Hearse and Gardens (15 page)

Liv came back to Elle's room, wearing riding gear. “You ready?” she whispered, looking over at a sleeping Elle.

I joined her in the hall. Liv held a pair of tall black boots in her hand. “I thought it'd be fun if we took the horses. I had them brought over from the ranch. You do ride, don't you?”

“Nope. Never have.” Not much horse riding in Detroit or Manhattan.

“Don't worry. You can hop on with me. If you're too frightened, the gatehouse is in walking distance.”

Me, afraid of a little ole horse?

We started down the hallway. Kate stepped out from a room next to the guest room and said, “Oh, where are you guys headed?”

“My first horseback lesson,” I said.

Liv handed me the boots. “Kate, come with us.”

“No. I'll pass. Not my idea of a good time.”

Liv's boots fit perfectly. We were both a size 8. Twenty minutes later we were on our way to Nathan's gatehouse. Liv sat behind me and held the reins of a beautiful black stallion with a white diamond on his forehead. His name was Sparky, and I hoped he wouldn't spark while I was on him. It had taken about six tries before I could get up on the saddle. It was quite an amazing feeling sitting on top of such a large beast. I might add horseback riding to my bucket list of learning to knit and surfing.

We took a dirt road that headed east toward the lighthouse. It was very secluded. There were signs posted every couple hundred feet. Either
CAUTION, HUNTING IN
AREA, ARCHERY NOV. 1–DEC
. 31
or
NO TRESPASSING: V
IOLATORS WILL BE PRO
SECUTED.

When we turned down a rutted grass lane, all I saw were untamed scrubby bushes and gnarly trees bent and twisted from being battered by storms off the ocean. I'd thought Little Grey was secluded. This brought new meaning to the word.

Liv steered the horse left and we stopped in front of the gatehouse. “The way we came is a shortcut, but you can only take it on foot or horseback. There's another more direct way, via Montauk Highway, but I don't like to bring Sparky near cars. It's the only time I've seen him get upset.” She patted the horse's sturdy neck. “I didn't tell Uncle Nathan we were coming, in case he feels he has to entertain us, but I know where he hides the key.”

She helped me dismount. As soon as my feet hit solid ground, my knees gave way. I fell butt first and succumbed to a fit of giggles. “Guess I don't make a good cowgirl.”

“You did great for your first time. Just make sure you soak in the tub tonight with some Epsom salts. You're going to be sore.” She grabbed both my hands and pulled me up from the ground.

Sure enough, the muscles in my inner thighs felt stretched to their limits. I understood why cowboys walked bowlegged.

Liv took out an inhaler from her jacket pocket, put it to her mouth, and pumped three times. I hoped it had nothing to do with pulling me up from the ground. She was a lot smaller than me.

She said, “I learned I had asthma at boarding school. I almost died. I snuck out to a party at a neighboring boys' school, and when our group of girls ran back to make curfew, I had an attack. The headmaster thought I'd done drugs or had alcohol poisoning. I lived to breathe another day, thanks to a smart EMT who realized I had asthma. Now I can't go anywhere without my inhaler.”

It must have been hard to lead such an active lifestyle and have asthma. I knew you just had to deal with the cards you were given. No pity parties when it came to disabilities. That attitude not only ruined your life but also the lives of those around you.

Liv tethered the horse to an antique hitching post, then disappeared through the stone archway to retrieve the key.

The only thing I could say about the gatehouse was it was amazing. The exterior was made out of flagstones, similar to the hearth at my rental. The roof had slate shingles, which looked original, although I think it would be impossible with all the nor'easters and storms. In the center of the gatehouse was a stone arch where a gate
once stood. Through the arch was a flagstone courtyard and a fountain surrounded by concrete benches. The stone arch divided the gatehouse into two equal parts, and each side had a stone chimney. The second floor spanned the entire width of the gatehouse.

Liv came back a few minutes later holding the key. She led me under the stone arch. On the left side there was a red door with iron hardware. “Uncle Nathan's not here. His van's gone. When he sees Sparky, he'll know I'm here.”

We walked into a vaulted, lantern-hung hallway. The floor was slate and covered with a burgundy runner. The corridor ended at a sitting room with a roughhewn wood mantel and a fireplace where embers still glowed. There were two cordovan leather sofas trimmed in brass tacks on either side of the small fireplace. It was almost a mini version of an English country lodge, similar to the old part of Sandringham.

I looked out the window at a forest of trees, hoping for a glimpse of the ocean.

“Hello, ladies.”

I turned.

Nathan held a clear plastic bag filled with some kind of seedpods in one hand and a paper bag from the IGA in the other. “I must have ESP. How about some of my special hot chocolate? Meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes. In the meantime, Liv, you can give Ms. Barrett a tour of my humble abode.”

“Please call me Meg. I'd love a tour and hot chocolate.”

Liv said, “And while we drink our hot chocolate, Uncle Nathan, I can show you my father's journal and a discovery Meg made.”

“A discovery. How intriguing.” He walked away, almost having to duck under the door frame at the other end of the room.

In the hallway outside the sitting room, we had a choice: left led to the kitchen, and in front of us was a set of steps. We took the steps. At the top of the stairway there was a short hallway and a door on our left. Liv led me inside. It was a naturalist's room. There were vintage charts of plant life and Audubon-style birds on the walls.

“Besides being an environmentalist, Uncle Nathan is a local wildlife expert. He's recently rescued an endangered roseate tern and had it sent to the wildlife foundation in Riverhead for mending. A few years ago he nursed a wounded baby peregrine falcon.” Liv pointed to one of the charts on the wall, which showed the various stages of a peregrine falcon from egg to adulthood.

