Odd, she thought, putting the money on her tray. It looked like her solo had changed his mind about another tonic and lime.
At the bar Eli settled in, snagging a stool when an ass lifted off one, listening to stories—some he assumed were exaggerated for effect—about his grandfather as a boy and young man.
“He rode that motorcycle hell for leather. Gave the locals a fit.”
“My grandfather. On a motorcycle.”
“Most usually with a pretty girl in the sidecar.” Eyes twinkling, Stoney slurped through the head of his beer. “I thought he’d win Mary because of that motorcycle. She loved riding. The best I could offer back then were the handlebars of my bike. We’d’ve been about sixteen then. Used to have the best damn bonfires down on the beach. With whiskey Eli nipped from his father’s cabinet.”
Now Eli tried to picture the man he’d been named for driving a motorcycle with a sidecar, and pilfering his own father’s liquor supply.
Either the image came more naturally, or the beer helped it along.
“They threw some big parties at Bluff House,” Stoney told him. “Fancy people would come up from Boston, New York, Phillydelphia and where-not. They’d have the house lit up like a Roman candle, with people gliding along the terraces in their white tuxes and evening gowns.
“Made a hell of a picture,” Stoney said, and downed his bump.
“Yeah. I bet it did.”
Chinese lanterns, silver candelabras, big urns of tropical flowers—and the people in their Gatsby elegance.
“Eli, he’d slip out, get one of the servants to bring down food and French champagne. I’m pretty sure his parents knew about it. We’d have our own party on the beach, and Eli, he’d go back and forth between. He was good at that, if you take my meaning. Good at being between. Rich and fancy, and everyday. First time I saw Hester, he brought her down from a party. She was in a long white dress. Had a laugh in her, always did. One look at her, and I knew Mary was mine. Eli couldn’t take his eyes off Hester Hawkin.”
“Even as a kid I knew they were happy together.”
“So they were.” Nodding sagely, Stoney banged a hand on the bar, his signal for another round.
“You know, Eli and I married our girls within a couple months of each other. Stayed friendly, too. He lent me the money to start my carpentry business. Wouldn’t take no when he heard I was going to go to the bank for a loan to get it going.”
“You’ve lived here all your life.”
“Ayah. I was born here, figuring on dying here in another twenty, thirty years.” He grinned over the dregs of his beer. “I did a lot of work in Bluff House over the years. Been retired awhile, but when Hester got it in her head to refit that room up on the second floor for a gym, she brought the plans to me to look over. I’m glad she’s doing better. Whiskey Beach isn’t the same without her in Bluff House.”
“It’s not. You know the house pretty well.”
“I’d say as well as those who’ve lived there. Did some plumbing for them on the side. No plumbing license, but I’ve got handy hands. Always did.”
“What do you think about Esmeralda’s Dowry?”
He snorted. “I think if there ever was such a thing, it’s long gone. Don’t tell me you’re looking for it. If you are, you’ve got your grandfather’s eyes but not his good sense.”
“I’m not. But somebody is.”
“Do tell.”
Sometimes, Eli thought, the way to get information was to give it. He did tell.
Stoney pulled on his bottom lip and considered. “What the hell could you bury in that basement? The floor’s as much stone as dirt. There are better places to hide a treasure, if you’re hiding it. Not too bright to think it’s in the house in the first place. Generations of people living there—servants, workmen like me and my crew. Plenty of us have been over every inch of that place at one time or another, including the servants’ passages.”
“Servants’ passages?”
“Long before your time. Used to be staircases behind the walls, and ways for the servants to get up and down without running into family or guests. One of the first things Hester did once they took over the house was have them closed up. Eli made the mistake of telling her how kids had gotten lost and locked in behind the walls. He made half of it up, I expect, that was his way to a good story. But she put her foot down. I closed them up myself, me and three I hired on for the job. What she didn’t close off she opened up—the breakfast room, another bed and bath on the second floor.”
“I had no idea.”