by Carrie Doyle
“Hello, Barbie,” said Antonia.
Barbie turned and gave her a drunken smile. “Antonia! My successor. Come, I want you to meet my friend Lena. We’re having a little ‘girls night out.’” She made fake quotation marks with her fingers to emphasize her point before continuing. “Thought we’d hit the inn to check out the scene but hey, it’s not a really rocking place anymore. I feel like I’m in God’s waiting room. I mean, the average age is like, dead, you know?”
“This place used to be a blast!” Lena said accusatorily. She then hiccupped loudly. This caused a series of hysterical giggles on both her and Barbie’s part.
“Come join us!” said Barbie, motioning to the stool next to her, which was currently occupied by an elder gentleman in his fifties, sipping a glass of scotch. “You don’t mind moving, do ya?”
The man looked perplexed but before he could respond, Antonia jumped in. “That’s okay, no need. I’ll stand over here.”
“Suit yourself!” said Barbie. She then glared at the man and leaned in to Lena and said in a loud theatrical whisper “That man is so rude! He should give up his seat to a lady.”
The man made a motion to rise, but Antonia stopped him, apologized profusely and asked the bartender to buy him a drink. She then went to the other side of Barbie and Lena and leaned in. “Ladies, I have to ask you to keep it down. I’m very glad you came here tonight to have a drink, but as you can see it’s a quiet crowd, so I would appreciate it if you could respect that and just keep it down a bit.”
“What?” asked Barbie.
Now that she was closer, Antonia could see that Barbie’s eyes were filmy with that glazed look of someone who has had too much to drink.
“I’m just asking if you could keep it down a little.”
Barbie threw her arm around Antonia. “Aw, come on now. Loosen up a bit, will you? This place is so stuffy now! No fun at all. When I was Lady of the Manor, this place was booming! We’d rock out all night!”
“Wasted Wednesdays were the best,” concurred Lena.
Antonia extracted herself from Barbie’s arm. “I’m sure it was, but we have a different approach now. We’re focusing more on fine dining.”
“Boo!” said Barbie. She banged her wineglass down on the bar with a thud. Antonia saw Barbie had left about half of her lipstick on the rim.
“Where are all the hotties? I mean, what’s up with the cheesy maitre d’? How are you going to get ladies to come hang out at the bar with a guy like that?”
Antonia turned around and saw that Glen had hovered close enough to hear, a fact that was confirmed by the color his face turned. He glared at Barbie and stomped away.
“Barbie, please use discretion. That was really rude.”
“But true,” interjected Lena.
Antonia sighed. This would not be easy. “Look, ladies, I appreciate your business, but I have to say that I’m not hoping the restaurant will eventually turn into a pick-up scene. That’s not my goal.”
“Clearly!” said Barbie. “All the hard work I put into making this place a smash success has now gone out the window. I’ve had so many of our old customers say that the place has changed, and not for the better, mind you.”
This enraged Antonia. “Barbie, I think you’re being awfully rude.”
Barbie swiveled around in her chair and gave Antonia a fake smile.
“Rude is nothing compared to the way I’ve been treated. I devoted my life to this stupid inn—toiled away for the past five years, and then I get nothing, nothing in return! I have to move out. I don’t get any money for all my hard work. Did you know that? Today, it was official. I get nada. That bitch Naomi gets it all.”
“She’s so ugly too,” added Lena.
“Ugh, why did that fat bastard Gordon have to die? My life sucks now!”
“You seemed pretty happy with your boyfriend the other day,” muttered Antonia.
“Excuse me?” said Barbie in a loud voice. Other patrons at the bar glanced up.
Antonia gave her a defiant look. “I saw you with your boyfriend at the IGA. The one I heard you were seeing before Gordon died. So you can shed those crocodile tears all you want, but I’m not buying it.”
