Death on Lily Pond Lane

by Carrie Doyle

  Finally, locating her key, Antonia opened her door and started the car. She tore out of the driveway, this time not caring if anyone heard.

  28

  Antonia drove as fast as possible to Genevieve’s house, while trying her on her cell phone at the same time. The cell phone miraculously found a signal and connected, but then it rang and rang. There was no answer.

  “Dammit, Genevieve!” said Antonia, banging it on the steering wheel.

  The light at the intersection of Main Street and Newtown Lane seemed to take an eternity. When it changed, Antonia peeled out as fast as possible towards Genevieve’s. Despite her soggy state, she was sweating and burning with adrenaline.

  Antonia considered tonight’s discovery. If Carl was the killer, she wanted to know why and how. He was never mentioned as being in the documentary. What could he have had against Warner? Maybe Warner just got in the way somehow. She had to find the link. Antonia went through her checklist. Carl was new in town, having returned here only three weeks ago. Since his arrival, three people were dead. It could be a coincidence of course, but there could be a connection. The first death was Warner Caruthers. His guest room and bathroom faced Carl’s grandmother’s house. The Lysol can found near his body was exactly the same one found in the backyard of the Harkin house. The second one dead was Carl’s grandmother, Nancy Woods. It was believed she died of natural causes, because she was old, and her friends confirmed that she was losing it. But what if she didn’t? What if she was murdered too? Then there was Sheila Black. How did she play into this? She was in the documentary that Warner was filming. Had she seen something? Antonia didn’t think so, because Sheila didn’t even know that Warner had died when she saw her. Sheila had a British lover that the police were looking for. Could he have been the tie between all of them?

  In the meantime, Antonia wanted Genevieve to clear something up. She said that she and Carl had been together the night Warner was murdered. But did Carl leave at all? Was there a time gap?

  Antonia made a right into Floyd Street and pulled into Genevieve’s driveway but the lights were out. She was unprepared what she would say to Carl if she saw him, but she knew she needed to get to Genevieve and tell her everything. Antonia ran through the rain up the brick path to the front porch. She rang the doorbell and waited on the step but there was no answer. Even the outside light was off. She cupped her hands and pressed her face against the living room window, but could see nothing.

  Genevieve had one of those fake rocks with a spare key underneath it and Antonia turned it over to pull it out. But the key wasn’t there.

  “Genevieve?” Antonia yelled.

  There was no answer. A quick walk around the house in the pouring rain revealed nothing. Perhaps Antonia was wrong. Perhaps Genevieve and Carl were out to dinner somewhere and this was all a mistake. If only she hadn’t already played her card with Sergeant Flanagan when she called him to Paul Brady’s house. She couldn’t try him again. What if it ended up that Genevieve was at a restaurant or something? The police would lose their patience with her. She had no choice but to return home.

  * * * * *

  It was almost midnight and the inn was quiet when Antonia returned. There were no cars in the driveway. Outside, the lightning and thunder had picked up, grumbling and groaning like an old man with indigestion constantly turning on and off his bedside light. Antonia swiftly reentered her apartment. There were no messages on her voicemail and yet another attempt at calling Genevieve proved futile. Antonia changed out of her wet clothes. She inspected the cut on her leg. It was purple and raw and promised a lovely bruise. She wiped it down before applying Neosporin and a thick bandage. Hopefully, it would only cause her a day or two of discomfort. Instead of her nightgown, she put on cozy sweats and furry wool socks. She was tempted to take another hot bath, but due to the late hour, decided against it.

  Antonia once again dialed Genevieve’s cell. This time it was answered.

  “Hello?”

  Carl.

  “It’s Antonia,” she gulped, trying to sound casual. Her heart hammered in her chest. “Hey, is Genevieve there?”

  “Hey Antonia. Crazy weather we’re having. Everything okay?”

  “Yes, sorry to call so late. I just…had to ask Genevieve something. Is she around?”

