by Carrie Doyle
“Well, I suppose you’re wondering what I am doing here?” Antonia asked finally, after they had exhausted all chitchat.
“I’m happy to talk to you about the inn, but yes, I am curious as to what brings you to my doorstep,” Ronald said politely.
“Look, I’ll be honest. I know that things ended badly between you and Gordon. But I also have gleaned from everything I’ve heard that he was a difficult man.”
“To say the least.”
“I’m trying to piece together what went wrong, so that I won’t make the same mistakes.” Antonia had just thought of that pretense, and was pleased with herself for thinking on her feet. The truth was, she didn’t really have any idea what she was going to ask him. She was hoping that if he was somehow guilty he would confess, but that seemed both unlikely and absurd.
“Well, it’s not that simple, I suppose. You see, Gordon was unstable. I’m not a psychiatrist but I really believe he was bipolar. He would have these fits of manic energy that could last anywhere from a day to a month, during which time he would take on all sorts of projects, and renovations, and be totally enthusiastic and joyful to be around. Then he would abruptly change and become angry, rude, and totally incompetent.”
“That seems to jibe with his notes that I found. All these to-do lists that were never completed.”
“Exactly. It was maddening.”
“So why did he fire you?”
Gordon glanced at his water as if it held the answer before taking a sip. He re-crossed his legs and looked at Antonia. “It was very challenging for me to deal with all of his mood swings, but I am proud that I hung in there for as long as I did. And as I said, he could be very abusive and destructive. When he was manic, he did bad things, that’s all I’ll say. But then when he came down, after he slept off all of his manic energy, he really didn’t seem to remember them. And you felt sorry for him, because he had really no idea what he had done.”
“Like what had he done?”
Ronald shifted. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about it.”
Antonia was surprised. Was he actually protecting Gordon? Even after Gordon fired him? She decided to press.
“Did you know that Barbie was cheating on him?”
Ronald put up his hands as if stopping her. “All of this drama is water under the bridge for me. Look, I just tried to do my best to manage the inn and not make everything go to hell. I was furious that Gordon fired me, and even more furious that he told everyone it was because I was stealing. But I know that all came from Barbie…”
He stopped himself.
“Because you knew Barbie was cheating?”
Ronald sighed deeply. “You got it. Why are you asking me if you know?”
“Because I don’t know everything. Please tell me.”
Ronald raised his shoulders. “Yes. I saw Barbie. She was all over some guy at Rowdy Hall. I stupidly told Gordon and next thing I know, he’s accusing me of stealing, they’re back together all lovey-dovey, and I’m fired.”
“You must have been furious at Gordon?” prompted Antonia.
“I was more furious at Barbie. I knew she manufactured this whole lie.”
“But Gordon was the one who fired you.”
“Yes, but as I said, he was all over the place. And he was vulnerable. And for all his faults, he did have a skill at making people he betrayed stick around and feel the need to defend him, as you know. But Barbie is bad news, that cheap bottle-blond prom queen. Sorry, she just gets my goat. Point is, I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.”
“Really? Do you think she was using Gordon?”
“I think she has big plans for herself. Gordon was a stepping-stone. And frankly, I think she stole the money that she accused me of stealing. It’s her nest egg and she’s hidden it somewhere.”
Antonia nodded. She believed that Ronald was telling her the truth. He didn’t seem to have a grudge against Gordon, just Barbie, and as far as Antonia knew, she was still alive.
“Did you know Gordon was allergic to bees?”
“Bees? Why would you ask about bees?”
“Someone had mentioned that to me.”
Ronald gave her a quizzical look before he spoke. “I don’t know about bees…I knew he had all sorts of allergies and afflictions. But no, I never discussed that with him. Why?”
“I was just wondering if people knew. Wouldn’t someone have warned him if there were a hive in the yard?”
“I don’t remember ever seeing a hive in the yard. That seems odd. But you’d have to ask Hector.”
“Yes, I definitely need to talk to him. He’ll be in later, after church.”
“May I ask why all the interest in Gordon and bees? I know you said you don’t want to make the same mistakes, but it seems we’re talking more about his personal life.”
Antonia had to think fast. “True. Well, Naomi and Barbie just showed up and were battling over some of his belongings. I just want to know what I’m getting into in the future with those two. I want to be prepared if they somehow drag me into it.”
Ronald nodded as if that answered his question. He took a sip of his water before replacing it on his coaster. “Naomi is a tough one.”
“Really?”
Ronald nodded. “Mean as a snake. She’d double-cross her own mother.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“Fortunately, she liked me for some reason. Not sure why. Well, I suppose in general she prefers men to women. She’s the type who’s threatened by all women. I think I remember hearing she was once married and her husband ran off with her friend.”
“That’s awful. But I guess that explains it. Do you think she really hated Gordon?”
Ronald cocked his head from side to side as if he were weighing pros and cons. “No. Despite her meanness, she had a soft spot for him. I think he was her baby brother and she loved him. Sure, they fought like cats and dogs but I think there was love there.”
“So, you don’t think she would kill him?” asked Antonia in a light tone as if she were joking.
