Death on Windmill Way

by Carrie Doyle

  At nine o’clock, Antonia made her phone calls. A few didn’t answer, and she assumed they were at church or still sleeping, but she left enticing messages that would ensure they did as she instructed. The rest of the day was spent planning. Joseph came over in the afternoon to help her. There were still a few kinks but they both agreed that the plan could work.

  “Humans are weak,” Joseph had reminded her. “They can be broken.”

  Antonia had to hope that was true. It was the only way she could prove that Gordon Haslett and Biddy Robertson were murdered and that she had solved the crimes.

  * * *

  “What’s all this?” asked Lucy.

  She glanced at the round table that Antonia had erected in the parlor and covered with a blue-and-white floral tablecloth that was hemmed with a green fringe. Atop the cloth, matching napkins were folded in a pile next to a box of antique silverware—the heavy kind, actual silver and not plated—and a stack of blue-and-white Herend china dinner plates. The centerpiece was a discreet low bowl of chrysanthemums and white hydrangeas.

  “I’m setting the table,” said Antonia. “You’re just in time, do you mind helping?”

  “Of course not,” said Lucy, still wearing a quizzical look on her face. “But why are we doing it in here?”

  Antonia smiled conspiratorially. She glanced around the room to make sure no one was lurking around to overhear. The room was quiet and still, an almost foreboding hush hanging over it.

  “I’m sort of freaking out a bit, so I’m glad you’re here.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Lucy with concern. “Did something else happen?”

  “No, it’s not that.” Antonia leaned in. “I’m shutting down the parlor for the evening. Regular dinner service will take place in the dining room as usual, but I’m having a special dinner party in here tonight. I’ve invited all of the suspects in Gordon and Biddy’s murder over to dinner. I think I have an idea of who did it, I mean, I’m pretty sure, and I think if I get them all here the truth will come out.”

  Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “Who do you think did it?”

  Antonia smiled. “I don’t want to say yet. Sorry, it’s just that I think the element of surprise will be a real shock and I want to make sure I keep that effect. Hey, do you want to stay? I think it will be very entertaining.”

  “Do I want to stay? Of course I do,” said Lucy eagerly. “I was supposed to go to an independent film in Sag Harbor, but I’ll cancel that. This seems way more interesting.”

  “Great. Actually, I think it will be good to have more people rather than less, especially in case the accused gets aggressive.”

  Lucy looked worried. “Why haven’t you called the police? I mean, what if this murderer goes crazy and decides to attack one of us? I’m not sure that’s safe.”

  “I did think about that, but that may tip the murderer off. I need to make it look like this is a casual dinner to a certain extent. A parlor game, if you will.”

  “Why don’t you just go to the police directly?” questioned Lucy. “Wouldn’t that make more sense? I’m sure this will be more entertaining, but if you know for certain, perhaps it’s best to put it into the hands of the professionals.”

  “I would, but I’m waiting on one more thing… I sort of need it to prove the case.”

  “What’s that?”

  Antonia pulled out two silver candelabras from the hutch on the side wall and placed them on the table.

  “You’ll see! Patience, Lucy, patience. And trust me, it will be worth the wait.”

  Lucy gave her a skeptical look and shook her head. “Okay…”

  * * *

  An informal white-skirted bar had been set up at one end of the parlor, and a young, dark-haired waiter was standing behind, slicing lemons and limes. A wide array of alcohol was offered this evening, everything from Stolichnaya vodka to Maker’s Mark to Baileys. Several bottles of California cabernet had been uncorked as well as a nice 2006 Italian pinot grigio. An open bottle of champagne was chilling in the ice bucket on the edge of the bar.

  Antonia decided not to use the overhead lights and instead chose “mood lighting.” She illuminated several lamps on the side tables and scattered dozens of candles around the room. She wanted the parlor to appear cozier and more intimate than usual. A fire was already crackling in the fireplace and a young waiter had been assigned the task of feeding it logs for the entire evening. Ambience, Antonia felt, was the key.

  Joseph had been the first to arrive after a quick jaunt home to change for dinner. He had on a crisp white shirt and a blue bow tie, and his eyes were twinkling with expectation. Antonia had already plied him with a sherry, and she stood next to him awaiting the assemblage of invited guests. They were both experiencing nervous anticipation coupled with healthy doses of adrenaline. Antonia was twisting her pearl stud earring distractedly, as she always did when she was tense. Her mother had always tried to get her to stop fidgeting when she was uncomfortable, but it had been a futile endeavor. She smoothed down her suede camel skirt and flattened the edges of her black turtleneck. When she ran out of items to perfect on her own body, she had to restrain herself from adjusting Joseph’s tie. A passing waiter offered her a breadstick and she took it eagerly, grateful to munch on something crunchy to calm her nerves.

  Lucy hadn’t gone home to change and was still wearing a blue dress with a white Peter Pan color. She had spent the past few hours by Antonia’s side, assisting her in setting up the entire room and overseeing the waitstaff. She had disdainfully removed Antonia’s handwritten sign that had indicated that the parlor would be closed for a private event and absconded to her office to print out a neater version, which she had accurately taped on the door in alignment with the wood paneling. She was currently placing coasters on all of the surfaces so that there would be no watermarks left on the antiques from sweating glasses.

