Death on Lily Pond Lane

by Carrie Doyle

  “What’s up?”

  Genevieve grabbed Antonia’s elbow and escorted her to the front. She spoke in a low, urgent voice.

  “Do you know who is in this store at this very minute? Do you know who is trying on suede culottes and white prairie blouses, as we speak?”

  Genevieve’s heavily made up eyes blinked rapidly.

  “Who?”

  Genevieve looked furtively around before leaning in to Antonia. “Pauline Framingham. The woman from Warner’s documentary.”

  She leaned back, nodded her head, raised her eyebrows and appeared quite pleased with herself.

  “Really?” said Antonia.

  Pauline Framingham, the equestrian pharmaceutical heiress. She was still someone who had to be considered. She had enough money and clout to send a lawyer to buy footage. And perhaps all those times the lawyer referred to his employer as “he” was just a ruse to throw Antonia off the path.

  “I am looking forward to a visual.”

  “That’s why I called you. Follow me.”

  Antonia walked behind Genevieve towards the dressing room. It was then that she had a full vision of the outfit Genevieve was wearing. She wore a newsboy hat, a pin striped double-breasted suit with cropped pants, replete with gold watch chains tied to her vest, and blue and white stiletto heels. The absurd part was that she was totally able to pull it off. Some people were just born with that je ne sais quoi, thought Antonia. She was not one of them.

  “Ms. Framingham, I have the capes,” said Genevieve as she stood outside the dressing room. There were no doors; the only shield was a printed fabric curtain.

  “Just a second,” said a voice.

  Genevieve turned and raised her eyebrow at Antonia. Antonia felt the anticipation. Pauline Framingham should not be discarded as a suspect; there was that business with the friend she had killed.

  A second turned into several minutes. Antonia felt suddenly tired, and went and sat down on the armchair outside of the dressing room. The past few nights of roaming and fitful sleep were catching up with her. She closed her eyes and let her mind go blank.

  “Alright, I will take these and return these.”

  Antonia sat up with a jolt. Pauline Framingham, in the flesh, was standing in front of her handing a bundle of clothes to Genevieve. She was taller than Antonia had thought she would be, broad-shouldered and what one would describe as ‘athletic.’ She wore brown pants, a blue button-down shirt, an Hermès scarf knotted at her neck, Gucci loafers and a blue blazer. She exuded that rich, waspy aura.

  “I’ll ring you up,” said Genevieve. She shot Antonia a look, her plump lips curled upwards in a perplexed expression.

  Antonia was not sure how to proceed. She watched as Pauline Framingham moved to the checkout counter and pulled out a blue, quilted wallet.

  “And you’ll order the boots for me,” Pauline said, as she handed Genevieve a black American Express card.

  “Yes, I already ordered them. Size 9,” said Genevieve, running the card through.

  “Perfect,” said Pauline. She turned and glanced around the store as Genevieve rang up her order. She smiled at Antonia as her eyes darted past.

  This is my chance, thought Antonia. What should I do?

  “Genevieve, I’m going to run,” said Antonia finally.

  Genevieve gave Antonia a questioning look. “Okay,” she said with uncertainty. She was wrapping Pauline’s selections in tissue paper.

  “Yes,” said Antonia, moving closer to the checkout. “I have to go back to the Mastersons’ house. Do some follow up with the police. It seems that Warner Caruthers’ death may not have been an accident.”

  Antonia remained facing Genevieve but her eyes slid to Pauline. She felt Pauline stiffen. Genevieve, clearly delighted with the initiative Antonia had made, smiled slightly.

  “Oh, right. Yes, I heard that guy, Warner Caruthers, might have been murdered.”

  “Yes, it’s very sad.”

  “He was a good guy,” said Genevieve, swiping Pauline’s credit card.

  “I’m not sure why anyone would want him dead,” said Antonia.

  “I am.”

