Death on Lily Pond Lane

by Carrie Doyle

  “Can you give me some specific examples?”

  Antonia watched Warner while Edward Hamilton recited the recipients of his generosity. Warner would nod, but then glance down at his notes. She detected a small smirk on his face. He asked a few more follow up questions, focusing on his education, his time in the army, the manner in which his family earned their money (airplane parts) before moving on to his hobbies.

  Antonia could tell Genevieve was becoming impatient. She would sigh, then cross and recross her legs.

  “This doesn’t seem so bad,” said Genevieve finally. “Why was he all pissed off?”

  “Just wait, it’s coming,” said Paul. He leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

  “Well, Mr. Hamilton. It sounds like you are a decent citizen,” concluded Warner.

  “I try to be,” said Hamilton with great humility.

  “Then how do you explain the illegitimate family?” asked Warner, with a dazzling smile.

  “Excuse me?” sputtered Hamilton.

  Warner’s smile grew bigger. “You know, the two children you conceived with Cindi Lusk? During that extra-marital affair you had.”

  Hamilton’s face reddened then became stormy. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he said with clenched teeth.

  “Does this help?”

  Warner handed a stack of photographs that he pulled out from inside his notebook. Hamilton took them and flipped through them silently. He was seething. Antonia could see the vein in his temple throbbing as the camera zoomed in on his reaction. Warner watched with glee.

  “You are skating on thin ice, young man,” said Hamilton evenly.

  “Does your wife know about your other family? Do your sons?”

  Hamilton stood up. “I’m going to ask you to leave right now.” He turned and faced the camera and held his hand in front of the lens. “Turn that thing off now.”

  Off camera they could hear Paul’s voice protest. “Hey, don’t touch the equipment, man.” He took a step back and the scene came back into view.

  “You’ve crossed the line, young man,” said Hamilton. He was standing with his arms by his sides, but Antonia could see that his fists were clenched. “It’s time to leave.”

  “But Mr. Hamilton, don’t you think you should come clean? It is after all, hypocritical of you to ignore them, especially when you’re spreading your money around to everyone else and you don’t give them a dime.”

  “I have no further comment.”

  “Do you want to comment on the fact that it seems like most of your money came from doing business with the Nazis despite a U.S. embargo?”

  With this, Hamilton exploded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “True or false: your grandfather sold airplane parts to…”

  “Get out now! If you don’t, I will call the police and have you arrested!”

  Warner still sat in his chair. A look of amusement grew on his face. Antonia felt a chill. He definitely wanted to provoke Hamilton to the max. He was baiting him. Almost like he wanted Hamilton to hit him. It was hard to reconcile this Warner with the one she had met, who had seemed so enthusiastic and friendly. It was almost as if there were two Warners.

  The screen went fuzzy.

  “Heady stuff,” said Paul, stretching his arms. As he did so his shirt rose above his belly button, giving everyone in the room a glimpse of his hairy untoned stomach.

  “May I use your bathroom?” asked Antonia.

  “At your own risk,” said Heidi tersely. “It’s over there.”

  Heidi’s warning had been correct. The bathroom was filthy. Wet towels were dumped all over the floor, next to an overflowing hamper. The walls were a mosaic of mildew and mold and there was only a small strip of toilet paper remaining. Antonia bolted out of it as soon as possible. She stopped at the kitchen to wash her hands. The tap came on with a small choke and then a big spurt. Antonia glanced outside the window. The sky was trapped at that hazy hour when the light is filmy and visibility difficult. Clouds were scurrying across as if racing home to bed. She stared at the plastic white garden chairs that were lined up in a row of four next to a rusty swing set. A light breeze was swaying a swing back and forth as if a phantom child was pumping.

  Antonia bent down to wipe her hands on a dishtowel. When she glanced up, she froze. There was someone standing in the shadows under the tree. Someone tall and big, most likely a man. She saw him take a step back into the hidden shade of the tree. Antonia cupped her hands against the window and peered out. It was impossible to decipher his face.

  “It’s back on.”

