Death on Lily Pond Lane

by Carrie Doyle

  “He said you gave him carte blanche to come whenever.”

  Antonia groaned with exasperation. “I’m sorry Glen. He is odious, perfect word choice. You are so astute it amazes me. Do you think you could find a place for him? It’s always good to have the newspaper columnists on our side. And you’re so great about figuring all the seating out…”

  Glen had to be massaged. He responded well to positive reinforcement rather than negative. That’s why his relationship was so much better with Antonia than it was with Marty.

  After sighing as if he had just been asked to solve the crisis in the Middle East, he acquiesced dramatically. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You’re the best. That’s why I love you.”

  “I know!” said Glen, playfully wagging a finger at her. “Oh, and he wants to see you as soon as possible. Don’t make me do the dirty work, come on out and say hi to him.”

  “Will do,” said Antonia. “Thanks.”

  “What a goddamn drama queen,” snapped Marty when Glen had left the kitchen. “His sole job is to seat people, place their fat asses in chairs, and he has to be a goddamned baby about it all the time. You’d think it was difficult. Just pick up a menu, lead the person ten feet to the table, pull out the chair for them and you’re done. The guy makes almost as much as me, and I’m breaking my ass cooking them their food, on my feet all night, and he’s bitching.”

  “We love you too, Marty,” said Antonia with a smile.

  Marty grumbled from his station. He also required constant praise, although his song and dance routine was different from Glen’s. Whereas Glen would pout and demand appreciation, Marty preferred to have unsolicited accolades heaped on him that he would then resist as if he hated the attention from a crowd so frivolous and far beneath him.

  “Antonia, if you want to go out and say hi to Larry, I can cover for you,” offered Kendra.

  “Me too,” said Soyla softly.

  “That’s okay, I can let him percolate. Let him whine and whimper all he wants. I’ve got work to do.”

  “That’s right!” cheered Marty. “Let Glen deal with it! Make him work for his money for once.”

  The whirl of activity continued. Jonathan needed extra tables to hold the buffet for the wedding guests in the parlor, but he was unable to find the key to the storage. It was out of character for him to misplace something, but then everything about this evening was off. After a back and forth dialogue, Antonia excused herself from the kitchen to assist him in his search. But her efforts proved futile; the key was not on her usual hook in her office. In order to accommodate everyone, Antonia sent Jonathan into her apartment to borrow her own dining room table. It would have to do. Most of the time, Antonia thought with a sigh, her job was about trouble-shooting.

  On her way back to the kitchen, she stopped in the dining room. Light from flickering candles and the crackling fireplace reflected against the diners’ cut glass wine goblets and silverware and made warm shadows on the walls. Delicious aromas from each plate wafted through the room, creating a savory trail of sizzling steak, truffle oil, and cheesy soufflé. The pounding rain outside highlighted the intimate atmosphere inside, and the low hum of conversation rumbled cozily. It was nights like this that Antonia wished she were a guest and not the chef.

  Joseph was on his way out of the dining room. “Delicious as always my dear. I had the roast.”

  “I’m glad you like it, are you off?”

  “Yes, I have a slight headache, I believe from the rain. I think I will take a Tylenol PM and retire early this evening.”

  “Feel better.”

  Apparently, not everyone was repelled by Larry Lipper because he was at the bar having a very snug tête-à-tête with a woman she recognized as a salesgirl from Calypso. Antonia watched with amusement as he slid his tiny breakfast sausage fingers along her thigh. Further down the bar, Antonia noticed Nick Darrow perched on a barstool. He had on a tweed blazer and a blue button down and was sipping Maker’s Mark. His gaze was fixed on Antonia, and he nodded to her. His face looked tired, but his eyes were liquid and alert. He watched her carefully as she proceeded towards him, brightening with each step she took.

  “Antonia, I want to tell you something,” said Larry as she passed him.

  She gave him a momentary glance. “Later.”

  Larry watched with curiosity as Antonia approached Nick. Nick stared up at her and his face broke into a smile.

  “I like the chef uniform,” he said once Antonia reached him.

  Antonia glanced down at her jacket as if she had forgotten what she had on. “Right. Work clothes.”

  “Suits you,” he said appraisingly.

  “Thanks,” she said quickly. “So, to what do we owe the honor? You’re making our little inn the new Hollywood stomping grounds.”

  Nick chuckled. He ran his finger along the edge of his glass. Then he stopped and glanced around the room. “I like it here.”

  “Yes, it’s a nice spot,” said Antonia. She slid into the barstool next to him. She wanted to be calm, not think too much of the fact that Nick was here. Back again. Alone. Why this sudden burst of attention? Maybe she was over-thinking it; maybe he really did just like the restaurant.

  “Are you done cooking tonight?” asked Nick.

  “I think so. I want to give myself the rest of the night off.”

  “Good,” said Nick. He leaned in towards Antonia and his voice took on a level of urgency. “Because I needed to talk to you.”

  “Trying to avoid your buddy Larry Lipper?”

  Nick smiled. “He talked my ear off until that girl showed up. The only thing that can distract Larry is ladies.”

