Winter Cottage

by Mary Ellen Taylor

  The front door of the school opened, and the kids began to stream out. “I know. Look, I’ve got to go.”

  “Hey, Lucy, before you go, I heard about a job. You remember Ray?”

  “Sure.” Ray-Ray, a.k.a. Raymond Tucker, owned several bars on the Lower Broadway strip.

  “He’s looking for a new manager. Paying good money. Your name came up.”

  “It did?”

  “Yeah. I told him you were probably looking. He’s going to give you a call. Could be a great opportunity.”

  “Thanks, Raven.”

  “I do look out for my girl.”

  “Yes. You do. Look, I’ve got to go. Talk to you soon.”

  “Take Ray-Ray’s call. He’s a heavy hitter. The job could mean some serious jack.”

  “Will do.” She hung up as the Jeep’s back door opened with a whoosh and Natasha tossed in her backpack and jumped into the car. “You made it!”

  “I said I would.”

  She clicked her seat belt. “People say all kinds of things. Doesn’t always mean much.” She hugged Dolly. “She’s like a big cuddly teddy bear.”

  Lucy shifted into first gear. “She’s the best.”

  Natasha’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. “You’re going to have a reception back at Winter Cottage, right?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “That’s what people do after a funeral. They have folks over for food. Daddy didn’t do it for Mama, but I know that’s the proper way. It wouldn’t have to be much. Maybe cake or something.”

  Lucy pulled onto the main road. “What kind of cake?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What was your mother’s favorite?”

  Natasha’s dark eyes brightened. “Chocolate. Definitely, chocolate.”

  “Is there a bakery in town?”

  “It went out of business, and Miss Megan only bakes pies for Arlene.”

  The song on the radio ended, and another Keith Urban song began. Back-to-back Urban. As Beth would have said, the universe always sent messages. “Turns out one of my many odd jobs was as a bakery assistant. I can make it.”

  “Really?” the girl almost squealed.

  “Absolutely. And maybe we could have it at the gravesite, and you can be in charge of serving it?”

  Natasha looked puzzled. “What’s wrong with Winter Cottage?”

  Lucy arched a brow, considered sugarcoating the story, then decided that if she expected the truth, she’d better be willing to give it. “The road crews found a well on the property. And they think there are bones in the bottom that have been there a long time.”

  “No way!” Natasha’s eyes widened as she drummed her fingers on the seat. “Who do you think it is?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “It’s taped off right now. The sheriff is figuring it out.”

  “Cool. Can we still bake the cake?”

  “Sure. But we’ll need to stop at the store.”

  While Natasha prattled about her theories on dead bodies, Lucy drove to the market and parked. Dolly waited in the car while she and Natasha hurried inside and collected the ingredients as well as more school lunchbox fixings for Natasha.

  At checkout, Natasha and Paula theorized more about the body as the news was already making the rounds in town. Lucy charged the supplies to her account and loaded up the groceries.

  “Hey, if you drive another mile past Winter Cottage, we can see Hank’s new winery. It’s not done yet, but it’s pretty cool.”

  Lucy didn’t know a lot about Hank’s operation here and realized she was curious. “He won’t mind?”

  “Naw. It’s wintertime, so there’s not much to do with the vineyards. Kind of the closest he comes to a slow time.”

  “Let’s have a look.” She drove past the turnoff to the cottage another mile and a half until she spotted the directional sign pointing to Beacon Vineyards. She took the left onto the dirt road.

  “Hank wants a paved road, but he says it’ll have to wait,” Natasha said. “Money’s tight.”

  As they made their way closer to the water, she saw a large metal-framed warehouse that honestly wasn’t much to look at. She spotted Hank’s truck and parked beside it. Out of the car, they were greeted by the sounds of hammers and Hank’s deep voice.

  Lucy and Natasha pushed through the door, and both watched as Hank, on tall scaffolding, peered into a large stainless-steel vat. Wrench in hand, he worked on a valve below him as another young man held a section of piping in place beside the vat.

