Death on Lily Pond Lane

by Carrie Doyle

  She heard footsteps, and Jonathan, the manager of the inn appeared at her door, his face awash with concern.

  “Are you alright, Antonia?”

  “Yes,” said Antonia. She turned and faced him, blocking his view into her office. “Sure, sorry.”

  “I hope it wasn’t a mouse,” said Jonathan swiftly. His eyes glistened behind his horn-rimmed glasses. He possessed the kind of long eyelashes that women claim are wasted on men, and a round face that would look eternally youthful.

  “No. Not a mouse. My purse fell over. I was horrified to see how much junk I have accumulated in there.”

  Antonia motioned to the pile behind her.

  Jonathan chuckled. “Alright, well, if you need anything I’m next door finishing up the details of the wedding party that will be staying here this weekend.”

  “Oh right, I forgot about that.”

  “Yes. The wedding is late on Saturday night. They expect they won’t return until after midnight. I’ve arranged to have some sandwiches and beverages laid out for them in the parlor in case they have the late night munchies.”

  “That will be fun: drunken revelers returning home at two in the morning.”

  “True. But you will recall we agreed to this because they are paying extra for every room.”

  “Right. They’re funding the new gutters.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I remember this couple now. The groom has those bushy eyebrows?”

  Jonathan laughed. “Yes.”

  “I think we were betting on them not making it. She was pushy and he was nervous, swallowing every five seconds. We were thinking maybe she was forcing him towards the altar with a pregnancy or something, right?”

  “I don’t know, Antonia,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “You are much better than me at figuring out what goes on behind closed doors with our guests.”

  “You mean I’m the snoop and you’re the gentleman who discreetly welcomes people to the inn without psychoanalyzing everyone who comes through the door.”

  “You said it, not me!”

  Antonia appreciated that Jonathan was meticulous and personable at his job. His smooth British accent and unassuming manner won over even the most difficult guests, and he had that wonderful ability to make himself scarce when need be. She knew little about his personal life, as he was very private, but she had quickly come to depend upon him when it came to matters regarding the inn. She had hired him after her previous manager/bookkeeper Lucy had been arrested for murder.

  As soon as he left, Antonia quietly shut the door. She had been less concerned about the bag falling than she was with the fact that the Lysol can had rolled out and was in plain view. Not that anyone would know she had taken it from the Mastersons’, but she still had to be more careful.

  “What a mess,” Antonia grumbled to herself.

  She bent down and stuffed all the contents into her bag. She looked over at the window. It was slightly ajar, but not enough for a large gust of wind to knock down her heavy bag.

  Something caught her eye, and Antonia stood up. Resting on her ink blotter was a standard issue white envelope with her name written on it in black cursive. There was no stamp.

  “Hand delivered,” murmured Antonia.

  She slit open the letter with a silver opener and pulled out a white sheet of paper. Antonia unfolded it. There in black ink was written the following:

  Are you looking for someone? Sometimes the obvious is right in front of you.

  Antonia turned it over and upside down. There was nothing else on the paper. She picked up the envelope again to confirm that it was addressed to her, which indeed it was. What the hell did this mean? It sounded like something she would find in a fortune cookie. Antonia was confounded until it dawned on her.

  “Genevieve.”

  Antonia shook her head and threw down the letter on her desk. Genevieve was always trying to coerce Antonia out into the dating world. She tried all sorts of tactics and no doubt this was her latest effort: a cryptic message. And it would be typical of Genevieve to knock over Antonia’s bag and not bother to pick it up; Antonia shook her head in disappointment. As she knew Genevieve was dining at the restaurant that very moment, it all made sense. Time to confront her.

  Antonia turned to exit when she noticed a middle-aged man in a suit and tie standing on her threshold. He had receding brown hair and a lantern jaw and the type of big sharp features that a caricaturist would have a field day with. His gaze was neither warm nor cold, and it was clear to Antonia at once that he was all business.

  “Antonia Bingham.” He asked but it was more like a statement.

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  “You can help me and I think we’ll need privacy.”

  He entered her office without invitation and carefully closed the door behind him. She noticed now that he carried a briefcase. Not the sort of thing you see people toting around East Hampton. He placed it on the chair but kept a firm grip on it.

  “Okay,” said Antonia cautiously. She was more curious than offended by his audacity.

  “I’ll get right to it. My name is Terry Rudolph,” he said while simultaneously shoving the standard rectangular vanilla business card into her palm. She glanced down on it only to learn he was an attorney.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I work for an individual who would like to purchase something from you. In regards to compensation, you can be assured that we will make it worth your while.”

  “What is it?” asked Antonia with surprise. She couldn’t imagine what this man was talking about.

  “We want the footage from Warner Caruthers’ documentary.”

  “The footage…” Antonia trailed off. She had not expected this response. “I have no idea where it is.”

  The man gave her a small smile. His teeth were so white they were off-putting.

  “In the interest of time, let’s not do this. We both know for a fact that you are in possession of it.”