  “She’s in the shower. Shall I have her call you back?”

  Antonia paused. Should she mention that she just saw someone in his grandmother’s house?

  “Where are you guys?”

  “We’re at Genevieve’s. Why? Do you want to come over?”

  “You are? I was just there.”

  Damn. She shouldn’t have said that.

  “We just got back from the movies. Everything okay?”

  “Yes, fine, thank. Just have her call me back, please.”

  “Will do.”

  Antonia hung up and felt a surge of relief. She had been right; they were out at the movies. But then if Carl was with Genevieve, then who was at his house? Was it an employee or perhaps a relative?

  She put on a kettle for tea. She plopped a bag of chamomile in a mug and waited for the water to boil. She felt like someone had taken a cheese grater to her nerves. Had the person in the window spotted her? The thought made her shiver. And if he did, would he know why she was snooping around?

  The phone rang.

  “Genevieve?” asked Antonia hopefully.

  “No, Antonia, it’s Jonathan. Did I wake you?”

  “No.”

  “I’m terribly sorry for ringing so late, but when I returned home, I had a sudden fear that I had forgotten to leave the box of favors for the wedding guests on the banquet table with the sandwiches. Did the wedding guests already return? I do apologize…”

  “No, they’re not back yet. I guess the wedding is a rager.”

  “Yes, it is late. Although they did mention that they had the DJ until one am.”

  “They did look like a crowd the enjoyed a party.”

  “Yes. I hate to trouble you but would you mind terribly checking if I put the favors out? If they’re not there, they are in my office behind the door.”

  “Sure, it’s no problem.”

  “Thanks very much. I would hate for them to be forgotten.”

  “Yes, after all that hard work.”

  “Right. I don’t know where my head is. But I’m glad I caught you at home. Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “Cheerio,” he said before he hung up.

  Cheerio. Antonia liked how the British spoke. Antonia rose and exited her apartment and walked down to the front door of the inn. The halls were hushed except for the forlorn ticking of the grandfather clock. She went into the parlor. The sandwiches were lined up, but there was no box of favors. Antonia turned towards the offices. She went into Jonathan’s and flicked on the light.

  The bright overhead buzzed slightly, and Antonia blinked. She peeked behind the door and found the box, the brightly wrapped silver picture frames with the couple’s entwined initials engraved on them. She picked up the box and made her way back to the parlor, the floorboards squeaking under the carpet behind her. After laying the favors out on a side table and throwing the box out in her office, Antonia paused in the entryway. The coziness felt compromised by a sudden draft floating through the inn. Antonia glanced at the front door. It appeared shut, but she pressed hard against it and she heard the latch click. She wanted to lock it, but she couldn’t because of the wedding guests. Instead, she went back into her apartment, just in time to turn off the wailing kettle.

  After pouring herself a mug of piping hot tea, Antonia curled up on the sofa, back where she had been just an hour and a half ago. She was too wired to go to sleep. The rain was tapping on the roof with gravitas, the approaching thunder clanging along ominously. It was late. Antonia was tense. She wished Joseph hadn’t gone to bed earl
y. She would love a little glass of sherry and some stinky cheese to top off the evening.

  Antonia flipped on the TV again and watched a reality show for several minutes. Suddenly, there was a flash of lightning followed by a loud clap of thunder. The lights in Antonia’s apartment quivered and went off, as did the TV.

  “Great,” said Antonia.

  At least once a year the electricity went out during a storm. The Hamptons often experienced blackouts. Antonia had a backup generator that sustained all of the downstairs rooms of the inn, but it could take several minutes to kick in. It wouldn’t normally matter at an hour like this but with all of the wedding guests still not back, it could be a problem. Antonia picked up the flashlight that she had used earlier and exited her apartment. She had to go downstairs to the basement to check to make sure the generator was viable.

