The burnt orange sunrise bam-4

by David Handler

  “Believe me, what I’m thinking about right now is not healthy. Not career-wise. But I’m so nuts about this woman that I’m seriously considering turning it down. The very job I’ve been fighting for these past five years. Totally insane, right?”

  “Not if it will make you happy.”

  “But it’ll make me damaged goods, as far as the job is concerned.”

  “Jobs come and go.”

  “Mitch, what would you do?”

  “That’s hard to say, since I don’t know the woman.” He looked at Spence pointedly. “Or do I?”

  “She’s in the media,” Spence repeated stubbornly. “And it’s kind of…”

  “Complicated, I got that,” said Mitch, wondering why Spence wouldn’t provide any more details about this woman. Wondering if it was because she was none other than Hannah Lane. Hannah worked in the media. Hannah was living in Washington, D.C. And Spence had known her off and on for years through the Panorama internship program. Toss in that she was presently hooked up with Aaron Ackerman and, well, that sure qualified as one hell of a complication, didn’t it?

  Question: Was it possible that the talented young filmmaker was romantically involved with both men?

  Answer: Hell, yes.

  CHAPTER 8

  “This is absolutely the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my life,” Des exclaimed, because it absolutely was-hot, strong and flavorful. She gulped it down gratefully as she huddled there next to the stove in her big coat, both hands wrapped around the mug for warmth.

  Jory had gotten two big kettles of bottled water up and boiling on the kitchen’s battered old six-burner propane stove, enough to fill a pair of Melita drip coffeemakers and a ceramic teapot for Ada’s Lemon Zinger.

  “Coffee always tastes better when it’s cold out,” she said, smiling faintly at Des.

  “Not to mention cold in,” added Hannah, who was lending Jory a hand with breakfast.

  Actually, Des had barely recognized Hannah without her bright red lipstick and jaunty beret. She also had on a different pair of glasses-slender, contemporary wire rims instead of those heavy round ones she’d worn last night, when she’d seemed to Des like an effete, rather useless trendoid. But stripped of her war paint and Left Bank costume, Hannah looked a lot more useful than she’d first appeared. Narrow-shouldered, yes, but broad through her hips and flanks, with strong wrists and large, knuckly hands that were no strangers to scullery work. She also seemed a good deal younger to Des, not so much a polished young professional as a college girl with chapped lips and a pink runny nose.

  “I hate being cold,” Hannah confessed, shivering in her navy-blue pea coat. She lit a match to another burner and began laying strips of bacon out in a well-worn cast-iron skillet. “I hate it more than just about anything.”

  “Once a stone house gets cold, it stays cold,” said Jory, who had on a bulky ski sweater, a down vest and fleecy sweat pants. Her curly ginger hair was gathered into a top knot. She seemed very in charge of things in Norma’s absence. Her bulldog jaw jutted with determination. Her eyes were still puffy and red, though. She’d done a lot of crying after they’d found Norma. “And it’s way hard to warm it back up. I must be wearing six layers.”

  “I’d settle for one pair of long Johns,” Des said.

  “I can loan you a pair of mine,” she offered. “They’d be too short, and kind of huge in the waist, but they’d keep you warm.”

  “I may take you up on that,” Des said, glancing around at the kitchen as she drank her coffee.

  Astrid’s Castle had two kitchens, actually. There was the one they were in, a homey old tiled farmhouse kitchen, with its double porcelain sink and six-burner range. There was a long cluttered trestle table where the innkeepers grabbed their meals and did their paperwork. There were windows over the kitchen sink. Through them, Des could see across the frozen courtyard to the caretaker’s cottage. A door led directly out to the courtyard. Next to the door was a gun case.

  Des went over for a closer look. There were two deer hunting rifles in it, a Remington Model 700 bolt-action with a side-mounted thumb safety and a Winchester Model 70 Classic. “Do much shooting up here?”

  “We find it necessary from time to time,” Jory answered cautiously. “We get foxes and coyotes. City folks with small children don’t much care for those. A few years back we even had a bobcat. We always make sure the case is kept locked, and Les keeps the ammunition upstairs.”

  “He’s the hunter?”

  “No, Jase is. But Les likes to join him. It makes him feel like the lord of the manor or something.”

