by Carrie Doyle
Antonia didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled for a solid thirty seconds. Phew. She was lucky she hadn’t caught anyone. But now she had to find out who had been there and what they were after. Antonia opened every drawer and cabinet in the bathroom. Finding nothing awry, she retraced her steps into the bedroom. She spent some time going through the magazines next to her bed, searching for some clue. Had the intruder thought that Antonia put something in the magazines? Or had he or she been searching for something but decided to kick back and take a break reading a magazine on her bed before continuing on? Maybe the intruder had poisoned the magazine somehow? Perhaps by placing a giant tarantula in it? If this murderer worked with bees, there was no reason not to assume they worked with other killer insects. With her index finger and her thumb Antonia gently shook each magazine towards the floor. She was semi-expecting some lethal insect to fall out to the floor, but the only results were a floating ticker-tape parade of subscription renewal cards.
Antonia leafed through her jewelry box and was relieved to find all of her heirlooms intact, safely tangled with several Mardi Gras beads. She opened drawers, went back into her closet and even shook out the insides of her shoes, but found nothing. Then she hit the living room. Although she had adrenaline pumping in her veins it was now almost midnight and Antonia was getting tired. The day had been long, and plenty filled with drama. Exhausted, she took only a cursory look at her bookshelves, barely flicking open copies of her cooking magazines. She ran her hands through the cushions on all the chairs but found nothing.
Then she spotted it. The cardboard box that Barbie and Naomi had been fighting over! It was resting on the chair in the corner, pretending to look unassuming, but Antonia knew better. She walked over to it and peered inside. This was it! It had definitely been disturbed. Whereas Antonia had left all of the miscellaneous sheets of papers and notes scattered around in the mess she had found them, whoever had been in her house and organized them. It was subtle, very subtle. Everything wasn’t exactly lined up evenly, but things were stacked now one on top of the other, and nothing was upside down or half-hazardly arranged. The intruder had been interested in this box for sure.
Antonia picked it up and walked over to the coffee table where she placed it next to the television remotes. She sat down on the sofa and peered in. The musty smell of old cardboard filled her nostrils. She began slowly sifting through the contents again. There was no doubt in her mind that Barbie or Naomi had been the one to break in to her apartment. They both had motive, and she even had proof that Barbie had been at the inn that night. In addition, Antonia had been too lazy to change the locks, so it was possible that both women had the key still, which is why there were no signs of a forced entry. So whoever was in the apartment had searched for something in the box and was disappointed not to find it. When they didn’t find it, they thought perhaps Antonia had removed it, so they searched all the obvious places where she may have taken a seat to peruse it further. It all made sense. Now she just had to narrow it down.
Even though she had already dissected the contents of the box and read through everything with a fine-tooth comb, she began pulling things out. Her eyes once again scanned the catalogues and pamphlets, as well as the notebook, which she casually flipped through until the last page where Gordon had written to Lucy about firing Ronald Meter. Nothing jumped out at her as having been displaced. She removed everything from the box and placed it in a Leaning Tower of Pisa stack on her coffee table next to it. She glanced at it idly.
Then something dawned on her. She quickly unstacked the top layer, removing the jumble layer by layer until she was able to extricate the notebook safely. She felt like she was playing Jenga. She flipped open the notebook again to the last page. Nothing was there. She opened the book and shook it, but nothing fell out. She was positive she had put the other note that she had discovered in her office—the one that Gordon had scribbled that he thought “that B” is trying to kill him—next to the note to Lucy about firing Ronald, “that beast.” But it wasn’t there. Antonia went through the notebook again but didn’t find it. Then she started once again, sifting through the contents one by one, opening every page, every catalogue. It wasn’t there. The intruder must have discovered it and taken it with them. But why?
Antonia leaned back on the sofa to think. Did it mean that Ronald Meter had been in her apartment? It was possible that he had a key; he had been the manager after all. Was he so worried about this note? It didn’t really mean anything. Or was it Barbie? Barbie had been upset that her quest to get part of Gordon’s estate was definitely over and she lost. Maybe she knew that it was the end of the road once she had snuck into Antonia’s apartment to see the will really wasn’t in the box? Man, Antonia realized, it could even have been Biddy if she weren’t dead. She probably had a key. Ugh, everything was confusing. Antonia felt her eyelids become heavy with sleep. She didn’t want to think anymore. She wanted to curl up in her bed and forget about this entire, wretched day. She’d definitely put the chain on her front door tonight, and make sure that she had a locksmith come in the morning.
She trudged to the door feeling violated and dirty. Someone had been leafing around her things. Granted, the box wasn’t hers and that’s what they were after, presumably, but it still felt awful to have someone come into her apartment uninvited. In fact, Antonia realized, the only person who had ever even been into her apartment was Genevieve. It was weird to think that she had never entertained there. Why would she? She had the inn. And who besides Genevieve would she invite inside? With a sigh, Antonia clicked the top lock and began to pull the chain across the loop when she suddenly stopped, and a wave of worry came over her. Something had just resurfaced in her mind, but she was so tired it had slipped away. Something else had been off about tonight, something other than being “robbed.” What was it?
