by Wendy Webb
“I live in the big white house just across the lawn from here,” he said, gesturing. “One of the perks of the job.”
I looked at him, and just for a second, was lost in his gaze. “Why didn’t you get coffee in your own house?”
He turned his eyes to the stars. “And miss this view? It’s best from here. No trees to obscure the show. I wasn’t kidding about the northern lights, you know.” He leaned his head onto the back of the chaise and took another sip of coffee. “Look.”
I did look and saw what he was seeing. Streaks of red, deep green, and purple, shooting across the sky. Some seemed like a haze of fire on the horizon, hovering just above the tree line. Others stretched the whole length of the sky as far as I could see, tendrils of color blazing across the inky universe just above where we were sitting.
“Wow,” I said, conscious of my own heartbeat. “That’s amazing. I’ve never seen the northern lights before.”
He didn’t take his eyes off the skies. “Really?”
“Really,” I said. “I’ve always lived in the city. You really can’t see it there. All of those streetlights.”
“Well, this is one of the benefits of living at Cliffside,” he said. “Here’s to your first aurora borealis.”
He held his coffee cup out to me, his eyes still fixed on the show in the heavens above us. I quickly clinked his cup with mine and took a sip. Maybe this guy wasn’t out to murder me after all.
I settled back into my chair and drew the blanket up around me, my fear receding a bit, my breath slowing. I was sitting there with a strange man in the middle of the night, nearly alone on a huge property. But I had the sense that I was in no danger. Why I felt that way, I had no idea. Any sensible woman would have hurried away from there. My only explanation was that I had been fighting my feelings of fear for so long, trying so hard to break through all of that crippling anxiety to do something as benign as go downstairs to make coffee, that when I felt at ease, it was all too tempting just to go with it.
“Tomorrow, you really should take a walk on the path that goes down to the lake,” Nathan said, after a bit. “I’d take you down there now but you’d be sure I’d jump you.”
“You don’t know,” I said to him, a teasing tone in my voice. “Maybe I’d jump you. Maybe you’re the one who should be afraid out here on this dark night.”
He grinned and took a sip of his coffee. “Eleanor,” he said, finally. “I once knew a beautiful girl named Eleanor. They called her Ellie. Is that what they call you?”
“Norrie,” I said quickly, and then wished I could suck the words back into my mouth. I didn’t want the staff knowing my nickname in such an oddly formal place.
“Norrie,” he said. “It’s nice. Do you mind if I call you that?”
I wasn’t sure. In response to my scowl, he said, “You can call me Nate. Instead of Doctor Davidson.”
“Doctor?”
He squinted at me, not quite understanding my question.
“It’s just, I thought you were on the grounds crew.”
Again, his easy laugh. “I do love gardening, but no,” he said, pointing to his white coat, which I had noticed but not quite registered. Above his pocket, in cursive stitching, it read Dr. Davidson.
“I had no idea we had a resident doctor here,” I said.
“With all of the people coming in and out of Cliffside, it makes sense to have a doctor living on the property,” he explained. “Town is miles away.”
I supposed it did make sense. Six groups of fellows each year. I’m sure Miss Penny didn’t take medical histories from each of them—that just wasn’t done in this age of healthcare privacy—but, all the same, what if something went wrong while they were here? It would be beneficial to have a physician on the property. It wouldn’t be too hectic of a job, to be sure, but who was I to judge? My job as director would be just as sedate, once everything settled down to a normal rhythm.
“That’s all the patients you have, the ones at Cliffside?”
“No,” he said, stopping to take a sip of his coffee. “My practice is in town. I just live here on the grounds.”
Something about what he was saying wasn’t ringing true. Then I realized what it was. “Where were you when Miss Penny died? Why weren’t you called immediately? Or barring that, why didn’t you come and help?”
“I was at the hospital in town when it happened. I wish I had been here. But I think you know as well as I do . . .” His words trailed off into a shrug.
“You know about the suicide.” I wondered if Harriet or Mr. Baines had talked to him. “Are you the one who prescribed her those pills?”
“I wouldn’t have done that.”
“Can you shed any more light on what happened?”
“Mr. Baines called me as soon as he heard the news,” he said. “She was gone. Cliffside has seen its share of death over the years, but none of us were expecting that.”
A waiting room for death, I thought, taking a sip of my coffee, which was now getting cold.
“And speaking of that, as a doctor, I have a duty to inform you that this night air is damp,” he said, grinning. “You really should get back to your room before the day breaks. Shall I walk you up?”
I stretched, noticing the first tiny hint of light lapping at the edges of the night sky. All at once, despite the coffee, I felt like I could use a few more hours of sleep.
“No need,” I said, sitting up. “I know the way.”
“Let me take that cup from you,” he said, reaching out. I handed the cup to him and our fingers touched, just for a moment. Electricity shot into my hand, up my arm, and sizzled through my whole body. I could feel my face start to redden.
As I was placing my feet on the cement patio, I noticed the shards from the cup I broke.
“Be careful not to step on those,” he said. “I’ll clean it up, don’t worry.”
“Thanks,” I said, pulling my robe tighter around me.