  A mudroom was just off of the old kitchen. There was a deep work sink in there, jackets on hooks, work boots, a five-gallon bottled-water dispenser. The service stairs ran their way through the mudroom-the narrow staff stairs up to the second and third floors as well as the steps that went down to the wine cellar.

  The second kitchen, which had been added on in the past few years, was a charm-free stainless-steel restaurant kitchen designed for high-volume, high-speed output. It had multiple stoves and prep stations, a walk-in pantry and freezer, a separate entrance for kitchen staff and deliveries.

  This kitchen was not in use. Not a soul was in there.

  “When we just have a few guests, we do breakfast ourselves,” Jory explained, her gaze following Des’s. “The kitchen staff doesn’t arrive until later. Of course, today they won’t be coming at all. I thought we’d do a big breakfast, get some fuel into everyone. Eggs and bacon, a big pot of oatmeal, bread and jam. Sound good?”

  “Like heaven,” said Des, helping herself to more coffee.

  “I agree,” Hannah said as she turned the bacon, which was starting to sizzle and smell sensational.

  Jory got a box of Irish oatmeal out of the cupboard and put another pot on the stove. “One good thing I can say about Astrid’s is we’re always prepared for bad weather. Plenty of food and clean dishes, plus we have gallons of bottled water. That’s all we ever pour at the table.”

  “You folks have trouble with your well?”

  “Not usually, no,” Jory said, filling an eight-cup Pyrex measure from the water dispenser. “But the coliform bacteria can get a bit iffy during the rainy season, and you don’t ever want to send sixty paying guests home with a dose of the trots. You can’t afford to take that chance. It’s like Norma always says…” Jory’s voice caught, the emotion welling up in her. “Every guest is our most important guest. Which reminds me. Is Mitch on any kind of a special diet?”

  “Yes, he is. It’s called the I Never Get Full Diet.”

  Jory let out a soft laugh. “And how does he take his eggs?

  “Any way you cook them, as long as they’re good and hot. Mitch hates cold eggs, especially if they’re scrambled. He’s been known to hold forth for twenty minutes on the subject of cold scrambled eggs and how they taste exactly like… Damn, will one of you kindly stick a fork in me? I’m starting to sound just like June Cleaver.”

  “You are not,” Hannah said. “You sound sweet. I wish someone knew my likes and dislikes that well. I wish someone cared.”

  “Me, too,” sighed Jory. “That’s all I ask for. A man who cares.” She stood there with her brow furrowed, taking stock of their progress. “Let’s see… bacon’s going good, and the oatmeal won’t take long once this water’s boiling. I’ll slice up some bread. We can scramble the eggs last, okay?”

  “Anything I can do to help?” offered Des.

  “We’re on it,” Hannah said briskly, breaking the eggs into a bowl as she tended to the bacon.

  “You seem very at home in a kitchen.”

  Hannah let out a horsey bray of a laugh. “I should. I started waiting tables when I was sixteen. I’ve worked short-order, slung beers. You didn’t think I was some rich kid, did you? Because I am totally not. My dad works for the U.S. Postal Service. Mom’s an OR nurse at Bethesda Medical.”

  “Is that right?” Des took a seat at the table, keeping her company.
>
  “And do you want to talk lack of cool? When I was at Georgetown I lived at home in my same old room in my parents’ same old tract house in Falls Church. Commuted to and from campus every day in my ten-year-old Honda Civic. Even so, I’ll still be paying off my student loans until I’m forty. Not that I’m complaining, but nothing ever comes easy for me. Just the good Lord’s way of testing me, I guess. Like after I got Coffee Klatch made, you know? I figured it was all going to be lollipops and balloons. Development deals left and right. I was applauded at Sundance, you know? But you girls can’t imagine how hard it is out there in Movietown, U.S.A. How ambitious everybody is. How deceitful.” Hannah shook her head as she stood there turning the bacon. “When my internship ended, there was nothing. Nobody wanted me. I was desperate to stay out there, but I couldn’t afford to. Before I knew what hit me, I couldn’t even scare up my rent money. So I came home with my tail between my legs, moved back in with my folks. I honestly didn’t know what I was going to do until I met Aaron. He’s been the answer to my prayers. Working with Ada this way is such an incredible opportunity, and Aaron’s been… you wouldn’t believe how sweet he’s been.”