  Antonia and Genevieve turned and stared at Pauline with surprise. Her eyes flashed with anger.

  “That guy was not a good person. I’m sorry to have eavesdropped on your conversation, but I couldn’t help it. Warner was a little punk who was out to ruin people’s lives. It’s no surprise he was murdered. Hell, if I had thought of it, I might have done it myself.”

  “Did you?” asked Genevieve before Antonia shot her a look.

  “Genevieve!” she reprimanded before turning to Pauline. “Of course she’s kidding.”

  Pauline smiled. “No, I was at a riding competition in Florida earlier this week. But I can tell you that I applaud whoever did it.”

  “Do you have any idea who that might be?” asked Antonia.

  Pauline replaced her credit card in her wallet and closed it. She picked up the Ralph Lauren bag with her purchases and smiled. “No. But if you find out, let me know and I will buy them dinner.”

  And with that, she sauntered out of the store.

  For once, Genevieve and Antonia were speechless. Antonia couldn’t believe it had been that easy to get a reaction from Pauline Framingham. She made a note to follow up and find out if she really was at the riding competition.

  “Holy moly,” said Genevieve.

  “I know.”

  “Well, what do we do now?” asked Genevieve. She leaned over the counter and put her elbows down, resting her head on her hands.

  “I need you to ask your friend Tanya, the one who works for Edward Hamilton, what he is up to these days, and if he is acting strangely. Also, ask her if he has access to a gun.”

  “A gun? Ooooh,” said Genevieve. “The plot thickens.”

  “It does, because Sheila Black is dead.”

  “You’re kidding me!”

  “No. Murdered last night.”

  Genevieve shook her head. “This is surreal. Warner, Carl’s grandmother, Sheila Black….”

  “Wait, Carl’s grandmother?”

  “Yes, it’s so sad. That’s why I called you this morning! Carl’s grandmother died.”

  Antonia’s mind raced. It suddenly hit her. “Nancy Woods?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nancy Woods was Carl’s grandmother? You are kidding me? How did I not know that?”

  “Did you know her?”

  “Yes! She came into the inn all the time for tea with her friends Ruth and Penny.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. Wow, horrible. The three of them were so much fun together. All very proper on the outside, but sassy and outspoken when you got to know them. Oh, what will Penny and Ruth do without her?”

  “What will Carl do without her is the question?”

  “Of course, you’re right. How is Carl?”

  Genevieve shook her head sadly. “He’s really freaking out. They were super close. And you know he hadn’t checked on her for a few days. Apparently, she had been dead awhile.”

  “How awful! But he can’t blame himself, she told him not to come. And I knew Nancy, she was pretty firm. I liked her a lot, but she was a force to be reckoned with. I imagine she could be very difficult, and what she wanted, she got. If she didn’t want him to come and help her, forget it.”

  “But still, he feels bad. Not to mention that I’m upset because I couldn’t reach him all yesterday and I was so pissed off and screamed at him and then he told me he was dealing because he found his grandmother dead. Total guilt attack.”

  “It’s not his fault. I’m sure there’s nothing he could have done.”

  “No, he said actually she’d been pretty sick but didn’t want people to know. That’s why he moved here. He knew it was the end.”

&n
bsp; “Carl and Nancy Woods,” said Antonia in disbelief. “It really is a small town.”

  “Yup. And with the rate people are dying, getting smaller every day.”

  “Please give Carl my condolences.”

  “For sure.”

  * * * * *

  Antonia then made a brief stop to run an errand at Village Hardware on her way back to pick up Joseph. There she ran into Len Powers, who provided her with a few more details about the deaths of Sheila Black and Nancy Woods. His son Matt worked as an EMT in East Hampton but was at Marder’s Garden Center when the call came in so he was one of the first responders to Sheila’s house. Len said Matt was pretty shook up and hadn’t seen anything like the scene of her crime before. Fortunately, Nancy’s death seemed pretty straightforward.