“It was nice, sharing the middle of the night with you, Norrie,” he said, and flashed that movie-star smile again.
“Same to you, Nate,” I said. “Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.”
“I’ll count on it,” he said.
We walked through the French doors—any thought of him as a predator was long gone—and he gave me a smile as he headed off toward the kitchen with our two cups.
“See if you can get a few more hours of sleep before morning,” he called to me as I made my way up the stairs.
Back in my suite, I padded over to the window and peered around the curtains, hoping to see Nate walking back to his house, but I only saw the lawn, the first hint of light illuminating the grass.
My eyelids felt heavy, and I let out an enormous yawn. The good doctor was right; maybe I could catch another hour or so. I deposited my slippers and robe next to my bed and curled under my covers, resting my head on the nest of pillows I had assembled earlier. The good doctor, I thought. Nate Davidson. I still wasn’t sure quite what to think of him, but his name was the last thought on my mind before I drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 8
The next few days were a flurry of activity. Harriet and Mr. Baines were constantly buzzing here and there, she readying the house and the rooms for the arrival of the fellows, he planting flowers and mowing the grass. The housekeeping staff, more people than I had ever seen at Cliffside, were in high gear as well, polishing the silver, dusting the chandeliers and topmost shelves, and polishing the woodwork on the stairs, banisters, and the tables until they gleamed.
Harriet was deeply entrenched in preparing the menus for each week, and at one point, she and I sat in the dining room talking about breakfasts, lunches, and dinners for four weeks, taking into account the food preferences of each of the fellows. Mushrooms were fine for some, disastrous for others. Spices needed to be rather mild to suit all tastes. Seafood was not a favorite of most, but Lake Superior whitefish would do just fine. Horseradish was a definite no. Harriet ticked items off her l
ist rather hostilely, I thought.
One near crisis arose when she got word by letter just a few days before their arrival that one of the fellows was allergic to tomatoes. Harriet wailed, not being able to fathom enough recipes without tomatoes to get her through an entire month’s worth of meals.
“Why not offer him a simple alternative to the regular meal you’ll make?” I asked. “If you’re making spaghetti for the crowd, offer him an Alfredo or pesto sauce instead.”
This seemed to do the trick, and she scurried off, writing furiously in her notebook.
Food delivery trucks came and went, UPS and FedEx trucks dropped off packages. I could feel the atmosphere at Cliffside sizzle with anticipation—something was coming, and coming soon.
One thing we needed to take care of—and the thing everyone was dreading—before the fellows descended, we needed to have the committal ceremony. Miss Penny was to be buried next to her father and sister, per her wishes, and so we held the ceremony on a bright, sunny day two days before the fellows arrived.
Most of the staff assembled for the burial, and we all watched as Penelope Dare’s casket was lowered into the ground, Harriet taking deep, throaty gulps of air to keep from breaking down. The minister said a few words, and it was done.
I knew what Miss Penny had said about no service and no wake, but all the same, I had asked Harriet and her kitchen help to make up a few trays of hors d’oeuvres and open the bar. I thought the staff might appreciate some time to reflect, to share stories, and to toast a life well lived. She protested initially but relented, agreeing that the staff might need some time together before the fellows arrived, to remember Miss Penny in their own way.
“Please join me in the main house now,” I said to the staff after the committal, “and after that, don’t worry about your duties for the rest of the day. You all have been doing an absolutely stellar job preparing for the fellows, and we’re as ready as we’ll ever be. Today, we’ll gather in the house and raise a glass to Miss Penny and the wonderful work her family has done to foster a long line of artists and writers over the years. And, in two days’ time, we’ll be ready to welcome the next in that line together, just as she would have wanted us to do.”
The words came easily, as though Miss Penny herself were whispering them into my ear.
I looked for Nate during the reception, hoping to share a glass of wine, but never did find him. So I circulated among the staff, talking about Miss Penny, letting people share their memories of her with me. I was the person there who knew her the least, it occurred to me, but even so, I enjoyed hearing their reminiscences. Obviously, she was well loved. I sipped my Chardonnay and stood alone while people who had worked together for many years shared memories and laughed at old times.
All at once, I felt very much like a third wheel. I topped off my glass and had decided to take it upstairs to my room when I noticed Nate outside, talking intently to Mr. Baines, grave looks on both of their faces. I watched them for a moment, and then Mr. Baines went on his way, giving Nate a nod and a handshake before he walked off, leaving Nate alone.
I grabbed a beer from the bar, pushed open the door, and walked across the veranda toward him.
“Hey there,” I said, handing him the beer.
“What, no chilled glass?” he asked.
I crinkled my nose at him. “That’s a little highfalutin, don’t you think?”
“Doctors are like that,” he said, taking a long sip from the bottle. “It’s a class we take in medical school.”
“You’re not with the rest of the staff,” I said.
He leaned one elbow on the wall behind him. “One could say the same of you.”
I shrugged. “I’m the newest one here,” I said. “Everybody else has memories of her. Shared experiences. I’m the outsider, and I really don’t want to intrude.”
“I can relate,” he said. “I’m here on the grounds, but I’m not a part of the staff, not really. So many people come through here, it’s hard to keep track of them all.”