  The hallway was dark and cold. Antonia moved across the Oriental carpet runner towards the front door. It became colder as she approached, a frosty wind blowing through. When Antonia reached the front hall, she realized the culprit: the front door was ajar. Could the wedding guests have returned?

  “Hello?” Antonia asked.

  She cocked her ear to listen, but there was no response. Certainly returning revelers would not be so silent.

  There must be a problem with the latch. Antonia again walked down the hall and pressed it shut before retracing her steps. The blast of cold damp air that had been released into the inn curled itself into every corner. It could take several minutes for the heat to reassert its control of the temperature. Frustrated, Antonia trained her flashlight along the walls, illuminating her path. The solemn oil portraits that hung in the foyer appeared more sinister and severe in the darkness. Despite the fact that this was her home, Antonia felt a nervous chill run down her spine. Her heart pounding, she moved towards the basement door and fumbled to turn the knob. The door swung open and the stale basement air burst forth and greeted her.

  The basement was damp and in the blackness it felt as if the walls were perspiring with moisture. She walked down the wooden steps, each one creaking in her wake, and drank in the rank odor. She was still limping slightly from the cut on her knee, and used the thin wooden railing to steady herself. As she penetrated the frowsy, dank underbelly of her home, a sense of foreboding welled inside her.

  The generator was buzzing which was a good sign. Antonia used her flashlight to trace the panel alongside it. All systems were a go, so it was only a matter of time. Her flashlight scanned the rest of the basement, finding everything in order. Antonia turned around to walk upstairs. She shone the flashlight upwards, towards the basement door and stopped dead in her tracks. The door was shut.

  Maybe it was the wind, Antonia told herself. Mustering up all of her courage, she marched up the steps. She turned the handle on the basement door and was gratefully surprised to find that it was not locked. Her mind was playing tricks on her. And heck, it was only a few months ago that Lucy Corning, her former manager, had locked her in a storage closet.

  Antonia opened the door and peered out into the hallway. Nothing seemed amiss. She ran her flashlight over all the walls.

  Stifling a yawn, Antonia walked back down the hall and opened the door of her apartment. She walked over to her phone and saw that she had missed a call from Genevieve. Antonia picked up the phone and pressed redial.

  Suddenly, Antonia heard a phone ringing in the distance. She walked to her front door with her cell pressed against her ear. When she opened her door, the ringing became louder then stopped. Antonia glanced down at her cell. Genevieve’s phone was ringing inside the inn.

  It was then she realized that her instincts had been right.

  He came lunging towards her. His gloved hand covered her mouth and shoved her inside her apartment. Kicking the door shut behind him, he pinned her arms behind her body, so tightly she thought they would snap. The flashlight dropped out of Antonia’s hand and rolled across the rug before landing against the leg of the coffee table. Its dim light was the only illumination in the room. She flailed and tried to kick him with her legs, but with enormous strength, he pressed on her knee with his own and felled her. Antonia started to collapse. She was unable to breathe with his hand on her mouth and she felt dizzy. Fear clenched her throat, seized her entire body.

  He produced duct tape from somewhere, which he deftly stripped across her mouth with one hand. Then he threw her onto her sofa. He picked up the flashlight and placed it on the coffee table so that its light made a circle on the ceiling. It was close enough to illuminate him and for the first time she could finally see him clearly.

  Carl’s eyes were wild and feverish. His hair was matted down on his head and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with agitation. The last time she had seen someone look this enraged was when her husband Philip attacked her for the very last time.

  “You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” he demanded.

  Antonia tried to speak but the tape prevented her from doing so.

  Carl produced a long knife from the pocket of his jacket. The edge caught the pale light from the flashlight and glinted.

  “I’ll let you speak, but you had better not scream or I will kill you at once.”

  Antonia nodded in accordance. She felt a choking fear that her life was about to come to an end regardless of whether or not she screamed.

  He slowly and meticulously placed the knife on Antonia’s neck. It was cold, and instantly Antonia’s body froze with terror. Carl twisted the tip of the knife ever so slightly, making a small puncture wound, as slight as a paper cut but just as painful, under Antonia’s chin. She winced.

