by Carrie Doyle
He gave her a wicked smile, more like a smirk, that let her know that he acknowledged her discomfort and would not be quelling it. He put down his knife and fork and wiped his mouth with his napkin, before reaching for his glass of wine and taking a large sip.
“When are we going to do business?” asked Sidney. He scanned Antonia top to bottom, the way a lion would examine his prey. Antonia’s chef jacket was buttoned to her neck but she still felt naked.
“Mr. Black…” she said, her voice trailing off.
“This is one woman who won’t give me what I want,” he said to his date, while motioning towards Antonia. “She is one tough negotiator.”
“I wouldn’t say that…”
“I got rid of the lawyer after that mess with the cameraman. I decided to handle it myself. What’s your number?’
“My number?”
“How much are you holding out for?” He picked up the fork and knife and resumed cutting into his steak. It was seared perfectly on the outside, Antonia noted, and rare on the inside. Usually she considered that a perfect execution of the dish, but watching Sidney Black tear into the meat made the blood red of the steak seem almost obscene.
“I can assure you I’m not holding out for anything. I don’t have it.”
He gave her a cold stare, before motioning for her to lean in towards him. She did so awkwardly. He pulled her towards him by her scarf and whispered in her ear. “If I see that tape played anywhere, you are in deep shit. Your business will be in deep shit. I will squash you.”
Antonia could definitely see why people feared and detested Sidney Black. He had cold, hard eyes; small and beady, but most of all, mistrusting. “I understand.”
He gave her a wicked smile before releasing her.
“Okay then. Bring us some desserts on the house,” he said, before waving Antonia away.
Antonia’s face was burning as she moved away from the table. How dare this man act this way? Accuse her, treat her like scum? He was an asshole. A true asshole. She walked over to the maitre d’ table and began furiously reorganizing the stack of menus to calm herself down. Glen was busy chatting with customers and the service staff was coming to and from the kitchen.
She glanced around the room, calming herself down. Deep breaths, in and out. She felt her equilibrium restoring. Sidney Black was evil, but she couldn’t let it ruin her night. She had so much to be grateful for these days, especially considering everything that had happened a month ago. It was as if she had been given a second chance, or even a third chance considering the fact that she had also escaped her ex-husband Philip. Warner was not as lucky as she had been. She wondered why she had been spared. Part of it was luck; she lived at the inn and could scream loud enough so that people could rush to help her. Maybe the other part was some sort of plan by a higher being. In any event, from now until eternity, her life would be inextricably tied to Warner Caruthers’, which was strange. There was now an entire cast of characters that played a large part in her life, people she knew for a very short time, like Sheila Black and Carl.
Then of course there was Bridget. Bridget and Warner had even met each other that day at the inn when Warner was dropping off the key. Suddenly a thought occurred to Antonia. The key. Bridget and Warner. She recalled that Warner’s father had told her that Warner ‘specifically mentioned’ her. He said she was ‘very helpful.’ Antonia felt as if she was seeing pieces of a puzzle in her mind, but by shifting them slightly they were slowly coming together.
“Oh my God,” Antonia said under her breath.
She abruptly hobbled towards her office with determination, her cane clicking across the floor. After flicking on the light, she made a beeline towards her file cabinet and quickly opened the drawer. It was where she kept her keys, including the extra keys to the Mastersons’ house and the storage room at the inn. Jonathan had been unable to open the storage room with the key. The last person who had used the keys on that chain was Warner when he had bumped into Bridget. Then he had disappeared. His behavior that day had been strange; his premise for coming back to the inn very flimsy.
Antonia clasped both keys. They were identical, except one was marked “Mastersons’ House” and the other “Storage Closet.” Antonia took both and walked down the dark hall. She put the key to the Mastersons’ house in the door of the storage room and turned it.
The door opened.
Stale air filtered hungrily out of the room and poured into the hallway. Antonia pulled on the hanging cord to illuminate the space. It was actually more of a room than a closet, although crammed to the brim with a variety of things. Miscellaneous furniture, old filing cabinets, extra banquet tables, tools, boxes of formal china, extra linens, stacks of paper towels and various discarded junk crowded the area. Antonia’s eyes flitted around the room. Where would Warner have hidden it?
Suddenly Antonia smiled. Warner did have a sense of humor.