“You came to pay your respects, though,” I said, taking a sip of wine.
“I owed that much to Penelope, and the whole Dare family, at the very least,” he said. His eyes shifted and darkened. I could feel something—grief?—radiating off his skin.
“Did you know her well?”
He nodded. “We go way back.”
“We can go inside if you’d like,” I offered. “There are plenty of people to share memories with.”
“No,” he said, taking another sip. “Like I said, I don’t really know the staff apart from Harriet and Mr. Baines. You organized this whole thing so they could have some closure. It was a nice thing to do. But I notice you ended up feeling lonely in the crowd.”
I held his gaze, not sure of quite what to say. He was exactly right; I did feel lonely.
“Well, you’re here now,” I said. “My only friend on the playground.”
He laughed at this. “I have an idea,” he said, his eyes dancing. “You go back inside and grab another beer and wine, and I’ll take you down to my favorite spot on the lakeshore. You haven’t been down there yet, have you?”
“Oh, I see,” I said to him. “You’re the naughty friend on the playground.” But I couldn’t contain my grin.
“You’ve pegged me,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “But it sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”
I looked through the windows to the party inside, everyone laughing, talking, dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs. I didn’t belong in there, not really.
“I’ll be back in two minutes,” I said.
A short while later, I was back with a picnic basket. He shook his head and laughed. “Exactly how many beers do you have in there?”
“Two, for your information,” I said to him. “Along with some cheese, crackers, salami, and wine. Courtesy of Harriet.”
“Perfect,” he said, taking the basket from me and starting off across the lawn. “Follow me.”
I did as I was told. We headed toward the cliff, where I hadn’t yet been. When we reached it, he led me down a path carved through the rock. It meandered back and forth and back and forth again in an effort to abate the steep grade. We ended up on a sandy beach, the lake gently lapping on the sand, an old, wooden boathouse perched on its shore. A boy poked his head out of the door.
“Hey, Doc,” he called, lifting his hand in a wave.
“Hey, Eddie,” Nate called back. “Going sailing today?”
“Too calm,” the boy said, gesturing to the colorful wind sock lying deflated on its pole. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Nate and I ambled down the shoreline a bit. We rounded a corner, and there I saw an enormous, flat rock, big enough for two. He climbed onto it, sat down, and placed the basket in front of him.
“Perfect,” I said, and sank to my knees before sitting down on the smooth rock warmed by the midday sun.
He opened the wine and poured a glass, handed it to me, and laid the plate of cheese and crackers in front of the basket before opening his beer.
It really was a lovely spot. The cliff loomed large above us. I couldn’t see beyond it to the house or the grounds, but I could see down the rocky, windswept shoreline for at least a couple of miles and across the bay to an island not far offshore.
I popped a piece of salami wrapped around a bit of cheese into my mouth.
“It seems like it should be colder here, right down on the lakeshore,” I said, not knowing quite what else to say now that we were well and truly alone.
“You’ll be surprised,” he said. “Especially in winter, it’s warmer by the lake.”
We smiled at each other, both knowing we were doing that typical Midwestern trick of talking about the weather when awkward situations arose.
“So, how long have you been at Cliffside?” I asked him, taking a sip of wine.
“It seems like forever,” he said, stretching his legs out in front of him. He picked up a small stone and, with a quick motion, skimmed it along the
water. We watched it skip once, twice, three times before slipping beneath the surface.
“I’ve had jobs that seemed like that,” I said.
“Chester Dare hired me,” he continued. “Back in the day.”
That had to have been at least twenty years ago, before Chester and Chamomile died. I sipped my wine and searched Nate’s face for any hint of age—he seemed much too youthful to have held his position for that long. The man had to be in his mid-forties, but he looked about twenty-five. I thought about how age had not been kind to Miss Penny, but it was just the reverse with Nate. Almost as though she did the aging for both of them.
In any case, good, I thought. I had estimated myself to be at least a decade older than Nate, but now I knew we were more evenly matched. Not that I was entertaining any romantic feelings for him. This was only the second time we’d spoken, and I was still on my guard. I liked this man, but I didn’t know quite what to make of him. All those years of crime reporting would do that to a person, I supposed; suspicion becomes a way of life. A hard shell forms around you as a barricade against all of the horror you confront on a daily basis. Makes it difficult for the joy to get in.
“I investigated their deaths, Chester’s and Chamomile’s,” I said, giving voice to my thoughts. “For the newspaper. I was a reporter.”
Nate nodded and smiled. “That’s why you look familiar. You’ve been here before.”
“I don’t remember seeing you, though,” I said. “Miss Penny didn’t mention there was a doctor living on the grounds. At least I don’t think she did. I’d have remembered that. Sought you out.”
“She had a great deal on her mind back then,” Nate said, staring out over the water. “Penelope Dare.”
Curious, this reaction. I decided to push further.
“Miss Penny suspected it was murder, and so did I,” I said, taking another sip of wine. “But the police dropped the case—too soon, if you ask me. I investigated much further than they did but didn’t come up with much of anything. I think it wore on her, all of these years. Not knowing. I believe it was the reason—” I stopped myself before I said the words.