Chapter 19
Arriving at Easton Estate at a quarter ‘til nine the following morning, Morgan tracked down Ben Baker, Greg’s uncle, to let him know his nephew had been invited to the breakfast celebration and welcome party.
She found him at his desk, flipping through a black binder. Morgan gave the door a light rap. “Knock. Knock.”
He looked up, a warm smile lighting his face. “Good morning, Morgan. You’re here for Prissy’s welcome breakfast.”
“Along with Tristan’s honorable mention ribbon celebration from the science fair.” Morgan leaned her hip against the doorframe and folded her arms. “I invited Greg.”
“To breakfast?”
“Mm. Hmm. He’s a little down in the dumps, so I figured I would get him out of the house and break up his day.”
Ben closed the binder and slid it off to the side. “Because of Hailey. She was his first serious girlfriend. Greg hasn’t learned to navigate the world of dating. From what he told me, it was a mutual agreement.”
“I heard the same. It’s none of my business, but if you ask me, it’s for the best.”
“I agree.” He cleared his throat. “She has a few skeletons in her closet, namely finding a deceased guest at the hotel where she worked and having a previous drug record. Greg also mentioned Grace discovered Hailey was carrying a knife around in her pocket.”
“All concerning behavior. Not to mention the investigation into the guy’s death is at a standstill. In her defense, she may not have been involved in his death.”
“Or she could be hiding something,” Ben added. “Between you and me, I’m not sure I would have kept Hailey on if I was in Grace’s shoes.”
“Finding good help is tricky, seeing how there are only so many people on the island who are looking for work.” Morgan started to tell him Hailey had agreed to random drug testing to keep her job but kept quiet.
It wasn’t her place to share this information, not to mention she didn’t want it to get back to Greg in the event he commented to Hailey about it.
“I see my nephew coming now.”
Greg parked Locke Pointe’s transport van next to Morgan’s vehicle. He climbed out, giving them a friendly wave as he made his way toward them. “Good morning, Uncle Ben. Morgan.”
“Good morning, Greg. Morgan told me she invited you to the celebratory welcome breakfast.” Ben shoved his chair back and stood. “Mrs. Arnsby has been hard at work since early this morning.”
“Speaking of Prissy,” Morgan said. “Have you crossed paths with her yet?”
“I chatted with her last night when I found her roaming around the yard in her pajamas. I took her back inside and asked one of the female staff members to escort her to her room.”
“Did she know who you were or where she was?”
“Not at first, but then I think the fog cleared because she wanted to know what she was doing with her sandals and pajamas on.”
“I hate to say it, but it sounds like she might need a full-time caregiver,” Morgan sighed.
“Elizabeth met with the staff to let them know what was going on. I’m not sure if there have been other incidents.” Ben placed a light hand on Greg’s shoulder. “We had better head to the dining room. Elizabeth is a stickler for punctuality.”
Taking a shortcut through the front yard, they strolled through the main foyer and made a beeline for the formal dining room where they found Elizabeth, her husband Gerard, Brett, Quinn, Tristan, and Prissy already seated at the table.
Mrs. Arnsby steered a serving cart into the room. “I see everyone is right on time.”
Morgan took her spot to the left of her grandmother and next to Prissy. Greg sat sandwiched between his uncle and Tristan in what the family dubbed the “guest of honor” chair.
She felt a light tug on her arm. “What are we doing?” Prissy whispered.
“Eating breakfast,” Morgan whispered back. “I like your dress.”
The woman plucked at the floral printed sleeve. “Thank you. I have no idea where I got it.”
“That’s okay. I have a lot of clothes in my closet that I couldn’t tell you where I bought them.”
Mrs. Arnsby and a small army of kitchen staff made their way around the table, serving scrambled, poached and fried eggs, stacks of pancakes, to which Tristan promptly took a plateful, along with hashbrowns, and crispy slices of bacon.
If all of this wasn’t enough, a tray of donuts and baked treats made its rounds.
There was so much food that Morgan could almost feel the pounds packing on.
“You have outdone yourself, Jane,” Elizabeth said. “The food looks fabulous.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Arnsby beamed. “It’s not every day Tristan receives an award, and we welcome a new member to the Easton Estate household.”
Elizabeth waited for the cook to take her seat and lifted her glass of orange juice. “I propose a toast.”
Morgan lifted her glass, as did the others.
“To our talented youngest family member, Tristan. Congratulations on receiving a coveted science fair ribbon, well-earned for all your hard work.”
“Here, here,” the others echoed in unison before sipping their orange juice.
“We have one more toast,” Elizabeth continued. “To our newest Easton Estate resident, Prissy. May you thrive, flourish, and continue to enjoy many happy years here at home on Easton Island.”
“To Prissy,” Gerard said.
The guests clinked glasses and sipped their celebratory juice before digging into the savory dishes. While they ate, Elizabeth kept the conversation light, pointedly drawing Prissy into it several times.
Morgan secretly suspected her grandmother was gauging her sister-in-law’s cognitive level, how “present” she was as well as her comfort after being moved from her home to new surroundings.
Prissy answered most of the questions with a simple yes or no.
“Ben mentioned he found you wandering around outside in your pajamas last night.”
