by Carrie Doyle
“You sound like you’re running for mayor.”
Nick laughed. “No, maybe someday though.” He shook his head. “But the comparisons to the past get old.”
“It seems to me that it’s the summer people that are the most nostalgic about the way it’s changed.”
He ran his hand through his thick hair. “True. Because it used to be this fantastic secret and there were wide open potato fields and no big gates and hedges. And it was easy to do everything. You could park right on Main Street in town on a rainy summer day and go to the movies. Nowadays, good luck trying to find a parking space anywhere in August, even on a sunny day! Everyone has discovered this town and the population has exploded. There’s more congestion, more noise, and more attitude. People pay a lot of money to come out here for a short period of time so the expectations and demands are high. And they can be rude about it.”
“I know. Then what are the benefits to this?” asked Antonia with a smile.
“There’s more going on during the off-season. It doesn’t feel like a ghost town when the summer ends.”
“So you live here all year?”
“Yes, except when I’m on location. My son is in school here.”
“You have a son?” asked Antonia with her mouth full. She was genuinely surprised.
“Yes, Finn. He’s seven.”
“I had no idea.”
Nick gave her a sideways glance but didn’t say anything. Antonia realized he was probably not used to meeting people who didn’t know everything about him. But she had purposely avoided Googling him on the Internet. She knew if she did, and was ever lucky enough to talk with him again, that she would slip up and mention something that she had read about him and would appear stalker-ish. It was starting to become a big fear of hers that she would come off as a stalker.
Nick’s dogs came bounding up towards him. One held a slimy wet ball in his mouth. He dropped it with a thud on the sand in front of Nick. “Oh, you want to play?” asked Nick, before hurling the ball down the beach. The dogs ran after in hot pursuit.
Antonia finished her donut and rubbed her hands together in an attempt to rid them of the sugar. She was tempted to rinse them in the water, but then she’d have the salt stuck to her fingers and that was no better. Her hands felt sticky. She tried to discreetly wipe the sugar on the back of her thighs and hope the sugar speckles would not be illuminated on the legs of her dark pants. How did women eat donuts elegantly? She supposed that was an oxymoron. Elegant women most certainly did not eat donuts.
Antonia and Nick walked down the beach, and he continued his game of throwing the ball to his dogs while they retrieved it. She was dying to ask more about his son but felt as if the topic was too personal. And all of a sudden something dawned on her. If Nick had a son, the son must have a mother and did that mean that Nick Darrow was married? Antonia didn’t like that idea at all.
“So are you shooting a movie now?” Antonia asked. She had to break the silence somehow.
“No, not until December. I’ll be gone for several months so I made sure I’m around now for Finn.”
“Oh.” So he didn’t say, for Finn and my wife, thought Antonia. That was a plus. Maybe a wife wasn’t in the picture.
She tried to think of another question, but Nick announced he should probably head back so they turned around to walk back towards the parking lot and her opportunity for clarification was gone.
* * * * *
Antonia steered her car into the inn’s small parking lot and squeezed it between Lucy’s red Mini and the Winslows’ blue Audi with white Maryland plates. She turned off her ignition. The radio, that had been warbling a new tune by an aging female country star who had crossed over to pop, went silent, and the hum of the engine clicked off. Antonia was instantly enveloped in silence. She made no motion to move, feeling very content sitting completely still in her warm leather seat staring at the leaves scattering around the backyard through her windshield. She had this strange calmness wash over her as she reflected on her talk with Nick Darrow. She was excited about it, but didn’t want to be. But hell, it was hard not to be excited and flattered when a movie star remembers your name, brings you a donut and asks why you missed walking with him the other day! That definitely doesn’t happen everyday. That happens in fantasies. She wondered again whether he had a wife. If he had a wife, then he was just a friendly guy. But if he didn’t have a wife….
