“I ordered room service,” said Caroline as she heard the knock on the door.
“Perfect,” said Nick. He got out of bed, picked up the pants he had left crumpled on the floor, and pulled money out of the pocket. He answered the door, handed the waiter a tip, and rolled the breakfast cart into the room himself.
“Shall we have breakfast in bed?” he asked. “Or do you want to eat by the window?”
“Bed,” said Caroline as she sat up and propped the pillows against the headboard.
“Looks good,” said Nick as he took the lids off the plates. There was enough food for a family of four: stacks of pancakes with sausage links and bacon, two plates of sliced honeydew and cantaloupe with strawberry halves, and buttered whole wheat toast cut on the diagonal. Two pitchers of hot maple syrup and a tall carafe of freshly brewed coffee sat on the corner of the starched white cloth that covered the cart.
They talked about Nick’s flight from L.A. and the drive from New York to Warrenstown at night. “After you get off the highway, some of that route is mighty lonely and dark. I almost went off the road at one curve.”
Caroline told Nick about the two Warrenstown apprentices who had been killed on Sunday. “But they didn’t go into that ditch because their car went off the road in the dark,” she said. “They’d been smoking pot.”
Nick winced. “God help their parents.”
Caroline was very tempted to tell Nick about the marijuana she’d found in Meg’s closet, yet not only had she told her stepdaughter that she wouldn’t but she didn’t want to spoil their first hours together after too long a separation. The thought of the fatal car accident reminded her of another, though.
“Nick?”
“Yes?”
“In my research, I came across an old Vanity Fair article that talked about when Daniel Sterling had that car accident and was killed after Belinda Winthrop’s party two years ago.”
“Uh-huh,” Nick responded as he poured more coffee into both of their cups.
“Well, it said his wife told police that Daniel said he’d argued with someone at the party before he went for a ride to cool off. And the article mentioned that you had been one of the guests and had been questioned.”
“Me and everyone else there, Sunshine.”
“I don’t understand why you never told me, Nick, especially after you knew that I was planning on doing stories about Warrenstown and Belinda Winthrop.”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t know, Caroline. Maybe it’s because I don’t particularly like to remember that summer.”
“Why not?”
“I guess, for starters, it’s what I said last night. That was the summer before Maggie died. We didn’t even know she was sick when we came up for the reading of my screenplay. We had a good time, but I always feel guilty that I didn’t spend enough time with Maggie that summer.” He paused to take another sip of coffee before continuing. “I was so engrossed in the theatrical goings-on that I left her to wander around on her own a lot of the time. Sure, Maggie could amuse herself, and she loved going to the museums, especially the Clark. I know she drove down to Stockbridge to look at Norman Rockwell’s paintings and went to Lenox to tour Edith Wharton’s mansion. But I’ve always felt I should have gone with her.”
Caroline took her husband’s hand. “You couldn’t have known, Nick.”
“I know.” He exhaled deeply. “But whenever I think of that summer, I feel sad. So, male that I am, I try to avoid the subject.”
Caroline leaned over and kissed her husband’s cheek. “But what about Belinda Winthrop’s party?” she asked. “Who do you think Daniel Sterling fought with before he drove off?”
“Sunshine, if Daniel Sterling fought with someone at Belinda’s party, I have no idea who it was.” Nick lifted the breakfast tray from his lap and put it on the floor. He turned to gaze at Caroline. The morning sun streaming through the window bathed her in the most enhancing light. He was enchanted by her shining blue eyes, her fine features, her pale, smooth skin. When he’d first met Caroline, she’d reminded him of what he imagined the heroines in one of the Brontë sisters’ novels would look like. “Now why are we wasting our valuable time on the past?” he asked as he leaned over to kiss her. “The present interests me a lot more.”