by Carrie Doyle
Annemarie gave a disapproving look to Linda. Then Linda responded, abashed. “No, not candlesticks.”
“Oh.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Antonia definitely didn’t want to end on an awkward note. “Well, thank you for this box. I’ll bring it back to the inn and call Barbie.”
“Great,” said Linda brightly. “Oh and tell Hector Gonzalez that we have a new shipment of children’s clothes, please.”
Antonia paused. So Hector was a customer also? “Hector?”
“Yes, isn’t he still the gardener?”
“Yes, yes, he is. Okay, will do.”
The door closed with a soft bang behind her and Antonia trotted down the steps to her car. It was so hard to narrow down the list of suspects in a small town, where everyone knew everyone and small dislikes could grow and fester! She placed the box in the back seat of her car and wondered what she would do with it.
11
Instead of heading back to the inn, Antonia decided to zip over to one of her favorite stores in East Hampton. Dorothy’s Cupboard, situated on North Main Street, was the quintessential artisanal cheese shop. Located in a low-slung building that had formerly housed a barbershop, Dorothy had kept the barber pole and painted it a festive red, yellow and white. Three brick steps led up to red double-doors and inside, the interior walls were also painted a matching bright yellow, with white shelves.
Antonia was feverishly in love with cheese shops. One of her fondest childhood memories was going to town with her father and stopping in the local cheese shop. She remembered perfectly the smell of all the cheese varieties mingling together; the sawdust on the floor; and the little ceramic dishes filled with samples that you just had to stab with a toothpick and pop in your mouth. She always tried the samples, and adored how the cheese monger would take his slicer from his apron and cut ribbons of buttery and tangy cheese for her to try. They would burst on her tongue and then melt in her mouth. And buying fancy cheese always meant that they were preparing for a party, so to this day, she felt that sense of hopeful expectancy, like something fun is about to happen, whenever she stepped into a cheese store.
Antonia took her time tasting the various new cheeses while she chatted with Dorothy. There were some new luscious triple creams from Northern California, and a nice, sharp, semi-firm Gouda. All of those went well with some apricot and almond biscuits from the North Fork. There was a bluefish spread produced from fish caught of the coast in Montauk that Antonia smeared on an onion cracker. And of course there was new smoked soppressetta with the faintest hint of truffle that just burst with flavor. Antonia was becoming very content.
Antonia took the time to peruse the other various items on display, and found herself loading up on spicy red pepper jam, oatmeal shortbread cookies and mango jalapeño chutney. She was a total sucker for artisanal pantry items and could never have enough. How great was it when she was tired after a long day to just boil some pasta and coat it with a jar of Parmesan artichoke puree? Voila, instant dinner! As she lifted a packet of caramelized walnuts out of the case, a flash of blonde outside the window caught her eye. When she glanced up to take a better look she realized that it was Barbie.
Barbie pointed her key at her white Toyota Prius and pressed a button to lock it. She slid the keychain into her pocketbook—one of those over-sized satchels, made up of calf-hair and pebbled leather, with all sorts of gold zippers and buckles everywhere and the designer’s initials prominently displayed in the center, just in case you missed the memo that it was expensive and fashionable. Today, Barbie had on black leggings tucked into low boots, and wore some sort of gray fur vest over a light pink sweater. She strode confidently across the street towards the I.G.A. paying little heed to the traffic, which had the light and the right of way. Just before Barbie disappeared through the electric door into the store, a tall man in a dark blue windbreaker came up behind her and put his hand right on her ass.
Antonia’s every sense jolted with excitement. This must be the boyfriend!, she thought. She watched as they entered the store and then vanished out of sight and into the aisles. Were they already so intimate that they were shopping for toilet paper and detergent together? And if this dude was married, wasn’t he acting very boldly by hitting a grocery store with his mistress in the middle of the day? These were things Antonia needed to know. She quickly paid Dorothy for her provisions and beelined across the street.
Antonia made a sharp turn past the eggs into the produce section. She figured she’d go aisle by aisle until she found them. She had a hunch that they wouldn’t be stocking up on vegetables, but you never knew what turned people on. This time, her hunch was correct. The only people perusing fruits and vegetables were an older lady in a purple velour sweat suit, who was squeezing lemons, and a small hunched man who was loading an inordinate amount of green peppers into his cart. Antonia walked down the aisle and took a sharp left into the dairy section. Blasts of cold air immediately smacked her in the face. She wished, once again, that they would distribute sweaters on loan in the refrigeration section so that she wouldn’t have to sprint down the aisle into the warmth of canned goods.
Finally she spotted her prey. They were arm in arm, making a left into beverages. Their backs were to her so they hadn’t seen her yet. Even if they had been facing her, their body language was telling Antonia that they were probably too preoccupied to notice her. She was about to approach them when she abruptly stopped by the rack of pretzels. She had no plan. Should she just go say hello? The fact of the matter was, if they were out and about like this, then they had nothing to hide. Was she going to bust them for shopping?