  Afterwards, Antonia picked up Joseph and filled him in. They were quiet on the drive back to the inn, their thoughts consumed with all of the tragedy that the week had brought. When they made their way up the steps to the inn, Joseph took Antonia’s hand suddenly.

  She turned to stare at him. “Do you think it’s me? Have I brought bad luck to this town?”

  “Don’t be silly…”

  “But there were no murders until I came to town…”

  “Don’t be absurd. It’s a coincidence.”

  “I hope so. A bad one.” She felt such relief to have him in her life.

  “Oh, and one more thought I had while getting my eyes poked at,” said Joseph.

  “What?”

  “I thought about the watch in Eleanor’s room. Find the person who is missing a watch. Then you’ll have your killer.”

  20

  Antonia was in the kitchen finishing up her prep work but even the monotonous rhythm of chopping that she usually felt so comforting couldn’t assuage her restlessness. She wasn’t sure what, but she felt a sense of impending doom. Something bad was about to happen, she was sure.

  At around five o’clock a flustered Jonathan entered the kitchen and asked to speak with Antonia.

  “Uh oh, is the wedding driving you nuts?” asked Antonia with concern.

  The bridal party had been monopolizing Jonathan’s time. Their list of requests was endless and their nervous energy torture. Jonathan had maintained his patience with them, but Antonia could tell they were grating on him. His usual calm, unflappable British manner was certainly being tested.

  “More guests arrived this morning and were seen to their rooms. I put the bride in touch with the Monogram Shop for her last minute demands. They’re working overtime personalizing cosmetic kits for the bridesmaids, as we speak.”

  “High maintenance bride.”

  “Yes, to say the least. But I didn’t want to burden you with all that. I just wanted to say that we had a phone call from your friend Carl…” Jonathan winced when he said his name, “asking if we could have the reception for his grandmother here after her funeral. I said of course and tried to discuss the details with him, but he insists on talking to you exclusively. I’m sorry about that.”

  Antonia remembered that Carl had said he didn’t care for Jonathan but wouldn’t disclose why. It didn’t seem like a good time to bring it up. “Thanks, Jonathan. I’ll give him a call.”

  “Here’s his number,” he said, handing Antonia a slip of paper.

  * * * * *

  Antonia returned to her office. Better to get it over with and talk to Carl. She owed it to Genevieve at least. On her desk was a stack of printouts that Joseph had left for her, including pictures of Paul Brady’s website, featuring dozens of pictures of him with friends, a dog, and with Heidi. Antonia studied the pictures. Warner didn’t appear in any, but then they were recent friends. Ah, Warner. Now with everything else going on, she wondered if Warner’s death would slip to the backburner. She hoped not. At least she knew it wouldn’t with her.

  Before she could try Carl, the phone rang and Genevieve was on the other line.

  “Tonight’s the night.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My friend Tanya who works for Edward Hamilton called me. She overheard him saying on the phone that, and I quote, ‘Tonight is the night the rest of the Warner Caruthers situation will be taken care of.’ I kid you not. Can you deal?”

  “Wow,” said Antonia. She knew it was coming, but the fact that it was imminent filled her with dread.

  “So what do you think, check it out or call the cops?”

  Antonia was pensive. She had promised Sergeant Flanagan she wouldn’t get involved. But a friendly tip off wasn’t getting involved. On the other hand, no doubt he would press Antonia about what else she knew, and then the floodgates would open. She had fooled him once; she didn’t know if she was a good enough actress to do it a second time.

  “I suppose I have to check it out.”

  “We, you mean.”

  “What about Carl? His grandmother just died, don’t you have to be with him?”

  “He wants to be alone. He has to call the family, deal with all the stuff. He said he’d prefer to do it on his own. I tried to help, but whatever. I can help you instead.”

