Manor of Dying

by Kathleen Bridge

  “You might be right. He never gets weekends off here. And part of his hiring package is access to a helicopter.”

  “Hey,” he said, “I’m right here. You’re talking about me as if I’m already gone. However, I do have to go.” He leaned over and gave Elle a smooch. “You know what I like, order me something to go. Promise to make it up to you.”

  He stood, and I said, “Nothing to do with the Nightingale case, I hope?”

  Doc gave me a fatherly look. “Come on. It’s Christmas, missy.”

  “Not a thing to do with the Nightingales,” Arthur said, looking festive in his red-and-white Nordic-style sweater, not his usual designer suit and tie. I liked the look and knew Elle had a lot to do with it. “Nice sweater,” I said.

  “Good thing I brought a dress shirt and jacket in the car.” He glanced at Elle. “Will you be able to get a ride home if this turns into an all-night deal?”

  “I can take her home,” I said.

  “Thanks, Meg.”

  • • •

  After we finished our appetizers and main course, we moved on to dessert. I’d chosen Pei mussels swimming in garlic, shallots, and parsley for my appetizer, followed by a pork tenderloin with apricot apple chutney and watercress pine nut salad with Spanish prosciutto.

  Doc said, “Arthur sure missed out on a fantastic meal.”

  Elle pushed her plate forward, not a morsel remained. “I ordered him the lamb ribs, they were fantastic.”

  Georgia put her napkin to the side of her plate. “So, now that everything is tied up relating to Nightingale Manor, I’m happy you’ll be able to concentrate on the set of the miniseries.”

  “And stay out of trouble,” Doc added, wiping his white beard and directing his gaze at me.

  I ignored him. “Yes, the case is closed. Forensics came back that Willa’s prints had been on the pen advertising the old practice, along with Blake Nightingale’s blood. Not a surprise. Especially after her confession. Sabrina is completely recovered, Willa is in prison, and the practice lost the lawsuit and Pauline was offered a million-dollar settlement that Dr. Lewis isn’t contesting.”

  Elle took a sip of her cabernet then said, “Felicity told me as a way to get a walk-on part, Sabrina is cooperating with Langston Reed on the documentary he’s planning to make after filming Mr. & Mrs. Winslow.”

  “Wonder what part she’ll get?” I asked.

  “I already know. She’s going to be a gangster’s moll.”

  “Well, it seems Sabrina got her wish,” Elle added. “There was even a happy ending for Tabitha, Willa’s cat.”

  “Ugh,” I said.

  Elle laughed. “Just be happy Willa didn’t have a dog. At least Tabitha and Jo ignore each other.”

  “I guess I’m lucky Tabitha doesn’t put up with Jo’s shtick. You’d never guess she’s fifteen, except she sleeps a lot.”

  Georgia grinned. “What cat doesn’t?”

  “Uh, Jo. She’s always up for some high-jinx or another.” My perfect scenario with Jo loving the fake Christmas tree on the porch with the hanging catnip ornaments didn’t pan out as I’d planned.

  “I’ve got the best supplement to put in Tabitha’s food,” Georgia said. “I put it in Mr. Whiskers’ and I swear he’s acting like a teenager again.”

  “Do you put the same thing in Doc’s food,” I said, smiling. Ever since he met Georgia, he’d been carrying on like a teen. I almost missed his constant interference in my life.

  “No, but last week he did eat a veggie burger for the first time.”

  Doc grinned. “Georgia, tell her what was on top.”

  “Sautéed onions, shitake mushrooms, blue cheese and veggie bacon.”

  “Veggie bacon!” he exclaimed. “Why’d you have to ruin it by bursting my bacon bubble.”

  The waitperson brought everyone’s dessert. Georgia, Elle, and Claire had ordered white chocolate soufflé with crumbled peppermint bark shavings on top. Doc and I got the traditional pumpkin pie and crème fraîche and clinked our coffee cups in memory of all the Christmases in the past we’d shared with my father in Detroit.

  Even without my father and Cole, I realized I was still surrounded by family. All was well, and as I glanced out the window at the softly falling snow hitting the frozen pond, I felt warm and snuggled in a blanket of gratitude for all the people in my life.

