Death on Lily Pond Lane

by Carrie Doyle

  Heidi’s hooded eyes remained neutral when Antonia approached her counter. A black concert T-shirt peeked out under her CVS apron.

  “Remember me?” asked Antonia. She placed her basket on the counter.

  Heidi immediately started removing items and scanning them methodically.

  “I should be mad at you. My parents were super-pissed when they arrived home and found the cops at our house. Now they’ve given us three weeks to move out.”

  “I’m very sorry,” said Antonia with genuine concern. “It doesn’t matter, I know, but my intentions were good. I really did think his life was in danger.”

  Heidi shrugged. “Yeah, I can see that. And you know what? That guy is so stupid that maybe it would have been. I can’t believe he told that lawyer dude that he had the footage! Who did he think he was dealing with? Morons? Of course they would have found out that he was lying. He’s so dumb. He knew I would never go for it, that’s why he purposely did it when I wasn’t there. What an ass.”

  Heidi continued pulling items out of Antonia’s basket and sliding them across the scanner.

  “Listen, do you have five minutes? I really need to ask you something.”

  Heidi glanced up and gave Antonia a look. Finally, she shrugged. Antonia took that for a confirmation.

  “Give me a sec,” commanded Heidi.

  While Heidi helped other customers, Antonia idled by the racks of sunscreen in the front of the store waiting for Heidi. Sunscreen was always something she forgot to buy. She’d have to remember next time. Sometimes the sheer volume of miscellaneous junk carried in drug stores amazed her. Perhaps that’s why Sheila Black did all of her shopping here. Antonia shuddered slightly, an image of Sheila conjuring in her mind. She wondered if the police had made any progress in the investigation into her death.

  “So, what’s up?” said Heidi.

  She had snuck up on Antonia so quietly that she startled her. “Oh, okay. Do you want to talk here?”

  “It’s raining outside,” Heidi responded flatly.

  “You’re right.”

  Antonia moved towards the wall of the drug store, setting off the electric doors as she did so. She took a few steps backwards and Heidi watched her with disdain. Finally, she walked towards her.

  “Heidi, I wanted to ask you about Warner.”

  “Yeah,” said Heidi with uncertainty.

  “I know you were sleeping with him.”

  She was probably a very clever poker player, but Antonia saw a tell in Heidi’s face. Her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly.

  “That’s not…”

  Antonia put her hands up. “Don’t even deny it. I have more than one witness.”

  “Okay,” conceded Heidi. She shrugged her shoulders defiantly. “So?”

  Antonia had not expected her to admit her transgressions so freely. “So, what about Paul?”

  Again a shrug. “I like to keep my options open.”

  Antonia’s eyes widened. “Does he know?”

  “No.”

  “Is it possible? Do you think he might have found out and killed Warner?”

  “No. Paul’s not the jealous type. He’s too lazy.”

  Antonia was willing to believe that Paul was lazy; but that didn’t mean he wasn’t jealous. “You never know what could set someone off.”

  “The guy can barely get off the couch!” laughed Heidi. “And besides, Warner was his ticket. If Warner was still alive, this documentary was going to be seen around the world. Paul could get a Hollywood gig. And I…I could get my DJ career hopping. You know, I was going to do the soundtrack and even have a cameo. But now Warner is dead and the film will never see the light of day. Warner would have been really disappointed.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” conceded Antonia. She had to admit, but what Heidi said made sense. Two slackers don’t suddenly become killers. She knew Heidi had to get back to work but she felt like there was more information to be learned from her.

  “Heidi, do you have any idea what the missing footage is?”

  She hesitated for a split second.

  “Heidi,” pressed Antonia.

  “I know Warner caught Sidney Black on tape doing something embarrassing. That’s all I know.”

  Suddenly something occurred to Antonia. “Heidi, why does the lawyer think I have the missing footage? Did you tell him something?”

  Heidi ripped off a black lacquered hangnail on her index finger with her teeth. She started chewing on it before she spoke. “Yeah, okay, so what?”

  “Why would you tell him that? I don’t have the footage!”

  “Yes, you do,” insisted Heidi. She spat out the nail on the floor. “Warner told me. He said he left the footage with Antonia Bingham. That’s how I recognized your name the first time I met you.”

  “Where?”

  Heidi shrugged. “It’s with you somewhere. Check around.”

  “But why would he leave it with me?”

  “I guess he trusted you.”

  Antonia felt exasperated. “Heidi, if Warner trusted me and left the footage with me, then why in the world would you tell that to the lawyer?”

  “The guy’s the devil! He had this whole file on me. Look, there’s some stuff I did and my parents would flip if they found out! He knew everything. That man sucks. He is pure evil.”

  * * * * *

  Antonia steered through the back roads, circumventing town. So, she was right about the lawyer: if he had produced the file on Heidi’s background, there was no doubt that he had left the file on Antonia’s past at the Felds’ house. And she couldn’t blame Heidi for caving; there was something menacing and threatening about him. But now she had to think: if Warner left the footage with her, where would he have put it? The Windmill Inn was too big to tear apart. She’d already looked through the kitchen and her office. Where could it be? Antonia’s cell phone tore into her thoughts and she saw it was Mrs. Joan Masterson calling.

