Death on Windmill Way

by Carrie Doyle

  “Naomi, you’re forgetting that your brother and I lived together for five years. I’m not some one-night stand. We were in a committed relationship. I was his common-law wife…”

  Naomi scoffed. “Concubine.”

  “I helped with the inn, day in and day out. It would not look like this if not for me,” Barbie said waving her arms around at the polished mahogany staircase, the gleaming wood floors carpeted in Oriental rugs, and the brightly shined brass sconces. Antonia wanted to correct her and tell her it would not look like this if not for me and hundreds of thousands of my dollars, but she bit her tongue.

  “What a joke,” scoffed Naomi. She turned to Antonia. “You can ask anyone, my brother was done with her. He was trying desperately to shake her. There are people who will vouch for that.”

  “I know who you’re referring to, and Ronald Meter is hardly a reliable witness,” replied Barbie before turning to Antonia. “That guy is a disgruntled former employee who Gordon fired when I told him that he was stealing money from the inn. He’s vindictive.”

  “And so were you,” muttered Naomi.

  Barbie narrowed her eyes to slits. “You know, Naomi, you were always jealous of me because you knew that Gordon would leave me his share. There is no way he would have left you anything! He thought you were a money-grubbing user who let him do all the work and tried to drain him of any profits. You always undermined him, since you were children.”

  “I gave him the money to buy the place!” sneered Naomi with exasperation.

  “And he paid you back in turn. But you never stopped. You were always shaking him down for money! That’s why he quit taking your calls. And that’s why he made sure that I would get his share. He showed me the will! I just need to find it.”

  “You’ll never find it because it didn’t exist!” Naomi bellowed.

  “Yes, it does!”

  “Oh, no it doesn’t! And now do you realize that it was a mistake to kill my brother?”

  Antonia’s head shot around. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. This witch killed Gordon!” Naomi’s eyes were feverish, and her fists were balled up, ready to pounce.

  Barbie snorted with disdain. She turned her head away and looked down. “You’re delusional. I wasn’t even at the inn when he died.”

  “Am I? Am I?”

  Antonia was beginning to feel dizzy. “Wait, wait. Time out, now. Gordon died of a heart attack, did he not?”

  “Yes,” said Barbie firmly.

  Naomi glared at her.

  “Naomi, didn’t Gordon die of a heart attack?” prompted Antonia.

  “Yeah, right, whatever.” Naomi rolled her eyes.

  Antonia was exasperated. “No, not ‘yeah, right, whatever.’ Did he or did he not die of a heart attack?”

  “Yes,” said Lucy from behind. “Heart attack.”

  Antonia didn’t shift her gaze from Naomi’s face. “Isn’t that so, Naomi?”

  Naomi looked down at her tennis sneakers. They were very clean white Reeboks that she had worn every time Antonia had met with her. She took some time to answer, after taking several deep, relaxing breaths that looked more appropriate for a yoga class.

  “The official cause of death was…a heart attack,” she said at last, glaring at Barbie, who still wouldn’t meet her eye.

  Antonia felt her heart race. “What was the unofficial cause of death?”

  Naomi finally glanced in Antonia’s direction. She gave her a small smile, her lips curling enough so that her thin top lip disappeared into the bottom. The look reminded Antonia of a defiant child forced to lie to a teacher.

  “Heart attack,” Naomi repeated before adding, “but I’d bet my bottom dollar that this tramp here figured out a way to cause it.”

  Barbie snorted. “Like I said, I wasn’t even here when he died. How could I cause a heart attack?”

  Antonia kept her eyes on Naomi. “Why didn’t you tell the police if you suspected it?” asked Antonia.

  Naomi rolled her eyes. “I wanted to make sure I could sell the inn. No one would have bought this place if they thought Gordon was murdered. That’s my official story and I’m sticking to it.”

  4

  The only way Antonia could persuade Naomi and Barbie to leave was to confiscate the cardboard box that they had been fighting over and promise to review the contents herself. After ascertaining to whom it rightfully belonged, she would personally deliver the box to her. It appeared to temporarily appease both ladies.

  “What do you think?” Antonia asked Lucy, as they sat in her cramped office to regroup. Antonia immediately poured herself a cup of Earl Grey tea, which Lucy refused, and brought out a plate of coconut macaroons that were fresh out of the oven. As Antonia popped the third cookie in her mouth, she noticed Lucy watching her with a somewhat disdainful look. She slid the plate in Lucy’s direction but received a vehement shake of the head.

  “Sorry, but I totally believe in comfort food,” said Antonia, wiping her fingers on her napkin before she took a big gulp of her milky tea. She grimaced slightly at the bitterness and spooned another large scoop of honey into her mug. “Anything bad or unpleasant and I dive for the pantry. Break my heart, pass the banana bread. Steal my money, serve me some buttered noodles!”

  Antonia smiled but when Lucy did not, she became serious again.

  “So, back to business. Can you tell me a little bit more about the personal history here? Because I am totally confused.”

