by Carrie Doyle
Antonia and Joseph both paused to contemplate that. After some moments, Joseph restored his line of questioning.
“Do we have any other evidence of past criminal behavior on Barbie’s part?”
“Only that she was a thief. Possibly.”
“What about anything violent?”
Antonia shook her head. “I would love to say yes, but I don’t think so. I know she and Gordon fought, but no one mentioned physical violence. There was no police report on her. I saw her when she was pretty much obliterated, and she wasn’t throwing punches. So, no. Now, where are we? Everything fits and yet doesn’t.”
“Let’s move on for now. How about the gardener?”
“Hector? Well, yes, he had some motive, but I don’t really think he did it. I mean, he was angry that his wife was fired, and Gordon sounds like a really annoying boss, but why would he kill him?”
“I’m writing down, ‘weak motive.’ But as a gardener, he probably knew something about bees.”
“True.”
“And Gordon was found in the garden. By Hector.”
“Yes. And Hector’s wife, Soyla, worked at the South Fork Farm, which has the beehives. He had access,” acknowledged Antonia. “But then so does anyone.”
“You really don’t like the gardener for this one.”
“I know,” conceded Antonia. “I just don’t see it.”
“All right. Who’s next?”
“Ronald Meter. The manager. He was fired by Gordon and he keeps a beehive, which he at first hid from me, but then told me it was because he was ashamed he ate honey as he was diabetic.”
“That’s a bit bizarre.”
“I agree. But the thing is, Ronald seemed angrier with Barbie than he was at Gordon. He felt she manipulated him.”
“Perhaps he set her up?” asked Joseph.
“It all seems very elaborate. Why bother? Everyone thought Gordon had a heart attack. If he wanted to set her up, he could have framed her. Maybe snuck into their apartment and poisoned the toothpaste…”
Suddenly Antonia shivered. What if that’s what the intruder in her home had done? Had she brushed her teeth since then? Of course. But what if it was in her shampoo? Ugh, was she going to have to throw out all of her beauty products? There was no way! She would risk death. Antonia desperately wanted to tell Joseph about the break-in, but didn’t want to upset him in his precarious state, so she bit her tongue. Joseph broke the silence.
“Maybe Ronald wanted it to be known that Gordon was stung?”
“The problem is that I only heard that tangentially. The Powerses were eating at the restaurant and their son was the first responder to the scene. If he hadn’t mentioned it, it would have died with Gordon.”
Joseph gazed off into the distance, deep in thought.
“What?” asked Antonia.
“I wonder if you should talk to him again.”
“Ronald?”
“No, the Powerses’ son.”
“Matt?”
“Yes, Matt. Maybe you should find out a little more about what happened when he first arrived at the inn to try to revive Gordon. Who exactly was there? What transpired?”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll try to follow up with him today.”
“It might be worth it. Okay, let’s move on to Naomi.”
“I can’t see her killing her own brother,” Antonia confessed. “I mean, I know they fought, but at the end of the day, he’s her brother.”
“Wouldn’t be the first. Reread the bible.”
“I know, but while they had their differences, from all accounts their relationship was always up and down and very volatile. Frankly, it seems that’s how all of Gordon’s relationships were. He was bipolar. I just think that a sister, no matter how frustrated, would have empathy for that. Especially since they were apparently very close.”
“Didn’t you say that she was the one who brought up murder in the first place?” asked Joseph.
“Yes, she alluded to it, then denied it. But all the more reason to question why would she spotlight it if she had gotten away with it.”
“True. But she wanted a quick burial, no autopsy, and she stood to inherit everything.”
Joseph was right. There was something wrong with the whole scenario. “You have a point,” Antonia conceded.
“Let’s talk about the suspects in Biddy’s murder,” said Joseph, writing her name down in big letters and underlining it twice. “And let’s go backward because it seems like the police already believe Naomi had a hand in it.”
“The motive is clear. Naomi and Biddy hated each other. They had a long-standing feud. There was enough acrimony to cause Naomi to move across town. She bought the inn out from under Biddy and Biddy never forgave her. Naomi threw a dead raccoon on her doormat. And the most recent blowup was that Biddy wanted to become a bigwig at the Garden Club and Naomi was blocking her. Naomi did not want Biddy encroaching on her territory. I wonder actually, now that I think of it, why Naomi and Biddy hated each other so much? What was the genesis of their falling-out?”
“Good question,” said Joseph. “Either love or money is my supposition. It’s usually one or the other with women, no offense.”
“I agree. I’ve heard nothing about another man, so it must be money. Or they were just totally competitive.”
“And why do you think Naomi killed her now?”
“That I don’t know,” sighed Antonia. “Why now after all these years? And why would she kill her and then steal Biddy’s enamel box and drop it in the backyard of the inn so that it could be found?”
“How do you know Naomi did that?”
“Because she was lurking around the backyard one day. Acting all suspicious. And then the next day we found the box.”
“Who found it?”
“Hector…”
Joseph shifted in his chair. “Hector seems to be quite the expert in finding things in the backyard.”