  “Antonia? Antonia?”

  “Yes, hi Joan.”

  “Hi there, am I catching you at a bad time?”

  “No, just driving.”

  “Sorry to bother you. We’ve just come from the funeral. It was awful. Very, very sad. Luke gave an exceptional eulogy though. I am proud of him. But the poor family. They are devastated.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “I know, I know. Headed back to the city. Listen, I know it’s raining cats and dogs out there and I’m sorry to ask this. But my neighbor Annabel Fellowes, who lives down the block, just drove by the house and she thought she saw an open window on the side of the house.”

  Oops. The laundry room window. She must not have closed it tightly.

  “A window? She was sure?”

  “Yes. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind terribly popping over to check on it. You know how when the rain gets in and the mildew, and the carpet starts to smell and it all stinks like wet dog, I just hate the smell of wet dog. That’s really why we never got a dog, I just couldn’t imagine what would happen when it rained, it would come inside and smell awful. Disgusting.”

  “Of course, Joan. I’m on my way.”

  “Thanks, Antonia.”

  It was getting late and Antonia knew she should return to the inn to greet the wedding guests before they set out for the ceremony. But now here she was guiding her car through the slick roads during a rainstorm that didn’t appear to be letting up. And it was her own damn fault; she should never have snuck into the crime scene. Particularly with the possible killer.

  Her thoughts again drifted back to Sam. Was she being irrational in suspecting him? Was it one of her typical post-coital freak-outs? She’d been known to have those. On the very rare occasions when Antonia hooked up with a man, Genevieve usually had to talk her down after the first time. She was always mortified
afterwards, self-conscious of everything, especially as the extra pounds on her body increased every year. But this time was different. This time she had reason to feel anxiety. She had the checklist in her head: Sam had met Warner; he even had a Union College t-shirt, Warner’s alma mater, which perhaps suggested a longer term relationship than Antonia knew about. There was also the fact that Sam didn’t wear a watch, owned Lysol cleaner, and was a drifter who had recently come into town. Ah, what was Antonia thinking sleeping with a guy like this? Abstinence was the way to go, for sure.

  * * * * *

  The Masterson house stood idle, enduring the rain stoically. Harsh pellets beat down on the roof and dripped off the gutters. The gray and stormy backdrop gave it the appearance of a house in a horror movie. The reality was that in some ways the place was now haunted. Warner had died there, his final breath gasped in the second floor bathroom. Forever more, Antonia would feel his presence there and remembering his bloated face in the bathtub. His death was now an inextricable part of the fabric.

  Antonia retrieved her umbrella from the back seat and opened it. She ran over to the side of the house where the laundry room window was indeed flapping it in the wind. Antonia pressed against the slippery window with all her might, securing that it was now sealed. She was about to return to the warmth of her car when she heard a loud bang. At first she thought it was thunder, but then she realized it was coming from the Harkin house behind her. Antonia walked over to have a closer look.

  She hadn’t noticed before how part of the privet hedge had thinned out entirely, allowing for a gaping hole between the Harkins’ house and the Mastersons’ house. It was almost as if done on purpose, as if two star-crossed lovers wanted access between the two properties. This must have been where the pool guy had seen someone (Warner?) climbing through.

  Antonia glanced through the hole in the hedge and saw a figure carrying planks towards the corner of the yard and dropping them into a pile. She could only make out his silhouette, but something about him was familiar. Antonia closed her umbrella and slid through the gap. The raindrops on the leaves pressed against her as she did so, chilling her more.

  When she made it through the fence, she cut between two thick bushes obscuring her view of the house. After she cleared it, she glanced up at the looming manor and tripped over a rusted wheelbarrow. She knocked it over, sending a bag of soil and several spray cans to the ground. Antonia quickly replaced the cans and wiped herself off. Lovely, she noted. She was now streaked with wet mud.

  Antonia noted that the backyard was in a serious state of disarray, the garden overgrown and neglected. She spied several piles of miscellaneous junk—old lawnmower equipment, paint cans, broken ladders and such—dumped along the back hedge. There were green plastic tubs of soil that had most likely held some plant life before they were discarded. A lone fountain stood in the corner, featuring some sort of nymph holding an instrument. The hydrangea bushes flanking it were still spiky and leafless. There was also a smattering of rusting animal cages near a decaying woodshed. It was amazing to Antonia how rich people could let their houses rot out from under them. Someone had told her once that the status symbol for the old moneyed crowd in the Hamptons was not what you had now, but what you had then. That’s why WASPs never spent money on shiny new cars or fancy updated houses. That was new money. They kept the old Mercedes and the old weather-beaten mansions—in effect, the old money. It declared, “I got here first!”

  Antonia walked across the mushy grass towards the figure. His back was to her, his body stiff as he carried a shovel over towards the corner of the yard next to the planks. Antonia stopped short with surprise.

  As if he suddenly sensed her presence, he turned abruptly towards her.

  “Antonia!”

  “Carl?”

  She walked through the mushy grass towards him. Water was slowly starting to seep into her boots despite their claim that they were waterproof. Or maybe they were water resistant? Either way, they were failing her.