  “Well, you are doing him, right?” Jory said. More a statement than a question.

  Hannah whirled, gaping at her in shock. “You just said what to mer

  “Sorry, I guess that came off a little blunt. But we don’t have any secrets in this kitchen. Long-standing castle rule.”

  “You could have warned a person. And why on earth would you…?”

  “I saw you two sucking face on the observation deck yesterday.”

  Hannah reddened immediately. “Oh…”

  “As did Carly,” Des said. “She mentioned it to me last night.”

  “This is awful, just awful,” Hannah gasped, horrified. “I feel like some kind of steamy Jezebel. And I’m not, I swear. I’m a deeply religious person, and nothing like this has ever happened to me before in my whole life. It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong. It’s just that we’re so, well, good together.”

  “You’re actually into him?” Jory seemed flabbergasted. “I figured it was strictly business on your part.”

  Hannah said, “Look, I feel kind of funny talking about this, okay?”

  “Sure, whatever.” Jory’s pot of water was boiling now. She dumped in the oatmeal and started stirring it. “I’m not judging you. We all do what we have to do. Besides, it couldn’t happen to a nicer girl. This is me being facetious.”

  “You don’t like Carly?” Des asked her.

  “What’s to like? She treats people like dirt. Yesterday morning, she ordered me to iron her silk things for her-like I’m her personal maid or something. Who the hell does that old bitch think she is? And who does she think she’s fooling? She’s got so much collagen in her face you can practically hear it sloshing around in there. She didn’t so much as thank me when I did do her ironing for her, let alone tip me. Just looked right through me. Take it from me, that woman has zero class. We see all kinds of millionaires up here, heads of big corporations. The ones who have real class treat our staff with respect. They treat everyone that way.” Jory glanced at Des uncertainly. “You must know what I mean, being resident trooper in a snooty place like Dorset, and a woman. And, well, you know…”

  “Black? I absolutely do know what you mean.” Des was starting to like Jory Hearn. She was frank. She had brains. She had pride.

  “Aaron told me that he and Carly have an open marriage,” Hannah blurted out suddenly. “That she’s cool with him seeing other women.”

  “That’s sure not what I was hearing from her last night,” Des said. “She was talking divorce.”

  “Carly’s going to divorce him?” Hannah’s tongue darted out of her mouth, wetting her flaky lips. “Man, I really stepped in something smelly, didn’t I?”

  “That all depends on how you want things to turn out,” Des said.

  “More than anything in the world, I care about getting Ada Geiger down on film,” Hannah said firmly. “And that’s the truth. But she doesn’t seem at all interested, and it’s pretty obvious that Aaron doesn’t have much influence with her. It’s dawning on me that this may not pan out for me professionally. And that really, really bites, because it’s awful tough out there right now in the cold cruel world.”

  “I sure don’t know what we’ll do,” Jory chimed in gloomily, stirring the oatmeal with a wooden spoon. “This place has always been home for both of us. Norma treated us like we were her own children. Now what? Who knows what’ll happen to the castle? I’ll get by, I guess. But Jase has a hard time in the outside world. The poor thing’s so quiet.”

  “I’m sure you’ll both have a place here with Les,” Des said.

  “But what if Les decides to sell out?”

  “Then you’ll move on, and survive.”

  Jory folded her arms in front of her chest, hugging herself tightly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to whimper. I just feel like my whole world is falling apart.”

  “It’s changing,” Des said. “And you’ll keep changing with it. The day you stop doing that is the day you end up like that nice lady in bed upstairs.”

  “It’s a little scary,” Jory confessed.

  “Get used to it,” Hannah said. “I’m scared every minute of every day.”

  “You are?” Jory looked at her in surprise. “How do you deal with it?”

  “Not very well, apparently. But I keep on going.”

  “Just forget about the big questions for now, Jory,” Des urged her. “Focus on small steps. Right now, we’re making breakfast. Later on, we’ll do lunch.”

  “That reminds me,” Jory said, nodding her head. “When Mitch was getting his coffee he started talking about making us a giant vat of something called American chop suey.”

