by Willa Blair
She needed a good picture of him. Or a DNA sample. Not that she would know what to do with one if she got it. But a paternity test would confirm any relationship with scientific certainty. In the meantime, she’d just have to have faith that it would all work out. And soon.
Rachel came back in before Caitlin came up with a response.
“Did you tell Doc how soon you’re leaving? I can’t believe it.” Then she perked up. “Hey, let me get a picture of the two of you, so you have that to remember us by.”
Caitlin grinned. Just what she needed. “And then the doc can take one of you and me,” she added to be polite, but she really wanted that picture of him.
They posed using Caitlin’s phone, then Caitlin made her excuses and left, prized photo safely in her phone.
****
Caitlin spent the next several hours studying the photo she’d taken of Dr. Coats, doodling on her notepad, then writing more names, drawing lines, getting nowhere. Could he be the man missing from Holt’s life? She just couldn’t be sure. About him, or about the picture of Mrs. Smith’s son in the kitchen. Deciding she wanted another look at it, she clipped her notepad under the photo of the carved curse and tucked them under a pile of paperwork. Then she got up and headed for the kitchen, intent on drowning her frustration with Holt’s family history in something deliciously diverting. “Mrs. Smith, any chance you have any of your special hot chocolate ready? I could use some about now.”
The housekeeper gave her a kind smile. “Sure, dear. Have a seat, and I’ll warm it for you. What’s wrong?”
Caitlin dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Nothing, really. And everything. I’ve found some things that may be important to Holt’s family history, but aren’t actually proof of anything.”
Mrs. Smith poured chocolate from a pitcher in the fridge into a large mug, popped it in the microwave, and tapped a few buttons. A comforting whir started up, and in moments, the rich scent of chocolate and spices filled the air.
Caitlin inhaled and felt the tension ooze from her shoulders. “That recipe of yours is pure magic,” she said. “Just the scent makes me feel better.”
“Christmas magic does that, you know.”
“I didn’t, until now. You might send a mug of this to Holt. I suspect he could use some Christmas magic right about now, too. He doesn’t want to believe in the Scottish kind.”
“Perhaps later. I believe he went with Farrell to the garages to inspect the antique autos. His great-aunt kept her husband’s collection, though I’ve no idea why. She never drove them. Now what do you mean by he doesn’t believe in the Scottish kind?” Mrs. Smith turned at the beep and took a steaming mug from the microwave. She set it in front of Caitlin. “Let that be for a minute or you’ll scald your tongue.”
Caitlin nodded. “I found evidence in a piece of furniture in the attic that may have something to do with why Holt’s family has such a sad history.”
Mrs. Smith’s eyebrows lifted to her hairline. “What kind of evidence?”
“If I’m right, a curse made by a Scottish healer, a wise woman, who lost her love to the English, either during Culloden or soon after. That sort of curse can be mighty powerful.”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Smith leaned back against the sink apron and crossed her arms. Her tone didn’t convey incredulity or sympathy. Just…resignation?
Caitlin leaned forward and rested her chin on her fist. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’ve taken care of this family for many years. I knew Holt’s great-aunt’s father, though I was just a young girl. No mother, I’m sorry to say. The lack soured her as a child, and she grew even more sour the older she got. As did the loss of her husband years later, before they could be blessed with children. I think she knew something wasn’t right.”
“You knew Holt’s mother. She lived here for a while.”
“Of course. She and my son were friends.” She glanced around at the picture she kept on the windowsill and studied it for a moment, then turned back to Caitlin. “And I met that boy she was seeing one time before…well, he went off. Joined the military, I heard. Probably killed in the desert.”
Caitlin’s heart sank. For Mrs. Smith’s loss, and for Holt’s. She’d been so set on helping Holt reunite with the father he’d never known, she hadn’t considered that he might really be dead. “Do you remember his name?”
“Hmmm. I haven’t thought about him in decades. Johnny? Jimmy. Maybe Gene? Something with a ‘J’ sound.”
