by Carrie Doyle
Antonia slowly worked her fingers around the edge of the bulb, turning and turning until the bulb was loose. She pulled it out but with such gusto that she almost lost her balance and the bulb flew up in the air. Fortunately, her quick reflexes worked to her advantage and she caught it with both hands before it smashed to the ground. Antonia’s heart was thumping with the near miss and the exertion she had to use in order to complete the small task. She stepped off the ladder and put the bulb down on the console table. She glanced up. Perhaps it might be better if she stood on the window seat instead of the rickety ladder, she decided.
Antonia removed her shoes and wiggled her stockinged toes. She took a new bulb out of its sleeve. Holding it in one hand she used the other to hoist herself on top of the upholstered window bench. She stared upward toward the light. No, this would not do. The distance was too far and she would have to hold her body up at a forty-five-degree angle in order to replace it. It was physically impossible. She sighed deeply. Genevieve was right; she was such a control freak. She should cut her losses and ask Hector to come in with his large ladder and do it. But then she felt silly. What, she couldn’t even change a light bulb? It was like a joke, how many innkeepers does it take to replace a light bulb?
She had an idea. The curtain rods were strong, she knew that. They were thick-brushed brass, and when they were installed she had asked the contractor to make sure they were doubly secured because she was hanging very heavy damask curtains on them. She would step on the ladder and hang on to the rod while she replaced the bulb. Easy-peasy.
Antonia held the bulb in her hand and mounted the ladder. She grabbed on to the curtain rod and then hooked her arm underneath it so that she was basically hanging on it. She was aware she would look ridiculous to anyone who entered, but she didn’t care. She was focused on getting this done. Antonia had the bulb and she rappelled her weight away from the window so she was horizontal to the floor and began screwing it in. Her foot was beginning to slip off the ladder but it didn’t matter because she was so intent on the task at hand. She slowly twisted the bulb. Her back now was to the room, facing out the window. She heard someone come in, but she didn’t want to glance around for fear she would lose her balance.
“Hello? Just putting in a bulb,” Antonia said.
Silence. She must have been wrong; there was no one there.
Beads of sweat were forming on Antonia’s brow as she finished twisting. Her underarm hurt from the rod pressing into her armpit. She hoped she wouldn’t bruise, that would really be an inane injury. She leaned farther, slipping her foot off the top shelf of the ladder completely so that now the only thing holding her was the curtain rod. It would just take a second, she told herself. But she had put it in at an angle so she had to start over. She turned the bulb again, slower now, confirming it was set in place. With the final twist, the light bulb illuminated and Antonia flinched from the blazing brightness that shone directly into her eye. She blinked several times, but all she could see were burning spots. She paused, waiting for the flashes of light to disappear from her retinas.
Keeping her eyes clenched shut, she pointed out her toe in an effort to locate the stepladder. She couldn’t find it. She swung her leg back and forth, searching for it with her toe. It was absurd, her fumbling around. Her arm was hurting, but she realized she was flailing around for no reason. She took a deep breath and again tried to locate the ladder with her toe. Still, she was unable to locate it. She waited again until her eyes finally cleared. When she was not blind anymore, she glanced down. The ladder wasn’t there. Antonia blinked several times to make sure her eyes weren’t playing a trick on her. But there was no ladder.
Had it fallen down? She craned her neck as far as she could without falling. No, she couldn’t see it anywhere from her angle. And besides, wouldn’t she have heard it if it had fallen? Antonia’s heart raced. Her arm was on fire; it hurt so much from pressing into the rod.
She took a deep breath. She had no choice. She slowly wiggled her arm out from under the rod. That meant that she had to push one hand against the wall to hoist herself up so that she could remove the arm. She counted to three then did so. She quickly grasped the rod with her hand and found herself hanging onto the curtain rod. She felt totally ridiculous, but it was only for a split second because her sweaty hands could no longer hang on to the rod and she slipped off and fell to the floor with a thud.
She froze. She was alive. She wiggled her feet and arms. She could move. Embarrassed, Antonia sat up. She was lucky; she was okay for the most part. Her butt was another story, and she could feel it already turning purple and bruised: a lovely image. She dusted herself off and turned and scanned the room. Fortunately, no one had seen. It was a relief that she was alone. But then suddenly Antonia’s eyes locked on something and the blood drained from her face. She felt chills. The ladder was there behind her. But the strange thing was that it was folded and propped against the wall five feet away. It could not have done that itself. Was someone intentionally messing with her?
6
That evening during dinner prep, Antonia asked around about the ladder. Had it been a prank? Had someone thought it was funny to move it? But no one copped to it. And who would think that was funny? She could have landed wrong and really hurt herself, and then who would run the inn? After her questions were met with odd looks and sympathetic clucks, she decided to put the ladder out of her mind. It had just been a fluke. Luckily, tonight was a whirlwind of activity, so she didn’t even have time to think once dinner service got under way. She kept her head down in the kitchen and focused entirely on the food.
