Chapter 19
When Josie had lived in New York, she hadn’t had much—okay, any—opportunity to drive just for the joy of it. Driving was just a way to get from one place to another, and frankly it was nearly always easier to just walk or take a cab or even the subway rather than compete with the traffic. Let alone find a legal place to park. So now that she had an unexpectedly free afternoon, she decided to take advantage of it.
She drove to the end of Main Street, past the g.s. and the town hall, and out into the countryside, which was blooming with early spring flowers. She made a mental note to ask Evelyn or Helen about putting in some bulbs at the farmhouse this fall. Some nice cheerful daffodils and little purple crocuses. Maybe she’d even try some tulips. How hard could it be?
She almost laughed at herself, making plans for next spring. Was that her subconscious telling her she was planning to stay in Dorset Falls, even if the information hadn’t quite caught up to her brain yet? Maybe.
And here might be another indication her subconscious was working overtime, though she didn’t know what it meant. The sign on the pole up ahead read RYDER ROAD. Well, she was here. She might as well take a look and see how the construction was going. She rolled to a stop in the driveway, which had been paved all the way to the house, then opened up into a new parking lot she hadn’t noticed before. It spanned the distance from the old Ryder house to the large barn on the right.
Since she’d last been here, a sign had been placed in the front yard. Made of carved and painted wood with some dull gold metallic accents, the sign featured two hands, crossed at the wrists, each holding an old-fashioned tankard. ETHAN ALLEN BREWERY was written under the logo. Josie had thought Ethan Allen was a Vermonter, so she had to wonder why he was lending his name to a tavern in Western Connecticut. Yankee was Yankee, she supposed.
The ancient clapboards encasing the house had received a fresh coat of white paint, and the front door and shutters were now a glossy black. A banner, probably made of some kind of vinyl, was tacked up to the left of the door. OPENING IN MAY, it proclaimed. Josie wondered if that was wishful thinking. It was March now, and that didn’t leave a whole lot of time to get this place up and running. Late May, maybe.
The barn was made of weathered dark wood that had a faint, rich glow. Based on the chemical scent that was now drifting toward her, it had recently been stained or sealed. A sign, smaller and simpler than the main sign out front, hung over the door. BREW HOUSE, it said. This must be where the beer-making equipment was going. Though it was possible the new owners were going to brew their own beer somewhere else. She’d been in brewpubs in New York that did not have on-premises vats and tanks and whatever else it took to produce the beverage.
The sound of tires on gravel made Josie crane her head. She probably wasn’t supposed to be here. DLG Construction was painted on the door of the truck that had pulled up next to her on the other lane of the driveway. Darrell Gray got out and came to her door.
“Long time no see,” he said with a grin. “What brings you out here?”
Josie breathed a little sigh of relief. She wasn’t in trouble. “Evelyn’s minding the shop this afternoon, and I’m headed home early, but I thought I’d swing by and see how things were going here.”
Darrell gave her an assessing look. “Yeah, Margo and I are excited about a new business coming to town too. You want to come in and have a look around?”
“I do,” she said. “How’d you know?” She got out of the car and planted her feet on the driveway. The sun was warm on her face, and the breeze smelled fresh and clean, now that she was upwind of the freshly coated barn.
“This is one of the oldest houses in Litchfield County. Pre-Revolutionary War.” He closed her door behind her. “If I hadn’t already seen the inside, I’d want to. Come on.” Darrell led the way over two thick, worn slabs of rock that served as steps, over the threshold, and inside.
Josie found herself standing in a foyer, facing a set of steep stairs lined with a delicate wood balustrade. Doorways framed in simple painted woodwork lay to her right and left. “This,” Darrell said, gesturing to one doorway, “will be the bar. And on the opposite side will be the dining room. We’re not taking down any walls. The new owners want to preserve as much of the house’s integrity as they can.”
Josie liked them already. “Who are they? I haven’t heard anything about them.”
“They’re from somewhere near Boston, I think. He’s an architect; she’s an engineer of some kind. They retired early and decided to come out here and open a brewery. Probably hoping to hobnob with some celebrities.”
Josie had heard Litchfield County was home to a fair number of famous actors and musicians, who liked the country life, but needed to be within a couple of hours drive to New York City, but she had yet to meet any. Maybe she should hire Evelyn to give private knitting lessons. That might draw some in to the shop.
Darrell led Josie through the dining room door. Another room of approximately the same dimensions lay through a wide archway, so there appeared there’d be plenty of indoor seating, possibly some outdoors in the nice weather, if the owners were smart and put in a covered patio. Each room had its own fireplace complete with wooden mantel carved with a shell design. Josie closed her eyes, then opened them again to take a fresh view of the rooms. This front room was probably where Bea had spent most of her time, knitting, crocheting, reading perhaps. Josie had no idea what Bea had looked like, but she could picture her anyway. The farther room had probably been the dining room, or maybe a second parlor. She wondered if there was a borning room, like she had back at Eb’s farm.
Josie didn’t believe in woo-woo, but this house seemed peaceful, even though it must have seen its share of death and tragedy over the centuries of its existence. Bea hadn’t died here, Josie was almost sure of it. How she knew, she couldn’t say.
Darrell led her through to the back of the house, where an enormous hole lined with stones took up an entire wall. “Original beehive oven,” he said. “There aren’t too many of these left outside of houses that have been turned into museums. The last owner’s lucky his tenants didn’t destroy it.”
“Oven? Women used to cook in these things? That must have taken some skill.” The opposite wall was lined with knotty pine cabinets topped with yellow countertops with a turquoise-blue boomerang design. Fifties era, if Josie had to guess. There was a deep white porcelain sink and an electric range. Had Bea stood at this stove, preparing simple, single-person meals? It was impossible to tell.
“They did, using cast-iron pots. I understand there were a lot of burn injuries, which only makes sense. We’re putting on an addition off this room. Restaurant kitchen and updated restrooms. It’s going to be nice.”
“I’ll bet it will. Thanks for showing me.” Josie turned to go back the way they’d come.
“Do you want to see upstairs? The owners are going to use that as office and storage space. There are just some bedrooms up there, nothing really to see. Once the brewery build is done, we’re breaking ground on a new house for the owners on the far side of the property. They designed it themselves, and it’s going to be a showplace.”
Josie was tempted, but she’d already burned through any extra time she had. “Thanks. I have to get home. I can’t wait to come out here for dinner and a drink.”
“I don’t know if they’ll make May, but they’ll be open by midsummer.”
A few minutes later Josie was back in her more or less trusty Saab and headed for home. Bea Ryder seemed to have replaced Lyndon, Taylor, and Kai in her thoughts. The Ryder property seemed fairly large, and there were a number of other outbuildings besides the barns. Was Bea’s body somewhere inside her house? Inside that enormous oven? Or buried somewhere on her own property? Surely that would have been the first place the decades-ago police would have looked. Of course technology wasn’t as good then as it was now. But maybe they hadn’t needed technology. Josie was pretty sure the police were using trained dogs back then. And if they had used dogs, wouldn’t the dogs have found Bea?
Clearly, they hadn’t. And Josie was fresh out of ideas of where Bea might be.