“What about his last name?”
Mrs. Smith shook her head. “If I ever knew it, it’s long gone. And what does it matter? Holt has his mother’s name. Her aunt’s inheritance, though that’s small compensation for the way she treated that girl. End of story.”
Caitlin sipped her hot chocolate quietly for several minutes while Mrs. Smith bustled around the kitchen then excused herself. She needed to talk to Holt. He’d never actually told her his mother’s name, or whether she’d gone by a name other than the one she’d given to him. Doc Coats’s story ran too closely parallel to the little Holt knew about his origins for her to be wrong in questioning his past. If they weren’t father and son, they were part of the biggest coincidence she’d ever seen. After Mrs. Smith left, Caitlin considered what the housekeeper thought she knew about Holt’s father and her supposition that he had died in a desert conflict. Calling up her picture of Doc Coats on her phone, she held it up so she could see the photo on the window sill at the same time. She studied both to fix their features in her mind and muttered, “Maybe. Maybe not.” Unable to come up with an answer, she headed for the attic to see what other mysteries she might find. She’d talk to Holt later.
****
Looking at antique cars got Holt thinking about what else his family had held onto down through the ages. He’d had been doing some reading about the eighteenth century Jacobite rising, not that he’d tell Caitlin her theories had intrigued him. He was appalled by the violence against the Scottish people following Culloden in 1745. What he read lent credence to Caitlin’s assertion that because of a love lost in that epic battle or its aftermath, someone might carve a curse into an apothecary cabinet they expected to be stolen. Whether a curse could be real or have any real effect was debatable. But the more he read and the more he recalled those sad, empty eyes in the photos in the trunk, the more he entertained the possibility his mother had been telling the literal truth.
He decided he wanted another look at Caitlin’s photos of the carving and her notes. She’d gone into town, but he knew she had printed out the composite she’d created. If he could find that, he wouldn’t have to invade her privacy by searching for it on her laptop, something, after working side-by-side with her, he knew he could do with no technical impediment. He grimaced. Who didn’t password-protect their computers? Caitlin must either be very trusting or from an area where crime, especially cybercrime, was non-existent. He went up to the attic first, thinking she’d left all her research with the cabinet where she’d been working. He didn’t find anything there, so he came downstairs to the office.
The table Caitlin used looked a mess. She’d piled papers and print-outs of pictures of items in the house haphazardly at the corners then filled the middle with random lists, scraps of notes, and who knew what.
Holt went around to her chair, surveyed the mess, and realized she had a system. He’d find what he wanted in one of the piles since, based on what he saw on top of each of them, they seemed to be stacks that contained more detailed information about specific items of furniture. He thumbed through the first, careful not to disturb the order in which she’d placed things. He hated when his assistant tried to find something on his desk, or worse, took it into her head to organize the papers on it. He didn’t want to be guilty of doing the same to Caitlin.
Not finding what he wanted, he moved to another corner, but something in the middle of the table caught his eye—the glossy edge of a photo. Mostly covered by another sheet that contained a To-Do li
st, a bit of rough wood and two letters of the carved inscription were visible.
Holt picked up the list, intending to study the photo beneath it, but couldn’t resist the chance to see what Caitlin had left to do before she returned to Scotland. He chuckled at some of the things she listed, including gift ideas for her family in Scotland, then noticed his name on her shopping list.
He sank into the chair behind him. She was going to give him a Christmas present? She didn’t need to do that. Worse, it meant he needed to shop for something for her, but had no idea what she’d like. And what about Farrell and Mrs. Smith? He’d been so focused on finishing the work here and returning to California, he had forgotten all about the holiday. As the new owner, he would be expected to provide some sort of holiday bonus or gifts, wouldn’t he?