  Antonia turned around and found Genevieve standing in the doorway. Antonia quickly motioned for her to come over.

  “What?” asked Genevieve.

  “Do you see?” whispered Antonia. Her heart was pounding.

  When she turned around again, he was gone.

  Genevieve stood on her toes and scanned outside. “What am I looking at? Confirmation that the yard needs weeding?”

  “No, there was a man there.”

  “A man?”

  “Yes. Standing in the bushes.”

  “Maybe a dog walker?”

  “I didn’t see a dog. He was just...watching.”

  “The Watcher in the Woods. Remember that movie?” asked Genevieve. “How do you feel about my pepper spray now?” She left the room without waiting for an answer.

  Antonia glanced outside the yard again. It was empty. Had she imagined it?

  She returned to the living room just as a very attractive brunette in her mid-forties appeared on screen. The woman and Warner were outside, perched atop a three-rail fence. A gorgeous chestnut horse stood next to them. The woman’s hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore delicate pearl and diamond earrings in her ears. Her face was tan. She had hazel eyes with slight wrinkles around them, which, rather than making her look old, actually contributed to a mature sexiness. She was wearing a riding outfit.

  “This is Pauline Framingham, I suppose?” asked Antonia.

  “Bingo. The pharmaceutical heiress in the flesh. Well, not in the flesh, but on screen,” said Paul.

  “F.F. to the good part,” commanded Heidi.

  “Will do,” said Paul. As the footage was fast-forwarded, Antonia watched Pauline Framingham carefully. Even though there was no sound she could tell that Framingham was a confident woman, who was neither insecure nor self-conscious. She gesticulated often, met the camera’s gaze, and appeared composed. But suddenly Framingham’s demeanor changed. She had been petting her horse, sliding her manicured hand back and forth under his neck, when she ceased doing so and abruptly whipped her head around and gave Warner an icy look.

  “This is it, stop,” said Heidi.

  Paul rewound before pressing play. Antonia sat up straighter on the sofa and Genevieve leaned in.

  “You seem pretty crazy about your horse,” said Warner with that sly smirk that Antonia had noticed on his face when he interviewed Edward Hamilton.

  “She’s my baby, aren’t you? Aren’t you?” responded Pauline in the voice one uses on a small child. She nuzzled with her horse, rubbing their noses together.

  “So you love animals?” asked Warner.

  “I do. I have my horses and my dogs. They are my children, my babies.”

  “But you hate cats,” said Warner.

  “Cats?” she asked, still staring at her horse, whose neck she was now rubbing.

  “Framingham Industries tests their products on animals. How many cats did you kill last year?” asked Warner, flipping through his notebook. “Oh yeah, thousands. Too many to remember, according to sources. I’ve also heard that you have killed your horses for the insurance money. So I guess you don’t really like animals, Miss Framingham. You are benefiting from killing them.”

 
; “What?”

  “You’re a hypocrite, Ms. Framingham.” He spat out her name.

  This was when Framingham turned on Warner with indignation. She pointed her finger at him. “You are not a gentleman.”

  Genevieve turned to Antonia. “You are not a gentleman? That’s all she could come up with?”

  Antonia didn’t respond, instead leaned closer to hear Warner. “So, are you saying, Miss Framingham, that gentlemen let you persecute animals? Do gentlemen let you illegally remove hundred-year-old trees from your property to build state-of-the-art barns? Do gentlemen let you do whatever you want?”

  Framingham opened her mouth as if to say something, but instead snapped it shut. “Interview over,” she said, jumping down off the fence. The camera followed her as she led her horse down a muddy path next to a gated pasture. She dismissed Warner with a wave of her hand.

  “Will I be hearing from your gentlemen?” asked Warner with a laugh. He then turned and looked into the camera. “And that, ladies and gentlemen is what we call a wrap.”

  The screen went dark. Antonia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She turned and glanced at Paul.

  “Did Pauline Framingham make any effort to obtain the tapes or excise herself from the film?”

  Paul shook his head. “Not yet. We only shot that last week. Warner assumed she was getting her lawyers on it.”