  “That’s just the beginning. I’m warning you. Do not scream.”

  Antonia nodded. Her eyes were now pooling with tears of anguish, fear and pain. She anxiously glanced around the room searching for an escape route, but knew it was futile. She could only pray for the wedding guests to return and have some urgent need to wake her up, or perhaps Joseph? What use would he be?

  Carl yanked the tape off and Antonia recoiled. It was like getting a lip wax from an aggressive spa employee. She blinked several times.

  “Where’s Genevieve?”

  “Don’t worry about her.”

  Fear curled inside Antonia.

  “What were you doing in my yard tonight?” he demanded.

  Antonia didn’t speak. He jerked her arm.

  “I-I remembered the Lysol cans,” she stammered. “They were the same type I found in the bathroom where Warner died. I had a hunch and I went over to your grandmother’s house to check it out…”

  “Who else knows about this?” he demanded.

  “Everyone. I told everyone,” she lied. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to present him with a clear motive to kill her.

  “I don’t believe you,” said Carl.

  “It’s true. I told my buddy on the police force. Larry Lipper from the newspaper…”

  Carl’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not,” she said defiantly.

  “I heard you talk on the phone. You said nothing about it.”

  Antonia’s mouth snapped shut. Fear was engorged inside her. “I called them in the car before I got there.”

  Carl shook his head and chuckled nastily. “No, you didn’t. Not one minute ago, you said you had a hunch and you went to check it out. You are not telling the truth.”

  He pushed Antonia back hard on the sofa so that her head jiggled back and forth like a bobble head. Antonia snuck a look at Carl. His eyes were dark and stormy. She knew she was face-to-face with the devil. He had morphed into an entirely different person; even his features seemed darker and more terrifying. His expression was enraged, his brows furrowed, his mouth contorted. This man was going to kill her.

  She knew she just had to stall him, buy herself more time…

  �
��Why did you do it? Why did you kill Warner?”

  A slow smile crept across Carl Harkin’s face. He glanced at Antonia as if debating if he would confide, then ultimately couldn’t resist.

  “He was collateral damage.”

  He paused but Antonia didn’t want to encourage him. Let this take as long as possible and maybe I will live, she thought. Carl turned and gave Antonia a look as if he knew what she was thinking of before resuming. She was struck again how evil he looked. How had he fooled them all into thinking he was a good guy? Or wait, maybe not everyone: a memory surged back into Antonia’s mind of Nancy talking about her family’s “undesirables.” She’d been talking about Carl!

  “My God,” Antonia said. “Your grandmother, she told me about you. She said—”

  “My grandmother!” Carl sneered. “It always comes back to her. Everything always did. It was time for her to go, but she just wouldn’t die! The old bitch planned on living forever.”

  Antonia wondered if he was adding himself into this equation.

  “But, that couldn’t happen. I was tired of waiting. Tired of living abroad. Tired of dating old ladies with lots of money. I deserved someone hotter.”

  “Like Genevieve.”

  He turned his milky eyes towards Antonia. They appeared glassy and far away.

  “Genevieve was convenient. She gave me a crash pad. I like Genevieve, but actually, you’re more my type.”

  Antonia squirmed with discomfort. She had to get off that topic. “What happened with Warner?”

  Carl continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “Grandmother was such an evil bitch. She punished me all the time when I was a child. Locked me up. Terrorized me. She used her money as a weapon. Doled out minor parcels to me when I was desperate, but made me beg like a pig for it. As if she’d ever done anything to deserve that money! She inherited it from my grandfather and lorded it over the rest of us. And they called me the family pariah? Those morons. I’ve had to live a horrible life doing menial jobs while she sat pretty on top of her piles of dough. I was tired of it. It was time for her to go. No one would notice if an eighty-three year-old died in her sleep…”