A flash of movement across the yard interrupted Antonia’s musings. She squinted to see if she could make out anything. Her eyes scanned the cluster of oak and sassafras trees that stood in front of the back privet hedge that bordered the property. The only motion was branches swaying in the breeze. With a deep sigh, Antonia reluctantly pulled the handle of her car door. As she hoisted herself out of her seat, once again something caught her eye. She halted and stared once again, waiting. It had just been a flicker, but it was enough to give her pause. Her eyes danced back and forth until finally settling on the rhododendron bush. She waited, certain that there was something behind it. It could possibly be a deer, there were always tons of them, but they blended so much into the East Hampton landscape that she would doubt a deer would even have garnered a second look from her.
Antonia briefly hesitated before crunching over the pebble driveway to the brilliant green of the still-young sod. It held the morning dew and she could feel the suede on her Uggs becoming damp. She wiggled her toes inside, letting the fur nestle between them. She loved her Uggs. There was a cigarette butt on the ground next to the white wrought iron bench and when Antonia bent down to pick it up, she saw a white streak run from behind the rhododendron bush to the safety of the azalea bush.
“Hello?” yelled Antonia.
There was no response. If it was a guest, then what were they hiding? She wondered. Antonia moved quickly to the bush.
“Hello?” she repeated.
Antonia pushed aside some branches and rounded the corner, to the mulch clearing that stood between the trees and the back fence. She saw a figure in white running the other direction.
“Naomi?” Antonia bellowed.
The figure stopped and froze, then slowly turned around. It was Naomi Haslett. She was once again in her white jogging pants and sneakers and this time she had a white windbreaker over which she wore a hot pink down vest. Her hair hung straight in limp clumps, giving the impression that she hadn’t washed it lately, and her wrinkled face was contorted into a frown. She took a deep breath, as if Antonia’s interruption was a huge inconvenience.
“Hi Antonia.” Her voice was weary and neutral, as if they were acquaintances who saw one another often, but really had nothing to say to each other.
“Naomi, what in the world are you doing?” Antonia put her hands on her hips and tried to appear authoritarian.
Naomi met her gaze evenly and stood up straighter. “I was jogging.”
“Jogging?”
Naomi raised her eyebrows defiantly. “Yes.”
“Come on, Naomi, I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true,” interrupted Naomi.
“Then why in the world were you ‘jogging’ in my backyard?”
“I was jogging down Windmill Way. Then I saw a cardinal and I decided to follow it. It happened to fly into your yard.”
Antonia gave her a skeptical look but to humor her, glanced around the bushes. The clearing was dark from the tangled branches hanging overhead, and clotted with leaves. There was no wildlife in evidence, least of all a cardinal.
“I don’t see one.”
“Flew away,” said Naomi.
They stared at one another in silence. Antonia felt as if she was in West Side Story; it was a total stand off. If Naomi was embarrassed or remorseful for ‘jogging’ in the backyard of the inn, she did a sensational job hiding it.
“Why are you really here?” asked Antonia.
<
br /> “I told you. I saw a bird.”
Antonia sighed. She decided to change tack. “You’re always welcome here, Naomi. You don’t have to sneak around the back yard.”
Naomi appeared surprised. “Thank you.”
“I’m sure this place means something to you.”
“There will always be part of my heart buried here.”
Antonia nodded. There was a pause and she couldn’t resist taking the opportunity. “On another note, did you hear Biddy Robertson died?”
Naomi’s rolled her eyes back slightly. “Yes.”
“I suppose you’re not shedding any tears.”
“She was a lunatic.”
“How so?”
“You know, we were neighbors. Our condos were next door to each other. We were friendly. Not friends, but polite. I had no idea that she owned the Windmill Inn, nor did I suggest to my brother that he buy it in foreclosure. I agreed to lend him the money and become his partner, but as you can see I had very little involvement other than the initial financial backing. It was all his idea. Then one day, Biddy shows up banging and screaming at my door and accuses me of stealing the inn out from under her. I had no idea what she was talking about. I tell her to get the hell off my property. She was a raging storm. And then the next thing I know the police arrived and she accused me of throwing some dead animal on her doormat!”
