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Authors: Elizabeth Zelvin
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me.”
“He’s kind of new in sobriety,” Barbara said. Dammit, was she warning Cindy off?
“Handle with care, huh?” Cindy grinned at me.
“I know, mind my own business.” Barbara took a dripping plate from Cindy’s hands. “I have a long history of progress, not perfection in that area.”
“Especially with us,” I said. I whisked a clean dish towel off the rack and held up my hand for the next rinsed plate.
“I think that’s sweet.”
“They like it,” Barbara said.
“We humor her,” I told Cindy.
“Like I said, sweet. So how did you all get in the house?”
“Oh, Jimmy knows Lewis from the program.”
Cindy reached into the sink, released the drain, and watched as flecks of culinary debris swirled and vanished with a sucking sound. “Interesting how people connect.”
“Did you know Clea?” Barbara asked. “I still can’t believe this happened.”
“Neither can I,” Karen said. She paused in the kitchen doorway. “Do I smell brownies?”
Barbara squawked and leaped for the oven. Cindy produced and handed off a couple of oven mitts like a nurse in the operating room. Crisis averted, we made room for Karen in what actually had become a circle. Spontaneous group therapy.
“Karen, this must have been such a shock for you,” Barbara said. “You knew her, right? You hadn’t just met her like Cindy and me.” She lowered her voice. “What’s the story with her and Phil?”
Karen leaned her Amazon frame against the refrigerator door.
“It’s kind of complicated. When Lewis and I decided we wanted to organize a clean and sober house a few years back, everybody told us we had to talk to Oscar. He’s kind of Mr. AA out here. Clea was in Oscar’s house last summer and the summer before. Two years ago, she and Oscar were an item.”
As Karen spoke Oscar’s name, Barbara shot me a look she no doubt thought was subtle. Luckily, Cindy had her eyes on Karen, and Karen was blowing onto a hot brownie.
“No kidding,” Barbara said. “Serious?”
Karen laughed.
“Not serious at all. Oscar is a master of the summer fling. They call him the Dedhampton Jack of Hearts.”
I frowned at Barbara to forestall another telling glance. I got the point. That was Karen’s story. She was sticking to it, but we didn’t have to believe her.
“Do they break?” Barbara pursued. “The hearts, I mean?”
“I don’t think Clea’s did. Last summer she was with another guy. Ted.”
“Is he back this year?”
“I haven’t seen him yet,” Karen said. “Though extra people pop up at Oscar’s all through the season. He’s got a big house.”
“What does Oscar do?” I asked. “Where does the money come from?”
“Real estate developer. He’s got a lot of property out here. Land in the Hamptons went through the roof a long time ago, and even in a bad economy, it’s a good investment.”
Money made a great motive for killing someone. Oscar had as good an opportunity as anybody to meet Clea on the beach. His house overlooked the spot where we’d found her body. Maybe he took an early run on the beach himself. Maybe he had a telescope among his fancy toys. How could Clea have become a threat? She’d been a journalist, and someone had called her a crusader. Maybe preserving the environment had been one of her causes. Environmentalists considered developers the bad guys. But Clea didn’t own property herself. Unless she was an ecoterrorist, the stakes wouldn’t be high enough. For him, yes, but not for her. Anyhow, an ecoterrorist might want to kill Oscar for turning cornfields into McMansions, not the other way around. Unless she tried to stop him. If that’s what he was doing. If she was an activist, it shouldn’t be hard for Jimmy to find out online.
“So Ted was out and Phil was in this year.” Barbara was still thinking about Clea’s boyfriends.
“To tell the truth, Clea hadn’t made up her mind when she signed up. She wanted dibs on the room with the double bed, and
“He’s kind of new in sobriety,” Barbara said. Dammit, was she warning Cindy off?
“Handle with care, huh?” Cindy grinned at me.
“I know, mind my own business.” Barbara took a dripping plate from Cindy’s hands. “I have a long history of progress, not perfection in that area.”
“Especially with us,” I said. I whisked a clean dish towel off the rack and held up my hand for the next rinsed plate.
“I think that’s sweet.”
“They like it,” Barbara said.
“We humor her,” I told Cindy.
“Like I said, sweet. So how did you all get in the house?”
“Oh, Jimmy knows Lewis from the program.”
Cindy reached into the sink, released the drain, and watched as flecks of culinary debris swirled and vanished with a sucking sound. “Interesting how people connect.”
“Did you know Clea?” Barbara asked. “I still can’t believe this happened.”
“Neither can I,” Karen said. She paused in the kitchen doorway. “Do I smell brownies?”
Barbara squawked and leaped for the oven. Cindy produced and handed off a couple of oven mitts like a nurse in the operating room. Crisis averted, we made room for Karen in what actually had become a circle. Spontaneous group therapy.
“Karen, this must have been such a shock for you,” Barbara said. “You knew her, right? You hadn’t just met her like Cindy and me.” She lowered her voice. “What’s the story with her and Phil?”
Karen leaned her Amazon frame against the refrigerator door.
“It’s kind of complicated. When Lewis and I decided we wanted to organize a clean and sober house a few years back, everybody told us we had to talk to Oscar. He’s kind of Mr. AA out here. Clea was in Oscar’s house last summer and the summer before. Two years ago, she and Oscar were an item.”
As Karen spoke Oscar’s name, Barbara shot me a look she no doubt thought was subtle. Luckily, Cindy had her eyes on Karen, and Karen was blowing onto a hot brownie.
“No kidding,” Barbara said. “Serious?”
Karen laughed.
“Not serious at all. Oscar is a master of the summer fling. They call him the Dedhampton Jack of Hearts.”
I frowned at Barbara to forestall another telling glance. I got the point. That was Karen’s story. She was sticking to it, but we didn’t have to believe her.
“Do they break?” Barbara pursued. “The hearts, I mean?”
“I don’t think Clea’s did. Last summer she was with another guy. Ted.”
“Is he back this year?”
“I haven’t seen him yet,” Karen said. “Though extra people pop up at Oscar’s all through the season. He’s got a big house.”
“What does Oscar do?” I asked. “Where does the money come from?”
“Real estate developer. He’s got a lot of property out here. Land in the Hamptons went through the roof a long time ago, and even in a bad economy, it’s a good investment.”
Money made a great motive for killing someone. Oscar had as good an opportunity as anybody to meet Clea on the beach. His house overlooked the spot where we’d found her body. Maybe he took an early run on the beach himself. Maybe he had a telescope among his fancy toys. How could Clea have become a threat? She’d been a journalist, and someone had called her a crusader. Maybe preserving the environment had been one of her causes. Environmentalists considered developers the bad guys. But Clea didn’t own property herself. Unless she was an ecoterrorist, the stakes wouldn’t be high enough. For him, yes, but not for her. Anyhow, an ecoterrorist might want to kill Oscar for turning cornfields into McMansions, not the other way around. Unless she tried to stop him. If that’s what he was doing. If she was an activist, it shouldn’t be hard for Jimmy to find out online.
“So Ted was out and Phil was in this year.” Barbara was still thinking about Clea’s boyfriends.
“To tell the truth, Clea hadn’t made up her mind when she signed up. She wanted dibs on the room with the double bed, and
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