Death on Lily Pond Lane

by Carrie Doyle

  “I’m off to make dinner,” said Antonia with fake cheer. “Will you be joining us this evening?”

  “Definitely,” replied Bridget.

  * * * * *

  Sergeant Flanagan was standing by the reception desk. He was a wiry man in his forties; fit but lean, of medium height, with short dark hair and brown eyes. His build was average and his frame unassuming, but upon closer inspection, taut muscles rippled under his skin as he moved. He was the type of man whose strength was probably under-estimated by hardened criminals. Antonia had seen his kind before, men with a deceptively sinewy body that contained enormous potency. She took a deep breath when she first saw him, but wasted no time ushering him into her office. His eyes took in the small space, consuming every detail and making Antonia slightly embarrassed by the plates of half-eaten sandwiches and chocolate chip muffins. She could tell he would prefer to stand, but he politely sat down across from Antonia with reluctance.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “I had some questions.”

  “Oh. Can I get you anything to drink or eat? Coffee, donuts?”

  He smiled slightly. “No, thanks.”

  “You must get that a lot. Coffee, donuts.”

  “Everyone thinks they’re the first.”

  Antonia hoped he couldn’t tell how nervous she was. She aligned the papers on her ink blotter but then realized that it might make her appear guilty. She glanced up and smiled at him.

  “You know, before you ask me anything, I’ll just jump in. Recently, some information has come to my attention that I think should be turned over to the police in regards to the death of Warner Caruthers.”

  Sergeant Flanagan leaned back in his chair and smiled. “The other day I had the opinion that you were not exactly forthcoming.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Antonia froze her face into a smile. Her second impression of Sergeant Flanagan confirmed her first: this man was no dummy. He was alert and intelligent; not someone to be dismissed. It was apparent in his eyes alone.

  “Well, now that you mention it, I was thinking about my statement, reviewing it, if you will. And I wondered if I had forgotten to mention that I found a Lysol can in the bathroom where Warner was discovered. I knew it wasn’t important at the time, I thought Rosita, the cleaner, had left it. But then I recalled that the Mastersons only use organic products.”

  The sergeant’s eyes grew slightly wider and he shifted in his seat. “And what did you do with this can?”

  “I accidentally took it. I have it upstairs.”

  “Miss Bingham, removing something from a possible crime scene can make you guilty of hindering and obstruction.”

  “Oh, but I didn’t realize it was a crime scene,” Antonia said coyly. “The first responding officer on the scene said it appeared as if Warner slipped. And besides, if I unknowingly removed something from a crime scene, and I had no culpable mental state, I won’t get into trouble if I return it in good faith.”

  “This is tampering. I should cite you.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose. I was just cleaning up a little, so the police had a clear path to Warner,” lied Antonia.

  Sergeant Flanagan shifted in his seat. “I don’t like it.”

  Antonia put her hand to her heart. “I am so sorry.”

  He sighed deeply. “Give me the can.”

  “I will give it to you at the end of this meeting.”

  Sergeant Flanagan gave her a quizzical gaze. “You know the law well.”

  “I watch a lot of TV.”

  “Now, can I assume there is a reason you decided to tell me about the can? Or was it just because I showed up on your doorstep.”

  “Well, at first I thought everyone was being silly when they thought that Warner had been murdered…”

  He interrupted her. “That is still not a confirmed fact. Autopsy reports are not in yet.”

  “I know, but you know how people gossip. Friends of mine who are also drama seekers were promoting the theory.”

  “Yes, a lot of people are.”

  “But now I have my doubts about what happened…”

  “And?”

  “I think this situation is more complicated than I thought. I think it is possible Warner was murdered. And I know the motive.”

  She launched into an explanation about the lawyer who had first offered her $50,000 for the missing footage before upping his offer to $100,000 after he tracked her down at Fresno. She presented Terry Rudolph’s business card as well as the note that had been given to her by Cathy the bartender. Sergeant Flanagan took both gingerly and copied the information into a worn brown leather notebook that he produced from his pocket. Antonia noticed he wore a very thick gold band on his ring finger. When he glanced up, she continued.

  “The fact is, I think he’s following me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, he found me at Fresno.”

  “How do you know it was him?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? ‘Upping the offer.’”

  Sergeant Flanagan remained unmoved. “Is there another reason you think he is following you?”

  Antonia and the cop locked eyes. She didn’t want to tell him about the file that was left for her at the Felds’ because it would lead to all sorts of questions about her past. Questions she wasn’t willing to answer. In addition, if she mentioned that she had seen someone in Paul Brady’s bushes, Sergeant Flanagan might tell her to stay away from potential suspects or witnesses. It was better to remain silent.

  “No, just a hunch.”

  Sergeant Flanagan continued to hold her gaze. He knew she was holding out on him again. Finally, he sighed. “Miss Bingham, I want to be helpful here, but if he’s made no threat to you, only presented you with a business card and an offer, technically he’s done nothing illegal.”

  Antonia nodded.

  “Unless there is more you want to add?” asked Sergeant Flanagan.

  “That’s all. I just hope you look into it.”

