by K S Logan
“The cottage is charming. How often do you come back here?” Grace asked.
“Em, I usually try to write a book at least every couple of years, so I’m up here every eighteen months or so. I come here a lot more since my wife passed away.”
“I’m so sorry. May I ask what happened?”
Cameron shifted a little on the settee and looked into the fire, “It’s been five years now...cancer.” He looked back at Grace. “How about you, are you married?” He stood up to tend the fire, bending down by her legs.
“No, I’m starting to think it’s just not in my cards.”
“Ach, away,” he said. His Scottish slang reminded her so much of her father. “You’re young yet,” he continued, poking the wood around, “and very lovely as well.”
Things went a bit quiet then, and Grace didn’t know what to say. She searched her mind for something appropriate. “Well, Piper and I think you look pretty good too.”
He smiled at that, “Pretty good? That’s it? Is that all I get Piper, you big, bad boy?” He grabbed his dog and began wrestling with him on the floor.
Grace laughed as the two jostled around. This was nice; she needed a break from the madness she’d been dealing with at the house.
“Ready for more tea? Or is it time for something a little stronger? You look like you could use two fingers of the good stuff. Nothin’ like a good wee snort to calm yoursel’ and warm yer belly.” He went to a beautiful oak and brass sideboard with well-carved galleons running along the top, obviously original with the cottage, and poured two drams of Glenfiddich.
“Only if I can come and take a look at your kitchen. I’m so curious about this old place.”
He went over and extended his forearm down to her. She grabbed hold, and he heaved her to her feet.
The kitchen had been extensively renovated and had all the modern amenities. They kept the stone walls and flooring original, though, along with the timber beams that ran through the ceiling. The result was a unique balance between modern beauty and rugged historical elegance.
He gave a full tour of the small cottage with a stop in the bathroom to dress her forehead. She enjoyed having his face so close to hers as he applied a bandage to her head.
He showed her the den, where he spent much of his time. It was tidy and organized. It had a couch for Cameron that he used to get horizontal at times when his muse took the day off. And it also had a big, comfy dog bed for Piper, which he immediately occupied.
“Why ‘Piper,’ just out of curiosity?” Grace asked.
Cameron took a sip of his scotch before answering. “I used to play. Well, I mean, I still do, occasionally. I just don’t compete anymore.”
Grace couldn’t help herself and immediately had him pictured in the full regalia, kilt and all. The vision had her feeling more than a little intrigued.
“I love bagpipes. You’ll play for me one day, I hope.” She realized that this would mean seeing each other again and hoped it wasn’t too presumptuous. She was beginning to like this smart, kind, delicious Scotsman a lot.
“Sure,” he said, without hesitation. “I’d be honored.”
Why did every word out of his mouth make her knees go weak? Grace took the last sip of her scotch as the dryer buzzed in the distance, announcing its completion.
“Well, Cameron, I guess I should be going. I’ve taken up too much of your time already.”
“I can’t think of any way I’d rather spend my time,” he smiled at her. “Will you let me walk you back, though? And I’d like to get your number, you know, in case you need help again.”
“Of course, thank you. Oh, I forgot. My cell phone has mysteriously disappeared.”
“Well, you can’t be without one. Here, take mine for now. I’ve got a landline if I need it. You can reach me here, just in case.” He handed her his expensive-looking cell.
“Thanks again, it seems that’s all I ever say to you.” She hated looking so helpless. He must think I’m so weak, she thought. Hopefully, she’d get the chance to show him otherwise and also repay his kindness.
Grace changed back into her clothes and met Cameron at the door. It was approximately a fifteen-minute walk between Grace’s house and the cottage, through a mixture of forest and field. The conversation came easy as they went, and the odd small silence filled with a noticeable charge between them.
“Earlier, you said someone was trying to scare you. Why would anyone want to do that?” Cameron asked.
“Well, it’s kind of a long, sordid story. My mother recently passed away—”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he interrupted.
