bright yellow Provençal pottery pitcher. Or were there elves like the shoemakerâs who did the flowers, fetched the papers, arranging everything before dawn? Then again could it, in fact, be the hand of Bishop herself?
Brent Justice had said the writer was working and would be âback later.â Did that mean she wasnât here in the house? He stopped by one of the doors. It had a little brass slot into which a card with âFaith Fairchild,â written in exquisite calligraphy, had been placed. Just like an English country house; but Faith didnât think there wouldbe any changing cards or tiptoeing in at midnight and out at dawn shenanigans.
âDoesnât Ms. Bishop write here in the house? You said sheâd be back later.â
âShe has a cabin in the woods. Claims she has to be in a place where she canât be distracted.â
Faith could understand the logic, although it surely must seem ridiculous to a New Englander like Justice that someone would build an enormous house, then have to escape to a cabin to do whatever it was writing people did. Bishop would certainly be distracted, what with looking out the windows and being tempted by the comforts of home. Which reminded Faith, where were the spa and the pool?
âI understand thereâs a pool and a spa. Not that Iâll have time to use them,â she added hastily. Sheâd be feeding him, too, and didnât want him to think he was in for a week of microwave macaroni and cheese while she was lounging about.
âHouse is kind of built like steps. Two floors in front, then three in the back. All that stuff and a place to watch movies is on the first floor all the way in the back. Starts under the kitchen.â
He opened the door to her room, and all of Faithâs thoughts of upstairs/downstairs disappeared. It was spacious with a view of a different beach in the distance. As you faced the house, this room was on the right side overlooking a meadow, a sea of wildflowers and grasses, and finally the sea itself. She should have known better. It was an island after all. They were surrounded by water and none of the rooms would have a bad view.
âIâll leave you to it.â He set her bags down. Sheâd beenso muddled by everything that she hadnât thought to have him leave the one with her culinary equipment in the kitchen. It didnât matter. Sheâd bring it down herself.
âThank you so much.â There was an awkward moment. She didnât know whether he was supposed to help her in the kitchen before dinner or was strictly on cleanup detail. She decided to go with a simple, âSee you later.â
He nodded. âAll your stuff is here and put away. Thereâs a pantry with another fridge and a freezer on the first floor next to where she keeps her wine.â
Faith nodded back. It was catching. Sheâd read the note, change, and take a quick tour.
Justice stopped at the door. âGardenâs out back. Strawberries are coming inâa few kindsâchard, lettuce, peas.â
And he was gone.
Faith took the note and sat down on the bed. Not too soft, not too hard. Sheâd sleep well here. The envelope wasnât sealed. The writing was the same as that on the room card. Surely the woman didnât write her books in longhand!
Dear Mrs. Fairchild,
Welcome to Bishopâs Island. I trust that you had a pleasant journey and that Brent has shown you where everything is. Actually, I am sure he hasnât, but he will at least have settled you into your room. Please feel free to acquaint yourself with the house. Your orders arrived and I have added a treat or two myself, as you will discover.My guests will all be here by seven oâclock, and should I be delayed by a fit of inspiration, I would like you to act as hostess and offer cocktails and hors dâoeuvres before dinner at eight.
I am so glad you were able to take all this on and am looking
Learning to Kill: Stories