  And as cliché as it sounded, Tiny Tim’s words came to mind . . . God bless us, every one!

  Chapter 31

  “Only thirty minutes ’til midnight,” Elle said, reaching up and strapping a pointy gold-foiled cardboard hat to my head.

  “Ouch! You snapped me with the elastic.”

  “Serves you right. You need to bend down more.”

  “I’m not really in the New Year’s Eve mood.”

  I went to take the hat off and Elle slapped my hand. “Leave it! No pity parties. Arthur’s not here, either. Blame Mother Nature for making you and Cole star-crossed lovers, once again.”

  “I don’t think I remember what he looks like.”

  “Don’t you video chat?”

  “Rarely. He’s always on the open seas delivering one of his sailboats, no cell service.”

  “Well, let me take a few pictures of you. You look lovely.”

  “I can’t compare to you,” I said, laughing. Unless the invitation said black tie, I dressed like most thirtysomething women in the Hamptons: jeans, T-shirts, boots in the winter, sandals or sneakers —or tennis shoes, as we’d called them in Michigan—in the summer. The only way you could tell me from a visiting celeb was my jeans and footwear didn’t cost in the five-hundred-dollar range. For upscale parties like tonight, I’d added a blazer, my mother’s pearls and diamond stud earrings, and borrowed a pair of Elle’s vintage designer shoes and a handbag.

  “Nice dress,” I said.

  Elle never bowed to peer pressure when it came to what to wear. “It’s from the 1939 movie Bachelor Mother starring Vivian Leigh and David Niven. I’m no Vivian Leigh and the waistline is a little tight, thanks mostly to your father and his meals, but I love the color and it matches my Schiaparelli jewelry.”

  “I can relate about the waistline. I can barely fit in my jeans.” Ever since my father had arrived, I’d been scarfing down gourmet meals at a rate of three times a day, twenty-four-seven. He’d made most of the hors d’oeuvres for the party, and under his tutelage I’d even contributed a few of my own simple no-bake appetizers. I couldn’t decide which one was my favorite, so I’d kept circling the dining room table, sampling them all until I came up with my favorite—panko-crusted crab cake bites with roasted pepper and chive aioli. A close second were the mini beef Wellingtons.

  It was a small gathering: Claire; Elle; Barb and her husband; Georgia and Doc; my father and Sheila; Felicity, who had to leave her husband back in California because of his job; Morgana, Barb’s sister, who was a dispatcher for the East Hampton Town outpost in Montauk; two members of the Poetry Book Club; Karen, who owned the needle arts shop in town; and Maurice, Elle’s shop assistant, who’d left his partner at home with a cold.

  “Oh, my,” Elle said, bringing her hand up to her mouth. I followed the direction of her gaze and saw Patrick Seaton enter Little Grey. For a minute it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room and was replaced with a fresh ocean breeze.

  I was caught off guard. He sure cleaned up nicely. His coat was open, and I saw he’d also dressed in jeans and a blazer, only instead of a T-shirt he wore a white dress shirt. I took a step toward him.

  Our eyes met, and he said, “Meg . . .”

  I took another step, and just as I was a foot away, a woman stepped through the open doorway and stood next to him, grabbing his arm. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold.

  “Meg,” he repeated, “I’d like you to meet my publicist, Ashley Drake. She’s thinking of buying a summer place out here.”

  I was saved by Claire, who welcomed them and took their coats.

  They’d come late to
the party. I realized ever since I heard Cole wasn’t coming, I’d been constantly checking the door for Patrick. Last Tuesday, succumbing to Claire’s peer pressure, I’d attended my first Poetry Book Club meeting. Since then I’d been trying to deal with my feelings toward Patrick, secretly hoping that once I’d gotten to know him, he wouldn’t be as attractive. But I’d been intrigued even more. Over moussaka, we’d finally discussed the murder at Nightingale Manor and found we not only shared a love of classic nineteenth-century poetry but also Louise Penny’s books featuring Inspector Gamache and the cozy town of Three Pines.

  Now, here he was smiling at me. The only problem was, Ashley, his book publicist, was looking at him the same way I was.

  I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you, Ashley.”

  Instead of shaking my hand she gave me a double-cheeked air kiss.