He should talk to Mrs. Smith and find out what she’d told Caitlin about his family history. In addition, that might give him a chance to find out what she and Farrell had received from his great-aunt in the past for the holidays. If not, he’d bet Caitlin already knew. Not that he wanted her to think taking care of the help was an afterthought. But she would understand his focus being on the estate, its contents, and the mystery she’d uncovered rather than on Santa, peppermint sticks, and gaily wrapped packages. Somehow the two did not go together.
He made a mental note to call the lawyer and see if his great-aunt had left any instructions about holiday gifts and bonuses for the staff or, more importantly, if she had provided for their retirement in the event he sold the estate. He should have questioned that much earlier and suspected some of Caitlin’s glowing comments about them had been intended to make him recall his responsibilities to them. For a change, she’d been too subtle. For the immediate issue of the holiday, if all else failed, he could just ask them what their employer used to do for them, but he disliked putting them on the spot and worse, making them feel they had been overlooked. He was usually better with people than that.
While he castigated himself, he set aside the To-Do list and noticed a paperclip on the picture of the carved inscription. He picked up the packet to see what Caitlin had clipped with it. Several scraps of random-looking notes about the family curse, a rough genealogy chart going back to his great-aunt’s parents that listed Mrs. Smith’s name to the side, her son’s underlined below it, and one other name she’d underlined several times along the margin. Both were connected to a notation saying “Holt’s mother” with a plus sign. What the hell? Did the veterinarian have something to do with his family history? His mother? Had Mrs. Smith told her things about his family that Holt was not privy to? About her son and his mother? Caitlin had asked him if he wanted to find his father. Then, he hadn’t been sure if he did, but Caitlin clearly hadn’t dropped the idea.
He slapped the packet down on the desk, shifting the top items in the corner piles with the breeze he created. He stood and straightened them, then checked the floor around the desk to make sure nothing had flown off. While he did that, he thought about why he’d come east. He’d wanted to cut all ties as quickly as possible, so other than asking Jack Romano, he hadn’t inquired about her friends, or anything that would have created more connections to this place. Was he ignoring an opportunity? Though he’d asked her to stay out of his personal life, perhaps Caitlin had been asking the questions he should have been. Not just focusing on his mother’s past, but trying harder to find out about his father.
He picked up the packet again and flipped through it. The last page floored him. A list of local labs doing DNA testing. What was she up to? In order to have something to test, she had to have someone in mind to test. Mrs. Smith? Doc Coats? The way Caitlin underlined his name, she must think him important. Holt pictured the veterinarian. Could they be related? Holt didn’t see a resemblance, and certainly not one that would imply a father/son relationship. So why had Caitlin connected the vet’s name with a note about Holt’s mother? And underlined his name several times?
At a loss, Holt put down the To-Do list and studied the composite photo. Weren’t curses usually pronounced in Latin? Or had he been watching too many movies? He only spoke enough French to order a bottle of Beaujolais and ask for directions to the men’s room. He couldn’t say whether the language in the carving was consistent with what was spoken in the eighteenth century or a more modern attempt at a hoax. Clearly he wasn’t going to glean any insights from the photo other than those he and Caitlin had already discussed.
Frustrated, he replaced the photo packet under the To-Do list and sat back. He’d come in here to look into one mystery and found another. What did a genealogy chart, a list of DNA testing labs, and several notations of names have in common with a photo of a presumed ancient French curse in a piece of eighteenth-century Scottish furniture? Besides being evidence that Caitlin was delving into his family history. He clenched his jaw, uncomfortable despite knowing he’d set her on this path. Still she was taking it much farther than he’d expected. He didn’t know what to do about any of it. There were no hard-and-fast answers to be found in ancient family history. That left his appraiser. The simplest way to an explanation of what Caitlin was up to would be to ask her. And then she’d know he’d been snooping on her desk.