  “Hey, Hank!” Natasha said.

  He looked around, his gaze a mixture of annoyance and worry until he saw Lucy standing beside Natasha. “Everything all right?”

  “Natasha wanted to show me around,” Lucy said. “If this isn’t a good time, we can leave.”

  “I’ll be right down.” He spoke to the man on the other side of the tank, and when he seemed satisfied with his answer, climbed down the side of the scaffolding. “We’re trying to get the new tanks installed,” he said. “Like any task, the first time has its challenges.”

  “I hear you,” Lucy said. “The next tank will go up in half the time.”

  “That is the hope,” Hank said.

  “Boy, you’ve gotten a lot done,” Natasha said. “This room was empty the last time I was here.”

  “We’re making progress,” Hank said.

  Lucy looked around the room, and though he was in the process of installing equipment, she could see that this was one heck of an undertaking. “This the first time you’ll make your own wine?”

  “Correct,” he said. “We’ve always had a great reputation when it comes to selling our grapes but have never made our own. Hopefully, by this fall after the harvest, we’ll be able to reserve some of the crop and make a run at our own label.”

  “You’ve gotten all this accomplished since you returned home in the last six months?” she asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of years.”

  “Are those tanks stainless steel?” Lucy asked.

  “They are. We’ll age our chardonnay grapes in there for nine months. The beauty of stainless steel is that the taste will be pure. We have ancient shell in the sandy loam soil, and it imparts a great flavor in the grapes.”

  “I don’t know much about soil,” Lucy said.

  “Basically, we have sand particles in our soil, which means it has to be watered and fertilized frequently. The shore is a beautiful place to live, but the land makes you work for everything.”

  No truer words spoken. “What’s the grand plan?”

  “After we get this equipment installed, the next phase is to build a tasting-and-event room. Events are not only a moneymaker but also help with publicity. Part of the fifteen-year plan.”

  “Fifteen years. I’m impressed.”

  “This is just the beginning.”

  She could barely hold down a job for more than a year, and he was writing out fifteen-year plans. “I envy you your dedication. It’s good to be a part of something bigger.”

  “Hank,” the man from above called. “I got that bolt loose.”

  “Great. I’ll be right up.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got to get back. I’ll see you two later.”

  Natasha clasped her hands together. “Don’t work too hard!”

  Lucy smiled at Hank, but as she turned she was amazed at what he’d accomplished and what he was building. As easy as her life was in Nashville, she had no roots or anything to call her own.

  Ten minutes later, she pulled into the driveway and past the flapping caution tape ringing the well.

  “Stop!” Natasha said. “I want to see it.”

  “We need to leave it to the sheriff. And there’s no telling what other wells are out there.”

  “So cool.”

  She drove slowly over the graveled road and was glad to be able to park right by the kitchen under the side portico. More progress
. She was moving in the right direction.

  She unloaded the groceries as Dolly and Natasha ran around the yard. She then refilled the dog’s water bowl and dug out a chew stick from the day’s haul at the store. Dolly and Natasha burst through the side door. Dolly lapped up the water while Natasha dumped her backpack and shrugged off her coat.

  “Are you hungry?” Lucy asked.

  “Starving.”

  “Sandwich?”

  “Two would be better.”

  “Didn’t you make yourself something for lunch today?”

  “I did, but I think I have a hollow leg. I’m always hungry.” She washed her hands. “I can make the sandwiches if you want to start on the cake.”

  “Sure. That works.”

  Lucy washed her hands and moved into the pantry in search of pans. The small storage room was a time machine. Its three walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with pots, pans, glasses, serving platters, and crystal punch bowls. All the pieces showed the worn patina of items that had been well used over many years. This house had been built for entertaining.