  He leaned his weight on the shovel and wiped a wet clump of hair from his eyes. “What brings you here on this miserable day?”

  “I was going to ask you the same question. What are you doing here?”

  He motioned towards the mansion. “This was my grandmother’s house.”

  Antonia was stunned. “Really? Your grandmother, Nancy Woods? But I thought it belonged to someone named Harkin…”

  “That was my grandmother’s maiden name. It had been her father’s house before her, so it was always called the ‘Harkin House.’ That’s how it works around here; houses are always referred to by their previous owners.”

  “I had no idea she was the Mastersons’ neighbor.”

  “But I told you that the first night we met.”

  Antonia nodded. “Right. You said the same neighborhood. I just didn’t connect the dots.”

  Carl glanced over at the Mastersons’ yard. “Well, their property is in a lot better condition than ours. Unfortunately, my grandmother was old and the people who worked for her really took advantage of her condition. I’d been coming round trying to clean up since I returned to town, but the list of stuff that needed to be done is endless.”

  Antonia peered up at the house. She had never examined it closely. It was a large, top heavy shingled cottage, taller rather than wider, perched atop a foundation high enough so that the basement windows peeked out from the ground like shark teeth. The salty air had left the house weather-beaten. The roof was dilapidated. There were patches of missing shingles crawling along the back of the house and the white paint trim was chipped.

  “It could use some love, but can’t it wait? I mean, why do it today when it’s raining?”

  “I know, it seems crazy. But no one wants to look at real estate in this weather so I found myself with free time. The memorial service is on Tuesday, my usual day off, so I thought I would seize the chance when I could. And actually, it’s therapeutic. Manual labor takes my mind off things.”

  “Yes, you’re right. The kitchen is my go-to place for that,” said Antonia, studying Carl’s face. Despite his calm demeanor, she felt tension bubbling under the surface. “I imagine this must be hard for you. I know you were close to your grandmother.”

  “I was. Everything I have done was because of her. She was a strong woman. It’s strange without her.”

  Antonia reached out and touched his wrist, pressing softly. “I’m sorry.”

  There was a crack of thunder and the rain intensified. Carl and Antonia both glanced up at the darkening sky. “Hey, maybe that’s her saying hello.”

  Antonia glanced at the sky. “Yes, could be.”

  Carl turned and stared at her intently. “Sorry, do you think it’s strange that I believe something like that? I think the dead try to contact us. I know, it sounds odd. But I’ve always felt like that.”

  “I don’t think it’s strange. Both of my parents are dead and I feel their energy around me often.”

  “Really? We should talk about that sometime. I am very interested. Genevieve doesn’t like to talk about things like that. But I do.”

  There was another smack of thunder, followed by a flash of lightning.

  “I’d love to talk anytime. But right now, I think I should get back to the inn. And you should go as well! Don’t get caught holding that shovel or you may get struck by lightning.”

  “Good point,” said Carl. He pressed it so hard down in the earth that his jacket bunched up around him.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Antonia sludged through the yard, retracing her steps towards the Mastersons’ house. The mud stuck to her boots and made a thick sucking sound with each step she took. An image of a mug she used to have with Winnie the Pooh sticking his feet in honey came to mind. It was a sticky mess. Antonia pushed her way through the bushes and crawled through th
e space in the privet hedge. When she crossed the property line, she glanced up at the Mastersons’ house. It was definitely a loved house, in much better condition than the neighbors’. Her eyes moved up to the guest bathroom window, where she and Sam had peered out of only two days before. Funny that she hadn’t known then that she was staring into Nancy Woods’’ house. Antonia shivered slightly and returned to the warmth of her car.

  25

  Dinner preparation invoked the usual swirl of frenetic activity, but tonight the mood was injected with a sour feeling. Marty was grumpier than usual due to the fact that the kitchen had to prepare several trays of sandwiches and snacks for the anticipated late returning wedding guests. He loathed any culinary endeavor that hinted of catering and not fine dining. As a result, he channeled his anger by snapping at the wait staff and making increasingly vulgar, caustic remarks to Kendra. Every part of her anatomy was a ripe target for him, and Antonia had to step in several times to diffuse the tension. And like a food chain, this caused a trickle down effect where Kendra would greet every request from Jonathan regarding the wedding guests with a barrage of obscenities. The normally unflappable Jonathan appeared slightly shaken, and was even curt with sweet Soyla.

  Antonia was also in a fairly foul mood. She was feeling great remorse over the fact that she had slept with Sam, a potential suspect. The after-sex guilt caused a tsunami of stress.

  Glen was the only one who was floating through the restaurant, enjoying the dinner crowd, until seven-thirty when he stormed over to Antonia in a huff, his face now contorted with anger.

  “Antonia, you didn’t tell me that you needed a table for your friend. I can only seat him at the bar and he refuses,” scoffed Glen.

  Antonia glanced up from the halibut that she was encasing in razor thin slices of potato. “My friend?”

  “That odious troll.”

  “Who?” asked Antonia, confused.

  “Larry Lipper, from the newspaper.”

  “I didn’t know he was coming tonight…”