“A lot of people wanted that man dead but no, I don’t think his sister was one of them.”
Antonia took a second to process that. Was he trying to tell her something? She took a sip of her water and watched him over the rim of her glass. He was sitting on the edge of his seat staring at her. His gaze was unblinking, his face stony. The pleasantness had drained from his facade. She decided it wasn’t a good idea to proceed with this line of questioning. Sometimes you’ve got to cut your losses.
“Right. So, where are you moving to?” Antonia asked, changing the topic.
Ronald smiled, breaking the stern demeanor that had seized him. “I’m going back home, South Carolina. There’s a small inn there that has the oldest landscaped garden in America. Horticulture is really my true love.”
“I noticed your beautiful flower arrangement.”
“Thank you. I have a garden out back. I love wildflowers. And it will be nice to start over. I’ve already planned some big landscaping projects. I’ve been doing my homework.”
He motioned toward the bookshelf. Antonia’s eyes zeroed in on the glossy coffee table books. She rose and went over to examine them. Her eyes flicked across tomes entitled Southern Style Gardening, British Gardens, Private Newport Gardens, and Charleston Gardens.
“Wow, these are beautiful,” she said, sliding out a copy of The Gardens of Versailles and flipping through it.
“I know. I adore them all. I spend hours literally poring over them. I cannot wait to sell this place and head down South and get started!”
A thought occurred to Antonia. “These are very expensive books.”
“I know,” sighed Ronald. “Thank God for the L.V.I.S. thrift shop. I purchase all of my books there. You wouldn’t believe the things people give away! Whenev
er one of those big old estates is sold, they send everything to thrift! Half of my house is decorated with furniture from there. And you should see the boxes of books that people have donated. No one seems to want books anymore! But I must be a Luddite because I cannot stand to read things on the internet. Oh, I love this one.”
He pulled a copy of Gardens of Eden out and started flipping through it. “The roses in here are just gorgeous.”
Antonia paused. She closed the book in her hands slowly and turned to face Ronald. “The L.V.I.S.?”
He glanced up at her. “Yes, I’m sure you know it? Right on Main Street in the old Gardiner Brown Mansion, down the road from you. The thrift shop is called the Bargain Box. It’s a great resource. For everything.”
He returned to examine his book.
Antonia felt her pulse quickening. “Biddy Robertson worked there.”
She stared at Ronald to watch his reaction. He kept his eyes downward, focused on a close-up of a sunflower that from Antonia’s upside-down view, looked a little phallic. “I know Biddy, of course.”
“Do you know she died yesterday?” asked Antonia. She felt as if she had a frog in her voice so the question barely squeaked out.
Ronald kept his eyes on the picture a beat too long in Antonia’s opinion. He glanced up. “Sorry, what did you say? I become so carried away when I read these.”
“I said Biddy died last night,” she repeated, eyeing him carefully.
Ronald’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh dear, how awful. She didn’t seem that old.”
“She wasn’t. She left the stove on and died of gas poisoning.”
“Oh, how sad,” said Ronald. His face remained expressionless.
Antonia watched him carefully. “Did you know her when she owned the inn?”
“That was before my time.”
“Oh yes, of course.” Antonia closed the book she was looking at and lifted it back to its place on the shelf. “Well, I should be going. Thank you for taking the time.”
“My pleasure. I’ll try to stop by the inn for dinner before I go. I’d love to see all the changes you made.”
“Anytime.”
Antonia could feel him walking behind her as she made her way to the door. If he planned on sticking an axe in her back, the time was now. She abruptly stopped and turned around. Ronald didn’t appear to be harboring any sinister plans because he smiled. Antonia stuck out her hand.
“It was nice meeting you,” she said.
He took her hand into his large paw and shook it firmly. “You too.”
She was about to turn for the front door, when something caught her eye. Straight ahead she could see through the kitchen to the backyard. There was a large vegetable patch and the flower garden that he had spoken of, but also something else. Antonia squinted.
“Is that a beehive?” asked Antonia.
Ronald looked flustered. “No…”
Antonia wanted to take a step forward, but she would have had to push Ronald aside. He was staring at her, his chin raised almost defiantly.
Antonia backpedaled. “Sorry, I just thought it was.”
“No,” said Ronald, quickly opening the door for her. “Thanks so much for coming by!”
Antonia walked back to her car with confusion. She didn’t know much about bees, but she was pretty sure that was a beehive she had seen in the backyard. Why would he deny it? Only if he had something to hide, she concluded. As Antonia got into her car, she could swear she saw Ronald watching her through the window. She shuddered slightly. Was he really “a beast” as Gordon had referred to him? And was he “that B” that Gordon thought was out to get him?
8
The glazed sticky buns had come out so beautifully that Antonia was mentally high-fiving herself as she pulled the sheet out of the oven and slammed the door closed with her foot. She held them close to her nose and breathed in the fragrant aroma of cinnamon and cooked sugar that never failed to disappoint. She felt no greater joy than when she had baked something scrumptious. Call her simple, but that was what the true meaning of life was all about: sticking your teeth into a chewy slab of sweet bread with icing and having it swirl around your mouth.