She peeked behind the rack and watched as the guy put a six- pack of Heineken into his basket. It would make sense that he was after booze, thought Antonia. Didn’t he work at a liquor store? For the first time, she had a visual of him. He was handsome, in a bland everyday way. Very tall, broad-shouldered with a full head of brown hair and a face as round as a moon, her only slight criticism would be that his head appeared to be a bit too small for his body, and he stooped slightly as if he had never become comfortable with his height. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, definitely younger than Barbie, and that fact was illuminated when she snaked her wrinkled veiny hands around his waist. Barbie was a cougar! Antonia should have smelled that a mile away. They laughed at some inside joke and then walked over to the tortilla chip section, adding a bag and some salsa into their basket. Oh, they have fun planned for tonight, thought Antonia. As they continued down the aisle, Antonia leaned a bit forward to watch them. Would they stop by the freezer and snag some ice cream? That would really determine the state of their relationship. Scarfing down ice cream in front of a man meant that he had seen you naked. Just as they opened the door and were reaching Antonia felt a poke in her ribs. She jumped as if a snake had bitten her.
“Ah!” yelled Antonia. She whipped around.
“Scared ya!” laughed Larry Lipper, mischievously.
Antonia thought she would throw up. Her heart was literally in her throat (okay, not literally in the literally sense, but literally in the sense how people over-use that word to make strong points.) This little rodent had scared the dickens out of her and now he stood there gleefully smirking, his tiny body in his tiny jeans shaking with mirth, and she wanted to strangle him.
“Larry, you shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
“How could I resist? You were ripe for the picking.”
Antonia took a deep breath and vowed she would not throttle him. “Okay, you got me.”
“Damn straight. What were you doing? It looked like you were spying on someone.” Larry walked around her and stood in the beverage aisle, attempting to bust her. Antonia momentarily held her breath but was relieved to find that fortunately, Barbie and her man had moved on. The aisle was empty with the exception of a young mom pushing a cart while her toddler daughter pushed a mini-cart next to her.
“I was just trying to figure out which pretzels to buy,” said Antonia, grabbing two bags from the rack. “Reading the ingredients.”
Larry gave her a suspicious look. He wagged his finger at her. “I don’t know, I think you were up to something.”
Antonia felt herself reddening. She motioned towards the basket he was holding. “I didn’t know you had kids.”
“What?” he said, and held up his basket as if seeing it for the first time. Inside were two boxes of Kraft macaroni and cheese, a box of Lucky Charms, a small quart of whole milk and a pack of Jell-O pudding.
“Oh, no,” he shrugged. “I just like kid food.”
For a second, Antonia could swear he was embarrassed, and she was secretly glad. Let him squirm.
“I can’t believe you eat all that garbage. It’s really bad for you. All those preservatives…”
“I know, I know. I’m glad you care.”
“I don’t care,” blurted Antonia.
“Yes, you do!”
“Larry, I’m just trying…”
He interrupted her. “Whatever. Listen, I found out a hot tip that you might be interested in.”
“Changing the subject, fine. What is it?” asked Antonia.
Larry smiled obnoxiously. “What will you do for me if I tell you?”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Come on, this is hot stuff.”
“I won’t do anything. If you want to tell me you will.”
“You drive a hard bargain, lady.”
“I’m not driving any bargain. I really don’t care either way.”
What was it about this man that made Antonia behave as if she were in kindergarten? Really, if she had acted this way with anyone else she would have been mortified. But he brought out this bratty, childish toddler inside of her. She had to seize control of herself.
“Alright, since you are so critical of my eating habits, you can make me dinner.”
“Larry…”
“Trust me! This is worth it.”
Antonia took a deep breath. “Okay, what is it?”
He looked like a kid at the candy store. “Well, as you know I have friends in law enforcement…”
He paused for Antonia to make suitably impressed exclamations, but she remained silent so he continued. “They tell me that they are actually going to look into Biddy Robertson’s death as a possible homicide.”
Antonia’s heart leapt. “What? Are you kidding me?”
“I knew you’d freak out.”
“What changed? Why do they suddenly think something happened?”
Larry shrugged. “I’m not sure. My buddy just said they were taking and I quote, a ‘renewed interest.’”
“That’s all?”
“The rest you can read about in my column this week.”
Antonia felt the blood boil in her veins. She grabbed Larry’s arm and pushed him into the rack of pretzels. If she had to crush every bag of snack food to elicit more information from him, she would do it. “Are you crazy? Larry, I’m not waiting until later this week to read your column! What else did he say?”
“Antonia, I didn’t realize you liked to play it rough.”
“Larry, come on,” said Antonia, flinging his hand down. “Don’t do this. What would Nicky Darrow say?”
Larry’s lips widened into a large grin. “Oh, you’re going to celebrity name drop.”
“I’ll do what I have to.”
He cocked his head to the side and stared at her breasts. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but only you.”
“Thank you.”
She folded her arms and waited.
“Biddy has a nosy neighbor. She’s actually the one who called the police when she smelled the gas. Lives in the adjoining town house, condo, whatever you call it. She heard someone leave Biddy’s house at about nine o’clock that evening. Heard the door shut and Biddy say goodbye and then a car door shut and drive away.”
