Death on Lily Pond Lane

by Carrie Doyle

  Antonia thought for a moment that she saw something in the bushes. A deer? A person? She pressed her nose closer to the window.

  “Did you see anything?”

  Sam held his flashlight down so it made a circle on the carpet. He scanned the backyard. “No, did you?”

  “I thought for a second…” her voice trailed off. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her. “Nothing.”

  They continued up the stairs.

  “Do you think we should turn on the lights?” asked Sam. “I pretty much doubt that the police will happen to drive by during the exact five minutes that we have them on.”

  “No,” said Antonia. “I don’t want to worry about being discovered by the cops and being arrested for trespassing. I’d rather just take my chances.”

  “Your call,” said Sam. “Which way?”

  Antonia pointed the flashlight down the hall to the right. It seemed to die in the darkened abyss. “This way.”

  Antonia was comforted by Sam walking next to her. He was powerful. It was strange but it was as if she could actually smell his strength.

  “The bedroom is on the left,” said Antonia.

  They moved in that direction. Antonia stopped on the threshold of Eleanor’s room. Sam approached and stood next to her. Their bodies were slightly touching.

  “Do you want to turn on the light here?” Sam whispered.

  “No,” said Antonia. “I might be able to figure out what specifically was bothering me if I just spotlight one thing at a time.”

  Her flashlight traced the corners of the room and flitted from spot to spot, searching for a clue. Could Warner have hidden the footage in here? Was that what had struck her? She scanned for it, but found nothing that looked like a tape or disc or video camera. The carpet, however, now looked like four thousand people had walked across it, and would almost certainly need professional cleaners to attend to it. Antonia scanned the bed, which was still perfectly made up. She moved her flashlight towards desk. The pens were still neatly aligned. She felt no comfort in the fact that almost everything appeared normal. That was almost more disturbing.

  “Anything with the pictures?” asked Sam.

  “No.”

  They were staring at each other in the charcoal wash of darkness. Antonia had the feeling that if she kissed Sam now he would not refuse. She couldn’t do that, though; not here. She casually turned back to the room.

  “Hmm…” said Antonia.

  Antonia’s flashlight darted around the room frantically. What had given her pause? What was here? She was looking for some sort of camera equipment but maybe that was wrong. Maybe it was something else?

  Suddenly, a cold chill ran down her spine.

  “The watch,” Antonia said finally.

  “What?”

  Antonia trained her light on the watch that was sitting in the dish on Eleanor’s dresser. “That doesn’t belong in here.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know. I come in here all the time. Eleanor wears a gold Cartier tank watch.”

  “Maybe it was Warner’s?” offered Sam.

  An image of Warner floating in the bathtub popped into Antonia’s head. He had on a Rolex watch.

  “It wasn’t Warner’s.”

  She turned and stared at Sam. “Whose was it?”

  “The police?” Sam asked hopefully.

  This time, Antonia felt a conviction that she hadn’t felt before. For the first time in days, she experienced a harrowing clarity.

  “The killer.”

  Sam let her words hang in the air. The room was dark. Antonia had her flashlight facing downwards, blazing on a small patch of trod-upon carpet.

  “I thought you said it was an accident.”

  “I don’t think so anymore.”

  “What do you want to do?” Sam asked finally.

  Antonia took a deep breath and entered the room, making her way towards the watch. The silver felt cold to the touch. The watch was heavy. She couldn’t imagine Eleanor wearing it.

  “Definitely a man’s.”

  Sam came up behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck. “Recognize it?”

  “No.”

  Antonia turned it over but there was no inscription or monogram. “I didn’t think this was what I would find.”

  “What were you looking for?” asked Sam, moving closer.

  She didn’t want to tell him about the footage. “I’m not sure.”

  They stood in silence. Finally, Sam spoke.

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “I want to take it, but I shouldn’t in case the police come back for it.”

  “Good idea. Let’s check the bathroom,” said Sam. “Maybe you’ll find something in there.”

  Antonia replaced the watch in the dish. There was no way she was removing anything else from this room, not after the debacle with the Lysol can. She didn’t think Sergeant Flanagan would take kindly to her if she did it a second time. She moved towards the bathroom. The door was ajar. Sam pushed it further open, his flashlight scanning the room. There were muddy footprints all over it. The bathroom mat was shoved to the corner behind the sink. The towels were no longer on the rack, but heaped in a careless pile on the floor near the toilet. The shower curtain had come off, but the shower rings remained, dangling in the darkness. Sam glided his light down to the edge of the porcelain tub. There was a large bloodstain where Warner’s head had rested, as well as a tiny trickle that led down towards the drain. There were also bloodstains on the side of the tub, presumably from when they moved the body. The room smelled strange.

  Like death, thought Antonia.

  “What happened here?” she whispered.

  Sam turned and met her gaze. She turned back out of the bathroom, shaken. Sam followed.

  Sam put his hand on Antonia’s shoulder. “You okay?”

  Antonia took a deep breath and nodded. She felt completely lucid now, no longer in that tipsy red wine fog. Revisiting the house had definitely sobered her up.