Against the far wall was a tall antique wood cabinet. It had wide drawers with brass drawer pulls. The top drawer was open, filled with a stack of old maps, foxed with age. The room had the same vibe I loved in the document section at Grimes House Antiques. The top of a drafting desk had a map thumbtacked to the wood. I stepped closer. It was a map of Montauk's ocean shoreline. Three little flag pins were stuck on the map. Starting from the west and moving east were Andy Warhol's estate, Sandringham, and what I assumed was Nathan's former ancestral land. The map looked fairly old, maybe early twentieth century. It was on yellowed paper and looked hand tinted. I was hoping to see an
X
where some treasure had been buried.

I checked the leather volumes in the small bookcase by the drafting table and didn't see a copy of the book I'd taken from the bungalow about Montauk. Maybe after I went through it, I'd give it to Nathan for his collection. I felt fulfilled when I found the perfect home for my old stuff.

We left the naturalist room and took the corridor that connected the two sides of the second story. Windows flanked both sides of the overpass, and there were stunning views of the ocean through the line of back windows. The foundation was evident where Nathan's family's mansion once stood. It was an extraordinary piece of property, and I couldn't wait to see it after Byron Hughes transformed it. Was Nathan upset about making the land into a public park? I would have been, letting people on the property, negating all the
NO TRESPASSING
signs that had kept the riffraff away for decades.

At the end of the overpass was a bedroom and bathroom. There was room enough for a king-sized bed and two nightstands. At the end of the bed was a humpbacked trunk. Maybe Captain Kidd's? In the center of the room was a spiral iron staircase. The back wall had a large multipaned sash window with another incredible view of the Atlantic. Soon, Nathan would have to add some curtains for privacy.

Liv went to the window and I heard her gasp. “Do you believe this scene?” She pointed west.

I went next to her and looked toward Sandringham. Beyond a boxwood hedge maze was a wooden deck with steps leading down to the beach. Celia and Richard stood below, near the shoreline. They were fused in a passionate
kiss. Instead of Richard leading Celia into the beach cabana, it was Celia who took Richard's arm. She yanked him inside like a tiger with a carcass of fresh meat.

Stepping back from the window, I said, “Does your grandfather know about Celia and Richard?”

“I don't think so. I've always suspected them but never saw them in any compromising positions. Richard came to the house the same time Celia did. Before Sandringham, he was a concierge at the yacht club.”

“Will you tell your grandfather?”

“At this point, he probably doesn't care. I'll talk to Brandy. She'll tell me when Granddad is in the right frame of mind. She hates Celia, even more than me. Before Celia, Brandy ran all my Granddad's affairs, financially and socially, and she's always been there for me. Just like Uncle Nathan and Mrs. Anderson.”

I followed Liv down the spiral staircase, and we entered a room that was a clone of the sitting room, only it looked like it was used as a study. The room had a fireplace, a flat-screen TV, a wing chair and ottoman, and a desk facing the window. “It's so cozy.” What was it about me and small spaces?

We entered the gatehouse kitchen, which was slightly larger than my rental's. The room was simple and well organized, with copper pots hanging from the ceiling, and a four-burner gas stove with a small oven, about as old as my “icebox.” Two copper saucepots sat on the stove. One was a double boiler. Nathan added chunks of chocolate from a bowl to the pan with one hand and stirred constantly with the other hand. The back burner had simmering milk. He told us to grab a mug and get in line.

That we did.

He emptied the melted chocolate into the milk, then whisked it together. Before pouring it into our cups, he added an unusual ingredient: a pinch of cayenne pepper.

I said, “I bet I know where you learned that trick. Ingrid.”

He said, “How'd you know?”

“I just got a lesson on the antioxidant properties of cayenne.”

“Did she tell you the word comes from the town Cayenne, in French Guiana, and can actually settle an upset stomach?”

“No. She didn't.”

“I add my own special touch to my hot chocolate. Let me know what you think.” He scooped out marshmallow fluff from a glass Ball jar and put it on top of each cup, then he smoothed it with the back of a spoon and torched it, like you did to crème brûlée.

We sat at the small round table.

With the first sip, memories of Michigan winters flooded over me: ice-skating on the lake with my mother, school snow days building igloo forts with my father. I took another sip and said, “Wow, this is the best hot chocolate I've ever had.”

Liv said, “Ditto, Uncle Nathan.”

Nathan gave Liv a warm look. It added to the room's ambiance: the smell of chocolate and the intimate setting. They shared a close bond. Maybe he'd taken the place of her father in her life?

Liv pushed the journal across the table. “Look at the last four pages. Meg thinks they must have something to do with Morrison Manor. What do you think?”

We remained silent while he flipped back and forth between the four pages.

Finally, after five minutes had passed, he said, “The view of the main house from the shore could be of Morrison Manor, but the other three pages look like something from
The
Count of Monte Cristo
. I think Pierce was just fooling around with the idea of Morrison Manor, mixing folklore with reality.”

Yes. Or stealing ideas for his next children's book.

We returned to Sandringham via horseback. Liv kept Sparky at a snail's pace. I could tell Sparky wanted to let loose and blamed me for holding him back. Every time I patted his mane, he showed his teeth and whinnied. Between Sparky and Jo, I was starting to get a complex.

I went up to see Elle and we chatted about the film festival. I waited for her pain pill to do its magic, then told her I was leaving. She handed me the keys to her pickup, telling me I might as well take advantage of the truck's large capacity. She didn't plan to leave the estate anytime soon, and I could see why, especially when I looked at her lunch tray—Cascade couldn't have gotten the plates any cleaner.

*   *   *

I parked my Jeep next to the garage, a few feet from Elle's pickup. I got out and saw that one of the garage doors was open. Richard was inside, handwashing the limo, and he didn't appear to be enjoying the job.