  I took a step back, not because I felt accosted, but the Yves St. Laurent shoes Elle had loaned me were a half size too small and the heels way higher than I was used to. I teetered. Patrick caught my elbow. He pulled me toward him and I smelled his clean intoxicating scent. Or maybe it was just that I was intoxicated. I’d already gone over my two-drink maximum figuring I could crawl next door if need be, peeved about Cole not ringing in the New Year with me.

  “Thanks-s-s,” I slurred. Tonight, his eyes appeared more teal than green.

  Ashley grabbed my other elbow and whispered something in my ear. My hearing aids were set at their lowest volume because of the party’s loud background chatter. I thought she’d said, “You have shrimp cocktail sauce on your shin.” I looked down and saw nothing there. Then she pointed to her chin. I grabbed a napkin and dabbed the area. Patrick winked at me and the Barrett blotches surfaced.

  “Get ready,” Claire called out. “Ten minutes and counting. Grab your champagne flute and a couple sparklers.”

  “It’s my fault we’re so late,” Ashley said. “We had a party in East Hampton I insisted Patrick attend. I think he’s a little miffed with me. But we have to get him in the public eye, create some buzz about the upcoming miniseries.” I waited for her to take a breath, but she kept going. “Patrick’s told me all about you. I was hoping maybe you could keep your eyes out for a small cottage in Montauk on the water I could fix up. I know oceanfront is out of my means, but maybe something on Lake Montauk or even Fort Pond?”

  I wasn’t expecting to like her, but she had an open easy smile, not to mention she was stunning with her long, silky dark hair and large hazel eyes with thick lashes. She seemed to have tons of energy that I bet made her effervescent in a crowd. However, I couldn’t picture her lounging by a fire reading a book of poetry. I commiserated with Patrick on wanting to spend a mellow New Year’s Eve at Claire’s, instead of some Hamptons high-brow party. “Ashley, have you been introduced to Barb Moss from Sand and Sun? She was my realtor who found Little Grey and the property my cottage sits on.”

  “No,” Ashley said, “would love to meet her.”

  “Come.”

  “I’m gonna check out the food,” Patrick said. “Quite the spread.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “My father made most of the food.”

  “Most?”

  “Full disclosure, I made two dishes, the marinated mozzarella and the cheesecake bars.”

  “Under Daddy’s supervision, I hope?”

  “Ha, ha, funny. But yes.”

  I realized we’d totally left Ashley out of the conversation. When I turned to her, I saw a surprised look on her face. “Ready to meet Barb?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  As we moved across the room, she said, “I rarely see Patrick laughing about anything. I’m sure you know the story about him and the tragedy.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are a good influence on him, I think.”

  I felt embarrassed and confused at the same time. “You’ll love Barb. She knows everything about Montauk. She won’t lead you wrong. And when you find a place, I’d love to come see if Cottages by the Sea can be of service.”

  Barb was in the corner of the living room talking to Elle and Felicity, their gazes fixed on Ashley and me. After introducing Ashley, I went back to the dining room, where I saw Patrick talking to my father and Sheila. Before I could join them, Claire tapped her spoon against her champagne flute. “Okay, everyone, five minutes and counting. Let’s go out to the deck and light our sparklers.

  Everyone filed outside and crowded on the wood deck overlooking the Atlantic. Claire went from person to person, lighting sparklers. Someone started the countdown, “Ten, nine, eight . . .” I elbowed my way through until I was standing next to Patrick, and I joined in, “Seven . . .”

  A huge dog the size of a St. Bernard bounded up the steps. He wore a black bow tie over his collar. “Tripod!” He crashed into me, stood on his hind legs and pressed his lone paw onto my collarbone. I went flailing back. Patrick broke my fall, but not until we were both on our backs looking up. Tripod jumped on top of me, lapping my cheek with his long, slobbery tongue.

  “Four, three, two . . .”

  “Surprise! Happy New Year,” Cole said, looking down. “Seems I made it just in time.” He wore one of his undecipherable grins.

  “Happy New Year,” I said.

  “Happy New Year,” Patrick said.

  “Happy New Year,” Tripod barked.

  If not happy, it sure would be interesting, I thought.