“Well, he is the gardener,” Antonia pointed out.
“Yes, it’s just interesting. I’m putting that down under his name.”
“Okay, but I don’t think it’s unusual.”
“Not unusual, maybe, but it needs to be noted.”
“Okay.”
“Anyone else have access to the backyard?”
“Everyone does, you know that. But I didn’t see anyone else other than Naomi there…” suddenly Antonia trailed off. She remembered something.
“What is it?” prompted Joseph.
“I just remembered that Ronald Meter came to visit me at the inn the day before it was found. He came to apologize for his behavior, which in and of itself was a little strange, but then I toured him around. I left him in the sunroom and he said he was going to say hi to Hector in the backyard…”
Joseph raised his eyebrows. “The plot thickens.”
“But again why?”
“Planting evidence, perhaps. We don’t really know what goes on in a killer’s mind. Did Ronald have any connection to Biddy?”
“He knew her through the L.V.I.S. And he didn’t really react when I said she was dead, now that I think of it…”
“Do you think the box of things Biddy put together from the inn contained things that Ronald stole? We’ve been assuming it was Barbie but it could have been him.”
“You’re right. But say he did, was that really motive to go kill Biddy? She could tell the inn that he stole some things and tried to donate it to get a tax write-off? Why would she tell anyone at the inn? It was all done before my time, when Gordon was in charge, and she hated Gordon and Naomi. This could actually work to her advantage, because she could bad-mouth them to potential customers and guests.”
“Indeed.”
“What about Hector?”
“Hector is a frequent customer of the
L.V.I.S. thrift shop. Their paths have crossed, but I’m not sure that matters. I don’t see him having a strong motive to kill Biddy. Let’s cross him off.”
“If we are assuming the same person killed both Gordon and Biddy.”
“Are you kidding? Of course we are assuming that! I’d hate to think there were two murderers out there!”
“Agreed. What about Barbie?”
“Again, maybe she dropped off the stolen items to the L.V.I.S. and Biddy called her out on it. Seems like a weak reason to kill Biddy. Although maybe it would unravel her whole plan.”
“Possibly.”
Joseph and Antonia became quiet and wallowed in their thoughts. Antonia felt dismay; they were no closer to an answer than when they had started. She sighed deeply.
“It all comes down to ‘that B.’ Who was the B in the note Gordon wrote, where he said ‘that B is trying to kill me’? Barbie? Biddy? That ‘beast,’ Ronald Meter? That B could also be the word that rhymes with witch, maybe used to describe his sister? I don’t know…”
“It will come. We just have to keep thinking, my dear. It will come to us, I’m sure of it,” said Joseph.
“I really hope you’re right.”
Gosh, Antonia was really going to miss Joseph if he moved away.
29
In addition to volunteering as an EMT, Matt Powers worked as a physical therapist for East Hampton Sports Medicine (EHSP), which was located on a cul-de-sac near the airport, just off Route 114, which led to Sag Harbor. Whereas vast farmland sprawled on one side of the road, dense trees, intermittent houses, and small clusters of industrial one-story buildings muddled the other side. Antonia pulled into a designated parking spot in the lot in front of the large, windowless, aluminum-sided building. It looked more like a giant storage unit than a place of business or rehabilitation. The sign on the door alerted her that she was in the correct place and instructed her to enter rather than ring the bell. She pulled open the heavy steel door, a feat that took both hands and an extra dose of strength and nearly shocked all of her usually dormant muscles. She wondered if the door ever deterred patients suffering from arm or shoulder pain from proceeding with therapy at this location.
Immediately, the smell of feet, dried sweat, and the sickly sweet air freshener used to conceal their stench smacked Antonia in the face, invading her nostrils like a hostile marching band. She glanced around the room. The center was set up on one side like a gym, with assorted sports equipment including a treadmill, two elliptical machines, a StairMaster, and a metal rack that held a panoply of weights and barbells of varying sizes. There was a stack of blue mats against the wall next to a basket of weighted balls, and pegs that held different colored bands and jump ropes. The entire wall on the gym side was mirrored, and currently there was a rather obese, gray-haired woman in spandex and a white collared shirt staring intently at her own reflection as she attempted to lift a five-pound weight aloft with her right arm. She was assisted in this endeavor by a peppy ponytailed blond in a Juicy Couture sweat suit who was murmuring encouraging words and prattling on endlessly about how the old lady could “do it.” To Antonia’s left, there were six different stations divided by curtains, mostly ajar, featuring long tables that one would find in a massage parlor or doctor’s office. A rather large man was lying facedown on one, moaning loudly, as Matt Powers leaned against his bent leg, pushing down his knee and attempting to get the man’s foot as close to his buttock as possible.
Antonia felt a wave of nausea, which was always the case when she was confronted by anything that represented athletic endeavors. Gyms, in particular, made Antonia tense up because they reminded her of her P.E. classes in high school. Those were routinely the worst forty minutes of her day, exercises in humiliation and embarrassment. She was perhaps the least coordinated person she had ever met, and even jumping rope had been a display of ineptitude.