  “Who do you think will be first?” Antonia inquired.

  “I think the guilty party will arrive first,” said Joseph with confidence. “How could they contain themselves?”

  “Touché,” agreed Antonia with a sly grin. “A very tense moment for the killer.”

  Joseph smiled back.

  Suddenly the door slid open and Ronald Meter strode into the parlor. His eyes flickered around the room quickly, his unease apparent. Once he settled on Antonia, he strode toward her slowly, his gait awkward. Faint dots of perspiration were breaking out across his forehead like a teenager suffering from an acne blowout. He had worn a corduroy jacket and a plaid tie for the occasion. Once again, his pants appeared to be about three sizes too large and were constrained by the leather belt that had been working overtime since his weight loss.

  “Antonia, so nice of you to have me,” he said in a halting tone as if he was unsure if that was the truth.

  Antonia clasped his hands. “I’m very grateful you came. Do you know Joseph Fowler?”

  Ronald glanced down at Joseph quizzically before remembering his manners and smiling. “I don’t believe I do. Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Joseph here pointed out that perhaps my invitation could have been misinterpreted…”

  “I’ll admit it was sort of a head-scratcher. I’m happy to be at the dinner but it did feel like a command performance.”

  “I think ‘performance’ is the key word,” said Antonia. “And you won’t be disappointed.”

  Ronald gave her a quizzical look before shaking his head slowly. “I’m not quite sure what this is all about.”

  “You’ll find out in due time.”

  “You’re being terribly cryptic. Shall I be nervous here?” asked Ronald, his voice breaking slightly.

  Antonia patted him on the shoulder. “Of course not, Ronald. What do you have to be nervous about?”

  They locked eyes and Antonia deciphered the tiniest hint o
f fear in his. He paused but then broke into a wide grin. “Why, nothing of course.”

  “Wonderful. Why don’t you get a drink at the bar? We have sodas and mineral water.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ronald glanced over at the bar. He appeared to be about to say something but instead set off toward it. When he was out of earshot, Joseph spoke.

  “He’s uneasy.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “How did you lure him here?”

  “Told him that we had some things to discuss before he left town and he shouldn’t leave without finding them out.”

  “You didn’t leave him much choice.”

  “That was the point.” Antonia took a small sip from the champagne flute that she had picked up from another passing waiter. She was tempted to drink more but knew she had to be completely sober in order to pull this off.

  “I must say, I thought Barbie would be first,” confessed Joseph.

  “I actually staggered the times. I knew if Barbie arrived early and realized that I lured her under false pretenses she would stomp out of here. So I told her to come at seven thirty. I want to make sure everyone else is in place so that her curiosity overrides her anger.”

  “Very savvy.”

  Hector and Soyla entered the parlor. It was clear to Antonia that they were wearing their “Sunday best”—for Hector, that was a coat and tie, and for Soyla, a forest-green dress. Antonia had never seen Hector in anything but his work clothes and he cleaned up very nicely. His hair was neatly brushed, parted on the side, and held in place with hair gel. Soyla wore her hair down and curled at the ends. Both looked very ill at ease, and apprehensively glanced around the parlor. Antonia strode up to them.

  “Hector, Soyla, thanks so much for coming.”

  “Yes, miss. You sure you don’t want us to help you?” asked Hector. Soyla clung to his arm, her eyes darting around the room.

  “I’m sure. I want you both to go get a glass of wine or champagne and get comfortable. It may be a long evening for you.”

  “Thank you,” they agreed.

  “You were a wonderful help last night,” said Antonia to Soyla, warmly putting her hand over Soyla’s. “Thank you. I could not have done dinner service without you.”

  Soyla looked down with embarrassment. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

  “Your wife is a natural,” Antonia told Hector. “She’ll be running the place before I know it.”

  “Thank you,” said Hector, beaming.

  “Now go make yourselves comfortable,” admonished Antonia.

  They scurried to the bar. Antonia eyed them as they placed a drink order. She watched the waiter pour them each a Coca-Cola, which they clasped with paper napkins before heading to the farthest corner of the room to huddle in conversation. Ronald floated over to them. They smiled at him with relief and began a conversation. Antonia walked back to Joseph.

  “It’s all going beautifully, my dear.”

  “So far so good.”

  Naomi Haslett was next. She entered suspiciously, a scowl on her face and her dark bangs cut shorter than usual, slashing her forehead in half. Instead of her usual white sneakers, she wore brown boots over her black pants and a black blouse on top. She marched straight toward Antonia.

  “What is all this?”

  “Hello, Naomi, how are you?”

  “Cut it, Antonia. I want to know what this so-called party is all about? Why the mysterious invitation?”

  “I thought you might enjoy a dinner at the inn.”

  Naomi frowned. “Don’t jerk me around.”

  “Naomi, I realize you are under a tremendous amount of stress right now because of everything with Biddy.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I agree,” concurred Antonia. “But Gordon’s murder is my business.”

  Naomi’s eyes shrunk into slits. “This again?”