“How dare you?” said Barbie, she started to lunge for Antonia but instead lost her balance and fell off her barstool. She fell hard on her butt, her legs splayed open. Antonia took a step back while Lena reached down and tried to give Barbie a hand. She was also too drunk to help. Antonia motioned for the busboys to come and assist her. They hoisted Barbie up. Barbie dusted off herself and glanced around the room at the stupefied guests.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. These chairs are too damn rickety! You better watch out, Antonia or you will have a lawsuit on your hands.”
“Follow me, please,” said Antonia.
“I’m not done with my bottle.”
“Yes, you are.”
Barbie appeared about to refuse, but then ran her eyes from Antonia to the two busboys next to her, who were ready to spring into action to defend their boss, if need be.
“Forget it, we’re leaving,” Barbie said to Lena. She grabbed her purse from the bar, pulled out a fifty and threw it next to her glass.
“I’m ready,” said Lena. “Let’s go somewhere fun.”
“I’ll escort you out,” said Antonia. “We ordered you a taxi.”
“No need,” said Barbie.
“Yes, need,” replied Antonia.
Most of the guests averted their eyes as the group filed out of the dining room in single file, although some customers made a point to give Barbie and Lena disapproving looks. The two ladies wobbled their way out, with a drunken gait, with Antonia and the busboys holding up the rear. Antonia followed them as far as the front door, which she opened firmly. Barbie took a step to leave before abruptly turning around and pointing at Antonia.
“You are not one to judge me, do you understand?”
“I’m not judging you,” protested Antonia calmly, “I am merely asking you to not make a scene at my inn.”
The look Barbie gave Antonia was nasty. “Oh, really? Then what was that ‘boyfriend’ comment all about? You don’t know anything about my relationship with Gordon! How dare you say that I wasn’t sorry he died? You don’t know anything. Gordon was no angel either, but that was between us. So go mind your own business and keep your righteous nose out of mine!”
Antonia was shaken when she returned to the kitchen. She had decided to bypass the dining room to avoid extending the drama with questions and glances. She abhorred it when she felt like she had lost her temper, and she definitely had when she mentioned Barbie’s boyfriend. There had been no need to sink to Barbie’s level and engage with the drunken woman. She should have stuck on topic and just gotten her out of there. But it did piss her off hearing all of Barbie’s little jabs about the inn. The place was low-rent and shabby when Antonia bought it. She had made it a spectacular inn and restaurant. Barbie should shut her trap, as far as she was concerned. Antonia could hear her mother’s voice in her head. “Why do you let her bother you?” And it was true; she shouldn’t care. From this day forward, she would attempt to have thicker skin.
A situation like this called for knife work. Antonia grabbed her sharpest knife and and a bunch of scallions and started chopping them as furiously as she could. It was almost the end of dinner service and lord knew they didn’t need chopped scallions, but Antonia needed to cut something and better to attack the onions than a person. She could always bag them and save them for scallion pancakes in the morning. Or perhaps make a nice beef stew. She’d recently come across a recipe that she wanted to try that included dark beer, Dijon mustard, chunks of potatoes, carrots and parsnips. It sounded delicious. She let her mind wander over flavor combinations.
The staff knew enough to leave Antonia alone until she calmed down. They were also busy with their de
ssert orders, and Marty finally had a chance to take a break. Antonia chopped and thought through what Barbie had said. So according to her, Gordon had at least one—or maybe many—lovers. That was interesting. And yet it made sense. Antonia had heard rumors, confirmed by Barbie tonight, that the restaurant at the inn used to be a big party scene. There had even been murmurs that there was a small population of “swingers” in East Hampton, so maybe Gordon and Barbie ran with that crowd?
“Antonia, here are the numbers for tonight,” said Glen, interrupting her reverie.
Antonia put down her knife, removed her onion-cutting gloves (no tears for her) and took his paper. She glanced up, a smile on her face. “Wow, this is incredible.”
“Yes, I know. We did well tonight,” beamed Glen. “If not for the little tiff with that hussy, it would have been a perfect evening.”
“I’ll say,” said Antonia. “And did it work out with the Felds?”