Then it dawned on Antonia: Joseph.
21
Joseph’s house was not even half a mile away from the inn. In a city, it was walk-able. But at midnight in the country, Antonia was going to drive. It was basically two lefts, no stop signs, and voila. She hoped it was a futile trip, but there was a little nagging voice inside her that told her it wasn’t.
When Glen had told Antonia that Joseph had failed to arrive for his dinner reservation, she had been so preoccupied with Barbie and her trashy friend wreaking havoc in the dining room that this news hadn’t really registered. And the fact that the Felds took his table and solved the problem of the occupied barstools had seemed like a happy and fortuitous solution to the problem. But now that Antonia had time to dwell on it, she realized that it was highly unusual that Joseph hadn’t shown up. First off, no matter what, she was certain Joseph would call to cancel if he couldn’t make it. She knew that from the bottom of her bones. It wasn’t like him to forget. He wasn’t disorganized or absent-minded. He was aware that Antonia was busting her butt to fill those tables, so no way would he ignore his reserved table. Although Glen had thought that Joseph had possibly attended the Guild Hall performance and it ran too late or he forgot dinner, Antonia was positive that wasn’t true. They had specifically discussed this performance and Joseph had said he had seen a recent revival of the play in Manhattan and was not going to attend the Guild Hall production. No, it didn’t make sense. Antonia hoped she was wrong, but she had a bad feeling that something had happened to Joseph.
She had never been to his house but he had told her where it was, in the middle of Buell Lane, near Most Holy Trinity’s parking lot. She prayed he had a name sign because there were a cluster of houses right there, but if not, she would just glide down the block on the hunt for his car, which was an old Volvo station wagon.
The night was very black, with a murky layer of filmy clouds that obscured virtually all the stars. The moon seemed to be half-assing it as well, burning on low-wattage, just kind of hanging out in the sky waiting until his shift was over. The air was cold, and Antonia was c
ranking up the heat as much as possible, but it still took her old Saab several minutes to warm up. In fact, she usually arrived at her destination before the heat actually went on.
A few cars glided along Route 27, mostly going west, but there was no activity whatsoever when she turned on to Buell Lane. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the cracked leather that covered the steering wheel. It was so wrinkled, it felt like chapped lips. The leaves fluttered in the wind, but the houses were mostly shrouded in darkness, except for the outdoor lights that hung over a majority of the front doors. On her left, the whiteness of the catholic church cut a decisively sharp impression into the inky blackness. Its floodlights made it it gleam as brightly as a Broadway theater. Antonia turned her head to the right when she passed the empty parking lot that was across from the church. She slowed her car down considerably.
There were no lights on at the first house past the parking lot and no car in the driveway. Antonia drove slowly to the next driveway, carefully checking the entrances for name signs. She saw only numbers. She peered into the property of the second house and knew at once it was Joseph’s, even without spying the Volvo parked deep in the driveway. It just reminded her of him. It was a 19th century traditional Victorian; two stories, shingled, with white trim. The tall and narrow windows were flanked by long black shutters, and there was a wrap-around porch with white wicker rocking chairs and tables. Dozens of neatly cut-back hydrangea bushes bordered the house, and through the darkness Antonia could see that the rest of the property featured ancient trees and andromeda bushes.
Antonia pulled in and put her car in park. Although the front rooms were dark, there was a light on in the back that allowed her to see the shadowy furniture through the window. Was Joseph awake? She glanced at her watch. It was late, past midnight. He did say he was a night owl, though. For a second, she wondered if she was being crazy, driving to his house to check on him. But something told her, in absolute terms, that she was not. She exited her car with determination. She crunched over the driveway pebbles and walked up the creaky porch steps to the front door. It was the sort that had a window on top so she peered inside, cupping her hands around her eyes for a better look. In the faint light she could make out a large grandfather clock and a fruitwood table that held a dish of keys and some mail. Antonia took a deep breath and debated whether she should knock or ring the doorbell. She chose the former.
She pounded gently, but then grew bolder and knocked harder. She waited, her breath curling in the cool air. She took a moment to glance behind her, but her view didn’t go past the thick hedge that lined Joseph’s front yard. There was no response. Emboldened, Antonia pressed the doorbell and was greeted by the sound of an old-fashioned “ding dong” that was popular in sitcoms. She waited, her eyes glued to the window, expecting to see Joseph glide towards the door in his scooter.
The wind rustled through the trees. In the distance she heard the cars passing along Route 27, but other than that, it was dead quiet. Antonia debated her next move. Was Joseph asleep and she was a nuisance? She was about to leave but she pressed the doorbell again. She waited. But nothing. No movement. Discouraged, Antonia turned and stepped down the porch steps. She stared up at the house. The weather-beaten shingles collected into a wavy pattern at the very top by the roof, with a beautiful diamond paned window centered in the middle. She wondered if Joseph even managed to get up stairs these days. He probably didn’t need such a large space.