  He smiled. “We will. And Miss Bingham, let me please add that you have to let the police do our job. If this ever ends up becoming a criminal investigation, you might be called as a material witness. Therefore, it is of the utmost importance that you steer clear of this investigation. Do you understand?”

  Antonia nodded. If she spoke her agreement and then continued her inquiry into Warner’s death, it would mean that she lied. But nodding was vague, wasn’t it?

  Sergeant Flanagan eyed her sternly. “Now if you will please bring me the Lysol can.”

  13

  After seeing the detective out, Antonia breezed through the parlor where afternoon tea was in full swing. The room was perfumed with the scent of peppermint and chamomile and there was a hum of happy chatter. Antonia loved formal tea. When she first opened the inn, she had offered it every day. But she soon learned sadly that it didn’t make much financial sense and she was hemorrhaging money. (Every aspect of running an inn was trial and error.) So to compromise, she offered tea on Thursdays for the bargain price of fifteen dollars a caddy. She actively recruited members of the Ladies Village Improvement Society, the Village Preservation Society as well as whatever book club, bible group and retirement program she could reach. She used her finest lace napkins, silver trays and delicate china, and made sure to have a fire blazing at all times, creating a cozy and intimate atmosphere. It was much more popular than the daily tea, and as the attendance grew week after week, Jonathan rewarded Antonia with his highest accolade, confirming that her idea was “sheer brilliance.”

  Antonia recognized several people and stopped to greet them. The ladies who knew Antonia well sat upright and inquired with somber faces about her discovery in the Mastersons’ guest bathroom. They clucked when she detailed the loss of Warner Caruthers, marveling that he was �
�so young” and it was “such a loss.” Just as Antonia would excuse herself, they would lean in with a mischievous glint in their eyes and whisper if Antonia thought it was “murder.” She smiled, but ultimately remained evasive about the details. She noticed that two of her favorite ladies were seated in their usual corner table and she moved over to them as quickly as she could.

  Ruth Thompson, aged seventy-five and an active retiree who swam thirty laps at the Rec Center every day of the year was joined by her friend Penny Halsey, aged seventy-two, an expert bridge player. Both women were old-school East Hampton. Ruth’s family, on her maternal side, had been among the town’s founding families, and had several streets named after them. And Penny’s husband’s family had been there for centuries and still owned many houses on Main Street. Antonia knew both women well from their work on the East Hampton Historical Society, as well as the library committees.

  “I heard there were quite a few people popping champagne around town when they learned of this young man’s death,” said Ruth. She sat completely erect in her plush armchair, fiercely buttering a raisin scone.

  “You’re terrible,” said her friend Penny. “But it is true, I’m afraid. This documentary caused quite a stink.”

  “Well, the young man I met was lovely,” assured Antonia. “I can’t reconcile the Warner I knew with the one I am hearing about.”

  “Split personality,” said Ruth, popping the scone in her mouth.

  “Probably drugs,” added Penny. “I just watched a news show about crystal methadone. It’s a narcotic very popular with young people.”

  “I don’t think he was into that,” said Antonia.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Penny. “Apparently, everyone is doing it.”

  “Oh, Penny, maybe we should try it,” said Ruth when her mouth was no longer filled.

  “Hilarious!” responded Penny before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

  Antonia joined in the laughter. Ruth and Penny, along with their friend Nancy, were always an amusing addition to tea. They had a no-holds-barred outspokenness to them, and could often be quite shocking.

  “Where’s Nancy today?” asked Antonia, when the laughter subsided.

  “We don’t know, but she said she was coming,” replied Penny.

  “She’s been getting dotty lately. She probably forgot,” said Ruth.

  “You’re terrible,” said Penny.

  “I’m honest.”

  “Well, tell her I missed her,” said Antonia.

  Penny’s eyes widened as she stared behind Antonia.

  “There he is!” said Penny loudly.

  “It’s about time,” agreed Ruth.

  Antonia glanced in the direction of the doorway, where Joseph had just entered. He nodded and waved to the ladies, who chanted greetings as he rolled towards his usual table. Jonathan joked that Joseph was treated like a rock star performing at Wembley Stadium when he showed up for afternoon tea. The ladies loved him, and it always seemed like a competition between them as to who could move over to his table first. Joseph would never confess but he adored the attention. He liked to put on a fresh boutonniere and regaled the ladies with the latest historical anecdotes he had uncovered. He had a way of making war stories scintillating and gossipy.

  “Stay out of trouble,” Antonia warned with a smile when Joseph approached.

  “My dear, I am just here to have some Earl Grey,” he replied with a wink.

  “Joseph, you must join us today,” said Ruth firmly. “And we have an extra place as Nancy didn’t show.”

  “I would love your company,” said Joseph.

  Antonia laughed and moved towards the kitchen. On her way, she noticed a blonde woman sitting alone at a table by the window. Antonia recognized her immediately.

  “How is everything this afternoon?” Antonia asked.

  “Fine, although I really don’t like watercress sandwiches. I think there were a disproportionate number of watercress sandwiches on my plate. I prefer the others.” Her voice was a high-pitched whine.

