Death on Windmill Way

by Carrie Doyle

  Antonia—

  Turns out we were using Warren’s Nursery back then. We purchased all of our trees and bushes from them. I was wrong to think the charges were frivolous. Sorry about the false alarm.

  Lucy

  Antonia crumpled it up and pitched it in her trash can. So Ronald hadn’t been siphoning money from the inn. That confirmation doesn’t really change anything because Ronald as the main suspect was so three hours ago, thought Antonia with a smile.

  Marty and Kendra were buzzing about the kitchen and Antonia felt a tinge of joy and dismay that everything had proceeded smoothly without her. Here it was Friday night and they didn’t miss a beat. Oh well, she supposed that was a good thing, and she joined in the kitchen rhythm. As she plated a Gorgonzola-stuffed hamburger on a brioche bun, Glen popped into the kitchen to tell her (with an eye roll) that Larry Lipper was asking for her. She scooped some pickle chips onto the plate before heading out to meet him.

  The restaurant was noisy and loud, and the crowd at the bar was two-people deep. None of that seemed to bother Larry, though. His tiny body was perched on a barstool and he was tapping away on his laptop, ignoring the women who were standing next to him ogling his stool. A tumbler of bourbon was in front of him. He wore brown corduroys and a blue fleece over a blue-checked button-down. He was totally absorbed in his work and didn’t notice Antonia at first. He was so much more pleasant this way, she thought, when he was focused and not trying to be a wise guy.

  “Hey,” said Antonia.

  Larry glanced up. He had about a day or two’s worth of beard growth on his chin and his eyes were tired, with little wrinkles creasing around the sides. He snapped down the cover of his laptop.

  “Bingham.”

  “Lipper.”

  He gave her a smile and for the first time she noticed that he actually had nice teeth. Very white, very straight. Oh well, you win some you lose some, thought Antonia.

  “You beckoned me here?” he said finally. “Just can’t stay away, huh?”

  He still had his playful tone but he sounded wearier than usual.

  “I did?” asked Antonia with confusion.

  “Yes, you left me a message?”

  “Oh right! Wow, that seems like it was so long ago.”

  “What did you want?”

  “What’s wrong, Larry. You have a late night last night? You look half dead.”

  “Ha, well, yes, I did have a late night last night. Hot date. But that’s not the reason I’m tired.”

  “What is then?”

  “You’re not going to believe what happened, Bingham,” he said. “This is so up your alley.”

  Antonia tried to get closer to Larry but couldn’t elbow her way through the crowd. “You know what? Let’s go into the sunroom and talk. Much quieter.”

  “I want to eat, though,” whined Larry. “You promised.”

  “I’ll tell Glen to send a waiter in to take our order.”

  “Fine.”

  Larry packed up his laptop and followed Antonia out through the front door. She greeted some customers along the way and grabbed two menus from the maître d’ stand. Glen was busy chatting with the guests at table four, so she mouthed Sunroom and pointed and hoped that he would get that she wanted a waiter to find her there.

  The sunroom was occupied by a couple having drinks. They were leaning closely together in an intimate conversation. As soon as Antonia entered, they abruptly pulled apart.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” said Antonia.

  The man rose quickly. “It’s okay, we were just leaving.”

  “We can go somewhere else,” Antonia protested.

  “That’s okay. We’re done here,” said the man with finality.

  Antonia glanced at the woman who winced at his words. She put down her glass and stood up reluctantly. Antonia could discern the slightest remnants of tears in her eyes and wondered if she had just stumbled upon a breakup. Both of them left wordlessly.

  Larry plopped down on the sofa. “Thank God we got rid of them.”

  “You are too kind, Larry,” said Antonia. She sat in the armchair next to him.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m just happy to sit in a comfortable sofa. I’ve had a long day.”

  “Yes, please tell me all about it. I’m dying of curiosity,” said Antonia with sarcasm.

  “Ha ha, I know you are putting on airs, but do you know where I’ve been all day?”

  “Larry, I really have no idea.”