  “Okay, if you think that’s fine with Carl. I think the best thing to do would be to head to Paul’s house and wait outside. I’m hoping this is all a giant misunderstanding. However, if for a second we believe there is a legitimate danger we call the police anonymously.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “It is except for one problem: I have a job that happens to get in the way of this little project.”

  “The restaurant? Come on, you yourself said Marty could run that kitchen without you! Take a night off. Well deserved.”

  “It feels decadent. But I’m useless today anyway. I’ll pick you up in twenty.”

  “You got it. Oh, and I’ll dress incognito. You do the same.”

  * * * * *

  Antonia almost laughed when Genevieve opened her front door and revealed her interpretation of “incognito.”

  “You’re kidding me,” said Antonia.

  “What?” asked Genevieve.

  “The outfit?”

  Genevieve glanced down. She had on a tightly fitting black “military jacket” (as interpreted by Ralph Lauren) with swirling gold embroidery, cord braiding and fringed epaulets. Underneath was a cropped and belted camouflage jumpsuit tucked into patent leather high-heeled riding boots. Dog tags were roped around her neck.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Genevieve innocently.

  Antonia gestured towards her outfit. “That’s what you wear for a possible stake out?”

  “What, I’m supposed to dress like you?” she asked, motioning to Antonia’s baggy black pants, black ribbed turtleneck sweater and running shoes.

  “Well, although I’m not the most stylish person right now, I’m nondescript.”

  “I just don’t think I have to dress like one of the Indigo Girls when I want to spy on someone.”

  “I’m hardly dressed like an Indigo Girl! I can at least run in these shoes.”

  “I run better in high heels. I have high arches.”

  Antonia heard the crunch of the gravel in the driveway and turned to see Carl pulling up in a silver SUV. He wore a grimace on his face when he exited, and nodded hello as if it was the last thing he wanted to do. He was holding a wilting cardboard box in his hand.

  “Everything okay, sweetie?” asked Genevieve. She gave him a kiss on his cheek.

  “I’m so sorry about your grandmother,” said Antonia. “I actually knew her. She was a lovely woman, with lots of friends. She will be missed.”

  “Thank you,” said Carl. He loosened his tie roughly, before jerking it off.

  “I tried to call you back today about the reception. Of course we can have it at the inn.”

  “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen…” he said brusquely.

  Ge
nevieve gave Antonia a worried look.

  “Oh?” asked Antonia.

  “You know, I tried to plan it, give her a nice sending off, but what always happens is my damn family gets involved and wants to do everything their way.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” said Genevieve. She tried to kiss him, but he recoiled somewhat.

  “Family politics are so intense. I understand your frustration,” said Antonia.

  “If only you knew the crap I was dealing with.”

  “Well, don’t worry about anything. Even if you decide at the last minute, I’m sure we can work something out at the inn,” said Antonia.

  “Thank you,” said Carl. He shook his head in frustration, brushed behind Genevieve and went inside.

  “He’s like, freaking out. Can you see why I was happy that he didn’t want me around?” asked Genevieve.

  Antonia nodded. The death had definitely taken a toll on him, judging from his demeanor. “He’s a little wound up.”

  Before Genevieve could respond Carl reappeared clutching a bottle of Heineken. He took a large chug, his Adam’s apple bopping up and down as he did so, before breaking to wipe his lips with the back of his hand.

  “Sorry, ladies. You know how family is. They drive you nuts! Here I am, the one who moved back to look after my grandmother, because nobody else in the family would lift a finger, and then they come marching back to town and boss everything. Insist the funeral will be in the city—moved her body there without even asking me and then left town. They didn’t give a damn about this woman. Not a damn!”

  Carl took another swig of his beer. His forehead was sweaty and the rims of his eyes red as if he had been crying.

  “Babe, I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved her.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he practically spat out the words. “They don’t care about that at all.”

  Genevieve rubbed his back and made clucking noises while Antonia stood there feeling awkward and out of place. It was clear that it wasn’t a good idea for Genevieve to leave Carl alone in this state.