Murder in Montauk

Miles had put their bags in their rooms—somehow matching the décor of each room with the personality of each woman. For Mama, he’d chosen the most contemporary of the rooms, one decorated in Swedish modern with a massive four-poster bed that acted as the centerpiece. He had put Mooney’s bags in a stylishly decorated robin’s egg blue room with Chinese porcelain accents. Finley had gotten the room with the blush-colored walls and the black and white moiré patterned bedspread. And lastly, Whitt had been settled in the room with the celadon and gray motif.

“Is he a robot that scans us and calculates room assignments using some strange algorithm?” Whitt asked as they made their way back downstairs. “The colors of the room he chose for me are exactly my design sensibility. How did he know?”

“Don’t know, but I’m hungry,” Finley said. “That bagel is long gone.”

Miles coughed quietly to make his presence known. “I can make you breakfast. Just let me know what you would like.”

“Thank you, Miles, but no need,” Whitt said. “We’ll probably be eating out most of the time and just grab something at the grocery store that we can use for breakfasts on other mornings.”

Finley rather pitied the poor man. All trained up and nothing to do. She hoped he had a hobby or something to help him pass the time when he had self-sufficient guests who had little need of his services.

“We’ll probably just wander around and get our bearings today.” Finley stated. “Perhaps you can recommend a good place for brunch—or even a diner for breakfast. And a grocery store!”

Finley remembered a couple of greasy spoon diners in the area that turned out the best omelets. She really didn’t want white tablecloth dining just yet, although she knew, traveling with Mama, that was largely what she would get.

“What would you prefer, Mama?” Finley asked.

“A diner would be nice. French toast or maybe a gooey omelet.”

Whitt and Finley both stopped and stood, looking at their mother. Mooney was silently observing the exchange.

“If you both don’t close your mouths, a fly is going to go right in,” Mama said haughtily. “What? Just because I ordinarily go upscale doesn’t mean I always have to.”

“Yes, Mama,” Finley and Whitt said simultaneously. Miles’s mouth turned up slightly before he recovered himself and offered several suggestions for restaurants and nearby grocery stores.

“If there is nothing else, I will leave you ladies to your adventures. I have left my card on the table, so you have my number. Again, if you need anything, just call,” he said as he turned and headed out the side door.