  Antonia wasn’t so sure. Maybe Pauline was calling her lawyers…or maybe she had something else in mind. Like sending an emissary.

  “Paul, what happened with Sidney Black? Why did he take out a restraining order against Warner and vice versa?”

  “That dude is Dr. Evil, man. He did not want to be included in this flick, did not want his ex in there. Said he’d sue Warner to death before this thing would see the light of day.”

  “Did Warner feel threatened by him?”

  “Naw, but the turd was harassing us. He’d send his peeps in or show up everywhere to try and tell people not to work with us. He even followed us to Hamilton’s house and hooked up with him after. We heard they were going to file a joint suit against us. Bullshit.”

  “Did he offer you money for it?” asked Genevieve.

  “At first Sidney Black was like, how much do you want. But Warner said no. I’m telling you, they could have offered Warner a billion dollars and he still would have released these movies,” insisted Paul. “He didn’t need the money. His old man was loaded. He wanted the kudos, the film cred.”

  “This was his masterpiece,” blurted Heidi.

  “Can we see Sheila Black’s interview?” asked Genevieve.

  Paul glanced at his watch. Heidi leaned forward and tapped her cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. It was obvious they had plans or other ideas about how to spend the night, but Antonia needed to see as much as possible.

  “Just a bit?” Antonia pleaded.

  Paul sighed. “All right.”

  As soon as Shelia Black started talking it was clear there was something off about her, Antonia surmised. She was probably in her early fifties, and her stringy blonde hair was bobbed and pinned back with a velvet barrette. On her lapel she wore a giant Camellia broach. She was painfully thin, which had aged her, and caused the veins in her neck to protrude. She looked like one of those stick figures that children draw, where the eyes are giant round circles that bulged from her face, almost as if she had a thyroid condition. Those eyes kept darting around the room. Antonia wasn’t sure what she was looking at, as the camera was held tightly on her face. Her eyes were blinking and fluttering, like a newborn baby adjusting to the light.

  “What do you want me to do? Do you want me to sit here, is this okay?” she was asking in a surprisingly high-pitched tenor.

  Warner’s voice came on from off-screen. He was soothing. “Sure, you’re perfect.”

  Antonia was instantly reminded of those bad TV movies she saw when the photographer lures a young pretty girl to his studio and coaxes her to take off all of her clothing for the camera. She had to hand it to Warner; he had been very skilled at manipulating people. It seemed like his was a misguided effort to reprimand people who possessed extreme wealth. He could have taken an entirely different direction; he could have enlisted these people to help the poor or unfortunate. But instead he had chosen to embarrass them. And it was possible that had been a fatal decision.

  Sheila again spoke. “Oh, Sid is going to be so angry when he sees this! I hope you can premiere it at the Hamptons Film Festival.”

  “We were thinking of Sundance, but we’ll see what we can do,” said Warner off screen.

  Sheila laughed. Her laugh came out of her nose, more like a snort. She darted her eyes back and forth. “How shall we start? Do you want to hear all about Sidney’s idiosyncrasies? He doesn’t like to be touched at all. Ever. It’s very strange…”

  “We’ll get to that, Mrs. Black.”

  “Oh you don’t have to call me Mrs. Black, Warner dear,” she said flirtatiously.

  It was at this moment that the front door open and Heidi’s parents stepped over the threshold and into their living room. Every head in the room turned in their direction. The frumpy couple appeared surprised to find anyone in their house and immediately took on defensive stances. Their small mouths fell slightly agape and Mrs. Levicky’s eyes instinctively darted around the room and to her glass enclosed cabinets as if to ensure that nothing had been stolen.

  “What’s going on?” Mr. Levicky asked suspiciously. He was a stout gray-haired man with a prominent jaw, sallow skin and deep-set eyes. Antonia instantly thought of one of those actors who played “the boss” in a fifties sitcom.

  “We were just watching the documentary,” said Heidi with a shrug.

  “Okay,” murmured Mrs. Levicky with uncertainty. Her many chins bobbled as her lips moved.

