Page 44 of The Only One Left
“Why don’t you stay in the main house?”
“Because I’m the groundskeeper and this is the groundskeeper’s cottage,” Carter says. “Besides, it’s nicer than that crooked old mansion. Cozy.”
When he ushers me inside, I see what he means. The cottage, while not large, has an undeniable charm. A single room divided into two areas—kitchen and bedroom, with a small closed-off bathroom in the corner—there’s a rustic feel to the place. Exposed beams run across the ceiling, and diamond-pane windows face the ocean. Throw pillows on the couch and neatly made bed add splashes of color, while Audubon prints of native seabirds brighten the walls.
Carter sits me down at a woodblock dining table big enough for only two people. My chair faces a boxy black-and-white TV on the kitchen counter, which broadcasts Game One of the World Series. Orioles versus the Phillies. Carter lowers the volume before opening a nearby cupboard.
“I have it on for background noise,” he says. “I’ll care about the World Series when the Red Sox are in it. Which will be never.”
From the cupboard, he produces two rocks glasses, into which hepours an inch of whiskey. One glass is placed on the table in front of me. He holds the other as he leans against the counter.
“Drink up,” he says. “It’ll calm your nerves.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Baker would approve.”
“Mrs. Baker probably has three glasses of Chardonnay under her belt and is now working on number four.”
“Oh.” I stare into my glass, surprised. I never would have pegged Mrs. Baker as someone with a drinking problem. She seems so... serious. It makes me wonder if she was that way before arriving at Hope’s End or if the place slowly drove her to drink. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. You just got here. But give it enough time and you’ll know all our secrets.”
I allow myself a tiny sip of whiskey. Carter is right. Its amber warmth instantly calms me. “Anything else I should know about Mrs. Baker?”
Carter leaves the counter and approaches the table, turning the remaining chair around so he can straddle it, his arms folded across the backrest. Inside and in the light, I notice things about him that I missed earlier. Like the small cleft in his chin barely visible beneath his beard. Or the way he smells freshly showered. The scents of soap and shampoo rise off his skin.
“Such as?” he says.
“Her first name, for starters.”
“Beats me. I have no clue. What’s your guess?”
“Morticia,” I say. “Or Cruella.”
Carter, caught mid-sip, snort laughs. “Maybe Archie knows, since he’s been here as long as she has.”
“Do you think they’re a couple?” I say.
“I doubt it. From what I can tell, they barely speak to each other.”
“Then why do you think they’ve stayed here this long? Archie told me he’s been here almost sixty years, and Mrs. Baker left but eventually came back. I assume both of them could have gotten jobs anywhere.”
“I think the situation is more complicated than that,” Carter says. “They knew Lenora before the murders. And the truth is, she’d behelpless without them. I think they know that, which might explain why they’ve been here so long.”
“And how long have you been here?”
“Ah, now you’re interested inmysecrets,” Carter says with a smile that could be considered flirtatious but is more likely out of politeness. No one has flirted with me for a very long time. Kenny certainly didn’t. He skipped the flirting and got straight to the point. Sadly, it worked.
“You said I’ll find out eventually,” I say, trying a little weak flirting myself. I blame the attempt on the whiskey. “You might as well tell me now.”
“Mysecret is that I’m not a groundskeeper. At least I wasn’t until I took this job.”
“What were you?”
“A bartender.” Carter raises his glass, takes a sip. “That feels like a lifetime ago, even though it’s only been a year. One of my regulars was the former groundskeeper here. When he retired, he suggested I be his replacement. Even put in a good word for me.”
“That seems like quite a leap, from bartender to groundskeeper.”
“Oh, it was. My guess is he thought I was trustworthy, which is necessary for a place like Hope’s End. Mrs. Baker agreed, and now here I am.”