  “That’s my doughboy.” Des smiled.

  “I’m not even sure what that is. Any idea what’s in it?”

  “Trust me, girl. You don’t ever want to know.”

  Compared to the kitchen, it felt practically tropical in the taproom. A kerosene space heater was putting out genuine warmth, and a fire was crackling in the fireplace. Les and Ada were seated at a table before the fire with Aaron and Carly. Teddy was off by himself in the Sunset Lounge, playing a slow, painfully heartfelt rendition of “More Than You Know.”

  “Breakfast will be ready soon,” Des announced softly.

  “Thanks, Des,” Les said distractedly, running a hand through his uncombed hair.

  “Does Teddy have to keep playing that same damned song?” demanded Aaron, the only one of them who was not clad in something warm and fuzzy. He was dressed as he’d been last night, in a crisp dress shirt, bow tie and blazer. Apparently, he never wore anything else. Aaron’s unshaven face offered the only hint that this was not a totally normal morning. His stubble was white, in sharp contrast to his jet-black hair and eyebrows. Des couldn’t help wondering if he dyed them. “He’s been playing it over and over again.”

  “Leave him be,” commanded Ada, who still had on her wool robe. “The music soothes Teddy.”

  “Well, it’s driving me nuts. And it’s my mother who’s dead and I think I deserve a little consideration.”

  “Acky, shut up,” snapped Carly. She wore her mink over a bulky white sweater and stirrup pants. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail, and she had on no makeup. Compared to the blond bombshell of last night, Carly looked not only older but surprisingly plain.

  Aaron glared across the table at her, his nose twitching. “What did you say to me?”

  “She said shut up.” Ada calmly sipped her herbal tea. “And that goes double for me. Show some consideration.”

  “For what?”

  “Other people’s feelings,” she replied, her eyes glinting at him like hard, precious gems.

  Des stood there thinking that this shrewd old lady did know about Norma and Teddy.

  “Why don’t you join us, dear?” she asked Des graciously. “It’s so nice an
d toasty here by the fire.”

  “Thanks, I think I will.” Des pulled up a chair and sat, her muscles feeling stiff and shivery from the cold. The bright morning sunlight had dimmed. The storm clouds were moving in.

  “Aaron, there’s something serious we need to discuss,” Les said uneasily. “It has to do with how Norma wanted to leave things.”

  “Do you mean her estate?” Aaron arched his eyebrow at him.

  Les nodded. “Our attorney here in town, Whit Conover, drew up an agreement when she and I got married. Did Norma ever discuss it with you?”

  Aaron shot a curious glance over at Carly before he said, “Why, no.” His manner was very guarded now. “Why, Les, was she supposed to?”

  “She was, yes.” Les sipped at the dregs of his coffee. “She promised me she would. I’m surprised she didn’t, given the state of her health. Then again, I guess she didn’t want to think about it. We never do, do we? I feel I ought to fill you in now-in my capacity as executor of her estate.”

  “You re the executor?” Aaron appeared thrown by this. “How can you be? Surely you’re the beneficiary.”

  Les shook his head at him. “Six years ago, when things were starting to get serious between us, Norma sat me down in this very room, poured me a Scotch, and said, ‘Lester, you may want out when I tell you what I’m about to tell you.’ Christ, I thought she was going to tell me she had incurable insanity in her family.”

  “Oh, she does,” Ada said. “Most assuredly.”

  “She simply wanted me to know that when she died, Astrid’s Castle would pass to you, Aaron. She and her brother, Herbert, agreed ages ago that that’s how it would be-they’d leave it to their children. Herbert never had any. She had you. Therefore, you now are the sole proprietor of Astrid’s Castle.”

  “Oh my God,” Carly whispered, flabbergasted. Des would have paid cash money to see the expression on her face. Too bad Carly couldn’t formulate one. All she could manage was a stricken blank.

  As for Aaron, he was goggle-eyed, his face drained of color.

  “This was understood between us from the get-go,” Les explained. “Whit drew up a pre-nuptual agreement specifying it, and I was happy to sign it. It didn’t matter to me. She mattered.” He glanced at Aaron curiously. “You didn’t know this?”