  He gave her a wicked smile. “I was at the police station. They brought Naomi Haslett in for questioning in the murder of Biddy Robertson.”

  Antonia was stunned. “You’re kidding me.”

  He shook his head. “I kid you not. It’s big news. They think she offed her.”

  “Why would she kill her?”

  “Oh, Bingham, you know the ways of women! You’re all crazy!”

  “Ha ha. Seriously.”

  “Cat fight gone bad. Apparently, the two gals were friends way back when, neighbors, bosom buddies, thick as thieves, probably having slumber parties in their PJs, topless pillow fights, the works.”

  Antonia rolled her eyes. Larry was clearly enjoying this. He continued with relish.

  “Then the inevitable falling-out, who knows why—maybe Biddy stole Naomi’s lipstick and she got her panties in a bunch. So when Biddy confided that she was having financial issues and facing foreclosure, Naomi joined with Gordon to screw her out of the inn. After that, it was on. And I mean capital ON. Remember that item in the paper about the dead animal?”

  Antonia nodded. “But why now? Why wait all those years to kill her?”

  Larry took a large gulp, nearly finishing the bourbon he had brought in with him. The ice cubes clanked down in the glass when he replaced it on the table. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gave Antonia a mischievous look.

  “You’ll have to read it in my column.”

  “Larry, not this again!” snapped Antonia in frustration. She was about to grab him by the collar and shake it out of him but he put his hands up to surrender.

  “Now, now, Bingham, don’t get all wild. Of course I’m kidding. I just wanted to see your face. I love how it gets all puckered up when you are pissed off.”

  “Stop jerking me around and tell me.”

  “Okay,” said Larry, pausing to take another chug of his drink, finishing it off.

  Antonia waited with impatience. She folded her arms like a school marm and tapped her foot. “Larry, just be normal for once,” she commanded.

  “I’m offended!” he began to protest, but then sensing Antonia’s acute aggravation, he backed down. “How about another drink first?”

  Antonia remained silent. All this back-and-forth banter made Antonia feel like she was on a sitcom.

  “Okay, Okay. Wow, lady, you drive a hard bargain. Biddy Robertson told her son she thought that Gordon Haslett had been killed. She actually even implied that she knew who did it. She didn’t tell him, but she did refer to the killer as a ‘she.’”

  Antonia’s pulse raced. “And the police think the ‘she’ in question is Naomi?”

  Larry nodded. “Yes.”

  “But why Naomi? What about Barbie?”

  “Okay, this has to be kept on the down-low,” said Larry, for once serious.

  “Obviously.”

  Larry leaned in closer. “When the police searched Biddy’s house, they found a letter that Naomi had written Gordon. It was full of nasty stuff like ‘I hate you,’ ‘I hate your girlfriend,’ ‘You’re screwing me’…”

  “Why would she put that in writing?”

  “It was on the back of some bill for a party that Gordon had. He had rented all these tables and chairs and linens from Bermuda Party Rentals. He expensed it all to the hotel, but the police confirmed it was a birthday
party he had for Barbie. Naomi owned half of the hotel, so he was essentially taking money away from her. And I think the kicker was she wasn’t even invited.”

  “How did Biddy get the letter?”

  “They think she was investigating Naomi. Trying to find anything she could to get back at her. Somehow got a hold of the letter. I dunno, maybe went through her garbage?”

  Antonia had never met Biddy, but she wondered at the idea of her going through Gordon and Barbie’s garbage to find incriminating evidence. Biddy was in her sixties, would she really go dumpster diving? Something didn’t seem right, but probably the police knew more than they were telling Larry.

  “Why would she be investigating Naomi now? They ‘stole the inn out from under’ Biddy twelve years ago.”

  “The son said that his mother never got over it and always hated Naomi. She had finally stopped talking about it until recently when she was passed over for a position in the Garden Club. She felt Naomi was the one responsible because she trashed her to another member. And Biddy really, really wanted that job. Don’t quite know why, because it was voluntary, not even paid, but supposedly prestigious for some reason or other. Not sure why weeding local public gardens is prestigious.”