  As Natasha bit into her first sandwich, Lucy found a set of round cake pans, a ceramic mixing bowl, and a white platter. She washed off each piece and, turning a switch, watched as the gas heat clicked on. “Okay, we’re cooking, girls.”

  It took her less than twenty minutes to mix the cake batter, butter and fill the pans, and place both in the oven. She set a timer on her phone. Forty minutes. She took ten minutes mixing up the chocolate icing with a large wooden spoon until the butter blended perfectly with the powdered sugar and cocoa.

  “When were you a baker?” Natasha asked.

  “I was about eighteen. And I wasn’t exactly a baker. I worked in a bakery. I’ve worked a lot of jobs like that. Shoe salesman. Waitress. Bartender. Sketch artist. Nothing too memorable.”

  “Whose picture did you draw?”

  “No one in particular. Tourists mostly. I’d set up my easel and pencils. It never took long before someone stopped and wanted their picture drawn.”

  “Could you draw me?”

  “Sure. Start your homework, and I’ll get my pad.” She retrieved her sketchbook and pencils and found Natasha sitting at the kitchen island with her books open.

  Lucy fished out her phone, turned on her downloaded Country’s Best playlist, and started to draw the girl.

  “My face is too plain,” Natasha said without looking up.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t look like anybody. I’m dark like my mother but not pretty like she was. And I don’t look like Dad at all.”

  Lucy drew the outline of her face. “It’s okay to have your own special look.”

  Natasha frowned, twisting her finger around a dark curl. “Everyone says you look just like your mom.”

  “I do.”

  Natasha looked up. “Were you sad when she died?”

  Her chest tightened and her breath caught. “I was and I still am. She wasn’t perfect, but she worked hard all her life to make a home for me.”

  “How old was your mom when she died?” Natasha asked.

  “Forty-seven,” Lucy said. “A short run.”

  “My mom was forty-one when she died,” Natasha said softly. “A short run too.”

  Vulnerability and sadness drained the energy from Natasha. What could Lucy say to bring back her smile? She wished the universe would send her a clear, concise message right about now for the little girl.

  On the sketchpad she shaped the girl’s almond eyes and filled in the irises. Though Natasha’s expression had just saddened, Lucy drew bright, expressive eyes and lips that curled into a smile.

  “My dad came to the school today,” Natasha said. “The principal told me. She also said she called Hank.”

  Lucy shaded the soft ringlets framing the girl’s face. “Your father called me too.”

  Natasha nibbled her bottom lip. “What did he say?”

  “He was a lot of bluster.”

  “He can be mean.”

  “I’ve handled enough guys like him. Don’t worry.”

  “He knows I’m staying here.”

  “And so does Hank and the sheriff. And both aren’t more than ten minutes away. And honestly, it would take a tank to bust through one of the doors in this house.”

  Natasha relaxed a little. “And he’s too big to get through my window. Which I blocked with a big box, by the way.”

  Deflecting the subject, Lucy asked, “Do you have any pictures of your mother?”

  Without a word, Natasha unzipped a side pocket of her backpack and pulled out one. “Mom and me, when I was a baby.”

  Lucy studied the image of a thin, pretty African American woman holding a two-year-old with a wide grin and a wild spray of hair. They were standing beside a popcorn stand, and in the background, red and yellow balloons rose up to a bright-blue sky. “Where was this taken?”

  “In Norfolk. We went to the zoo. My dad was having a good day, and he came with us. He took the picture. Anytime I smell popcorn, I think of her.”

  Lucy took the sketch of Natasha out of her notebook and laid it on the counter. She began to draw the girl’s mother, capturing the woman’s bright smile and the look of utter joy she emanated in that moment.

  Natasha rested her chin on her hand and watched as Lucy shaded around angled cheekbones and full eyebrows. “She usually didn’t wear her hair loose like that.”

  “I like her this way,” Lucy said. “She looks happy.”

  “She does.” Natasha was beaming.

  “That’s how you should remember her,” Lucy said.

  “I try to, but sometimes I remember how sick she was at the end.”

