Read Online Dead In The Hamptons by Elizabeth Zelvin - Free Book Online Page B

she paid for two shares.”
    “Ohhhh,” Barbara said. “Now I understand why Jimmy and I are stuck in twins, like a couple in a Fifties sitcom.”
    “Sorry about that,” Karen said. “Lewis and I took the master bedroom, and Clea asked first.”
    “I guess it’s Phil’s room now.”
    “He seems to think so,” Karen said.
    “You say that as if he’s not your favorite person.” Barbara always comes right out with it. In this case, I was curious too.
    “He’s okay.” Karen shrugged. “He’s a bit of an odd duck. She may have been seeing Ted in the city too. She played them off against each other. All I know is Clea wanted to control the room.”
    “Pick her guy at the last minute, you mean?”
    “Yeah, or have the room to herself if she wanted.”
    “And now it’s Phil’s.”
    “But will he stick it out all summer?” Cindy asked.
    “His girlfriend died.” Barbara frowned and shivered. “That would put me off a summer of fun if it was Jimmy.”
    “So would getting arrested for murder,” I said.
    The phone rang in the other room. We heard the scrape of a chair and Lewis’s deep voice answering. He listened, with an occasional murmur of assent.
    “Thank you, sir,” he said finally. “Thank you. I appreciate that. We certainly will. Goodbye, sir.”
    Lewis lounged into the doorway and leaned against the jamb, so those still at the table as well as the rest of us in the kitchen could hear him.
    “Listen up, people,” he called. “That was the detective. We’re off the hook. They did the autopsy, and the findings were consistent with drowning. He said they won’t trouble us again and wished us an enjoyable summer.”
    Karen clapped her hands. Cindy gave me one of her snaggle-toothed smiles.
    “About time!” Phil exclaimed in the other room.
    “Hear, hear,” I heard Jimmy say.
    Barbara frowned and caught my eye.
    “Findings, schmindings,” she said. “So she drowned. I still say she could have had help.”

Chapter Nine
    The only thing wrong with a Sunday in the Hamptons was Barbara’s passion for activity.
    “It’s the crack of dawn,” I heard Jimmy protesting as she stuck her head inside my door and threw a shoe at me.
    I sat up and rubbed bleary eyes.
    “Hey, stop throwing things. It’s the Sabbath.”
    “Not for me,” she said. “Shh, don’t wake your roommate.”
    Stewie in the other bed lay humped and invisible under a heap of blankets.
    “You’ve got a funny idea of considerate,” I grumbled. I yanked my legs out from under the tangled covers. “Ow!” I massaged the cramp in my left calf.
    Barbara threw the other shoe.
    “It’s a beautiful day, let’s not waste it. Come on, there’s a farm stand down the road with a Pick Your Own Strawberries patch.”
    “Be still, my heart.” I swung my legs to the floor and stuck them into the shoes. I left the laces dangling. How the hell did she think I’d pick strawberries when I couldn’t even bend enough to tie my sneakers at this hour?
    Barbara held the door wide for me. I marched past her. She closed it gently.
    “And no bodies before breakfast,” Jimmy said.
    “Hear, hear,” I said. “Coffee first, corpses later.”
    “Cut it out, guys.”
    “Aw, you know we’re not hardhearted really,” I said. “Are you going to revive us or not?”
    “I’m not stupid— I put up the coffee in the automatic pot last night.”
    She knew how to get our cooperation.
    Twenty minutes later, she was herding us down the road like a Border collie. Sparkling drops of dew glinted on blades of grass and tender leaves. A ton of birds sang their heads off all around us.
    “Come on, it’s not far,” Barbara chirped. “The farm stand is our next door neighbor.”
    “The next door neighbor is our handyman. Mr. Dowling. Cindy and I met him the other day.”
    “That’s them,” Barbara said, “Mrs. Dowling makes great pies and runs the farm stand. Mr. Dowling is a farmer and a fisherman and a bayman and the guy we call if the