“Yeah, I gave them Joseph Fowler’s table. He didn’t show up tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Didn’t call either.”
“Hmmm, that’s odd.”
“A lot of people went to Guild Hall tonight. Maybe he did too.”
“Could be.”
“But come on, Antonia, turn that frown upside down! Let’s not focus on the negative, this was a fantastic night,” said Glen.
“You’re right,” agreed Antonia. “Maybe time to open some Champagne? I think we all deserve a glass.”
20
After shutting down the restaurant and returning home, Antonia could tell at once that someone had been in her apartment. Nothing was out of place, nothing was stolen and there was no rabbit boiling on the stove, but the air was thick with someone else’s scent. It wasn’t distinct enough that she could place it, but she could identify that the odor wasn’t organic to her living quarters. And besides, the energy of her abode had shifted. Antonia would admit that that sounded weird and New Agey, but it was true. She believed you could definitely sense when other people had been in your space and this was one of those moments.
She’d returned to her apartment at about eleven-thirty and as was her norm, flung off her shoes into the coat closet (to be straightened up later) and walked over to the fridge to pull out a bottle of wine, before retrieving a glass from the cabinet. (On weekdays she usually put on the kettle for a cup of herbal tea, but as it had been a tough week she deserved a glass or two of Cabernet Sauvignon—always from California.) Antonia indulged herself with a steep pour, took a large gulp and leaned back against the counter to savor the fruity flavor. It was a robust red that contained hints of blackberries, licorice and cherries, and it was tasty. After a second swig she paused and that was when it hit her. Her home had been violated.
Antonia stood still, the only movement were her eyes gliding along all of her possessions, taking inventory. Her television, laptop and iPod were all accounted for in their place, and that pretty much was the extent of valuables that she possessed, although once she caught her breath she’d check in the jewelry box on her dresser. She didn’t own any expensive jewelry, but she had her mother’s diamond engagement ring and a few gold bands that had also belonged to her mother; both were of extreme sentimental importance to Antonia and she’d be distraught to lose them. Fortunately, her jewelry box was something of a tangled mess with all her beaded necklaces and costume jewelry all mashed together so it was possible that a thief could miss the important stuff, or else be totally repulsed and give up.
She continued her scrutiny of the apartment. The throw pillows on the sofa remained askew in the position she had left them in the previous evening—even the shape of her body was still firmly squashed into her favorite cushion (she was too nervous right now to be dismayed by how large the imprint was.) Stacks of magazines, the cluster of mail on the kitchenette counter, the dirty tea-stained mug in the sink were all where she left them. There was nothing she could pinpoint at this moment, but she was absolutely certain that someone had been in her apartment.
Suddenly a thought occurred to her. What if the person was still there? She could feel her heart beating through her shirt. What if this was it, she was about to be killed, and the murderer was ready to add another innkeeper to his or her scorecard? Should she call 911? She slid her body across the counter—never removing herself from its protective embrace as if that would somehow help her (absurd thoughts for a moment of terror)—and took hold of the phone receiver. She was about to dial, but then she stopped herself. What if it was nothing? What was she going to say to 911? Hello, I think someone might be in my apartment even though nothing is missing. It just smells different. It would be wonderful for business to have three squad cars come screeching into the inn’s driveway and wake all of the guests because Antonia had a feeling. No, she had to investigate it herself.
She slid a knife out of the block of wood that held a variety of implements of all shapes and sizes and congratulated herself for maintaining their sharpness on a regular basis. A set of good knives is always a great investment for all sorts of purposes, especially if they are in perfect working condition. The one she withdrew could filet a cow in two minutes, so she was certain if she got the right angle on the intruder she could do major damage.
