Murder Most Frothy

man who was worth—quite literally—millions of dollars, yet who was waiting tables at a Hamptons restaurant rather than summering in luxury with every other member of his smart set.

I guess it’s ironic that, after all my concern over David Mintzer’s safety and well being, it was concern over my daughter that prompted me to listen to the one-sided conversation.

“I kept up my part of the deal, Bom.” I heard him say.

Bom? As in Bom Felloes? I crept a little closer to the door, careful to stay out of sight.

“Sure I could use some more,” said Graydon. “You know it, dude. But I don’t know…the last time what happened afterwards really freaked me out.”

A glass crashed to the floor in the dining room, startling me. Graydon ignored the sound, kept right on going with his conversation.

“Okay, if you say so. What time?…Okay, dude, eleven-thirty it is. You’re the bomb, Bom. See you later.”

I whirled and literally ran to the other end of the kitchen. Graydon emerged from the break room a moment later and went to help Suzi Tuttle lay out the silverware.

I didn’t know what business Graydon Faas had with Bom Felloes, but I suspected it was something shady. Even worse, I suspected it had something to do with the failed attempts on David Mintzer’s life.

When everyone else was busy, I cornered Chef Vogel in the kitchen. “I need to leave early tonight, okay? Can you cover?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, I owe you. Just don’t mention the fact that I’m leaving early to anyone else, okay?”

The chef offered me a conspiratorial wink. “Have a blast,” he whispered. “After all the hard work you’ve put in this summer, you deserve a little fun.”

I smiled and thanked him. Then I hurried back to the break room to retrieve my notes and make a cell phone call of my own—to the one person I knew wouldn’t question my “outlaw ways.”

Twenty-Two

The night was fairly still, even on the water. This evening’s rental, Rabbit Redux, had an open-air helm, an enclosed cabin below, polished chrome rails, and a wooden deck that looked better than the parquet floor in my Village duplex.

We were at anchor, rocking gently on the placid tide. The craft was moored about fifty yards offshore from The Sandcastle, Bom Felloes’s faux-medieval multimillion dollar estate. Bom’s split-level living room faced the ocean; its interior was visible through the mansion’s massive glass wall, a brilliant rectangle in the darkness.

I glanced at my watch, illuminated by the dull glow of the helm’s light. It was twenty minutes after eleven o’clock. “Almost time,” I whispered to Jim, who was watching the estate through a pair of expensive-looking binoculars. His jaw was set, his body tense under the tight black wet-suit.

“What are we looking for exactly?” Jim asked, his eyes never wavering from the target area.

“Anything suspicious,” I replied lamely.

Laughing, he lowered the binoculars. “The world’s suspicious, Clare. Everybody’s guilty of something.”

“You don’t understand. Bom Felloes has been feuding a long time with David. David got the restaurant Bom wanted here in the Hamptons, which is worth millions of dollars in lost revenue to Bom. But the real damage is to his ego. And that kind of damage is the worst kind to men like these.”

“That doesn’t necessarily make him a killer,” Jim said, still looking through the binoculars. “But it does make him…well, well, well—”

“What?”

“…a drug user.”

My spine stiffened. “Let me guess. Cocaine?”

“He’s either doing lines or trying to clean his coffee table with his nose and a straw. Oh, yeah. He’s got a nice size bag of white powder. Okay, now he’s poured some out on the table and he’s cutting it with something—”

“Cutting it? Do you mean—”

“He’s mixing the coke with some neutral substance. Could be something like baby powder, for instance, something that stretches the mix and diminishes the quality.”

“Why would he do that? He’s filthy rich.”

“Why indeed,” said Jim. “Doesn’t make sense after I saw him do a couple of lines of the pure stuff, unless he plans on cheating someone, or…”

“What?”

“He’s taking the stuff he cut and putting it into another bag, wrapping it up. He set that bag aside, now he’s putting everything else away except for a couple of straws.”

Jim shifted the binoculars. With my naked eye I saw headlights pulling up to the house’s entrance, below the stone tower at one end of the structure. I couldn’t make out the type of automobile, but Jim read my mind.

“It’s a Mini Cooper—”

“That’s Graydon.”

Jim nodded. “Gangly kid in his mid-twenties, right? I can see him getting out of the car…the kid’s not alone —”

“What? Who’s with him?”

“A pretty girl is also getting out. Dark brown hair, shoulder length, kind of like yours. Curvy like you—”

“Let me see,” I cried, snatching the binoculars. I peered through the lenses, focused, and my breath caught. “Oh god. Oh no. That’s my daughter!”

Jim Rand took the binoculars from me, gazed through them, at Bom’s living room. “Felloes is getting up to answer the door himself, which means no servants are around. And that means he wants this meeting to be private.”

Jim faced me. “Call your daughter. Right now. She has a cell doesn’t she?”

I nodded, fumbled for my phone, flipped it open. I didn’t need to toggle to her listing in my speed dial menu. She was the very first number. “What do I say?”

“Jesus, Clare. You’re her mother. If you don’t know how to rattle her cage I can’t tell you.”

Of course! I pressed send and the call went through. The cell rang once, twice, three times—I held my breath, fearing Joy had turned her own cell off against my express wishes. Just when I gave up hope, I heard my daughter’s voice.

“What is it, Mom?” she answered, clearly annoyed.

“I’ll tell you what it is, young lady,” I replied, my anger countering her irritation. “You’re at Bom Felloes’s house with Graydon. You’re there to pick up a bag of cocaine, which you and your surfer dude boyfriend will then consume!”

“Mom…I…I…”

“Don’t speak because it will only be lies. I know where you are right now, young lady. You just drove up to The Sandcastle in Graydon’s Mini Cooper, and I know what you’re doing—”

“Ohmigod, Mom, how do you—”

“Listen to me. You leave that house and go to David’s at once or I will call the police. I’d rather bail my daughter out of jail than let her destroy her life with the very drug that ruined her father!”

Jim was watching me, clearly impressed. In the shifting light, I saw him nod and give me the thumbs up. But I wasn’t finished yet. It was time for me to deliver the coup de grace. “Joy…You know I have Detective O’Rourke of the Suffolk County Police on my speed dial now. Don’t make me use it!”

Before Joy could stammer a reply, I hung up. For all she knew I was dialing the detective right now.

“What next?” I asked Jim, my blood pumping with adrenaline.

He observed the mansion. “I’d say your daughter will be leaving in about…” He grinned. “Yep, there they go.”