  “Right.”

  “But seriously, we didn’t finish our discussion the other day.”

  In an effort to neutralize her emotional state, Antonia distracted herself by pulling the bowl of fried chickpeas dusted with Indian spices towards her. She selected a handful before responding. “I thought we had.”

  “Not really. I pretty much laid my cards on the table and you didn’t react.”

  “I don’t understand, what cards?”

  Nick ran his hand through his hair with frustration. “You want me to spell it out? About Melanie. About how you are a factor in our relationship. In fact, when I returned home from telling you all this, Melanie of course gleaned where I had been and raised hell.”

  Antonia shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m used to her histrionics, that’s par for the course. But I thought I would get more of a reaction from you. I told you how much our friendship means to me, and you didn’t respond at all. Antonia, you have to realize that you give very little of yourself. It doesn’t go unnoticed that you deflect almost every personal question and shut yourself off. It’s taken me months to pry anything out of you.”

  “Nick…”

  He leaned in closely. “Who hurt you this badly? Why do you seal yourself off?”

  “I…”

  “Look, don’t even deny it,” he said, pulling back. “I know it has something to do with your ex-husband.”

  Antonia felt her face flush. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he was about to say. “Listen, Nick. I don’t want to talk about this here. Now.”

  He took a sip of his drink. There was something frantic about him tonight. A side she had seen before in the roles he played in movies but never with her. She had thought that their relationship had always been genuine, and honest. But now there seemed to be something almost theatrical about this scene. As if he was thriving on the drama of the situation.

  Nick put his glass firmly down on the bar. “I understand. Sorry, you’re right. This is not the time or place. I’m on edge. Melanie is riding me, and I wanted to make sure things were cool with you.”

  Antonia gazed at him evenly. “They are. It’s all
good.”

  “Okay,” he said, taking another drink. “I know I’m agitated. It’s been a weird week. A woman I was on the board of Guild Hall with was murdered.”

  “Sheila Black?” asked Antonia with surprise.

  “Yes, I’m sure you heard someone hacked her up. What’s happening to this town? First the guy you found, then her. The reason I don’t live in Los Angeles is because I wanted to live in a safe, little town. Now this.”

  “Wait, how did you know Sheila Black?”

  “She’s a theater buff. Came to all of our shows out here. Bored lady, wanted to get involved so we let her sponsor some. She was a handful, though. She had me stay in character whenever we were in meetings. Last time I met her, she made sure I spoke with a British accent.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, she was nuts.”

  Antonia thought of Sheila’s British lover. She must have had a thing for the Brits. She wondered if the police had tracked him down. Before she could ask, she was interrupted.

  “Antonia.”

  She turned around.

  “Sam!” she said, startled. She hadn’t prepared herself for how she would react if she saw him again. Somehow it didn’t occur to her that he would just show up. And now that he was here, looming over her, she realized just how big of a guy he was. He was taller than she remembered and his muscles popped out of his shirt as if he were Popeye. A glance at his large hands confirmed her suspicion that he would have no problem squeezing the life out of Warner or Sheila.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Good,” answered Antonia. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Her face must have conveyed everything she was thinking because Sam’s expression immediately changed.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” said Sam quickly. His eyes darted between Nick and Antonia. He squinted a little, as if trying to discern the subtext of what was going on.

  “Not at all,” said Antonia quickly.

  “No, you’re not interrupting,” said Nick quickly.

  It was only an extra beat, but everyone felt it. They remained silent for a moment longer than normal, making the situation morph from normal to awkward.

  “I’m Sam Wilson.” He extended his hand to Nick.

  “Nick Darrow.”

  “Sorry!” said Antonia, flustered. “I should have made the introductions.”

  There was another awkward pause. Antonia felt Nick’s eyes drilling into her, his intensity seething. She didn’t know how to diffuse the situation. She wanted Sam to disappear, wanted to continue talking to Nick but instead she sat paralyzed, unable to do anything.

  Sam turned to Antonia. “I thought I’d come by and say hello, maybe steal you away for a nightcap.”

  Antonia squirmed with discomfort. She did not want Nick to glean that anything had transpired between herself and Sam. “That’s nice. Do you want to order food? I can get you a table.”

  Nick waved the bartender over and pulled out his wallet. “You can have my seat, I’ve got to go.”

  “I don’t want to push you out,” protested Sam,

  Nick rose. He took a last swig of his drink, finishing it. “Not at all. It’s late. I need to head home.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Antonia.

  Nick nodded. He turned to Sam. “Has it stopped raining?”

  “No, still cats and dogs out there.”

  Nick nodded distractedly. “Alright then. Have a good night.”

  Sam slid down into Nick’s seat. Antonia had to force herself not to watch Nick depart. She felt a lump growing inside her of both anger and disappointment. She turned to look at Sam who was staring at her curiously. How was she supposed to talk to him?

  “I didn’t realize you were friends with him,” said Sam evenly.

  Antonia shrugged. “Not friends exactly, but I know him.”

  “I’m sorry, then.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Remember the other night? I was bashing him and his colleagues. All the Hollywood people.”