“Thank you. Anyway, it turns out that my mum left everything to me, the whole bloody lot, and my sister is furious about it.” Grace kept her head down as she talked. It felt good to be able to share her ordeal with someone. She didn’t want to call Devi. She’d be on the next train.
“I think I’ve seen your sister. Has she got long, bright red hair?” Cameron asked as he bent to pick up a stick. He threw it ahead of them for Piper, who bounded after it at full speed.
“Yes, that’s her. Her son has the same, flaming red locks. His isn’t quite as long...or as clean, I might add. I’m just not sure what’s going on in that house. I don’t know if I’m over exaggerating things or if I’m in real danger. I feel so open, hopeless, at the mercy of people that strongly despise me.” Grace looked up at him as they walked to check his expression. Was she honestly asking for this man’s help? Grace barely knew him, and was his help truly necessary? After all this time surviving on her own, she couldn’t believe she felt so vulnerable. “I’m so embarrassed to lay all this on you. I’m really not ‘the damsel in distress’ type...honest.”
“I’m here, anytime, whatever you need,” he nodded at her and grinned, but his eyes were worried.
Piper ran back to Cameron with the stick in his mouth and dropped it at his feet, then bounced back and forth from his front to his back legs, asking for another go. Cameron was too involved in the conversation and didn’t notice.
The happy Lab knew the way well and never let too much distance get between him and his master. He did spy a rabbit, at one point, and took off like a bullet but was soon right back at Cameron’s side, tongue lolling and tail wagging.
“So, you think it’s them that are trying to scare you into leaving?” he asked. They were approaching the estate now.
“Yes, I do. I’ve told Morvin that I don’t intend to keep the money. I don’t want one penny of it. There’s so much more to it, though. We’ve never gotten along.” That’s an understatement, she thought.
Cameron walked her right to the mansion’s front steps.
“This place is magnificent,” he said, looking up at the stately home.
“Well, it used to be. In need of some major TLC these days, I’m afraid,” said Grace.
He looked at Grace and took her hand in his. Her insides tingled, her heart beat in double time.
“Well, you be careful, lass. Anything oot of the ordinary and you call me. Do not hesitate. I’m worried for ye. Ye know that.” He kissed the back of her hand.
“Okay, Cameron, I will. Umm, I’d like to see you again though, even if nothing transpires here. And I need to return your phone anyway.” There, she said it. She raised her eyebrows, hoping for a positive response.
“I’d like that too. How about if I call and check in wi’ ye’ tomorrow, then?” he asked.
“Perfect.”
Grace watched from the window as Cameron and Piper headed back down the long driveway. She smiled, enjoying the view, as she thought about how good it felt in his company.
She was already looking forward to seeing him again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The loud bell of the old rotary telephone began ringing as Grace was ascending the stairs to her room. Its shrill was so loud you could hear it all the way upstairs from its location at the other end of the mansion. Is no one going to answer it? she wondered. It must have rung si
x times by now. On about the eighth ring, Grace decided to run for it. It could be the hospital concerning Aunt Lena.
“Hello?” Grace answered the phone, a little out of breath. It was Charlie Patterson; he owned the local nursery in town. “Hi Charlie, how’re you? How’s business?” Grace asked. Morvin had worked for the small nursery since as far back as Grace could remember. As a teenager, Charlie had offered Grace a part-time job as well. She liked the summer position as a cashier but never developed a passion for plants like her sister.
“Is that Gracey? I guess you’re in town for your mother’s funeral. So sorry to hear about that darlin’, we were just sickened by the news. She was always such a strong woman, your mum.” Charlie was a sweet man. He and his wife Jess had been married forever. They both worked very hard to keep their little family business afloat.
“Thank you, Charlie,” said Grace. She took a seat on the stool by the phone. “It’s been quite a shock, for sure.”