They had never been this busy in the dining room and, as a result, were a bit understaffed and unprepared. Things were tense. For the first time, the timing was a bit off, and surges of orders seemed to arrive at the same time, which made everyone scramble. They actually ran out of salmon, which was completely embarrassing and they had to make last-minute adjustments. A busboy dropped a tray in the kitchen, unleashing a string of obscenities from Glen, who was already cranky from the unpredictable arrival of several walk-ins, messing up the seating chart that he had spent way too much time on.
Marty, the sous chef, had been manning the grill all night, whining commands at everyone in his nasal voice as the flames danced in front of him. He oversaw the kitchen but was primarily in charge of entrées. With his wiry frame, limp gray ponytail, and pockmarked skin, he was an aging hippie, his appearance better suited for someone selling pot at a Phish concert than cooking fine food. But that was where looks can be deceiving; there was nothing laid back or hippie about Marty’s personality. A type-A cantankerous perfectionist, he was one hell of a chef. Alternatively, Kendra, Antonia’s line cook, appeared as if perhaps she had spent too much time in the kitchen. With the exception of her ginger hair and a random assortment of tattoos, everything about her was pale and dense, like a ball of bread dough. She moved slowly and precisely, and had an intuitive approach to food that Antonia appreciated, always seeming to unearth the missing ingredient that would pull a dish together. Kendra was in charge of salads and desserts and spent most of the night composing them, assisted by Liz, the eighteen-year-old intern. (Antonia was attempting to mentor Liz, despite some grumbling from the kitchen staff.)
The activity in the kitchen was relentless from opening until ten o’clock, when things abruptly died down. Marty and Kendra bolted out to have a cigarette. Antonia gave Liz a tutorial on how to plate rare steak without all of the juices dripping into the mashed potatoes. When Marty returned, Antonia took the opportunity to make her way through the dining room to see what remained of her guests.
Antonia was tired, and the stress from the kitchen as well as the day’s unpleasant developments suddenly seemed to catch up with her. She felt exhausted. But she brightened when she saw her friend.
“Joseph! How was everything tonight?”
She was happy to see him there for his second night
in a row, in his cute little green bow tie. As she stared at him tonight, he reminded her so much of her father, with his calm, thoughtful demeanor and the way his eyes shone behind his glasses. She suddenly felt a pang of sorrow and a crushing sense of loss. She missed her parents. They were wonderful people. And it was obvious Joseph missed his wife as well.
“It was delicious, Antonia. Just fantastic. You’re doing a great job. Treasure it. Enjoy these moments. Beginnings are wonderful.”
Again, it was something that her father would have said and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, tears filled Antonia’s eyes. She was mortified and feigned a coughing fit in order to account for them.
“Excuse me, I had something stuck in my throat.”
Joseph raised his eyebrows as if he knew she was not being truthful and invited her to sit with him for a nightcap. Although she felt she had to make the rounds, she accepted.
“How is everything with you?” he inquired.
Once again her eyes filled with tears. What was going on? This was crazy! Antonia glanced around the dining room to make sure no one else could spot her, but the remaining guests were all engrossed in their own conversations. She was profoundly grateful that she had insisted on low-wattage and mostly candlelight to illuminate the dining room or else she would have been discovered.
Joseph put his hand on top of Antonia’s and smiled. They sat like that for a minute, Antonia fighting tears, and dabbing her eyes with a napkin. They both waited until she was able to speak.
“I’m so embarrassed, Joseph. You just remind me so much of my father and it hit me like a ton of bricks.”
“Don’t worry, my dear. I understand.”
This made her want to cry harder. There was nothing that makes you cry more than when someone is nice to you when you are crying. She finally exhaled. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” said Joseph. “You know, my father died when I was twenty-one and I remember at his wake a friend of my mother’s said to me that her father had been dead for twenty years and it didn’t seem like a day had gone by since he died. I couldn’t fathom it at the time, but now I understand what she means. And there is something oddly reassuring about it. It’s nice to think that you feel the loss as much today as when it happened. It’s wonderful to love that much.”
Antonia nodded. “I like looking at it that way… I didn’t know you were twenty-one when your dad died. I was ten when my mom died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. It was strange because she was much younger than my father, almost twenty years younger. And they’d always joke how he’d die first and she’d remarry some handsome guy her own age. Then she got cancer and died within six weeks of her diagnosis. My dad never got over it. He was completely heartbroken. Life is strange.”
Joseph patted her hand and waited before speaking again. “It must be tough taking on this whole inn and restaurant by yourself. But you wouldn’t know it by watching you. It’s so nice to see your smiling face and taste your delicious food. I had the truffled macaroni and cheese tonight with a side of sautéed broccoli rabe. My doctor would be apoplectic but I loved every minute of it.”
Antonia laughed. “There’s a lot of butter in those two dishes!”
“Bring it on, as they say!” he chortled. He took a sip of his sherry and watched Antonia intently.
“I’m sorry for everything, Joseph. I haven’t been myself all day. I heard something yesterday that set me off.”
Antonia filled him in on all of the talk about the previous innkeepers dying suspicious deaths, including the new revelation about the possible bee sting. She added that it was making her a nervous nelly, and she replayed the stepladder scene from that afternoon, lamenting that she may be next in line.
