Page 14 of Drawing Home
Bea looked at him in surprise. This insubordination was not typical and certainly not acceptable. But she would give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it was due to the stress of their present circumstances.
“You’re just saying that because she’s attractive. Really, Kyle, I expect more from you. At least while you’re on the clock.” Men were all the same; when they saw a pretty face, their brains melted. She eyed the stairs. “Kyle, follow close behind me with my bag. If I take a tumble, I hope you have the presence of mind and physical fortitude to break my fall.”
She made her way slowly to the upper level of the duplex, holding on to the wooden railing. The wall to her right was lined with books. She felt like she was slipping into a library attic hideaway. It was oddly delightful.
The room had a queen bed covered in a white duvet and a wooden cabinet by the bed with an old-fashioned phone on top. The wood-beamed ceiling was slanted low on both sides.
“See, they don’t make rooms like this anymore,” Bea said, turning to make sure Kyle was behind her. He hovered near the steps.
“So I guess I’ll be sleeping on the couch?”
“We all have to make sacrifices, Kyle. We’re here for a very important purpose, not a vacation.”
“I know it’s not a vacation,” Kyle said. “But since I have absolutely nothing to do, I’m heading down to the bar. That’s where you can find me if you need me.”
Bea had a strict no-cocktails-before-five rule. But she supposed a glass of wine at this juncture couldn’t hurt. “Fine. If you insist. I will join you.”
The bar was just a few steps beyond the lobby. There was a working fireplace, half a dozen tables for dining, and eclectic odds and ends everywhere. On the mantel, an elephant candelabra, and on one wall, a mounted moose head with…was that a cigarette in its mouth? And everywhere, nautical paintings in gilt frames.
They found seats in the middle of the bar, which was set with little silver bowls filled with roasted almonds. A row of framedWine Spectatorawards lined one wall, and overhead were the same Tiffany lamps that could be found throughout the hotel.
Not a thing had changed in the thirty years since Bea had had a drink in that very spot.
She could still remember, like it was yesterday, the way Henry had looked sitting just about where Kyle was now. He had been in his forties at the time, his thick dark hair just starting to gray. Like all men, he’d grown more distinguished and handsome as the years passed, and like most women, Bea had become less physically alluring. It hardly mattered; she had never been a beauty, and she’d built her life and self-worth around her career. By the time they’d taken the fateful trip to Sag Harbor, all she’d cared about was work. It was her guiding principle in life—focus on success. Work was the one thing that never let her down. That was true to this day.
“Have you considered,” Kyle said, “that maybe Henry really did simply leave his house to someone else?”
Case in point—her own assistant was undermining her. “Really, Kyle? Whose side are you on?” Bea ordered a glass of sauvignon blanc, and Kyle asked for a shot of whiskey.
“Whiskey? Do you think that’s appropriate?” she said.
He looked around. “We’re sitting at a bar.”
With a huff, she picked up the happy-hour food menu. Pâté de foie de canard. Free-range-rabbit confit with mustard. Pickerell’s Hog’s Neck oysters. “Young man, I’ll have a shrimp cocktail,” she called to the bartender. “I haven’t had a thing to eat all day. Who could at a time like this?” Bea said, turning to Kyle. “Do you want something?”
He shook his head.
Bea noticed she was the only woman in the room. The men around them spoke in groups of three and four. There was talk of golf games and boats, of travel, wives, and children.
Bea turned to Kyle. “You know, Henry was alone out here. Vulnerable. We have to get to the bottom of this.”
Their drinks arrived, and Kyle tossed his back and promptly ordered another. Bea felt a twinge of alarm. This was, perhaps, not the best environment for her assistant. He wasn’t acting like himself.
She sipped her wine, and the thought struck her that Henry had died sitting at that very bar. Of course, she had known this, but she had somehow been able to compartmentalize the detail until that moment. Now it felt like a punch in the gut. Tears filled her eyes. She had never felt more alone. At least she had Kyle.
The bartender appeared with her shrimp.
“Bea,” Kyle said. “Listen. I really appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me these past five years. I’ve learned a lot. But I think it’s time that—”
“I simply cannot eat,” Bea said, slowly easing her way off the bar stool. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to retire to the room. I need to save my energy for the battle ahead.”
Chapter Seven
Penny stood at the bathroom sink lathering up the soap, rolling it around and around in her hands until it frothed and bubbled like something breathing. The tap was running, and she knew she was both wasting waterandexceeding Dr. Wang’s thirty-second limit on hand-washing, but she couldn’t stop herself.
Something was going on, and wondering what it was made her nervous. She’d tried to eavesdrop from the stairs when the man in the tie showed up at the house, but Angus had caught her and sent her back to her room. Angus! And tomorrow she was supposed to spend the day with him helping out at the Sag Harbor Historical Society. She hated that musty old building and there was nothing for her to do. She’d spent entire afternoons there during which only one person showed up to look at the archives.
Still, she had to admit she needed something to distract her. She missed drawing. She couldn’t even look at a blank sheet of paper. It made her too sad. What was the point anymore?