  “Well, we can definitely fix that,” said Antonia brightly. She picked up the top plate of the caddy with the offensive sandwiches and motioned for Soyla. “Can you please bring this lady more cucumber and egg salad sandwiches.”

  “Sure, Antonia.”

  Antonia returned her gaze to the woman. She was very petite, with bones that appeared so brittle they might snap at any moment. As Antonia scanned her outfit, she noticed that the woman was covered in what appeared to be dog or cat fur. She also had the camellia pin clipped to her Peter Pan collar.

  “Thank you,” the woman said, twisting her scarf. “I hate to be a bother about the sandwiches, but what’s the point if I don’t like it? Customer satisfaction is the most important thing, right?”

  “Absolutely. I’m Antonia Bingham, by the way. The innkeeper.”

  “Sheila Black.”

  For a split-second, Antonia debated if she should say anything. It was perhaps indiscreet. But as always with Antonia, curiosity trumped all. “I actually recognize you. You see, I saw the interview that Warner Caruthers conducted with you for his documentary.”

  Her face brightened. “Oh, really? Yes, how do I look?”

  “You look…great,” said Antonia.

  Sheila pushed her thin hair behind her ears and smiled. “I wasn’t sure. Some people don’t photograph well. But I have a suspicion that I look good on camera. Actually, I’ve been told that.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “This documentary will be groundbreaking. I’m sure Warner told you. Did he ever receive a response from Sidney? Oh, I would have liked to see the look on his face when Warner confronted him! Sidney’s beady eyes must have popped out of his head.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He promised he would call me and hasn’t. I have a real bone to pick with him…”

  “With who?” asked Antonia with confusion.

  “Warner. He hasn’t returned my calls!”

  “Warner?”

  “Yes, Warner. I’m certainly not talking about Sidney. We only talk through lawyers. Or Page Six.”

  “Mrs. Black, I’m sorry but I guess you haven’t heard…Warner is dead.”

  Sheila’s face betrayed no emotion. Antonia was not even sure she was processing the information. An awkward silence hung in the air until Sheila finally spoke.

  “Did Sidney kill him?”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because that’s what he does. He kills anything that gets in his way.”

  “Has he ever told you he killed someone?”

  “He didn’t have to,” said Sheila. Her eyes were darting all over the room, from the floor to the ceiling. “I saw him do it.”

  “You saw him!” gasped Antonia.

  “Yes,” said Sheila. Her eyes were now everywhere. “Once, we were driving at night, and up ahead was a raccoon. I said, ‘watch out for the raccoon!’ and you know what Sidney did? More like what he didn’t do. He didn’t slow down! Squashed the poor animal to death.”

  Antonia regained her composure. “They don’t know what happened to Warner. It may have been murder, or he may have just fallen in the bathtub. We can only….”

  “What’s going to happen to the documentary?” interrupted Sheila.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “It is going to see the light of day, isn’t it?”

  “I-I don’t know. I don’t think so,” stammered Antonia.

  “That’s awful!” said Sheila, stomping her fist on the table. “It had better. This was my chance. Warner was going to pull the lid off Sidney. He said so himself. He said he had some juicy stuff that would make Sidney wish he’d never been born. It better see the light of day! That man is a monster!”

  Sheila embarked on a rambling tangent for several minutes while
Antonia stood there mutely, nodding like a sidekick on a late night talk show. It was clear that the woman was unstable. After a vehement diatribe against her ex-husband, Sheila descended into a morass of non-sequitors like the fact that her favorite color is purple; she has a young British lover who knows how to ‘pump’ her; she never takes off her camellia pin; and she does all of her grocery shopping at CVS. (The latter was particularly offensive to Antonia, who as a chef, took umbrage at the fact that someone would consider a pharmacy a culinary destination.)

  It was Jonathan, with his sixth sense, who intuited that Antonia was in dire need of salvation and called her into his office for a faux-emergency.

  “Thank you!” exclaimed Antonia as she closed the door firmly behind her. “I thought she would never stop.”

  Jonathan’s eyes sparkled from behind his glasses. “She wouldn’t have. She’s obviously very lonely.”

  “Agreed. And very crazy. I can’t tell if anything she says is true. Her ex-husband is no prize but now I see why he divorced her.”

  “From what little I witnessed, how could he have married her?”

  “I know. She’s trouble,” said Antonia, shaking her head. “I think I need a Tylenol.”

  “You’ve had an eventful day.” Jonathan opened his desk drawer and produced two pills. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on his windowsill and handed it to Antonia. “Here.”

  Antonia swallowed both quickly. “It has been crazy, hasn’t it? First Warner’s father, then the police, then Sheila Black….what next?”

  Jonathan smiled. “It’s always something.”

  “It is,” said Antonia. She placed the glass down and wiped her mouth. “And now the kitchen beckons.”

  “Just remember, it’s your favorite place on earth and you’ll do brilliantly.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Antonia opened the door. She started to exit when Jonathan called to her.

  “And Antonia, you did the right thing by returning the Lysol can.”

  She froze. “Excuse me?”