Joseph looked excited. “No, don’t worry! Biddy Robertson is still alive. She only briefly owned the inn before Gordon, way back when, but that still counts!”
“Really?”
“Sure. Lives in a condo near Springy Banks Road.”
“Are you friends with her?”
“Not socially. But my wife, Margaret, ran the Ladies Village Improvement Society Fair one summer and worked with Biddy on that. I think Biddy still volunteers at their thrift shop.”
“Well, that’s reassuring!”
“Quite.”
“What about the owner before her?”
Joseph removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with his handkerchief. “Well…I’m afraid that’s not such a good story.”
“Ugh! Okay, now you have to tell me.”
“Greg McKenna was his name. He was a nice man, very energetic, some might say a touch too enthusiastic, but he meant well. He had all sorts of plans. In fact, he was the one who originally put the restaurant in the inn. Before that, there was just a hot plate and a coffee maker for guests to self-serve.”
“Then I bow to him.” Antonia smiled.
“Yes, but his kitchen was nothing like yours. He was big on ideas but short on execution.”
“Did he live here alone?”
“No. He owned it with his wife, Charmaine. They’d met in college in Florida. She had some family money, I believe, that was used to purchase the inn, but he was the real self-starter who made it happen.”
“So, what went wrong?”
“Well, it’s all rumor and conjecture…but, there was talk around town that Greg was having an affair with his wife’s sister, Lois. Lois actually lived here at the inn with Greg and Charmaine, and was one of those gay divorcées who cut a dangerous figure. By all reports she was extremely selfish, only out for number one. Apparently, Charmaine had been trying to force Lois to move out for months, calling her a leech and a mooch, but she refused, and Greg kept leaping to her defense, which caused a tremendous amount of conflict between him and his wife. In fact, some people thought he and Lois were lovers and I am sure Charmaine suspected that. Well, one night they had a family dinner and Charmaine made a carrot cake for dessert. She knew carrot cake was her sister’s favorite dessert. And she knew that Greg hated carrot cake. Well, that night it was strange, because Lois refused to eat the cake—said she was on a diet. But Greg decided it looked so good that he would have some. According to Lois, Charmaine tried to talk him out of it, but perhaps he felt bad that no one wanted it, so he tucked in to a large piece. Ate every last bite. Next thing you know, he’s violently ill, throwing up all over the place. Charmaine, who also had some, was sick also. Too sick to help him. Greg went to bed and into cardiac arrest, and he died in the night. His daughter discovered him on the floor of the bathroom. The kid found Charmaine in time and called 911. She was saved, but not her husband. They found arsenic in the cake, which Charmaine swore must have gotten in there by accident. She had picked some thyme from the garden to add to the cake and must have mistakenly included it, she claimed. But the theory always was that Charmaine meant to kill her sister and dispose of her. Ate just enough of the cake to not be a suspect, and ended up killing her husband.”
He paused, his eyes shining, and awaited Antonia’s response.
“Wow.” She shivered.
“Yes. Terrible story.”
“What ever happened to Charmaine and Lois?”
Joseph paused and shifted in his seat. “Lois became even nuttier. She knew what Charmaine had done and accused her, but as she was a bit of a drunk who’d had a few skirmishes with the law—stole some money from ex-boyfriends and the like—the police didn’t believe her. I think she left town. No one really knows where she went, but I fear it did not end well.”
“And Charmaine?”
“Not six months later, Charmaine married her high-school sweetheart and was living back in Winter Park, Florida, in one of those mini-mansions, raising her kids with her new husband as if Greg had never existed. Sold the inn to Biddy and never looked back.”
“It’s an incredible stor
y…”
Before Antonia could finish her sentence, someone behind her interrupted her.
“I made it. I’m sure you were beginning to lose hope, but hell, if you knew the kind of night I had, you would freak out, so make sure you show me some gratitude. I’m friggin’ starving. Is this the best table in the house?”
Larry Lipper plopped down on the chair between Joseph and Antonia and dropped his brown leather satchel on the floor next to him. He pulled Antonia’s glass of sherry toward him and downed it, then wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. There were bags under his eyes and he was markedly wearier than he had been earlier in the day. All trace of handsomeness was replaced by a worn and weary facade.
“Joseph Fowler.” Joseph put out his hand to shake but Larry ignored it.
“Larry Lipper. Can I get a menu? What’s good?” asked Larry.
“Well, the kitchen is just about closed…”
“Don’t screw with me. I wouldn’t have come if you hadn’t promised me a great dinner.”
Antonia wanted to protest but decided it was futile. This Larry Lipper clearly lived in an alternate reality.
Antonia asked Glen to bring over a menu and she watched Larry pore over it with intensity. He made clucking noises, voicing his disapproval over various items, and seemed at a loss as to what to order. Joseph gave Antonia a quizzical look but she just shook her head in resignation.
“What the hell is this, smoked pork sausage and sweet corn custard? What is corn custard? A pile of mush?”