  “Oh right,” said Antonia softly. “That’s okay, I didn’t take it personally.”

  Antonia tried to smile but it felt flat. Sam continued to give her a penetrating gaze. “I can’t help but feel I interrupted something,” said Sam finally.

  “No, what do you mean? We were just talking.”

  “Is there something going on between you two?”

  “Why would you say that?” asked Antonia quickly.

  “I got a vibe.”

  “No,” said Antonia. “He’s married.”

  Sam curled his mouth in disdain. “That doesn’t mean anything. At least not to celebrities, for sure.”

  “No, there’s nothing.”

  They sat in silence, Antonia avoiding his gaze. Was he a murderer? She debated whether or not by asking him outright. The restaurant was crowded enough with people so that she could safely accuse him. Finally, Sam stood up. “Look, I’m going to go.”

  “Why?” asked Antonia.

  “I feel like, I don’t know, like, you’re not psyched to see me.”

  “That’s not true…”

  Sam put his hand under Antonia’s chin and raised it so that she had to make eye contact. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Nothing’s going on,” said Antonia. She knew it was a lie.

  Sam continued staring at her, holding her face. Finally, he bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “Today was really nice. I just want you to know that.”

  “Thanks. I’m sorry, Sam, I just….”

  “It’s okay. You know how to find me.”

  26

  When Antonia returned to the kitchen she handed the proverbial reins to Marty and changed out of her chef’s clothes in the mudroom off the kitchen. It was only nine o’clock and the dining room was still buzzing but Antonia was spent. The cherry on top was the last conversation with Sam and Nick. And then as she was exiting the dining room Larry Lipper tried to engage her by making a snide remark and she snapped at him before fleeing the room.

  Sleeping with Sam had been a bad idea. That’s why she avoided sex as a rule. You may just end up sleeping with a killer, or at the very least, handling the post-coital interaction in a very awkward manner. And why had everything with Nick become so complicated? Was he just using her to play his wife? He clearly thrived on drama, and he loved over-analyzing everything. It was the actor in him, but also the guy who has sat on the couch in a shrink’s office too long. Antonia was skeptical of therapy. She’d had tough times and knew it could be useful, but she also didn’t want to examine herself so much that she started her sentences with ‘I’m the type of person who…’ It bred too much self-reflection and frankly, she didn’t want to reflect. Nick Darrow was the opposite, he could scrutinize his own every move down to a tee, a true method actor. And maybe that’s what this was all about, he was just ego-stroking, searching for affirmation. But despite that all, and perhaps this proved just how naïve Antonia was, she still felt that he did genuinely care for her and needed her in his life. He said himself that he confided things in her that he couldn’t in others.

  Antonia went into the reception area to collect her messages. Jonathan’s light was on and his door ajar. She gently knocked. He was standing over his computer, shutting it down, watching the screen as it evaporated into darkness.

  “How’s it going?” asked Antonia.

  “Brilliant. I think we’re in good shape.”

  “Any of the wedding guests return yet?”

  “No, I think it will be a late night. But that’s okay; I’ve got it sorted. We’re all set with a cold buffet in the living room for them upon their return. It will be self-serve, of course. I insisted Soyla retire for the evening. She will be on call early.”

  “Yes, absolutely. Besides, who knows what time the wedding w
ill end? We once had people who strolled in for breakfast.”

  “I agree,” concurred Jonathan. “Oh, and here’s the key from your key chain. It doesn’t work.”

  “You tried the yellow one?”

  “Yes. The one that’s marked ‘storage room,’” he said wryly. “It was not a match. But don’t worry. We’ll suss it out in the morning.”

  “I’ll go through my bag later. I thought I had returned it to the hook on my wall, but my purse is such a war zone that maybe it got buried in there.”

  Jonathan swung his raincoat off the back of his chair and donned it. He grabbed an umbrella from the stand in the corner.

  “I’m over and out for tonight, Antonia.”

  “Goodnight. Survive the rain.”

  “Will do.”

  He let Antonia out of his office before switching off the light and walking towards the front door.

  She wandered into her office and sat down at her desk. Jonathan had left a stack of bills for her to glance over but instead she pulled out a piece of white paper from the stack in the printer drawer. With a black felt tip pen she drew two columns and wrote Warner on one side and Sheila on the other. Off the top of her head she wrote down everything she could think of that connected them. There was the obvious: they were both dead (murdered) in East Hampton and both had been involved in the documentary. But what else? What had Sheila told her when she had talked to her during tea? In the midst of all those non-sequitors, she revealed that she did her shopping at CVS. Heidi worked at CVS, was that another connection? Antonia was unsettled. She was missing something. What if she took out the documentary, was there another reason they were dead?

  As she was chewing on the back of her pen cap, Antonia heard the soft twinkle of the front door bell, followed by footsteps.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone standing on the threshold of her office door.

  “Did you forget something, Jonathan?” she asked.

  But when she glanced up she realized it wasn’t Jonathan at all. And just as the slap of cool air that came in with the open door curled around Antonia, she found herself almost at a loss for words.