  Lucy smoothed her skirt and took a moment to gather her thoughts before answering. Antonia had noticed that she was always very precise. That and she had excellent posture. Even now while Antonia sat flopped in her chair, Lucy was on the edge of her seat, sitting erect. It made Antonia straighten up a little and reminded her of her mother who always used to admonish, “Sit up straight, shoulders back, head up, stomach in!”

  “Well, as I’m sure you can tell, there was never any love lost between Naomi and Barbie.”

  Antonia waited, but when Lucy didn’t continue, she probed further. “Okay, so maybe they hate each other. But why would Naomi accuse Barbie of murder?”

  “I’m not really sure.”

  “But was there a suspicion that Gordon had been murdered?”

  “I never heard that,” said Lucy, stifling a yawn. “Naomi is just being dramatic.”

  “But she seemed to believe it.”

  “People can believe what they want if they so choose. I could walk out of this room and say you punched me and even though there was no proof, many people would believe it.”

  “True,” conceded Antonia, momentarily wondering if such a thought had actually crossed Lucy’s mind. “Do you think it’s because of the whole mythology of the inn?”

  Lucy paused. “I only recently heard about that.”

  “Really? But you’ve lived in this town your whole life, haven’t you?”

  “Well, not really. I’ve been in East Hampton on and off my entire life. We moved away for a while. But yes, I consider myself a native. And I don’t really believe in all that gobbledygook. I have better things to worry about.”

  “That’s reassuring,” said Antonia. She took another sip of her tea while Lucy waited. She could tell Lucy was eager to return to work and was only humoring her boss, but Antonia wasn’t done.

  “What do you think is in there?” Antonia motioned toward the disputed box, now sitting on the edge of her desk.

  “Like I said to Barbie, nothing. I packed all those boxes myself. It was just scraps of paper that Gordon jotted things down on, flyers, junk mail. I went through absolutely everything twice and I know there was no will in there. I should have dumped it way back when. I’ll go through it again this afternoon. But it really should just be thrown out.”

  “That’s okay, I can do it.”

  “Are you sure? It’s no proble
m.”

  Antonia shook her head. “I got it. I don’t understand, why was Barbie so hostile to you?”

  With a tilt of her head, Lucy paused to consider this. “We got along fine when Gordon was alive, pretty much had minimal contact. I think she’s just bitter that I’m still working here and she’s out on the street.”

  Antonia thought there must be more to it than that. “But those were some fighting words she threw at you.”

  Lucy’s face quivered slightly, and Antonia thought she might be embarrassed. “Perhaps I wasn’t as discreet as I should have been. I clearly came down on the side of Team Naomi whenever there were these kerfuffles.”

  “Got it. So, what was Gordon like?”

  Lucy shrugged. “Well, I knew him for a long time. Gordon was not a popular man. He alienated vendors, he would impulsively fire staff… One could say he was rude, mercurial, and selfish.”

  “Geez, doesn’t sound like the right personality to run an inn! This is a service business after all.”

  “I know. It didn’t suit him. But sometimes he could be wonderful and fun. There was something oddly charismatic about him that made people want to please him. Almost mesmerizing.”

  “Really? That doesn’t jibe with everything I’ve heard about him.”

  “Well, no one is one-dimensional. I assume there were many layers to Gordon. But I wouldn’t really know; I kept my head down and did my work.”

  “What was his relationship like with Barbie?”

  “I tried not to get involved, I’m just an employee, and I do like to keep things professional…”

  Antonia felt this last remark was pointed at her and this line of questioning. Once again Antonia didn’t let her off the hook. “But…”

  “It was hard to avoid it sometimes. They fought like cats and dogs, always screaming at each other, breaking up, making up. Very toxic.”

  “Bad relationship but nothing out of the ordinary, then?”

  “Not really.”

  “You dealt with the finances, the books. Do you think Gordon was going to leave his share to Barbie?”

  Lucy hesitated a beat too long. “I don’t know…”

  Antonia pounced on the opening. “Come on, Lucy. I feel like you’re holding back…”

  Lucy glanced around the room, avoiding eye contact. Antonia could tell she was wrestling with some sort of internal debate as to whether she would spill what she knew. Antonia was certain she could break her.

  Finally, Lucy sighed deeply. Her face was troubled, her eyes distant. “I would prefer to let sleeping dogs lie, Antonia.”

  “Ah, but they are not asleep. What do you know, Lucy?”

  Lucy was quiet for an entire minute, perhaps waiting for an out, but Antonia didn’t bite. When she grasped that she was cornered, Lucy conceded defeat.

  “I overheard a conversation Gordon had on the telephone. I don’t know who was on the other end. But he said that he was changing his will. And he wanted to make sure Barbie got nothing. It sounded like he had originally planned to give her everything, but he was so angry at her that he was cutting her out.”

  “Why was he angry at her?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know for sure.”

  “And not for sure?” Antonia prompted.

  Antonia could practically see the wheels in Lucy’s brain turning. “I think she had another guy on the side.”

  “Why?”

  “I saw her around town a few times in odd places at odd hours with another man.”

  “Who?”

  “I think he may work at a liquor store. I vaguely remember that because of his shirt. I can’t remember what it said exactly, but I was left with that impression. Physically, he’s tall, handsome. Married.”

  “Married?” asked Antonia, raising her eyebrows. “How do you know?”