  Meg and Elle’s Think-Outside-the-Box Guide to Repurposing Vintage Finds

  Meg: Create a barista station on your kitchen counter. On a large antique ironstone platter or vintage tray place a coffee/teapot, vintage sugar bowl, napkins, a glass or cream pitcher filled with teaspoons—or anything else you can think of. It’s a decorative way to keep things organized and makes cleaning the countertop a breeze. You could also lean a chalkboard behind the tray and write the day’s coffee or tea blend, maybe adding a little saying like, Start the day with a good cup of coffee (tea) and gratitude for another sunrise. Large serving trays or compartmentalized wicker trays are also great for pop-up bars when entertaining.

  Elle: For the sewing-challenged like me, make no-sew pillows using fabric glue. Change your pillows to match the season. You can even use vintage tablecloths or curtains to make your pillows.

  Meg: You can also place vintage lace, linen, and patterned tablecloths on trunks, side tables, and coffee tables when entertaining. All-white linens brighten a room and let your guests know you are giving them the white glove treatment. If any wine spills, try dabbing the stain with a white cloth (never rub) then put the tablecloth taut over a bowl, centering the stain, sprinkle with salt and pour boiling water over the stain. Afterward, depending on the age of your linens, hand or machine wash.

  Elle: I collect small vintage finger bowls in chintzware and transferware patterns and use them to sort my jewelry on my dresser.

  Meg: Turn your windowsill into a year-round herb garden. Plant herbs in old green-glass Ball jars or vintage coffee or tea tins. Just make sure the room gets southern light and you mist the herbs with water, especially during the winter months.

  Elle: Small vintage pottery vases can be used to store makeup brushes, lipstick, mascara and eye pencils.

  Meg: Display a collection of similar items together to make a statement. Look for the unusual: groups of souvenir Empire State Buildings, Liberty statues, Eiffel Towers; vintage box cameras, binoculars, field and opera glasses; or stack three sets of different cups and saucers on top of each other in three rows. Don’t overdo it. Make sure the area around your collection is clean and clutter-free so they come off as one statement.

  Elle: Make one-of-a-kind magnets out of pieces of vintage costume jewelry. Buy button magnets at your local craft store and use permanent glue to connect the back of your chosen piece to the magnet.

  Meg: I have a fixation with glass cloches, bell jars and domes. Things I put under my domes are small antique books, an ironstone creamer with dried flowers, seashells,
photos, vintage postcards, and so on. The ideas are endless. During the holidays, add a bottle-brush tree, vintage valentine, a bunny or lamb figurine, mini pumpkins or pinecones. Place the cloche on top of a stack of books, bread plate, or small basket.

  And remember a modern home can meld perfectly with that little touch of antique or vintage. Wishing you great finds!

  YEAR-ROUND PARTY PLEASERS

  Jeff Barrett’s Roquefort/Fig Flatbread

  1 pound fresh (or thawed) Italian bread or pizza dough

  Olive oil or corn meal

  Four tablespoons Dalmatia fig spread, warmed

  1/3 pound Roquefort/blue/gorgonzola cheese, crumbled

  Four thin slices prosciutto

  Pre-heat oven to 425.

  Stretch and roll out the dough to a rectangle approximately 10 x 12 inches and place on a pizza peel dusted with corn meal (if you have one, and you also will be using a pizza stone on which to bake the bread), or place on an oiled baking sheet. Cover the dough with plastic wrap and allow to rest and rise for 45 minutes.

  When the dough has gotten puffy and the oven hot, spread the fig lightly across the face of the dough. (Note: the fig spread will be much easier to work with if it has been microwaved for 15 seconds to warm and soften.) Next, sprinkle the cheese in small bunches (rather than evenly). Then place the prosciutto slices on top, covering the majority of the flatbread.

  Bake the flatbread for 15 to 20 minutes until golden brown on the edges. Cut the flatbread after cooling slightly into small squares and serve.

  Meg’s Marinated Mozzarella Balls, Artichokes and Olives

  1/2 cup olive oil

  1/4 cup red or white wine vinegar

  1 garlic clove, finely grated

  1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning

  Fresh herbs, any of the following: thyme, rosemary, oregano, basil, parsley