  “We’re not done, Naomi. It’s time for the guilty to be held accountable.”

  Naomi rolled her eyes. “And I suppose you have appointed yourself the person to do this?”

  Antonia smiled. “It has to be me. I’m the innkeeper.”

  They stared at each other for what seemed like minutes. Finally, Naomi broke her gaze and glanced around the room. “If you’re looking for who killed Gordon, how come Barbie’s not here?”

  “Oh, she’ll be here.”

  Naomi scoffed. “I think I’m going to need a drink.”

  When Naomi had a glass of vodka firmly in her hand, she studied the other guests with disdain while punching the lime in her drink with a stirrer. Naomi’s very being emitted hostility, her mouth curled into a permanent scowl. Antonia wondered if she had always been unhappy or if something had transpired in her life to render her miserable.

  Joseph raised an eyebrow at Antonia. “She’s tough.”

  “You think?”

  Sylvia and Len Powers entered the parlor excitedly, bursting with energy and enthusiasm and wearing giant smiles on their faces. Antonia went over to greet them.

  “Welcome!”

  “Thank you for having us, Antonia. This is such a treat. A private party! We are so excited,” boomed Sylvia.

  Antonia could smell her heavy perfume and noticed that she had taken particular care in her outfit. She wore a formal pale-pink silk dress with a lace bodice, and had pearls draped around her throat.

  “Twice in a month to dine at the inn, very special,” agreed Len.

  “I’m so glad you could come,” said Antonia. She glanced behind them. “How about Matt?”

  “Oh, he apologizes, Antonia; he is so upset to miss it. But he got called into work. Apparently, there’s a six-alarm fire in Quogue and they needed extra hands. He’ll try and make it, of course, but it isn’t looking good.”

  Antonia was momentarily deflated. She had wanted Matt there to help with her plan. Now she would have to bluff her way through some elements of her theory. Oh well, she told herself. Nothing she could do about it.

  “Let’s hope he can make it. But in the meantime, why don’t you two get yourselves a drink? Also, we have some hors d’oeuvres set up on a table over there and no one is touching them. I’m about to take it personally. Please help yourself.”

  “Oh, honey, you don’t have to say it twice! We are there in a flash.”

  Antonia watched as they made their way first to the buffet, segueing past the bar. It was nice to have at least some people who were more focused on the food than the chain of events that were about to transpire. She watched as they selected small plates and filled them with glazed mini-meatballs, plump figs wrapped in prosciutto, and seared pepper-crusted tuna skewers.

  Suddenly, Antonia felt someone approach her from behind and wrap his arms around her. The stranger’s hands darted under her armpits and as Antonia gasped, they tickled her furiously. Her heart began pounding. She shrieked and whipped around.

  “Larry!”

  “Got ya!” he giggled mirthfully. He bent over, erupting in laughter. “You should have seen your face! God, priceless.”

  Antonia’s blood began to boil. She looked around the room. Her shriek had unnerved everyone and they all stood staring at her, their mouths agape.

  “Sorry, everyone. Larry startled me.”

  “She loved it!” he said with confidence.

  They continued to stare uneasily, before slowly returning to what they had been doing before. Len and Sylvia had their mouths full of food and were hovering over their plates, additional bites already between their fingers ready to be hoisted once they had swallowed what was in their mouths. Naomi had taken another lime from the bar and was squeezing it carefully into her drink. Ronald was sitting alone on the window seat, staring outside and anxiously twisting the signet ring he wore on his right hand. Hector and Soyla were huddled in the corner l
ike hunted animals, talking quietly, their eyes darting around the room defensively. Lucy was giving a waiter instruction about dinner service. Joseph was tentatively watching Antonia.

  “Larry, don’t do that again. It’s really inappropriate,” warned Antonia.

  “Come on, you love it.”

  “I do not love it.” Blood started to rise to Antonia’s pale cheeks and she realized she had to relax. No use getting worked up. She needed to save her energy for later. “Let’s just drop it. Do you have everything?”

  “Of course I do, hot stuff. For you, anything.”

  “Great, thank you.”

  “Are you really certain you’re going to get the fireworks you want? I mean, I’ve been in the crime biz a long time. Remember, Nicky Darrow modeled his character after me. It’s not easy to solve a crime.”

  “We’ll manage, I’m fairly sure.”

  “All right. But I’m heading over to the bar. I’m just here for the booze.” He gave the room one more glance. “Any hotties here?”

  “Larry, really.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so. But if any come, I’ve got dibs on sitting next to them.”

  He swaggered away.

  Joseph rolled his scooter up to Antonia. “Odious man,” said Joseph simply. “I don’t like him one bit.”

  Antonia laughed. “I agree. He’s so annoying. Not to mention juvenile.”

  “Let’s just hope he can assist us. Aha, look who has arrived.”

  Barbie stood on the threshold of the door, a hostile and confounded expression on her face. Her distaste was palpable, and when she locked eyes with Antonia, she immediately stormed toward her. Antonia’s gaze couldn’t help but be drawn to her ample bosom, which was attempting to jiggle its way out of Barbie’s tight shirt.