  “Gordon. Those last few months, he was trashing her. Said something about the man being married and that she’d end up with nothing if she pursued it.”

  This reminded Antonia of something. She almost mentioned it to Lucy, but decided to keep it to herself for now. Instead, she shifted directions.

  “So you think he’d have left his share to Naomi?”

  Lucy met her eyes and leaned in, as if she was revealing something she shouldn’t. “What Barbie said was true. Gordon was furious at Naomi. Claimed she was stealing money from him. If I told him she was on the phone, he’d slam it down. He even threw her out of the inn a week before he died.”

  “So, he was feuding with both women.”

  Lucy’s head bobbed in agreement. “Yes.”

  “Then they both had motives,” announced Antonia with a shiver. “And this so-called tale of innkeepers’ untimely deaths might be true after all. I’m doomed.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  * * *

  Antonia had been tempted to drive, but figuring that was very California of her, especially since it was only about three blocks, she opted instead to slip out of her Crocs, don her UGGs and amble east down Main Street, also known as Route 27. To be honest, Antonia found any sort of physical activity repellant in general, but since the extra ten pounds she had been carrying around on her five-foot-five frame had now morphed into an extra eighteen pounds, she vowed to make walking her thing. She was half Italian (from her mother) and half English (from her father). But instead of inheriting her mother’s beautiful and smooth tanned complexion, she had her father’s white skin (she’d call it pasty, others referred to it as “peaches and cream”), and instead of her father’s slight, skinny frame, she had her mother’s wide hips. Oh well.

  Although Antonia’s state of mind was frazzled and concerned, it was a glorious fall day and that she could appreciate. The leaves on the ubiquitous plane trees were the color of flames, pumpkins, and gold, and when the wind blew, the leaves cascaded to the sidewalk like fireworks. The October sun dappled the various houses along the far side of the road, and Town Pond shimmered in the orangey light. Antonia was almost regaining her high spirits until she glanced at the cemetery, which prominently held court in the center of the village green. She couldn’t help but feel as if it were mocking her. No way, you won’t get me now, thought Antonia as she determinedly swung open the front door of the two-story shingled building with a gambrel roof that housed the East Hampton Star.

  I will not go down because of some stupid curse!

  The Star was a weekly paper that had existed for over a hundred years. Like most small-town papers, it covered local politics, commerce news, business transactions, current events, and sports. A large part of the newspaper was classifieds and real estate advertisements. The editorials were opinionated and often incurred spirited “letters to the editor,” and the sports coverage was a bit reverential, because all the stars were homegrown. Fortunately, the reviews of local restaurants were usually laudatory, and Antonia had already been featured in a glowing piece. Since then, it was the only newspaper she read.

  She was directed to a small office in the back, next door to the restroom that appeared to double for both men and women. After knocking briskly and being invited to enter, Antonia found herself in a disorderly mess of a room with framed posters of Bob Dylan adorning the walls and a random assortment of globes. At first, they appeared to have been collected for a decorative effect but now looked more like a cluttered afterthought.

  Larry Lipper had a chiseled jaw, a full head of salt-and-pepper hair that matched the two days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks, and thickly lashed, piercing gray eyes. He would have been considered remarkably handsome except for the fact that he was profoundly diminutive. Small in stature, with eyes bordering on beady, and small hands, small ears, and a small nose, Antonia found herself wondering if the old adage was true…but then stopped herself.

  “Hello,” he said, giving her the up-and-down. His voice was remarkably deep for such a
little man. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “Hi, is this a bad time?”

  “No…”

  She didn’t need further encouragement but continued on. “You don’t know me at all, but Nick Darrow referred me to you. I’m Antonia Bingham. I just bought the Windmill Inn down the street. Can I sit down? I am sorry to bother you, but I really need your help.”

  “Whoa, hang on a second. Hang on. Did you just come from the city? You are talking way too fast for this town,” he said, leaning back in his desk chair and folding his arms behind his head. He threw her a bemused look. “You’ve got to slow down.”

  “Sorry. I’m just a little worked up. I’m not from the city. Believe it or not, I’ve only been there twice, but maybe those three cups of caffeinated tea that I just had didn’t help.”

  “What’s going on, Antonia Bingham?” he said in a singsongy voice. “You do seem like a lady who needs a drink.”

  “That could be true, although I don’t like to think of myself as a daytime drinker. I would never refuse if Baileys found itself into my afternoon espresso, but I don’t actively seek out booze in daylight.”

  He glanced around the room and eyed a half-finished bottle of whiskey on his window shelf. Next to it were two shot glasses that appeared sticky and used. He reached for the bottle but Antonia stopped him.

  “No, really, that’s okay. I don’t need anything.”

  “You sound like you do.”

  “Really, I’m fine. I mean, alcohol-wise.”

  He gave her a skeptical glance but put the bottle back in its place.

  “Take a load off and tell me what gives.”

  Antonia sat down but just as quickly rose and removed the spiral notebook that she had inadvertently sat on, and after glancing around at the mounds of books and stacks of papers on his desk, decided to place it on a bookshelf next to a Yankees mug and a Bart Simpson bobblehead.