  “You know, I never got to examine Warner’s room after I found him,” said Antonia. “Let’s go check it out.”

  “Sure,” agreed Sam.

  Their small flashlights lit their way down the hall to the guest quarters.

  The guest room was the final doorway, the suite that had been home to Warner during his final weeks. Antonia shone her light in the room. It flitted across the twin maple four-poster beds. The duvet covers were white, the white pillows framed with blue trim. Above each bed was a poster of a David Hockney collage. The other walls held framed posters from Guild Hall. Joan Masterson had bought out most of the stock from the poster store on Main Street when it shuttered.

  Antonia’s flashlight slid left, revealing a window seat. To the right, there were two French doors that led to a Juliet balcony. As far as Antonia knew, no one used the balcony. It overlooked the driveway and was merely a design decoration, rather than a functional element. The roller shades that hung over the doors were drawn.

  Antonia walked over to the dresser and began opening the drawers one by one. They were empty. She ran her hand under each panel as if she might find a loose board where Warner could have stashed something. She quickly lifted the dust ruffles of the beds and scanned underneath with her flashlight. She opened the closet and found nothing.

  “What do you think you might find?” asked Sam.

  “Not sure yet,” replied Antonia.

  She glanced over at Warner’s duffel. Perhaps in there? Might be too obvious but worth a shot. Antonia dumped everything out. Wrinkled shirts and balled up shorts fell to the floor. She felt through everything but there was nothing of interest other than dirty laundry. She hastily shoved everything back inside and walked over to the desk. The folder was gone. The police had obviously taken it. And no sign of a
phone or camera or anything that might contain the missing footage.

  “Let’s check the guest bathroom,” said Antonia.

  The Mastersons had done a complete renovation of their bathrooms two years prior. This bathroom was slightly smaller than Eleanor’s, but essentially the same infrastructure. Once again, Antonia was confounded as to why Warner would bathe in Eleanor’s.

  “I think I can turn the light on in here. We’re facing the back of the house. The police won’t be able to see.”

  “Okay,” said Sam.

  Antonia flicked the switch on. It took them several seconds for their eyes to adjust. They glanced around the room.

  “Well, the police are right, it doesn’t look like anyone used it,” said Sam.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s spotless. Look, the toilet seat is down, the towels are all still folded neatly, the window shades haven’t been pulled down for privacy…”

  “I don’t know,” said Antonia. “Maybe he put the toilet seat down himself?”

  Sam looked at her askance. “Do you know any guy living alone who would put the top lid down? That’s a total courtesy for the ladies. If this guy was using this bathroom, the toilet seat would be up.”

  “Wait, the toilet paper!”

  Antonia walked over and lifted up the metal casing that covered the toilet paper. The cleaning ladies always made a triangle with the ends when they finished a bathroom, and Antonia expected the paper to be torn, confirming that Warner had used it. But she was wrong. Her shoulders sagged.

  “You’re right. The toilet paper is folded at the ends.”

  “Like in a hotel?” Sam asked moving closer to glean a better look. “Geez, these people are fancy.”

  Suddenly, something caught her eye. Antonia inhaled loudly. Sam straightened up and noticed Antonia’s face was ashen.

  “What is it?” he said, fear in his voice.

  Antonia was too stunned to speak. She slowly raised her hand and pointed at the towel rack.

  “What?” asked Sam.

  “The towels,” whispered Antonia. “Look at the towels.”

  Sam stared at them. He walked closer to have a better look. He started to move his hand to feel one when Antonia yelled out.

  “Don’t touch! Evidence.”

  “I’m missing something here,” said Sam. “What is it?”

  Antonia walked over and pointed to the cream towels stenciled with white monograms. “This one. It’s backwards.”

  “Okay,” said Sam.

  “The cleaners would never have left the towel backwards. The inscription says GUEST on it. They are meticulous. They would have absolutely noticed that the stitching is going the opposite way.”

  “But what if they made a mistake?”

  Antonia shook her head. She was certain. “No, they never make mistakes. That was recently confirmed to me.”

  She remembered how silly she had been to think Rosita would have been careless enough to leave the Lysol can. What had she been thinking? Rosita was an expert cleaner.

  Sam sighed. “Okay, giving you the benefit of the doubt. What does it mean?”

  “Rosita told me that Warner used this bathroom. She cleaned it on Monday morning. She replaced the towels, cleaned the shower, etc. He had been using this bathroom all along. Eleanor’s bathroom was always clean. But then he is found dead in Eleanor’s bathroom.”

  “The question is why?”

  “Yes, why? It doesn’t make sense that he would suddenly switch bathrooms. But something happened and he ended up dead in Eleanor’s bathroom.”

  “Maybe he brought a girlfriend over and kept all that activity in Eleanor’s room and something went awry and he ended up dead,” offered Sam.

  “Maybe,” said Antonia.

  She walked over to the window and looked down at the yard. It was quiet; the only movement was the breeze. She raised her eyes and stared into the back of the Harkin’s house. She could see through the bushes that a light was on in the downstairs, but she detected no movement. The curtains were drawn in the upstairs bedrooms. They were probably asleep, which was where she should be. Antonia was suddenly tired.