  Antonia was more stunned than offended that the man was accusing her of lying.

  “Me? I have nothing to do with the documentary…”

  He continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “We are eager to make this transaction quickly. It is of the utmost importance that this does not fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Are you sure it’s in any hands? The police must have it by now. I believe they took anything of importance from the Mastersons’ house.”

  “They don’t have it,” he said flatly.

  “But you can’t be sure…”

  “The source of my information is very reliable.”

  Antonia shook her head in confusion. “Well, I have nothing to do with this matter.”

  “Ms. Bingham,” he said in a tone that suggested impatience. “I can assure you that this matter will be dealt with discreetly. No one will have to know. And it will be beneficial for you as well. No more money issues. You have a beautiful inn.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But your overhead must be extremely high for your returns. Not to mention that you have expensive taste…” he motioned at the antiques that filled the room.

  “Everything is paid for,” bristled Antonia. Well, at least the furniture. Sure, she was trying to renegotiate the terms of her mortgage, but she was certain it would be worked out. Or at least she hoped. The settlement from her ex-husband had been completely depleted and she was a little too promiscuous with spending the income from the stocks that her father had left her.

  He smiled. “Ms. Bingham, my employer is well-connected to everyone in this town as well as most towns. You do him a favor, he won’t forget it. His power reaches far and wide.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He paused. “Nothing. But I am happy to present to you a lucrative offer, making this arran
gement mutually beneficial. My employer is willing to pay you $50,000 for your time and brief effort. Cash.”

  “Are you joking?”

  The man blinked twice but his expression didn’t change. “I’m completely serious. Now, shall we do this now?”

  Fortunately, she didn’t even need to hesitate. She didn’t have the footage and had no idea where it was.

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I don’t have it. And if I did, I believe it belongs to Warner’s family.”

  The man appeared as if he had expected this answer. He picked up his briefcase. Antonia observed that he had incredibly large hands with rather well-groomed nails. His response came in an unctuous tone. “You don’t have to decide now. I’m sure it has been a very difficult day for you. A friend has died, and I am sorry for your loss.”

  Antonia didn’t correct him and allowed him to continue.

  “I’ll let you sleep on it and be in touch tomorrow.”

  He turned and left.

  Antonia slumped down in her desk chair and took a moment to recover. Who was this man and his mysterious employer? And why had they come to her with the utmost conviction that she had Warner’s footage? It was absurd. And who was his ‘reliable source’? It was probably all a misunderstanding. Someone had told them that she had found the body and they confused her with someone else. She was sure she would never hear from them again it.

  With resolution, Antonia made her way to the dining room to find some friendly faces. Joseph was on his way out when she ran into him.

  “Excellent as usual, Antonia,” he said with a wide grin, but then noting Antonia’s worried look, he inquired, “Everything okay?”

  Antonia briefly filled him in on the lawyer while Joseph listened pensively.

  “Any idea why they think you have the footage?”

  “No! It’s so strange.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, my dear. If he’s a lawyer then he is professional. He’ll figure out you have nothing and leave you alone.”

  “Yes, but if he’s working for that corporate raider Sidney Black, the one Larry Lipper told me about who hated Warner, then he may make my life hell. He did say, and I quote, his power reaches far and wide. How sinister is that?”

  “I’m sure he wanted to inflate his position as a negotiating tactic.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Remember what my late wife always used to say,” said Joseph.

  Antonia smiled. “Don’t borrow trouble.”

  “Yes, and I think you should take her advice right now until you have a reason to think differently.”

  “You’re right,” said Antonia. “You’re totally right.”

  Antonia continued on to the dining room. As the evening had drawn to a close, the bustling atmosphere in the restaurant had diminished. Now only a smattering of tables were still occupied with guests engaged in muted conversations. She knew or recognized most of the guests this time of year. There were locals who frequented the restaurant, as well as some guests staying at the inn. In the summer it was more of a mixed bag. She noticed her friends Len and Sylvia Powers at a corner table. She remembered that Larry had told her that Len had recently thrown Warner out of the Dune Club. She was eager to know more and made a beeline towards his table.

  After briefly discussing the meal, it was obvious that all three of them were itching to discuss the elephant in the room.

  “So, Antonia I’m surprised you’re even standing. You had quite a shock today,” said Sylvia, sympathetically. Sylvia taught third grade at John Marshall Elementary and had that wonderful cozy and maternal aura about her that made you want to fold into her arms for a big hug. Big boned, big breasted and with a big blonde beehive and pink stained lips, she was like your favorite grandmother.

  “It was pretty terrible,” confessed Antonia.

  “I can’t even imagine,” admitted Len. He was in his early sixties, and boasted a thick mop of steel gray hair that curled around the nape of his neck as well as a stomach as big as Santa Claus’. His skin was weather-beaten as if he had spent a lot of time in the sun, which he had, and he had milky blue eyes that smiled when he talked.

  Antonia gave them a brief rundown of the morning’s events before directing her attention at Len. “I heard you had met Warner, and that it didn’t go that well.”