“Gracey, the reason I’m calling is that Jess is clearing out the old supply shed. We’ve been neglecting that place for years, and she came across a chemical that we’re not sure about. We don’t know where it came from. It’s not anywhere in the order book, but a slip on the bottle has Morvin’s initials on it. So we’re hoping maybe she can shed some light on it. Hey, I made a pun there. Get it? In the shed...shed some light, ha-ha.”
Grace envisioned the deep crow’s feet on his round face as he laughed.
“Good one, Charlie,” Grace laughed back. “What’s it called? I’ll ask her when she gets back from the store.” Grace looked on the counter for a pen and paper.
“Thanks, love. It’s called methyl iodide. They use it in some of those industrial plant fields, but we’ve never had use for it here. Pretty toxic stuff, not good to keep hanging ‘round.”
“Okay, I’ll have her call you,” Grace said after writing it down. “Please say hi to Jess for me.”
“I will do, dear, but you’ll have to come by for tea and say hello. It’s been ages since we’ve seen your pretty face.”
“I’ll try and get down there to see you real soon, Charlie.”
They said their goodbyes and Grace hung up the phone. Strange, she thought. She remembered reading about a tragic accident involving the same chemical at one of the field plantations upcountry last year. A man driving a tractor had accidentally unearthed the toxic liquid, releasing it into his airspace. He died soon after from complications to his central nervous system. Why would Morvin have ordered such a poisonous chemical to a little family-run nursery? And where the heck was she anyway?
Grace looked around the house for any sign of her sister or nephew. She called out their names a couple of times and felt a little spooked at the empty echoes in the old dusty corridors. Nothing. Okay, she thought, time for a little more snooping around the old house then, starting with Morvin’s bedroom. Grace wasn’t even sure what she was looking for, but things were off around here. Something was going on, and Grace knew Morvin had everything to do with it.
Morvin’s room was the same one she’d had when they were young. It was on the second floor but at the opposite end of the house from Grace’s. As Grace neared Morvin’s wing, the smell of must and age grew. It was even more potent as Grace entered the airless bedroom. The large door seemed to moan loudly, as if in pain. It echoed through the house, announcing Grace’s secret invasion of Morvin’s privacy.
Wow, thought Grace, she does not believe in updating, that’s for sure. Grace drew her sweater tighter around her shoulders and rubbed her arms. I guess blood-sucking vampires don’t need heat. Now, I wonder where the coffin is.
The room was an homage to the nineteenth century. Dark weighty furnishings, lace doilies that would probably turn to dust if you touched them. The walls were covered in faded floral wallpaper of once rich browns and golds, yuck. She felt like she had just entered a scene out of one of her favorite 1930s mystery novels by Daphne DuMaurier. Complete with pouring rain pelting at the window and the sound of a howling wind promising a nasty storm on the way.
Grace headed to the small writing table by the window that overlooked the rolling fields at the north end of the estate. She sat down on the red velvet stool. Grace remembered the lush deep fabric had been quite pretty in its day, but now the velvet had rubbed away in places leaving it looking shabby and worn.
She found nothing of note on top of the desk, nor the first drawer. The one underneath was locked. After some quick deliberation, Grace grabbed a letter opener and easily pried the cheap lock open.
She was stunned at what she found. Piles and piles of letters and cards all bound together in two bundles with rough butchers twine. Grace recognized a few things in one of the collections: birthday cards, Christmas cards, and letters that Grace had sent to her mother over the years. She felt her heart start to pound heavily in her chest. The other bundle was full of the same, but these were cards and letters from her mother to her! Grace’s mouth suddenly became dry, and she felt physically ill. This discovery meant her mother did care about her, loved her. It changed everything Grace ever felt about her mother, about her home.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing in here?”
A rock dropped in Grace’s stomach. She whirled around to face her sister.
“I can’t fucking believe you!” spat Grace. Morvin was standing in the doorway, visibly shaking. “Why didn’t I get all these letters?