Summoning her courage, she took a deep breath and a step. She stopped. Perhaps she should give a warning first? Maybe a little shout out, like, “hey, who’s in here?” But that might give an intruder an unfair advantage. And what did she expect, that some voice would call out and say, “hey, it’s just me?” No, surprise was the only thing Antonia had working in her favor right now. She glanced around the room. Fortunately, she had been naïve when she arrived home and had whipped open the coat closet, so now she knew for certain that no one was lurking there. She hadn’t seen anyone at least, and it was a fairly narrow space, unless Flat Stanley was alive and well, she could check that off her list. Antonia’s eyes moved down to the bottom of the sofa and armchairs. Even though they were skirted she knew the space between the floor and upholstered furniture was only about three inches and could only harbor a homicidal mouse. It would be embarrassing as all get out if that was the creature who ended up doing her in. That left the bedroom and bathroom.
Antonia clutched the knife close to her side and began gliding across her carpet stealthily. She felt as if she were crossing a river in a jungle, unsure of what would meet her on the other end. Truthfully, right now she would prefer lions and tigers and bears to a killer. She took such baby steps that it was at least a minute for her to cross the entire living room to the threshold of her bedroom. The door was open, as she had left it, and she had a clear view of the mirror that hung over her dresser. In the reflection she saw her bed, the pillows scattered across the headboard and the cashmere throw neatly folded at the foot. Fortunately, there was no killer lurking in it. Antonia slowly pushed the door so that it hit the wall, just to ensure no one was standing in the miniscule space behind it. She stopped and listened, expecting someone to protest that they were being smashed, but heard nothing.
At this point she decided to raise her arm to a forty-five degree angle, so that the knife was held aloft and all she had to do was start hacking if someone were to jump out at her. She’d seen all those horror movies where young, innocent women stabbed criminals like that. Although it dawned on her that pretty much every one of those women were overpowered and ended up dead anyway. She could still try to beat the odds.
Antonia took a few more steps into her room. She quickly scanned her belongings. At first blush, it appeared that everything was as she left it. Yesterday’s clothes lay on the slipper chair in the corner; the shades were still drawn (why bother opening and closing when she was out of the house all day anyway?) and more crispy dead leaves had fallen off of the plant on the window ledge. If she had expected to see drawers left flung open and exploding lingerie from a burglar’s hunt through her belongings she saw nothing of the
type. In fact, there wasn’t anything immediately obvious that identified the fact that someone had been there. And yet, she knew she was right. Her eyes grazed every surface until they landed on the pile of magazines on the side table next to her bed. They had definitely been disturbed. Antonia always worked on New York magazine’s crossword puzzle before she drifted off to sleep, and she always put it back on the desk sideways before she clicked off the lamp. Now it was on an angle. It was so subtle that someone could argue with her that she was being insane, but she knew at once that it was not how she left it. You don’t all of a sudden change habits thirty-five years into your life.
Antonia took a tentative step into the bedroom. She swallowed hard. She didn’t like to think of herself as a scaredy cat, but she also didn’t like to think of herself as dead, the latest on the list of murdered innkeepers. She took one more step and then immediately dropped to the floor and yanked up the bed skirt. She held her knife up high, ready to stab but fortunately, there was no one lurking underneath. Not wanting to waste time and stay in that compromising Twister position on the floor, she leapt up and ran over to her closet where she flung open the door. Summoning all her courage she used her knifeless hand to push the clothes from one end of the closet to the other, the hangers scratching out in protest, until she ascertained with confidence that no one was in there. That left only the bathroom.
Once again, Antonia took a deep breath and eyed the bathroom. The door was ajar. Could someone be standing in the tub, hovering behind the shower curtain waiting to reenact a scene from the movie Psycho? Possible. Better to find out now rather than later. Antonia walked briskly to the bathroom and flung open the door so that it banged into the toilet. She peered inside, first looking left and right. Nothing. But the pink floral shower curtain was drawn shut and there was still a possibility of someone there. Antonia said a silent “Hail, Mary” before marching over the chunky pink shag bathroom rug to the tub and ripping open the curtain. She curled her mouth, ready to scream. Her heart was thumping so badly it may has well have jumped out of her body onto the cold porcelain. But she was lucky. No one was there. Her wide array of bath salts and bubbles stood untouched.