in reverie, imagining Nick crossing an ocean to find her. It would be too good to be true. She was so happy that Giorgio and Elizabeth had discovered one another, though. Someone had a happy ending. Finally, Jonathan tapped her on the shoulder and motioned for her to leave. Probably best not to interfere in their reunion.

  “He’s so lucky that you found her,” said Jonathan.

  “I think he’s so lucky that he found her. I love true love.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  * * * * *

  The matchmaking buzz was a healthier high than the being-in-love buzz, Antonia concluded. There was no downside; it was all about happy endings. When you set someone up successfully, it was as if you were living in a Technicolor Hollywood movie where the prince and princess ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after. There is no morning after where they have stinky breath and realize that they don’t like sharing a bathroom because there are all these mysterious hairs around the sink. The fact was, you had to look for love in unexpected places.

  Antonia wasn’t sure why, but that made her think of Bridget. Maybe since she was in a happy mood—she’d been mentally high-fiving herself and doling out internal hugs all day—she decided to spread the love. She placed a call to Bridget and asked her to lunch the following day before she left town. Of course Joseph was now her family, but it was exciting to have a blood relative alive to share things with. Ironic that it took someone as evil as Philip to send some joy her way.

  33

  Three giant buzzkills popped Antonia’s emotional high that afternoon, and they were all revelations about the Framingham case. The information wasn’t necessarily bad, but it was enticing enough to draw Antonia back into the fold. Despite being determined—no, hell-bent—on not pursuing the investigation any farther, the gods were clearly conspiring against her and kept presenting evidence that would be difficult for even the least nosy/most emotionally unaffected/inhuman person to ignore.

  Example one: at three o’clock, Genevieve showed up at the inn, slightly frantic. She found Antonia in the kitchen and pulled her into the mudroom.

  “Remember I said I would look through my diary and see what I had written about Susie’s death around that time?”

  “Yes, Gen, I do, but frankly, I don’t really want to hear it. In fact, I can’t hear it . . .”

  “You have to! This is major.”

  “I could end up dead if you bestow this information upon me.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Seriously, I’m not listening.”

  Antonia put her hands over her ears and began to sing to drown out Genevieve’s words. It was a move Genevieve would have made, and Antonia felt like she had gained a checkmate against a great opponent. But Genevieve just stared at her skeptically and waited for her to finish. It didn’t take long and Antonia was annoyed with herself for giving in so easily.

  “All right, what is it?”

  “You know, you are too easy,” Genevieve said. “I like it, but wow.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Okay, I wrote about when Susie died, and I will read you the passage.”

  Genevieve whipped open a pink-striped diary. It was thick and had a puffy cover that she had coated in Wacky Pack stickers.

  “Dear Diary, Today a girl was murdered in town. She was friends with Holly. Holly said she hated her. Holly asked if I remembered the dolls she had shown me. The voodoo dolls that she made? That was one of the girls. I hope she doesn’t make a voodoo doll of me!”

  Genevieve put down the diary. “Holly had made voodoo dolls of Susie, Pauline, and Alida. I remember clearly now. She was showing them to Victoria, and I came in the room and they hid them, but then they told me. Holly said she hated these three girls, they were mean girls and she wished them all evil so she was pricking them with pins in their hearts and eyes so they would be in pain.”

  “That’s sick.”

  “I know. But now I wonder, what if it worked? Or what if Holly had something to do with Susie dying?”

  “There’s a big difference between making a voodoo doll and killing someone.”

  “Is there?”

  “Yes.”

  “But it shows homicidal intent.”

  “Sort of.”

  “I think it’s important,” Genevieve said defiantly.

  “It could be. Why don’t you tell the police?”

  “I’m not going to tell the police, they’ll laugh at me.”

  “But if you think it’s important . . .”

  “Antonia, I am giving you this clue so you can solve the crime.”

  “I’m retired.”

  “Come on.”

  “You know who you should tell? Larry Lipper. I bet he’s in his office now.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Trust me. He would love this.”

  * * * * *

  Example two: Antonia was able to push the investigation out of her mind after Genevieve departed but then Joseph came by the kitchen and asked to see her.

  “Geez, Antonia, no one wants to let you work today,” Marty teased. “Seems like it’s becoming a habit.”

  “Good thing I have you to hold down the fort,�
�� Antonia said, before she excused herself and followed Joseph to the library.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I think I solved the question about why Russell was paying Scott and Holly.”

  “To cover up the murder?”

  “It’s actually not that sexy and really quite obvious. Scott was teaching him tennis on his private court.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I was on line at the hardware store and there was a tall man talking quite loudly in front of me to his companion. She was much younger and let’s just say could have been wearing a little more yardage of fabric on her body. He was lamenting that his tennis teacher had taken off and then when he charged his purchase to his house account and said his name, I put two and two together.”

  “That’s certainly less sinister than I had imagined.”

  “Agreed. I fear our minds are jumping to the most macabre conclusions when perhaps a simple explanation would suffice.”

  “True. And I can see why Holly was so agitated and didn’t want Scott teaching Russell anymore. It’s best to avoid the Framinghams at all cost.”

  “Indeed it would appear so.”

  * * * * *

  Example three: Larry Lipper showed up not even fifteen minutes after Joseph left and demanded to speak to Antonia. Marty and Kendra just rolled their eyes. Antonia led Larry into her office.

  “Did Genevieve find you?”

  “Who?”

  “My friend Genevieve. She wanted to show you something.”

  “No, I was out doing important things.”

  “Like what?”

  “This.”

  Larry slapped a pile of glossy photographs on her desk. Antonia glanced down and her heart skipped a beat. They were the crime scene photos from the day of the murder. Antonia thought she had a clear vision of Susie dead but she realized that it had been only in her imagination, she had never actually seen any photos. Until now. There were stills of Susie from various angles but in all of them she lay on the ground on her side, the back of her head a bloody mess and her hair tangled in gore.

  “This is awful.”