  She felt Sam approach her and pause right behind her. She could feel his energy so close to her that it was as if they were touching. Antonia slowly turned around. The moon’s light cast jagged shadows against Sam’s face, making him look like a sinister circus clown. A chill crept down Antonia’s spine.

  “We should go. I suddenly feel strange here.”

  “Are you sure you got everything you needed?” asked Sam. He didn’t move.

  “Yes.”

  He stared into Antonia’s eyes for a second before moving.

  “Let’s do it then,” he said. As she stepped out of the shadows, Sam’s face returned to its usual handsome expression. He took her hand and led her downstairs.

  17

  They drove down Lily Pond Lane in silence. Antonia was nervous, unsure as to how to proceed with Sam. She was wildly out of practice with men. The stoplight was green, which meant that they were only two minutes away from the inn. Should she ask Sam up for a nightcap and recap? It didn’t seem right. She felt odd. Earlier, she would have sworn that she was receiving romantic vibes from him; now she wasn’t as confident.

  Sam pulled up the driveway of the inn and put the car in park. Antonia turned and smiled.

  “This was a wild night, Antonia,” he said. He leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Let me make sure you enter safely.”

  Antonia was glad that they both had to turn in different directions to open their car doors so Sam couldn’t see her face turn instantly red. Was this a blow off?

  When she got out of the car, Sam was standing next to her. She started walking to the back door. He walked along side her.

  “Well, thanks for coming on the wild goose chase with me.”

  “Anytime,” he said, sinking his hands in his pockets. “But the highlight of the night for me was still your kick-ass dinner. That’ll go down in the history books.”

  “Thanks,” said Antonia, quickly adding, “and I’d love to sample your food also.”

  Sam laughed. “Yes, that’s definitely on the agenda.”

  He opened the screen door for her and held it, while she fumbled in her bag for the key. There was so much crap in her bag that it took her extra long to find the key, and she made a note to herself to clean out all the junk. Sam waited patiently. Finally, she found it and unlocked the door. She twisted the knob and held it. She turned to Sam.

  “Good night, Sam.”

  “Good night, Antonia,” he said. “See you again real soon.”

  He gave her a small salute before backing down the path and turning to walk to his car. Antonia didn’t wait for him to drive away; instead she made her way inside.

  When she reached her apartment door, she found a Post-It note stuck on from Jonathan.

  Francine “Sidney Black’s cleaning lady” rang you. Said she had something v. important to tell you re: what you discussed the other night. She wouldn’t exp. (sounded very nervous.)

  Antonia was instantly filled with curiosity. But one glance at the clock reminded her that it was way too late to return the call. Drat, she’d have to wait until the morning. She unlocked her apartment door and made her way to her room to collapse in bed. She was asleep within minutes.

  * * * * *

  Antonia sat up in the bed with a start. What had woken her? There was almost no visibility in the room with the blackout shades down. She leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp. A glance at the small alarm clock next to her bed revealed it was two-thirty two a.m. She hadn’t been asleep very long. Her eyes scanned the room. The window curtain fluttered gently, almost imperceptibly. Was there someone behind it? Antonia’s eyes bore into it as if she had x-ray vision. She c
ould almost hear her heart thudding as she waited. Once again, the curtain moved softly, the right side flapping every so slightly open. Antonia gave a start. Then just as abruptly, the curtain flapped back. It was the wind. Antonia’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but her eyes studied every crevice of the room before confirming she was alone. She was certain of one thing: it hadn’t been a dream. She had heard something. A thump.

  Antonia cocked her head to the side and waited. The night was still. The occasional passing car was the only break in the silence. She took a sip from the water bottle next to the bed. The cool liquid rushing down her raw throat produced a calming effect.

  Suddenly she heard it again. It came from the other side of her wall— the wall that was adjacent to the back stairs of the inn. Antonia stood up, grabbed her bathrobe and tied it tightly around her. She crept out of her bedroom to the kitchenette. Her fingers clasped the largest knife she could find from the top drawer. Clutching it in her hand she returned to the front door and slowly opened it.

  It was dark. A lone table lamp produced a hazy illumination in the hall, but one that barely penetrated the blackness. From her somewhat skewed angle, Antonia could decipher the bottom of the stairs and the back door. She quickly glanced right at the door that led to Joseph’s elevator, and squinted. The hall was empty. Antonia twisted her head to the left and that was when she noticed them. In the reflection in the mirror above the table she saw two legs clad in black, standing on the back staircase.

  They weren’t moving. They were waiting; as if they knew they had been heard.

  Antonia waited. The feet stood frozen. Was it the lawyer? If he had been truly following her, he might have known she went to the Mastersons’ house this evening and perhaps he thought she had found the footage.

  The headlights of a passing car cast a flicker of illumination in the hall but disappeared as quickly as they had come. The hairs on the back of Antonia’s neck were standing up at full attention. She couldn’t take it anymore; it was time to make a move.

  “Who’s there?” Antonia whispered hoarsely. Her voice felt scratchy and foreign.

  There was no response.