  Antonia gave Larry a look. “They do more than that.”

  “Whatever. I hear the words ‘women’s’ and ‘club’ in the same sentence and I run for the hills.”

  “We can talk about your mother issues later,” said Antonia. “In the meantime, what about Gordon? Now do the police believe he was murdered?”

  “They didn’t tell me if they do or not but I get the impression they’re not exactly trying to add any more murders to their load. Not good for the local economy.”

  “Good for you and your paper though,” said Antonia.

  “You’re getting it now.”

  “Is there anything else? Any other details that you are ‘forgetting’ that I might read about in your newspaper this week?”

  “Hey, come on. I told you everything I know.”

  “How did they get to Naomi in the first place? They must have had some cause to search her house. Don’t you need a warrant for that?”

  Larry scorned. “I’m working on that angle. No one is talking. Yet. It’s very frustrating, but I’ll wait. I’m like a cat stalking my prey. Now you gotta buy me dinner. Isn’t that why you called?”

  “I actually had another question, but yes, I will buy you dinner,” said Antonia. “And I may actually do you the honor of joining you. I haven’t eaten either.”

  Larry gave her a long, leering look. “I know you want me.”

  “Larry, please.”

  “Don’t deny it.”

  The waiter entered the room and Larry and Antonia put in orders for dinner. They both wanted the burger, and Larry made a big show out of asking for whole grain mustard to accompany his burger and insisting that his fries should be extra crispy. He made a big deal about excluding tomatoes and lettuce on his bun as if they were toxic. Antonia gave the waiter an eye roll as he patiently took down Larry’s requests. Antonia added a glass of cabernet, another drink for Larry, and an order of fried calamari, as well as a small mixed-green salad that she planned to take at least one bite of in an effort to balance out all of the grease and carbs. It really wasn’t easy for a carnivore to incorporate leafy green vegetables into her diet. When the waiter left, Antonia returned her attention to Larry, who had grabbed a handful of mixed nuts from the dish the waiter had brought in and was picking out all of the peanuts and throwing them back into the dish.

  “Don’t do that, please. It’s gross,” Antonia admonished.

  “I don’t like peanuts.”

  “So don’t eat the nuts. It’s disgusting that you touch every single one and then put them back in.”

  “Everyone does it. Did you know they did a study and found that there is a ton of urine on bar nuts?”

  “Larry. Oh my God, stop.”

  “It’s true. People drink beer, go to the bathroom, and ‘forget’ to wash their hands, then come back and dig into the nuts. They’re like the foulest things on the planet.”

  “And you’re contributing to it.”

  “I would hope that you would throw out the dish after each person eats some. If you don’t, that’s a major health code violation. I should write an article on this place.”

  “Okay, now you are bugging me,” said Antonia with exasperation.

  “Babe, I don’t like to see you upset. Forget the health code thing and talk to me. What made you call in Double L tonight if not for some loving?”

  “You refer to yourself as ‘Double L’?”

  “I do.”

  Antonia sighed deeply. This man needed help, he was so confused. But that wasn’t her problem right now. She decided to drop the subject and move on.

  “I wanted to ask you about the Millennium New Year’s Eve party that was here at the inn. I met a woman, Joan Masterson, who showed me some photos from that night.”

  “Man, that was some night! We partied like it was 1999.”

  “I can imagine. I saw pictures of you ogling ladies. But what I want to know is if you remember who was dressed as a bunny that night.”

  “A bunny? A Playboy bunny?”

  “No, just like a real bunny. An Easter bunny.”

  “Geez, Antonia, I have no idea! I was out of my mind that night. The booze was flowing, everyone was giddy, it was like the sixties, or what I imagine the sixties were like. I wasn’t alive then.”

  “Well, do you remember who Gordon was dating at the time?”

  “No, I didn’t even know the guy.”

  Antonia was dismayed. “You’re a reporter, Larry. Come on, did you take notes on the evening? Could you remember any of the people who were there? You seem to have some capacity for observation.”