“Why did they think it was you?”
“Hell if I know! The woman was crazy. I didn’t see it coming. She thought I was doing all this plotting against her. It was ludicrous. And she never got over it. I finally had to move away.”
“What about now? Did the police question you? I heard they think she was murdered.”
Naomi’s lower eyelid quivered but the rest of her face remained emotionless. “I’m really not at liberty to say. And besides, I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
“True,” conceded Antonia. “But come on, Naomi. How does it look to me? After your little tiff with Barbie last week and all those accusations of murder, I’m a wee bit suspicious, don’t you think that’s fair?”
“Don’t think twice about Barbie. We’ve almost finished all the legal issues surrounding Gordon’s estate and she will be high-tailing it out of town, penniless and with her tail between her legs. Trust me on this one.”
“Okay,” Antonia replied.
“Gordon had his flaws, but the primary one was his taste in women. He always went for the crazy girls. And they flocked to him like bees in honey. Pardon the expression.” Naomi pulled the zipper on her vest all the way to the top so that it strangled her veiny neck. “I’m going to finish my jog now.”
“Alright,” said Antonia.
With that, Naomi turned on her heels and took off. Antonia watched her odd slow gait and thought to herself if that could be considered a jog, then when Antonia raised a spoon to her mouth it could be considered weight-lifting.
Once Naomi was definitively out of sight, Antonia glimpsed around the clearing. What was Naomi really doing back here? She trudged through the damp mulch, stepping over dead wet leaves, clearing them with her foot. She kicked something with her toe, but when she bent down she saw that it was only a large rock propped in the ground. She peered high and low, but there were no markers, no signs of recent digging or removal of anything. It was very odd.
16
Antonia entered by the back door that led into the sunroom. It was empty, but there were signs that a guest or two had recently chosen it as a spot for breakfast. A discarded copy of The New York Times lay on the coffee table, with the business section folded on top. Alongside it was an emptied coffee mug and a plate with mixed berry scone crumbs. Antonia picked them both up and walked them into the pantry area. She handed them to the dishwasher before working her way back towards the front hall.
It was only about eight-thirty but the inn was coming to life. The cleaners had arrived and were currently sweeping out the fireplace. Antonia spotted a few guests having breakfast and reading the paper in the parlor. Connie was talking on the phone, while Lucy stood next to her, leafing through the guest registry. Today Lucy wore a bright orange skirt made of a heavy wool and a cream silk blouse with one of those loopy bows that were popular with businesswomen in the eighties. She glanced up and began to say something to Antonia, but Antonia had already started with her Naomi story.
“You cannot believe who I just found in our backyard! Naomi Haslett. I have no idea what she was doing but it was very strange. She was hiding by the back bushes and she tried to run away from me when I saw her! Do you have any idea what’s behind there?”
Lucy was surprised. “No, that’s so odd. Antonia…”
“She always was a nut,” said a male voice behind Antonia.
Antonia turned and was face to face (well, more like, face to belt buckle) with Ronald Meter. Today he wore a tweed blazer over baggy khakis (that he must shop at a Big & Tall store, Antonia thought) and brown loafers. His goatee was neatly trimmed but his face was a bit flushed as if he had just done some strenuous physical activity, or had gotten wind-whipped from sticking it out a car window like a dog.
“Mr. Meter, nice to see you again,” said Antonia.
“Thank you,” he drawled. “I was hoping for a quick chat if you have a minute.”
“Certainly, let’s go into my office,” said Antonia.
She exchanged glances with Lucy, who gave her a look as if to say, ‘I was about to tell you’ before leading him away. Antonia noticed that Lucy gave Ronald a look of disdain as he passed. Clearly no love lost between those two, thought Antonia.