Matt glanced up at Antonia and she gave him a slight wave. He acknowledged her with a nod. Just as she did so, the receptionist seated at the desk that Antonia hadn’t even noticed, spoke.
“Can I help you?” she asked. The girl was young, probably very early twenties, with light brown hair and a rash of acne on her forehead. She wore a blue hooded sweatshirt, lots of eye shadow, and was chewing her gum so aggressively Antonia thought it might pop out of her mouth. A worn copy of Fifty Shades of Grey was propped open next to her computer with a purple bookmark peeking out. Beside it was a movie theater concession stand–sized bag of Skittles that was half full.
“Hi, I was wondering if Matt had a moment that I could ask him a question.”
The girl glanced over at Matt. “He’s with a patient now, but he should be done in about ten minutes. You want to wait?”
“Sure.”
“You can sit there.”
She pointed to two wooden chairs that were pressed closely together against the wall. On one, sat an older Asian man who was listening to something on his iPad. Antonia sat down next to him, taking care not to crowd him, which was difficult considering how tightly jammed together the chairs were. She stood and tried to move her chair away from his, but once she noticed that the chairs were entwined at the legs and the man would have to get up to facilitate extrication, she abandoned her effort. The man didn’t seem to notice her; he was nodding along to whatever he was listening to, which Antonia couldn’t make out despite their proximity. It sounded like someone speaking a foreign language, but she couldn’t be sure.
Antonia reached over and took one of the dog-eared copies of Self magazine off the coffee table and began reading an article about the ten most fat-burning foods. She ingested the information the way one might read about someone else’s trip to Antarctica. All very interesting but she knew she would never attempt it.
The clock slowly ticked by, and finally Matt’s patient left and he approached Antonia.
“Hi, I hear you’d like to see me?”
“Yes, I was wondering if you had a minute?” asked Antonia.
“Sure, I got fifteen before my next patient. Let’s go to my office.”
Antonia walked through the gym, dodging the older lady who was now attempting to walk and lift weights at the same time, an exercise that was currently proving elusive and demoralizing despite her enthusiastic therapist who had kept up with chanting. “Yes, yes! You can do it!”
Matt closed the door to the office and motioned for Antonia to have a seat in the chair across from the desk. Antonia declined his offer of a vitaminwater, but watched as he bent down and pulled one out of the mini-fridge. She noticed how well he fit into his tight sports pants and form-fitting T-shirt, his muscles rippling through like a male model in an advertisement for grooming products.
Matt popped the cap and downed practically the entire bottle before sitting in the leather swivel chair behind the desk.
“Sorry, it gets really hot in there. I get parched easily.”
“No prob,” said Antonia.
“So what can I do for you? Are you injured?”
“No, thankfully. I’m actually not here for that.”
He nodded and she watched as his eyes scanned her body. Antonia felt a wave of self-consciousness and inadvertently wrapped herself further in her coat before rambling on.
“I’m here because I wanted to ask you again about when you found Gordon Haslett, the previous owner of the inn. I know you didn’t want your mom to mention that you thought it was a bee sting, but I have reason to believe it was and I would just love to hear from you, blow-by-blow, what happened when you got there.”
Matt’s face didn’t show any expression as he took another sip of his vitaminwater, finishing off the bottle before pitching it in the trash can next to him. He folded his hands neatly on the desk and leaned forward. Antonia noticed how perfectly his nails were filed and wondered if he was one of those guys who like to get manicures.
“You get that I ha
ve to be careful with what I say. I don’t want any lawsuits for libel coming out of this.”
“No, I totally understand,” said Antonia. “This is just for my purposes only. Let’s just say that I became a little freaked out with all the stories about past innkeepers dying under mysterious circumstances, so I’m doing everything I can to prevent that.”
He nodded. “Why don’t you just move?”
“Move?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s not that easy.”
He gave her a solemn look. “I get it. You have to make choices.”
Antonia’s face didn’t register the surprise with the direction this conversation was taking. Instead, she smiled sweetly. “Yes, choices. That’s why I need your help. Could you tell me what happened?”
“Okay. Well, at approximately 4:17, I received a distress call coming from 241 Main Street, the location of the inn. I happened to be nearby at Hampton Market buying my lunch. I was able to immediately respond to the scene, within approximately four minutes.”
“Wow, I hope you paid for your lunch,” said Antonia, jokingly.
“I did,” said Matt.
Antonia could tell that all attempts at lightheartedness or humor would fall on deaf ears, so she decided to keep those comments to a minimum.
“Right, sorry. Please continue. I won’t interrupt.”
“When I arrived, I found the victim lying on the ground in the backyard. He was unconscious, and his vitals were alarming…”
Antonia waited as Matt continued describing all of the technical features of Gordon’s condition, as well as all of the efforts he made to attempt resuscitation. This part of the story was not the purpose of her visit, but she could tell that it gave Matt a certain amount of pleasure to pedantically delineate the procedural aspects of the case, so she patiently waited for him to finish. When he had done so, she proceeded with the line of questioning that interested her.