Undeterred by the lack of response, Antonia decided to walk along the side of the house. She went right, moving along the driveway that ultimately dead-ended into a garage. The side windows of the house were high and obscured by thick green bushes that hadn’t surrendered their leaves to fall. As she rounded the corner, she found the source of light, in a back room, presumably the kitchen. There was a metal ramp leading up to the back door, which Antonia walked up. She opened the screen door and peered into the window. She was correct; it was a kitchen, painted custard yellow with red trim along the cabinets. Her eyes scanned the old fashioned GE refrigerator, past the stove and the sink. All of the appliances were a cherry red, as well as the dishtowels that hung neatly on the oven door. Antonia felt a pang for Joseph. She imagined that his late wife, Margaret had put so much effort into making the kitchen sweet and cute. It was so sad that she had died. Antonia moved her eyes to the left and then suddenly jerked them right. By the door to the kitchen, she could swear she saw Joseph’s crutch on the edge of the linoleum floor.
Antonia tried the door. It was open. She walked in the kitchen.
“Joseph?”
“Here!” came his voice, weakly.
Antonia ran through the kitchen and found Joseph on the floor in a narrow hallway that ran off of it. He had obviously fallen. Dried blood was on his head, and his crutches were askew and out of his reach. He attempted to sit up with difficulty.
“Oh my gosh, Joseph, what happened? Are you okay?” Antonia rushed to help him.
Joseph smiled weakly, but instead of sitting up, lay back down. His glasses were smashed on the floor next to him. His bowtie was crooked, but other than that he still appeared unrumpled and dandy in his blazer and cords.
“I’m afraid I took a spill,” replied Joseph. “I’m not sure what happened, I was using my crutches and I must have slipped. The floorboards are old and uneven, I often catch myself. I should have been more careful.”
“Joseph, how long have you been here?” said Antonia. She took off her scarf and wrapped it up in a ball and gently lifted Joseph’s head to put it on.
“I don’t quite know,” said Joseph. “I think I passed out. What time is it now?”
“After midnight.”
“Oh dear, I’ve been here quite some time. I tried to shout a bit, but I knew that was futile. There’s no one about.”
“Oh, Joseph. That’s horrible. Listen, I think you need to get checked out. I’m not sure you should sit up yourself. I’m going to call an ambulance.”
“I don’t want to make a scene. But maybe you are right.”
Antonia smiled and glanced into Joseph’s watery blue eyes. “It would break my heart if something happened to you, so we need to get you fixed up.”
Joseph smiled. “Okay.”
22
Friday
Antonia did not return home until four-thirty in the morning. She accompanied Joseph to Southampton Hospital and waited until his son William arrived from New York. Fortunately, Joseph was fine and had only suffered minor bruising on his back and a contusion on his head that was fixed by two stitches, but the doctors chose to keep him overnight for observation. Joseph had tried to make Antonia leave, insisting he would be fine, but Antonia would have none of that. She hadn’t realized until now how important he had become to her in the short time she had known him.
Instead of going to bed, Antonia decided to head to the kitchen at the inn and start preparation for breakfast service. She was tired to the core, and grateful that baking had become so rote that she could practically do it with her eyes closed. Today she experienced none of the usual joy that sustained her as she measured and stirred. It was all about getting through it, her bed beckoning her. She waited until her morning team arrived at six, and then headed to her apartment to collapse. She was disappointed that there would be no walk on the beach for her, because she had been collecting amusing anecdotes to share with Nick Darrow as they walked along the coast. Now she’d have to wait another day to see him. She allowed herself to wonder if he had brought her coffee this time. She could almost taste the Dreesen’s donuts they had shared as she drifted off to sleep on her puffy down pillows.
The alarm interrupted her deep sleep at noon. Antonia was disoriented with the confusion that comes when you nap at odd hours. She couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to have a night job. There was something so inherently wrong with sleeping during daylight hours. Her body moved slowly today, with reluctance an
d confusion. She took a long hot shower, lathering herself with the new shea butter soap that she had picked up at White’s Pharmacy, and washing her hair with a lavender shampoo that usually perked her up. Today, it did nothing.
After dressing slowly, as if sleep deprivation were an injury, she padded into her kitchenette and made herself a giant pot of coffee. She fortunately had the wherewithal this morning to tuck two freshly baked scones into a paper napkin and bring them back to her apartment and now she bit into the crumbly confections with gusto. This would only temporarily sate her. She felt as if she had a hangover, and that usually called for one thing: grease. She’d have to download some eggs and bacon into her system and maybe even get her hands on some sausage. Her stomach rumbled loudly at the prospect.
Antonia had a lot on her mind, but she was worried about Joseph first and foremost. When she talked to his son William, he mentioned that he and his brother had agreed that it was time to force their father’s hand. Antonia wasn’t sure what that meant and the question was on the tip of her tongue but for once, she kept her mouth shut. She knew better than to meddle in people’s family business. That never worked well. Although she hoped that Joseph’s sons wouldn’t bully him into an arrangement that he wouldn’t like. Joseph may be physically weak but he was sharp as a tack and had a very independent disposition.