by Carrie Doyle
“Gen, I’m going to go. You should stay here,” said Antonia.
“You’re sure that’s okay, Antonia?”
“Don’t stay on account of me,” said Carl. “I’ll be fine.”
“No, it’s okay. This was a bad idea anyway,” said Antonia. “It’s not really our business. I’m going to head home.”
“You sure?” asked Genevieve.
“Absolutely.”
* * * * *
Antonia was comfortable in her decision to return to the inn. Dinner service had started and she could be there to oversee everything. It was actually insane of her to slip out on one of the busiest nights of the restaurant (although deep down she knew Marty would be fine without her.) But still, spying on Paul Brady would have to wait. She only hoped he wouldn’t die. It sounded absurd but not in this climate. She consoled herself with the fact that if she knew this information, the cops must also.
When she reached the intersection of Newtown Lane and Main Street, she stopped at the red light. Friday nights always brought the weekenders through town, and this evening was no exception. SUVs full of parents and sleepy kids cruised by behind sportier cars driven by young, upwardly mobile couples. The congestion would thicken on a consistent basis over the next few months. Traffic cops barely out of their teens would try and direct crowds but would end up making a mess of things. Ah, summer.
Antonia glanced down at the passenger seat where she had placed the pictures from Paul Brady’s website. She had brought them in case there was a lull in their stakeout. Paul Brady and Heidi Levicky’s images stared up at her. He had his arms draped around her possessively in most of the shots. In others, she wore a pouty look on her face as if she was very pissed off. An idea sparked in Antonia’s head.
The car behind Antonia honked, signaling that the light had turned green. She proceeded with the traffic but instead of continuing back towards the Windmill Inn, made a right into the parking lot. She was here in town, so no time like the present to act on a hunch. As she approached, she felt a large sense of clarity. The answer was right in front of her, how could she have not seen it?
Rowdy Hall was tucked away in a mews off of Main Street. The restaurant, meant to resemble an English-style pub, was one of the few places open year-round. The décor is what one would find in the English countryside: a long hammered-copper bar fronted by several backless wooden bar stools. Two flatscreen televisions with images of a sporting events bookended the bar. There were tables scattered around the room for the dinner guests. And contributing to the authentic feel was a rack with various local and national newspapers.
Antonia bypassed the waitress station and approached the bar. She was friendly with the bartender and knew he would be candid with his recollections. When she inquired if he’d been working the previous Thursday he directed her to his colleague, a thirtyish Irishman with pale skin and jet-black hair. After a brief introduction, Antonia got down to business.
“I know you spoke to my friend Larry Lipper about the fight here last Thursday between Warner Caruthers and another man.”
“Aye. Heard about the guy dying in the tub. Can’t say I’m broken up about it, though may he rest in peace.”
Antonia nodded. “I know. I heard he caused problems. Do you mind telling me what happened?”
The bartender scratched his neck and glanced up at the ceiling as if it held the answers.
“Your man, Warner, came in at about six o’clock or so. He had a few pints. There’s a baseball game on, and Warner gets a bit loud. An older man on the other end of the bar, clearly rooting for the other team, tells him to pipe down. Warner recognizes him somehow—I think he works at the Dune Club—and starts yelling at him. Clearly, they had gotten into it before. I only get a scattering of conversation cause I’m working back and forth but enough that I know it’s bad. I give him a warning but as I do another bloke comes up and tells him to stop yelling at the old man. Warner yells at him also. Finally, I told Warner he had to leave. And just as he got up, his girl shows, and they take off together. Just in time too.”
“His girl? What did she look like?”
“Dark hair. I didn’t get a good look. I just wanted him out.”
Antonia pulled out the pictures from Paul Brady’s website. “Was this the girl?”
He took the papers from her and nodded. “Yes.”
Antonia again tapped her finger on the picture of Heidi. “Are you sure?”
“That’s her. She was the one that Warner was waiting for. I remember thinking they were an odd pair, she sort of goth and he very clean looking. But you never know about people.”
Antonia shook her head. “You’re right. You never know.”
21
Antonia gripped her steering wheel, wracked by indecision. This was a new twist. Warner had been having an affair with Heidi. Right under Paul’s nose. Did he find out and kill Warner in a jealous rage? That would make sense. Perhaps he came back early from the Exterminators concert—or didn’t go at all—and found them together. He bashed Warner in the back of the head in a heated fit. Then maybe both he and a guilt-ridden Heidi cleaned it all up and made it look like it was an accident. They probably had no idea which bathroom Warner was using and just dumped him in Eleanor’s.
This was a major development. Antonia had to talk to Paul and Heidi. If she confronted them without warning, he might confess. She dialed the cell phone number that Paul had given her.
“Yup,” answered Paul after several rings.
“Hi, it’s Antonia Bingham.”
“Oh, hi,” he said tersely.
“Listen, Paul. I have something I want to ask you and Heidi.”
“Heidi’s at work.”
“Well, then I’d like to talk to you. Is it possible for me to come over?”
“No. Not possible,” said Paul firmly.