  “Now, now,” said Larry. “No need to be nasty. It’s true. I wasn’t paying much attention that evening. But I can find out.”

  “That would be great.”

  “What do I get in return?”

  “Larry, I am so tired of this.”

  “Come on, I’m just kidding you,” said Larry. He punched her arm. “Have a sense of humor.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Antonia and Larry were deep into their burgers when Genevieve arrived in a dramatic flurry, stomping her way into the sunroom like an angry child. Her outfit was a bit more subdued today, Antonia noted. She wore black leggings tucked into black leather motorcycle boots, and a long green-gray asymmetrical wool top with sleeves that flared at her elbows. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun by a black elastic band, and the only makeup she had on was lip gloss.

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she said accusingly.

  “And now you found me,” said Antonia brightly.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Genevieve said, flinging her leather satchel purse down onto the coffee table and plopping in an armchair. “Ty has a girlfriend.”

  She said it as if she had just announced the Academy Award for Best Actor or the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. She waited for Antonia’s reaction, but when Antonia didn’t comment she continued.

  “It’s just bizarre that he wouldn’t mention it. There were plenty of opportunities. And do you know how I found out? We’re watching TV, he’s sitting on the couch and I’m lying down, my head on his lap. He picks up his phone and starts texting. I don’t really pay attention, but then he’s, like, laughing, so I say, ‘Who are you texting?’ and he says Sarah. And I’m like, ‘Who’s Sarah?’ and he says, ‘My girlfriend.’ Can you believe it? Does he have no respect?”

  Antonia barely had time to react before Larry Lipper jumped in.

  “Sounds like a loser.”

  Genevieve turned, noticing Larry for the first time, despite the fact that he was seated directly
next to Antonia. “Yes, he is a loser. You’re right.”

  “Men are jerks,” added Larry.

  Genevieve nodded. “I agree. Total jerks.”

  Her eyes went back and forth between Larry and Antonia but finally settled on the latter with a quizzical gaze.

  “Sorry, do you two know each other?” Antonia said, making the introduction. “Larry, this is Genevieve.”

  A small smile crept across Genevieve’s lips. She thrust out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too. Not every night I meet a damsel in distress.”

  Genevieve gave Antonia a wide-eyed look and took a step back. “Well, I’m sorry to interrupt. I should go.”

  She stood up and began to retreat. Antonia belatedly realized that Genevieve erroneously thought she and Larry were on a date.

  “Wait, don’t go, it’s not what you think,” said Antonia.

  Genevieve shook her head. “No, no, I gotta run. Just wanted to stop by.”

  “Larry and I are just talking murder. Don’t you want to join us? Please don’t go!”

  But Genevieve was already out the door. Antonia stood up to go after her but Larry stopped her.

  “Aw, let her go and lick her wounds.”

  “No, she wants to talk. She just probably thought we were on a date so she hightailed it out of here.”

  “Then she’s very astute,” said Larry. “No tits, though.”

  “Larry, you are really very irritating.”

  “Thank you,” he said smugly.

  27

  Saturday

  The weather report had promised temperatures would hit the mid-sixties, and it was already warm and sunny by the time Antonia arrived at the beach at six thirty in the morning. After living most of her life in Northern California where the weather was even and predictable, a steady hum of overcast and dry and never too cold, New York was a complete conundrum for Antonia. There was a schizophrenic element to the New York climate where one day would be frigid and cold and then the next positively balmy. Last year, she’d made the mistake of putting away her summer clothes too early—for once, making a huge effort to be so clever and organized, she had meticulously folded everything in tissue paper and neatly packed it in a plastic under-the-bed container in late September only to reopen it again a few weeks later when the heat reemerged in full force. Nowadays, Antonia took her mother’s old “layering is key” advice and piled on layers of soft fabrics, starting with cotton short-sleeved shirts and moving to loose cardigans, scarves, fleeces, and so forth until she was in a cocoon of clothing that could be unwrapped one item at a time.