“You didn’t deserve them. Mother should never have written one of them to you. You never did anything for her,” Morvin said.
“And these?” Grace held out the stack sent from her in England. “I suppose she never even saw one of these?”
“I should have burned them all,” Morvin sneered. She began approaching Grace, her hand outstretched, intending to take the letters from her.
“Why? Why would you do this? All this time I thought Mum had just written me off. It killed me. And here, all along, she was writing to me? You’re nothing but a sour, manipulative, old bitch!” Grace stormed out of the room, taking the letters with her, overwhelmed by the mix of hurt and anger. She yelled at Morvin over her shoulder, “You’ll burn in hell for this. I’m going to see you never get a dime of Mother’s money!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I can’t believe my lame sister doesn’t have any internet service, thought Grace, as she drove. After the heated argument in Morvin’s room, Grace hid the pile of letters in her bedroom and then jumped in her car. She’d find out what methyl iodide was on her own, without asking Morvin.
Grace pulled her car into the library parking lot. She used to love coming here when she was young. Not only did the old building contain books, which always made Grace happy, but the structure itself was gloriously ancient. It was built in 1883 and was an excellent example of Victorian Gothic Revival architecture. It had undergone some quite extensive maintenance, repair, and renovations over the years, but the original face of the building and many of the ornate and period details had been respectfully preserved. Land developers these days were sometimes all too quick to demolish a gorgeous, historical building.
A sudden crack of thunder frightened Grace as she approached the library steps. The sky had grown steadily darker and more ominous on the drive over. She made it to the door just as heavy rain began to pelt against the concrete.
Grace headed for the non-fiction, reference section, noting as she walked that thankfully, not much in the old library had changed in all these years. The massive white pillars still stood by the checkout counters, and those sweet little wrought iron Juliet balconies that ran the length of each side wall also remained.
Many times within these ancient walls, Grace had happily lost herself in these books, researching times long past or gaining historical insight for one of her future bestsellers. She would stroll the many aisles where wars, deaths, births, legacies, and fellowships beseeched her attention at every turn. After collecting a few well-chosen tomes, she would find a private alcove
and immerse herself in the flavor of the era. Enjoying not only the historical facts inside, but also the books’ weight in her hands, the musky smell of their bindings, the divine crackle of their spines when opened.
The library was quiet, so Grace had her choice of computers to use. She sat down at one and began to look up the chemical Charlie asked about.
“Okay,” Grace said as she browsed, “here it is. ‘Methyl iodide is a chemical compound that is a dense, colorless, volatile liquid.’ Upon further reading, she learned that it was a commonly used pesticide for pre-plant soil treatment. Grace scrolled down a bit to a section on Toxicity.
‘If inhaled, ingested, or even absorbed by the skin, it can cause headache, sudden onset of slurred speech, double vision, and lack of muscle movement. This can be limited to one side of the body.’
Grace sat back in her chair, eyes widening in shock.
“Oh my God,” Grace said aloud, “these are all stroke-like symptoms.”
“I beg your pardon?” said a scowling woman, seated at the computer beside her.
“Oh, nothing. Sorry.” She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head in disbelief. Is this possible? Did Morvin really do this? Poison both their mother and aunt? Why Aunt Lena though? Maybe she was onto Morvin, and that’s what Lena was trying to tell me in the hospital, why she was so agitated.
Grace read on, ‘High dose acute toxicity includes kidney failure, brain injury, arterial blood clotting, seizures, and coma.’
“Oh my God,” Grace said again. She sent the page to the printer, closed the tab, and gathered her things.
“Grace? Grace Calhoun? Is that you?”
Grace turned around to the dry, cracked voice behind her.
“It is you. My goodness, it’s been years.”
“Mrs. Hargraves?” Lydia Hargraves was a long-time friend of Grace’s mother and the head librarian. Well, back then she was; she must have retired by now. Grace hadn’t seen her for at least eighteen years.