She called over her intern and impressed upon her the importance of indulgences.
“Liz, let me give you a word of advice. If you master two dishes in your life, sticky buns should be one of them. See how gooey they are? No one can resist them.”
“They smell delicious.”
“They are. And what I am trying to revolutionize is that they are not just for breakfast anymore. No siree, sticky buns can be eaten all day. That’s why we will serve them for afternoon tea today. They are one of life’s most precious gifts.”
“I hear you. What’s the other dish I should master?”
“Learn how to make a good roast chicken. Always a crowd pleaser. I’ll teach you next weekend.”
“Thanks, Chef.”
Antonia smiled at her apprentice with maternal pride. Liz was mature for her age, but still looked like the seventeen-year-old that she was. She wore her brown hair shoulder length with bangs, and had big chocolate eyes that didn’t miss a trick. She had not yet opted to pluck her eyebrows and Antonia hoped that she never would because there was something so cool and Brooke Shields–like about the look of her dark, thick eyebrows. She was definitely striking. And despite her lack of formal training in the kitchen, the girl was proving herself.
“How are the tea sandwiches going?” asked Antonia.
“Very well. I’ve finished the egg salad, cut off all the crusts, and now I’m working on the tomato.”
“Don’t forget the mayonnaise on the tomato. That’s key.”
“I definitely won’t.”
“Good girl. And cover them with a damp tea towel as you go, so they stay moist.”
Antonia helped Liz plate and prepare for afternoon tea. Marty and Kendra only worked dinner service, so it was really up to Antonia to organize everything for the three o’clock crowd. So far, afternoon tea was not a moneymaking venture. It was actually a money-losing venture. But Antonia liked the idea that she was bringing more people into the inn, and she also thought it was important for the visiting guests who were staying at the inn to have somewhere to go during the late hours of the day when they needed a little pick-me-up.
“Antonia, we have a problem.”
It was Lucy, wearing a sour face. Today, her skirt was pea green with such a wide A-line that it appeared she had a hula hoop underneath.
“What’s up?”
“Barbie is here again,” retorted Lucy, shaking her head. “Refused to even talk to me when I asked her to leave.”
“It’s okay,” said Antonia, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I invited her.”
A flicker of surprise passed over Lucy’s face and she stood up straighter. “Oh…”
“Yes, I just wanted to talk to her about this box and everything so that we can avoid another scene.”
Lucy nodded. “Okay. Shall I accompany you?”
“No, I’ll be okay. Thanks.”
* * *
Barbie stood under the chandelier in the entrance, staring at the large nineteenth-century map of Long Island that Antonia had found at an antique store in Quogue. It had been hidden behind a stack of botanical prints and had a thick layer of dust and a tear in the corner, but Antonia had it cleaned up and had it reframed. It was her goal to collect as many antique maps of the region as possible to decorate the various rooms of the inn. She’d also recently purchased a set of architectural plans of early East Hampton homes that she had mounted in frames and hung in the powder room.
Barbie appeared much less frantic today than she had been yesterday. She was wearing tight blue jeans tucked into high-heeled boots and a long black cardigan that went all the way down to her knees. Underneath, she had on a flouncy black-and-
orange paisley blouse, the type that was fashionable but could double for maternity wear, especially with breasts as ample as Barbie’s. Her hair, as usual, was styled in cascading curls that ended just above her shoulders, her makeup appeared perfect, and her nails were long and painted red.
She was one of those women who fit the bill for classic American beauty: tall, blond, blue-eyed, and buxom. In Antonia’s opinion there was no doubt that she was pretty, but she just wasn’t special. She’d probably been homecoming queen, Antonia thought, and no doubt a cheerleader, and a popular sorority gal too. But there was just something generic about her face, a vagueness that left you cold, which had nothing to do with the fact that she was now in her mid-forties.
Antonia led her into the parlor, and after briefly waving and saying hellos to guests, they sat down at a table by the window that afforded a view of the side yard. The afternoon wind had picked up and was dragging leaves across the grass, causing them to dance in whirling circles. A lone guest was outside, lounging on a patio chaise underneath a burning heat lamp, idly flipping through a chunky paperback. But the rest of the outdoor tables and chairs were empty. The slanting rays of the sun were spotlighting a patch of grass in front of the white iron bench that stood in the corner of the yard.
The waitress came by and greeted Barbie with familiarity. Barbie was pleasant in return, but a bit standoffish. Antonia ordered a full tea service and watched Barbie while she scanned the menu. She noticed for the first time how much makeup Barbie wore: an entire coat of base topped with powder, blush, bronzer, eye shadow, liner, mascara, and lipstick. It was a thick layer of cosmetics for daytime, in Antonia’s opinion, as if suggesting that Barbie had once had bad skin that she got in the habit of covering up. The sides of Barbie’s forehead by her temples were full of deep wrinkles but surprisingly the center was smooth as a baby’s bottom. Antonia wondered if she had begun a poorly administered course of Botox.