  Len nodded. “I didn’t get a good impression of that kid.”

  “Len thought he was a punk,” added Sylvia.

  “I’m really surprised by that. I had a totally different impression,” said Antonia.

  Len looked thoughtful. He was someone who carefully chose his words. “Oh, I’m sure he could be charming. He was slick. He tried everything to get my permission for him to film all around the club. Said it was the off-season, no one would know. Offered me money…”

  “Can you believe that? Offensive,” said Sylvia.

  “No, he obviously doesn’t know what kind of man you are,” said Antonia.

  “In the beginning, he was friendly. Nice,” said Len, his eyes squinting as if he was remembering. “But when it became clear that I wouldn’t give in, he got smart with me. I didn’t like it. That’s when I could see his true colors.”

  “Wow. That’s too bad,” said Antonia.

  “But still, I think it’s a sad ending,” said Len. “What a waste. He was still young, could have come out okay at the end.”

  “People change,” said Sylvia. “I’ve seen it. He could have changed.”

  After a few more pleasantries, Antonia moved on in the dining room. Her eyes flitted from an elderly couple to an attractive young woman lingering over her cappuccino. Her name was Bridget Curtis. She had checked into the inn two days ago. To Antonia’s right, busboys were clearing china from abandoned tables. At the far end of the bar a man was nursing a beer and talking with the bartender. Antonia squinted to catch a better glimpse of his face but Genevieve’s voice interrupted her.

  “Over here, Antonia!”

  Antonia turned and smiled with relief. She tried to brush the last ten minutes out of her mind while she approached her friend.

  Antonia observed that Genevieve had worn her latest purchase, a sexy low-cut purple dress that she called her “come hither gown.” She insisted that this was the dress that she could get lucky in, but Antonia thought it only accentuated Genevieve’s flat chest.

  “Antonia, this is Carl,” said Genevieve with excitement.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Antonia.

  Carl stood up and shook her hand firmly. “I really enjoyed my dinner, particularly the shrimp.”

  “Thank you.”

  Antonia eyed him appraisingly. He was medium height, thin and lean (what Genevieve must consider to be a ‘rocking bod’) with slightly wavy brown hair and hazel eyes. At first blush he could be dismissed as average, but Antonia discerned that upon closer examination that he had very good bone structure and was indeed handsome. Genevieve had said he was her age, which made him thirty-four, but he had an intensity about him that made him appear older.

  “Thanks for the cookies. But you know I didn’t need them,” said Genevieve, motioning to the plate Antonia had sent out earlier.

  “I can’t let you leave without dessert.”

  “Have a seat with us,” said Genevieve.

  “I don’t want to interrupt.”

  “Please, Antonia, sit,” sat Carl with conviction. “I’d like you to join us. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Genevieve wiggled her perfectly plucked eyebrows with delight and threw Antonia a look as if to say she couldn’t believe her luck. Genevieve’s face was always in a constant state of animation. In repose she was absolutely stunning, but when everything was fluttering and moving and wiggling, her features looked as if they didn’t really co-exist peacefully on her face.

  “Alright,” said Antonia. “I could tak
e a load off.”

  “I told Carl all about your horrible day,” said Genevieve, before turning to Carl. “Of course she is such a rock star that despite everything she manages to throw together a kick ass dinner.”

  He nodded gravely. “Right, right. Are you very shook up?”

  “I’ve had better days, I’ll admit. It was not exactly what I was expecting to find this morning.”

  “And in that neighborhood no less. You generally don’t see a lot of police activity on Lily Pond Lane,” said Carl before adding, “my grandmother lives not far from the Mastersons...”

  “She does?” asked Genevieve.

  “Yes, that’s what brought me back out here. When I was young we spent every summer at her house.”

  “Me too!” exclaimed Genevieve. “We were in Northwest Woods.”

  “I didn’t even know that part of town existed when I was young,” said Carl, taking a sip of his wine.

  Genevieve smiled slyly. “Oh, excuse me. I forgot. You were in the fancy part of town. Everything else beneath you.”

  “It just wasn’t on my radar. I had no reason to go there.”

  “Right. You could walk to the beach. We had to pack all of our stuff and drive down there. I still remember the smell of baloney sandwiches in the cooler. Gross.”

  Carl leaned back. “East Hampton was so great back then. It was quiet. You could actually go see a movie in the summer whereas now it’s a mob scene! Not to mention there were actual stores in town, not all these empty designer showcases.”

  “I know, do you remember the Cheese Cupboard? And Engel Pottery?” asked Genevieve. She loved talking about old East Hampton to anyone who had been there before the eighties.

  “Of course, I remember. Everything was very different. There used to be a liquor store on Main Street now it’s some fancy boutique selling junk. And all of the farmland is being eaten up by these horrible McMansions.” Carl stopped and looked at Antonia. “You must hate it.”

  “I wasn’t here twenty years ago. I only moved here a year and a half ago, so it’s all the same to me and doesn’t change how much I love this town,” confessed Antonia.