  Lucy understood how hard it was to hold on to the best memories. The good memories of Beth had been crowded out with moments of Lucy trying to get her to the bathroom before she got sick, the headaches and the medicines that made her mother weep, and finally the falls that left her mother’s legs and arms bruised.

  She wanted to remember the Beth in the videos. The woman who was excited and ready to tackle life. She handed the sketch to Natasha and waited.

  “She’s so pretty,” Natasha said.

  Lucy slowly put the two sketches side by side and still said nothing. The universe had sent its message.

  Natasha was silent for a moment. “I do look like my mom. Can I frame them?”

  “Sure. I’m sure someone sells picture frames in town.”

  “Can I put them in my room now?”

  “Sure. Why don’t you do that while I ice the cakes?” Lucy fished a roll of tape out of a drawer that appeared to be filled with all the things that had no other place to be.

  “Okay.” She took the tape and sketches and dashed to the door but stopped. “If anyone knows how that body got into the old well, Mrs. B did. She lived here, like forever.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “We need to keep watching the tapes. I bet she tells us.”

  “Agreed.”

  Lucy had just finished icing the cake when the front bell rang. Wiping her hands, she glanced through the windowpanes flanking the door. Hank stood on the front porch with a pizza box in his hand. She tugged her sweater down, stood straighter, and moistened her lips before she unlatched the locks.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Lucy

  January 16, 2018

  Since they’d seen him at the winery, Hank had changed into clean jeans and a V-neck sweater. His hair was damp from a shower. She caught the scent of sandalwood soap. He held up the pizza box. “I know how that kid can eat.”

  “She just ate two sandwiches, but I’m sure she’ll eat more.” She stepped aside. “Come on in.”

  “Something smells good.”

  She closed the door behind him and locked it. “Chocolate cake. Natasha said food should always be served at a funeral.” She shrugged. “Worse case, she’ll be having cake for breakfast day after tomorrow.”

  “Where is she?”


  “Putting a few things away in her room.”

  “Which is hers?”

  “The blue one across from mine.”

  He strode into the kitchen, and as he set the pizza box down, he spotted her sketchbook opened to a street scene she’d sketched in Nashville. “That’s really good. You did that?”

  “It’s a hobby.”

  “A hobby? Mind if I look?”

  Smiling, she closed the book. “It’s just scribbles.”

  “More than that. You ever take lessons?”

  “No. Just picked up tips here and there.” She turned to the cabinet and pulled out plates. “What’s the status of the bones in the well?”

  “That’s my other reason for coming. Rick and I are going to excavate the site in the morning, and then we’re sending it off to the state lab.”

  She nodded. “Natasha and I were just going to watch more videotapes of Mrs. B.”

  “Tapes?”

  “Turns out, Beth interviewed Mrs. B right before she left town for good. Started as a history project, and then Mrs. B hired Beth to tape her full story.”

  “I didn’t realize that.”

  “I found the tapes in a box in a parlor closet. You’re welcome to join us. If anybody would know who or what might be in the well, it would be her.”

  “Sure. I’ve got some time.”

  “Would you like a glass of wine? I picked up a couple of bottles in town.”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s from the corner store, so I don’t know what a wine grower would make of it.” She grabbed a couple of glasses and a bottle from the fridge.

  He found an opener in a drawer and poured two glasses. “They carry quite a few blends there that are really good, including this one.”

  “I’ve got to say, I’m very impressed with what you’ve done at the winery. Looks like you’ve got a great vision for this place.”

  “We’ll see if I can pull it off.”

  “Am I standing in the way of your plan?” she said.

  He studied her a long moment as if wrestling with what he’d say next. “Lucy, there’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you about the land.”

  “Okay.” She took a sip but didn’t take her eyes off him.

  “My father planted his grapes thirty years ago on the land adjacent to Winter Cottage. Samuel leased the land to my father for one dollar a year.”