“So? Maybe Biddy had a friend over.”
Larry nodded. “But then two hours later, she heard the car return. Heard the same footsteps, the person walked to the door and quietly let herself in.”
“Well did this neighbor have a look at the person?”
“She’s blind.”
“She’s blind?”
“Yeah, that’s why she has such good hearing. My buddy said they gave her a few tests and it was uncanny how she could tell all sorts of differences between footsteps and everything. She has ears like a hawk.”
“Isn’t it eyes like a hawk?”
“Antonia, she’s blind!”
She let that one slide. “So that’s enough for them to think it’s a homicide?”
“I’m thinking there must be other reasons, but that’s the only one they told me. Probably because this blind neighbor is going to be running her mouth off around town about the mystery guest. Talk to anyone who will listen. I’m heading over to interview her right now.”
“I’m coming.”
Larry gave her a quizzical look but then smiled again. “I knew you were hot for me. Can’t stay away.”
12
Larry had wanted Antonia to accompany him in his car and drive over to the neighbor’s together but the thought of spending time with him in a confined space made Antonia sick to her stomach so she refused. Not without a battle, though. Forcing him to impart Biddy’s address took epic strength. For someone so diminutive he had an enormously inflated sense of self. Antonia had to wonder about his parents. Maybe since they knew he would be vertically challenged they indoctrinated him with messianic beliefs that he was the second coming. She sincerely didn’t think that it was a defense mechanism and that he acted out of insecurity. He definitely thought he was God’s gift to women and this earth.
After a search for directions on her phone, Antonia found the location of Biddy’s condo. As Antonia drove there, she sifted through all of the recent revelations in her mind. The whole situation reminded her of when she would go on camping trips in high school with her friends. One person would inevitably rise in the night to retrieve water from the stream, and they would see or hear something suspicious. Then the next day, others would add in things—mysterious sounds they’d heard, items that they swore had been moved, shadows that they had definitely seen lingering over their tents in the moonlight. They would all psych themselves up so they were appropriately terrified, and return home from their adventure with a tale to tell. Everything that Antonia had heard about Gordon’s death could be examined through this filter. Maybe he had been stung by a bee; that was very rare for December but not absolutely impossible, especially if the weather had been mild enough.
Gordon had several enemies (and friends) who would want him dead: his sister Naomi, because she needed money and wanted to sell the inn; his girlfriend Barbie, because she had a lover and was also possibly pilfering things from guests; Hector, the gardener, who was angry that his wife was fired; Ronald Meter, the former manager, who was angry that he was fired; Biddy Robertson, who was angry that Gordon bought the inn right out from under her. The fact was, they all had motive, but motive was flimsy. You had to have exhibited homicidal tendencies, too, didn’t you? This would have to have been an incredibly well thought out plan: to procure a bee, smuggle it to the inn, then have it sting Gordon. Were any of these people furious or psychotic enough to do it? Antonia wasn’t sure.
And now there was Biddy Robertson. If it turned out that she had indeed been murdered, the only reason to suspect that her death was linked to Gordon’s was because they both owned the inn at one point, and there was that strange ‘curse’ on the Windmill Inn owners. There was also the box that Biddy had put aside to return to the inn. Could that be the reason she was killed? It seemed absurd. All of this information just seemed like a miscellaneous collection of facts that couldn’t support any theory.<
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And yet…there had to be something to it all. Why would the police now think Biddy was murdered? Obviously, they had information. Antonia had to agree with Larry and bet her booties that it wasn’t just what the blind lady thought she might have heard. And there was something odd about Gordon’s death, some sort of fuzziness that she couldn’t pinpoint. People who knew him were acting strangely.
Antonia turned right into Treetop Lane and drove down the bumpy road. A scattering of leaves still held firmly green, but the tupelos had turned a fiery red and the swamp maples were an orange-y maroon. The contrast between them and the yellow leaves of the hickories was dazzling. Some of the most impressive species of trees were in this area, with colors that matched those in the Appalachians. The trees were so thick that immediately everything darkened as if someone had turned off the light switch. Only cracked fragments of sun were able to make it through the heavy leaves. Antonia was not a fan of the woods; they made her claustrophobic. Besides, they were filled with roaming wildlife that made life unpleasant for humans. She would be happy to let the ticks have the woods, if she could have the streets, the farmland and the manicured lawns. It was a fair trade, wasn’t it?
When she pulled into number seventeen, she found Larry Lipper leaning against his blue BMW, with a smug look on his face. The condo structure was comprised of attached units and painted mustard yellow, with brown roofs, brown doors and brown trim around the wide un-paned windows. Antonia wondered about the thought process of the person who chose these Howard Johnson colors. When has anyone ever purposely chosen mustard yellow for anything? Something about it said ‘reject color.’ And to combine it with brown? She instantly thought of a uniform that a sad diner waitress might wear, in the middle of nowheresville, taking orders from sexist truck drivers. Yes, it was a stereotype.
“That’s your car?” Larry sputtered. “You kidding me?”