Antonia was surprised by his stern tone. Definitely a marked change from the last time they talked.
“It will only take a second…”
“No,” interrupted Paul. “Don’t come by. I’m not home. Just forget you know me.”
He clicked off. There was something definitely not right. Paul sounded stressed, and his voice forced. Could he have been speaking under duress? Were Sidney Black and Edward Hamilton already there? She had no choice. She had to move.
* * * * *
Antonia’s car moved slowly down the block, crunching twigs and crushed leaves along the way. There were more houses illuminated tonight than the previous time she was there, but the road still felt dark and somewhat desolate. Right away Antonia noticed that the Levicky’s living room light was glowing and Paul Brady’s truck was in front. She didn’t see any other cars around, but that meant little. Sidney Black and Edward Hamilton would probably be too smart to park in front.
Antonia exited the car and softly shut the doors. The air felt heavy with impending rain. It was damp enough that Antonia’s hair would be a clumpy mess when she returned home. Salty sea air was a terror for anyone with her thick hair type. After inspecting the area, she noted that both neighbors’ houses were dark. No one home. The Levicky’s living room faced the house on the left. That would be the way to go.
Antonia cut across the road and moved stealthily through the shadows of the trees. She thought it ironic that she was shading herself in the very area where the man had been watching her from her previous visit. If indeed he was watching her. In the area that marked the property line, the bushes thickened into a tangled mess that was difficult to maneuver. Antonia found herself wading through twisted and snarled rose of sharon and holly bushes. Sharp holly leaves pricked through the thin layer of her pants.
Antonia strained to see inside the Levicky’s window while remaining concealed. It was improbable that whoever was in the house would see her through the chalky darkness, but she didn’t want to take chances.
Th
e room appeared even shabbier from the outside. Paintings on the wall were slightly askew as if put up in haste. The sofa sagged even deeper. Antonia was imagining a House Beautiful makeover when Paul Brady came striding through the living room clutching a bottle of Amstel Light. Without thinking, Antonia dropped flat to the ground to avoid detection. She pressed her entire body to the cold ground. The grass was damp, and it felt itchy smashed against Antonia’s face. The grass blades were like daggers poking into her fresh cuts from the thorns. A musty odor of damp earth floated into her nostrils. So Paul was home drinking a beer. He had told her it wasn’t a good time. Why? Was he hiding something? After waiting a few beats, she peeked up and watched as Paul plopped himself on the couch and flicked on the television. Marilyn Manson came bounding in and jumped up next to him. Antonia was pissed. He was merely blowing her off. She was about to stand up and go ring the doorbell to confront him when she felt something on her thigh. It was a buzzing. For a split second her heart pounded before she realized that it was her cell phone.
“Hello?” Antonia whispered into the phone.
“Hey, It’s Sam. I heard you weren’t feeling well. They said you weren’t working tonight.”
Antonia had called in “sick” to the restaurant. Liars are always called out.
“Sam?” said Antonia with confusion and surprise. “Right. Yes, I’m not feeling well.”
“Do you need anything? I could come by…”
“Oh my gosh, sorry, bad time. Um, can I call you back?”
There was a slight pause before he responded. “Sure. No problem.”
“We’ll talk later, bye.”
Antonia clicked off. Time to talk to Paul.
A car’s headlights flashed in the distance. The purring murmur of the motor indicated it was approaching. Antonia crawled into the furthest corner, one that was still shrouded in shadows and would wait until it passed. If the car saw her appear from the bushes, they might alert Paul, especially if it was the Levickys. Better to wait.
The car was moving at a leisurely pace, or at least it seemed to Antonia, who was growing impatient. She should have just rung the doorbell. All of this cloak and dagger stuff was foolish. Get things out in the open with Paul and then move on.
The car was fast approaching now, and the lights cast a larger net. Then it stopped…. right in front of the Levicky house. It remained idle but the motor was running. The wait felt endless. Was it Heidi’s parents? Ugh, could they just get a move on so Antonia could go home? A light mist in the air had turned into scattered raindrops. They were still few and far between, but the drops were plump and heavy. Antonia hoped that the rain would not pick up before she could discover why Paul Brady had blown her off.
All at once, Antonia heard two car doors slam.
“This is it,” a male voice said.
“Who the hell is Levicky? I thought you said his name was Brady,” said another male voice.
“It is. This is where he’s staying.”
“I’d say not for long after the gift we’re bringing him,” said the other voice with a wicked chuckle.
The two shadowy figures approached the front door. From Antonia’s angle, only their backs were visible. She expected to see Sidney Black and Edward Hamilton but when one turned towards the outside lamp to press the doorbell, she saw at once that it was the lawyer, Terry Rudolph. Antonia recoiled into the bush. Of course. Hamilton and Black wouldn’t do it themselves; they would send a henchman. But hadn’t he already been to Paul Brady’s house and dismissed the footage Paul had? Antonia hadn’t really believed that Edward Hamilton and Sidney Black would send someone to kill Paul…but now it felt possible.