Amongst everything else in that room, there was the lending library of DVDs that guests could sign out. She walked over to the shelf on the wall and picked up the DVD of When Harry Met Sally. Inside she found a small disc inside marked Too Rich to Behave. Bingo.
Antonia made her way to her apartment as fast as she could with her injured knee. Her heart was pounding and her mind racing. She put the disc in the television and pressed play. There was a long pause before a picture came on the screen. It was dark and the film work was jumpy, as if from an uncomfortable, low angle. The camera abruptly zoomed into focus through a fence and revealed an Olympic sized swimming pool, flanked by small cabanas with yellow, blue and white awnings. Antonia knew at once that it was the Dune Club. She watched as a man walked towards the edge of the pool and dropped his towel. He was stark naked.
“Oh my God,” said Antonia. Her hand flew to her mouth.
It was Sid Black. Antonia watched as he took a large belly flop into the pool and began paddling around. The camera made sure to capture his face, before panning around and zeroing in on a sign that said: No Trespassing.
So this was what Sid Black desperately wanted. Francine had said he would do anything to get into the Dune Club. If Warner had this footage and showed it to the appropriate members, there was no way it would ever happen.
Antonia watched the entire video, which lasted about ten minutes and culminated in Sid Black extricating himself from the pool and standing at the deep end. Then suddenly, Sidney Black took a giant piss in the pool. Warner would definitely have leverage with this.
Antonia took the disc in her hand and returned to the dining room, eyeing Sid Black. He possessed the most obnoxious arrogant air of anyone she had ever met. Even the way he speared a piece of his molten chocolate cake and shoved it in his mouth was repellent to her. She walked over to him.
“Are you enjoying your dessert, Mr. Black?”
“It’s fine,” he said. He appeared annoyed at the intrusion.
“Oh wait, we forgot to put a cherry on top,” said Antonia, glancing at his plate.
“What?”
And with that, Antonia smashed the disc into his chocolate dessert.
He glanced up at her in shock.
“This is the footage you’ve been harassing me for.” She leaned down, speaking clearly and as menacingly as she’d ever managed. “It’s yours now. But you have no idea if I made a copy. And you have no idea who else has seen it. So I suggest you be nice to everyone around you, because you will never, ever know if they have seen you in your birthday suit pissing in the Dune Club pool. Time starts now. Running out of patience. Tick Tock.”
And with that, Antonia walked away. It felt great to be in control of her life again.
She went over to Joseph’s table and plopped down. She gave her sore knee a rub, and recognized that she would have to take it easy for the rest of the night. He glanced up at her curiously.
“What was that all about, my dear?” he
asked, wiping his mouth delicately with his napkin.
“It was about nice girls finishing first after all.”
Joseph smiled. “Well done, my lady.”
Antonia told him about her brainstorm, remembering Bridget and Warner’s exchange before linking him to the key and the footage. Afterwards, they sat in silence for a few minutes. Antonia was feeling relieved and pleased with herself. Things would get back to normal.
“You know, we never did find out why Bridget came to the inn,” said Joseph finally.
Antonia sighed deeply. “I know. I suppose some cases are never closed.”
“But she said she would be back, didn’t she?”
“She said she was working on something that she would reveal when the time was right. I tried to get it out of her, but she was a stubborn girl. Extremely head-strong.”
“Sounds kind of like you,” said Joseph.
“Ha!” said Antonia. She smoothed some stray breadcrumbs off of Joseph’s tablecloth.
“In fact, she kind of looks like you, too,” said Joseph.
“I’m not going to worry about her, right now. All I’m interested in is returning to the quiet life of an innkeeper. No more dabbling in crime.”
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The End
About the author
Carrie Doyle is a best-selling author who lives in New York City and East Hampton with her husband and two sons.
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Also by Carrie Doyle (writing as Carrie Karasyov):
The Right Address
Wolves in Chic Clothing
The Infidelity Pact
Bittersweet Sixteen
Summer Intern
Jet Set
Check out these other thrilling Hamptons Murder Mystery books:
Please visit dunemerebooks.com to order your next great read or just to hang out with Antonia and hear what she says about the Hamptons!
Published by Dunemere Books
Copyright © 2016 by Caroline M. Doyle
www.dunemerebooks.com
www.carriekarasyov.com
Cover illustration © 2016 by Jill De Haan
www.jilldehaan.com
Book and cover design by Jenny Kelly
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All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 978-0-9972701-1-2