Prissy’s jaw dropped, a look of horror on her face. “I did not,” she indignantly replied.
“You don’t remember going outside?”
“Why would I?”
“Perhaps you got confused or planned to drive home,” Elizabeth said.
Prissy’s face turned red, and the senior Easton wisely dropped it.
“I have some news,” Morgan announced. “I have a houseguest.”
“Someone is staying at Looking Glass Cottage?” Quinn asked.
“Mr. Pickles, Beatrice Bixby’s bunny.” Morgan explained how she’d offered to care for the rabbit after finding out her neighbor had no one to watch him during her surgery and while she was healing.
“What a sweet thing for you to do,” Mrs. Arnsby said. “How is Chester handling it?”
“He and Mr. Pickles are friends. In fact, I left Chester home this morning to keep him company.”
Tristan clapped his hands. “Can I come see Mr. Pickles?”
“Absolutely.”
“I love rabbits,” Prissy said. “They’re very intelligent not to mention loving.”
“I’ll bring him by so you can meet him after he settles in,” Morgan promised.
Prissy became preoccupied and began humming under her breath. Using her knife, she sliced off a large pat of butter from the dish and ate it.
Quinn gently removed the knife from her hand. “Would you like a piece of toast to go with your butter?”
“No, butter is fine.”
An awkward silence ensued as Prissy continued humming. She picked up her fork, stabbed a strawberry, and nibbled the corner.
“It’s getting late.” Quinn ate the last bite of bacon and placed her napkin next to her plate. “I need to head to the art gallery.”
Brett followed suit. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Thank you for inviting me to breakfast. Everything was delicious.” Quinn patted Tristan’s shoulder. “Congratulations on the ribbon. I’m sorry I missed the science fair.”
“It’s okay,” the boy said. “Maybe next time.”
“Absolutely.”
“Goodbye, Quinn.” Prissy gave her an enthusiastic wave. “Thanks for coming to my party.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I should get back to work,” Ben said. “Unless you need me to help with…”
“Thank you for the offer,” Elizabeth said. “We’ll handle it.”
Greg awkwardly shook his host’s hand. “Thank you for inviting me to the breakfast celebration.”
“I’m glad you could make it, Greg. Tristan speaks highly of you. I appreciate your kindness toward my great-grandson.”
“You’re welcome.”
The kitchen staff appeared and began clearing the dishes.
Prissy watched them circle the table.
A young worker, an employee who had recently been hired to help Mrs. Arnsby, reached for her plate.
“Stop!” Prissy hollered loudly. “She’s stealing my food!”
“Priscilla.” Elizabeth’s voice was steady but firm. “Ally is not stealing your food. She’s clearing the table.”
The poor woman, mortified at being accused, shrank back. “You can keep your plate.”
Prissy stuck her arm around the dish, as if daring the woman to take it from her.
“It’s all right.” Mrs. Arnsby nudged Ally out of the dining room. “We’ll clean up after everyone has gone.”
Morgan firmly grasped Prissy’s hand and set it in her lap. “No one is taking your food.”
“She was,” the woman argued. “You saw her.”
Elizabeth muttered something unintelligible under her breath. She rose from her chair and walked over to where Prissy sat guarding the dish. “Doctor Rypma will be here later to discuss your medication. We’ll get it adjusted to where you don’t feel so anxious.”
“Okay.” Prissy relaxed her shoulders. “Breakfast was lovely. I’ll have to thank Mrs. Arnsby. I’m grateful to be here and appreciate all you’ve done to help me feel at home.”
In the blink of an eye, the confused, disoriented, rebellious Prissy was gone, and the calm, rational one had returned. It was as if, with the flip of a switch, she went from knowing everything going on around her to the complete opposite.
“My room is upstairs. I think I would like to watch television.” Prissy turned to Tristan. “Do you know where my room is?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Can you show me how to get there?”
His eyes slid to the side, a questioning look on his face, as if to ask if it was okay.
“Go ahead,” Elizabeth said.
Morgan’s heart nearly melted while he patiently waited for her to eat the rest of her strawberry, still on her fork. She dabbed at her lips and placed her napkin next to her plate.
Prissy slowly stood, smiling at Tristan. “Such a gentleman.”
He slipped his small hand into hers.
The woman, shuffling and unsteady on her feet, held the hand of the young boy, mature beyond his years, as they walked side by side out of the dining room.
Morgan tiptoed to the door, rubbing the chill bumps on her arms, watching youth and old age climb the stairs, each grappling with their new home, and finding a kindred spirit as they navigated through the changes life had thrown their way.
“I may not have cared for Tristan’s mother, Addison. Despite her faults and lifestyle choices, she raised an exceptional son.”
Morgan turned to find her grandmother standing behind her. “She sure did. I would also say he has excellent genes and is an Easton through and through.”
Gerard stepped in beside them. “I hate to say it, but Prissy is in worse shape than I thought.”
Elizabeth sucked in a breath. “Something tells me we’re in for some rough days.”
“Based on what we just witnessed, I believe you’re right.” Morgan gave her grandmother a gentle hug. “We’re family, and we’ll get through this together. It’s how we Eastons roll.”