Chapter Ten
After two fruitless hours in the attic, Caitlin discovered little more than dusty but modern broken furniture. She had a look in some of the boxes she’d ignored earlier and discovered twentieth-century Christmas cards someone had saved. Giving up, she went in search of Holt. She found him where she expected, in the office where they’d first met. He was reading and didn’t seem to notice her presence in the doorway, so she leaned on the jamb and studied him, noting the similarities with either of the men she believed could be his father. The nose and chin were similar in all. The eye and hair color were different. Holt was taller than Doc Coats but had the same long-limbed build. If her wild theory was right, she could see him in Holt, though suspected Holt took after his mother. She couldn’t be certain based on looks alone, but add their histories to the mix, and it made sense.
She must have made a noise because he glanced up and noticed her.
“Caitlin, do you need something?”
In for a penny… “What was your mother’s name?”
“Her name? Why do you want to know that?”
“Humor me. I’ll tell you in a minute.”
“Jennifer Ridley.”
Caitlin’s heart dropped. “Jennifer Cooper Ridley?”
“How did you know that?”
Her heart started pounding a staccato beat in her chest. She grabbed onto the door jamb to stay upright and took a deep breath, hoping she could get through this without hurting Holt any more than he’d already been hurt. “Because I learned it from the man who might be your father.”
Holt frowned and leaned back in his chair. “He’s here? Who is he?”
“I…I can’t say.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
She held up a hand to forestall his questions. “I don’t have permission…”
“What does that mean?” Holt straightened up, his brows drew together.
“It means he doesn’t know about you, either. He told me he had a girlfriend in school named Jenny Cooper.”
After a dismissive wave, Holt said, “There might have been more than one Jenny Cooper. Maybe Ginny with a G-I, not J-E. And even if he meant my mother, a lot of people went to school with her. She probably had plenty of friends, even boyfriends. What’s so special about this one?”
Caitlin crossed the room to Holt’s desk and perched on the edge near him. He was looking as dazed by her announcement as she felt. Without mentioning his name, she repeated what Doc Coats told her about his military career and the timing of his return to the village, leaving out vet school. Mentioning it would be a dead giveaway. “He thinks your mother married, changed her name, and moved away. He has no idea you exist.”
Holt leaned away so suddenly, the chair tipped.
Caitlin grabbed the arm to keep
him from going over. “If I squint, you look like him, but not a lot. You must have taken after your mother. A simple paternity test would prove whether it’s true.”
“DNA. Right. I saw the list of labs on your desk. The genealogy chart you drew.”
He knew! “You went through my desk?” He’d let her rattle on when the whole time, he knew who she meant. Caitlin swallowed against the sudden burn at the back of her throat.
“You’re going through my life.”
“Not the same.”
“No, it’s not. What you’re doing is…more. You have plenty of access to things I’ve touched. You could easily take something with my DNA on it. Hell, you don’t even need to go to that trouble. All you and Doc Coats have to do is fake a report.”
Even though she’d been warned, she flinched when he said Doc Coats’s name. “I would never do anything like that. Nor would he. He’s a good man.” Caitlin clenched her fists. How could he think she’d try to hurt him like this? “I know this is a shock, but I’ve told you the truth.”
Suddenly the skin around Holt’s mouth turned white, and a muscle in his jaw flexed. “If this is a scam to get access to my money…” Holt trailed off and shook his head. “I can’t believe you’d be party to such a thing.”
Caitlin froze, her stomach sinking. She expected him to be dubious about finding his father, but suspicious of her? Anger made her blood heat, and she fought to keep her voice calm.
“I am not a party to anything. No one is trying to steal from you.” She took a breath and stood. “It was what…Doc Coats…told me about his past. We were just having a conversation. He was answering my questions, not trying to convince me of some elaborate scheme.”
Holt’s immediate reaction to think she was a con artist hurt and scared her. She struggled not to let her dismay show, keeping her voice even and her expression bland. She’d hoped finding his father would be over-the-top good news for him. Now she wondered if this was such a good idea. “He’s not claiming any connection with you. I’m the one who thinks there may be one, and I thought you’d want to know.”