Ronald hunkered uncomfortably into the captain’s chair that sat across from Antonia’s desk. It was definitely not made for men of tall stature. Ronald looked like toothpaste squeezing out of a tube. He accepted her offer of tea but declined pastry. Antonia ignored his refusal for food, believing that no one could turn down her baked goods once confronted with them, and rang for a waitress in the kitchen to bring them a full breakfast service. “All the bells and whistles,” she had instructed, hoping that the kitchen would understand what she meant.
“You really shouldn’t go to trouble,” Ronald said.
“No problem at all.”
He admired the way she had set up her office, even though Antonia knew he was being polite. The roll top desk was about to snap in half with all of the paperwork piled on top of it. Her bookshelves were a messy display of someone who does not operate an organized system of organization. It looked as if someone on acid had just shoved all the paperwork between every book and hoped it would go unnoticed. But now all the loose pieces of paper were spilling out. Ripped envelopes and mounds of junk mail lay in messy heaps that Antonia had abandoned. A sloppy collection of miscellaneous rubber bands was piled on the radiator for no apparent reason.
Oh well, yes, it was a disaster zone, Antonia thought, but at least she had her strong suits. The artwork was nice; Antonia had framed local watercolors of the beach in a beautiful blush gold-painted wood that she felt was both subtle and classy. And her desk chair was an antique that she had painted white and outfitted with a cushion upholstered in a pretty blue batik from Quadrille. On the far wall she had hung a beautiful calendar that featured famous still lifes from MOMA that would be exceptionally classy if it was turned to the correct month (it was currently opened to July.)
The waitress arrived with a tray and Antonia glanced at it and was pleased to find that they had indeed understood what ‘bells and whistles’ meant. She pulled out a tray table that was leaning collapsed by the door and opened it next to Ronald. (No use even attempting to clear off her desk to make room for it.) The waitress placed the tray on top and offered to serve but Antonia declined. When she had left, Antonia moved over to sit in the other guest chair next to Ronald. She poured the steaming tea into the flowered china and glanced up at him.
“Milk or suga
r?”
“Just milk, thank you.”
Antonia gave him a generous portion before reaching for the other dish on the tray. “Would you like some honey?”
Ronald hesitated. His eyes met Antonia’s. “No thank you.”
“There are some mini-muffins in the basket as well.”
“I’m all set.”
She handed him his cup and gave him a curious look. “I love a good pot of tea. Actually, I also love a good mug of coffee. I’m an equal opportunity caffeine drinker.”
“Oh, me too.”
“I will take it in virtually any form. I try to lay off the soda, but I’ve been known to imbibe. It’s impossible to go to a movie and eat popcorn without soda. Ditto a slice of pizza. Although red wine will work with that. But soda is better. The only thing I really steer clear of is Red Bull. I’ve never even tried it; it just sounds disgusting to me. I suppose I have my standards. It’s the same with wine. I love wine, but would never drink it out of a box. I think we all know deep down when we have to control our addictions.”
Ronald had been holding his cup to his mouth, blowing softly as she spoke. He took a sip and firmly placed it back down in the saucer. It made a clanking noise.
“I apologize,” he said.
“No worries.”
Ronald twisted uncomfortably in his chair and Antonia made a mental note to entertain tall visitors in the sunroom or parlor.
“Antonia, I came here today because I wasn’t truthful with you the other day.”
Antonia arched her eyebrows and gave him a quizzical look. He glanced down, as if very uncomfortable with what he was about to confess, and sighed deeply.
“As you were leaving, you asked me if I had a beehive in the backyard.”
He peered up at her and waited. She held her breath. Was this going to be a confession? She wished she had one of those buttons underneath her desk that she could press and record everything. She had never assumed she would need one, seeing as this wasn’t the Oval Office, but of course you never knew. Now that she was involved in a possible murder case, she was way behind the eight ball. She wondered if one day she’d have to put a little room behind a mirror so that police could watch from the other side, undetected…