  “I don’t want my house turning into a movie theater!” bellowed Mr. Levicky. “It’s already a revolving door!”

  “This is the last one, Dad, we promise.”

  “Yeah, no more, Mr. L.”

  The parents grumbled and Antonia gave them a small smile but they didn’t return her gaze and immediately trudged upstairs.

  Antonia turned to Paul. “Has someone else watched this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who? If I may ask.”

  “This jerkoff came by yesterday. He said he’d give us all sorts of cash for the footage but then as soon as he watched it, he bailed.”

  Antonia felt as if her knees were weakening. She opened and closed her mouth before speaking. “Was it a lawyer with a briefcase? Terry Rudolph?”

  Paul nodded. “Yeah, that one.”

  “Who are you talking about?” asked Genevieve.

  Antonia ignored her. “So he’s seen all this,” said Antonia pointing in the direction of the television. “Every interview you have.”

  “Yup.”

  “And he didn’t want it?”

  “Nope.”

  Antonia didn’t know what to make of it. Here she had thought she had found the footage and could put all of this behind her. And now it turns out that this wasn’t what he was after.

  “Who is he?” Genevieve insisted again.

  Antonia turned to her. “I don’t know. All I know is he has asked me, and now Heidi and Paul, for the footage on behalf of his employer.”

  “Yeah, but the guy said this wasn’t what he was looking for,” Heidi chimed in. “He was like ‘where is the rest?’ and we were like, ‘dude, what are you talking about?’”

  “Believe me, if there was more, we would sell it. He was talking BIG money,” said Paul, before backtracking. “I mean, of course I want to be a real artist and make critically acclaimed films…”

  “But for now we could totally use the dough,” interjected Heidi.

  “Is there more?” Genevieve asked.

&nb
sp; Paul shrugged. “Maybe. But if there is, Warner kept it hidden.”

  “Where?”

  “I got no idea.”

  “Paul, do you have any idea why this man would think I had it? Did my name ever come up?”

  “Sorry, but what’s your name again?” asked Paul.

  “Antonia Bingham, you douche bag,” said Heidi. She turned to them. “See what I have to live with? He never listens.”

  “Antonia Bingham. Right,” said Paul. He scratched his scraggly goatee. “I don’t think so.”

  Antonia was discouraged when she left Paul and Heidi. Here she thought that either Sid Black or Edward Hamilton had paid the lawyer with the briefcase to retrieve the footage but he had seen these very interviews and rejected them. What was he looking for? Could there be footage of someone else? There had to be. And what was Pauline Framingham’s role? Was she a suspect? And why did this man think Antonia had the footage? There were more questions than answers floating in the air. But Antonia was certain of one thing: she had to find out where Warner kept the missing footage. Before the lawyer beat her to it.

  10

  Antonia was quiet in the car, trying to process all of the recent events. This whole situation was building momentum that Antonia was having a hard time keeping up with. No wonder it had been so easy to find Paul. Here she thought she was such a detective, but the lawyer had not only approached Paul, but dismissed him. That was frustrating. Antonia had to be one step ahead of everyone in this investigation, not behind. She was loath to admit it, but she was excited by the puzzle pieces that were being thrown at her. Of course she wished Warner had not died; that was a true tragedy. But unraveling the circumstances appealed to every aspect of her character. If only she were able to find some answers.

  “We’re going to Fresno to meet Carl,” announced Genevieve, fiddling with the radio dial. “And don’t say you’re dropping me off. It’s only eight-thirty. You’re not going home. Not yet.”

  The air outside was crisp and night had fallen. With few streetlights lining the road, and even fewer houses lit up, blackness overtook them. Antonia thought it would be the perfect time to sit down with a glass of wine and regroup. Before things had become unbearable with her ex-husband Philip she often listened to him discuss his cases, and she was actually quite good at putting together missing clues. One time she made the mistake of joking that she was a better detective than Philip and ended up with a bloody lip. That had ended her brief foray into investigations. But now however, there was no Philip, and the onus fell on her.