Antonia had to think. She pressed down further into the web of branches. By now, the scratchy leaves left an impression on Antonia’s cheek. She had a flashback to a leaf-rubbing project she did in elementary school. The assignment was to put white paper over a leaf and rub on top of it with a crayon, tracing the spindly veins to make creepy images. She felt like that piece of paper now. She held her breath until she finally heard a door open.
“Come on in.”
She heard footsteps before the door shut.
Antonia remained low to the ground. She slithered up towards the Levicky’s living room window, feeling like an army commando. A quick peek through the dingy glass revealed the three men standing in a semi-circle. The lawyer’s arms were folded and he wore a look of impatience. The other man—short, muscular, with a strong nose—stood with a neutral look on his face. Antonia quickly ducked back down. A glance to the left revealed the window on the other side was ajar. She slid against the house and planted herself underneath. She was concealed but able to hear their conversation.
“So, let’s see what you got.”
“It’s kind of grainy.”
“Hold it sideways.”
“Can we fast forward to the part we want?”
Antonia popped up and took another quick peek through the gauzy curtains in the window. From this angle she could see Paul. His face betrayed neither fear nor ease. The lawyer and the other man were holding up a small camcorder and watching the screen. None of the picture was visible to Antonia. She crouched back down.
There was silence and Antonia waited. All she could hear was her own heart. The scattered raindrops had turned into a light shower and were gently pelting Antonia’s body.
“Where is the footage of Mr. Black?” asked the lawyer’s voice.
“Right there.”
“What, you mean this?”
“Yeah.” Paul’s voice had a nervous lilt to it.
“That’s not him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, you really thought we’d believe that was Sidney Black? That’s you, you moron.”
“Oh, no wait, see there.”
“You’re joking. Mr. Brady, either you have it or you don’t.”
“This is the stuff,” whined Paul.
“You’ve wasted my time,” said the lawyer with irritation. “And worse, you’ve wasted my associate’s time and Mr. Black’s time.”
“Listen, okay, so this might not be exactly what you want, but I can get it. This is like, a teaser.”
“Not good enough, I’m afraid,” said the lawyer. “I don’t think you understand who you are dealing with.”
“Come on now, we can work this out.”
“I doubt it. Frank, let him have a look at what we brought for him. He’ll see how serious we are.”
Antonia twisted her head and took a quick glance. The lawyer’s ‘associate’ opened the briefcase. Antonia watched as Paul peered in it. His face looked pale. He shook his head.
“Dudes, please, let’s work this out.”
The lawyer shook his head. “Take a look in the briefcase and say goodbye.”
For the first time, real terror seized Antonia. This must be the gun that Francine was talking about. They were showing it to Paul Brady before they killed him. It was sick. Had they shown Warner the murder weapon first, too? Were they so twisted?
Antonia fled across the lawn. She lurched past the hedge, down the path, across the road and to her car.
Her hands were shaking so badly it was difficult to dial her cell phone.
“911 what’s your emergency?”
“I think a man is about to be murdered! Come to 3400 Schellinger Road. Hurry!”
“Who’s going to be murdered ma’am?”
“A man named Paul Brady. You have to get here fast. Please call Sergeant Flanagan. I think it’s related to the death of Warner Caruthers.”
“Ma’am, may I have your name please?”
“Antonia Bingham.”
“Are you at the house now?”
“I’m outside the house.”
“How many individuals are in the house?”
“Three. A lawyer
, Terry Rudolph, and his associate Frank are the other two. I think they have a gun.”
“We’re on our way.”
Antonia collapsed back against the seat. “They’re on their way. Thank God.”
22
The rain was coming down hard. A steady beat pounded on the roof and dripped down into the gutters. Large drops slapped against the windows before disappearing down into the darkness.
“You haven’t touched your tea,” reprimanded Joseph. “Are you quite certain you wouldn’t want a shot of bourbon instead?”
Antonia shook her head glumly. She was curled up on her sofa, her fluffy pink and white throw blanket atop of her. The blanket was so old that it shed all over her clothes like a large Persian cat. Antonia clasped her hands around the steaming mug as if it would provide her with the warmth she craved. Joseph was perched in the deep upholstered armchair across from her.
“How could I have been so stupid?” she asked miserably.
“You were carried away.”
“Worse than that. I became the town idiot.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Antonia gave Joseph a wary look. “I spied on a man, then I called the police and told them he was about to be murdered. Six squad cars arrived at the scene, and it turns out it was all a false alarm. They were planning on paying him off! There wasn’t a gun in the brief case; there was a contract and a pile of cash! It was all legal, or at least sort of, until Warner’s father had his lawyer send a letter demanding the property back. But that’s beside the point. I now have the police department thinking I’m a hoax and a lunatic. As do Paul Brady, Terry Rudolph, and his muscle-man associate Frank! I made an utter and complete fool of myself. This could kill my business. I should just leave town now.”
Joseph put down his mug atop the Louis Vuitton steamer trunk that doubled as Antonia’s coffee table. He put his hand in the air as if waving away Antonia’s words.
