“That sounds perfect,” I said. “Do you mind if I take photos of your food? I promised my bosses that I would document everything I ate. I’m the only food critic at our little magazine, and people notice and gripe if there’s an issue without food and eating.” I was blathering now, wishing Nathan was here to back me up, carry the conversation in some other direction. Did his one and only sister wish we hadn’t come?
The rest of the day passed in a blur of exhaustion—a walk around the neighborhood, the dinner of creamy vegetable soup and two servings of cheese scones slathered with butter, and finally a nip of Scotch whiskey in front of the fire. I tried to stay awake to be polite but ended up excusing myself to go to bed at the same time as Miss Gloria, a few minutes after eight.
“I’ll see you shortly,” Nathan said, getting up to kiss me. “Don’t wait up.”
“Not a chance.” I grinned.
Chapter Five
But the truth was that as much as she loved Arbutus and held a cautious regard for Gladys, sometimes Madeline felt like she would scream if she spent one more hour at the kitchen table with yet another cup of coffee.
—Ellen Airgood, South of Superior
The next morning, I woke and rolled over to feel the space beside me in the bed. Empty. And I could hear Miss Gloria exclaiming over the flowers outside the window and sweet-talking the cat. Apparently, I was the last one up. I dressed quickly and hurried to the kitchen. Nathan and his brother-in-law were out in the backyard, looking at several bags of golf clubs leaning against the garage.
On the kitchen table was an empty plate with only crumbs remaining and half a cup of tea. There was a list in Miss Gloria’s handwriting that I recognized as places she hoped to visit, many related to her favorite episodes of Outlander. A second note from Vera invited me to make myself at home—she had gone to Edinburgh to pick up her mother. I put the kettle on and fished in the fridge for milk and butter, yearning for the sharp jolt of caffeine that I’d find in a café con leche from the Cuban Coffee Queen back home.
I sat at the table, drinking tea and enjoying the most wonderful banana date scone, even better than the one I had made for Miss Gloria before we left. I felt sluggish with jet lag and generally discombobulated about landing in this place so far in miles and spirit from Key West. The kitchen door opened, and Miss Gloria and Helen clattered in from the garden.
I stood to greet my mother-in-law and gave her a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. “How wonderful that you could be here the same time we are,” I said, mostly meaning it. We’d come to like and respect each other on her December visit to Key West, though she still scared me a little. She was so reserved and talented and opinionated—and tall.
“You won’t believe how cute this town is,” Miss Gloria said. “We walked around a little bit, but I didn’t want to see everything before you got up. Bring your breakfast out to the back patio—they have the cutest garden. And Vera says it’s not very often this sunny in June, so we should take advantage of it.”
I popped the end of the scone into my mouth and carried the mug of tea to the backyard as Miss Gloria had suggested. Vera was kneeling on a blue pad, weeding her flowers. The rest of us took seats at a wrought iron table, to visit with her as she worked. Nathan and William emerged from the garage.
“Probably now that everyone’s together, we should talk about our plans this week,” said Vera, sneaking a quick look at her brother and not looking at her mother at all. “This is not ideal when you’ve only just landed yesterday, but we’ve accepted an invitation for cocktails and dinner tonight. Luckily, it’s within walking distance, so when dinner is over, our travelers can be excused and get to bed at a reasonable hour.”
Nathan swallowed, his Adam’s apple sinking and rising. “A cocktail party?”
“I’m truly sorry,” Vera said, perched on her haunches with a handful of dead-headed flowers, and now looking at me. “Some of the people are my business associates, and others are William’s golf buddies. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve arranged for a little tour of some of the most beautiful places in the country.” She started talking faster, as if to leave no room for dissent. “Nathan and William will meet us on the Isle of Mull, and they will also see Iona—both of them are too lovely to miss. But unfortunately, golf is my husband’s primary passion. And once he heard Nathan was coming, he signed them up to play in a tournament this week, and there’s no money back. And it would kill him to miss a round of golf with Nathan anyway.” She looked apologetic. “This isn’t much of a honeymoon, is it?”
“So everyone says.” I tried to smile graciously, but all these plans made me feel a little grumpy.
“I’m sure it will be fine. Just give us tea and scones along the way,” said Miss Gloria. “And maybe a wee dram of whiskey at night.”
“The point is tomorrow and the next two days, unfortunately, William has commandeered your husband for this golf tournament. It will take up their evenings too.” She stood up and brushed the mulch off her knees.
Nathan looked a little queasy and glared at his brother-in-law. “You did not say anything about a tournament. My game is not tournament quality.”
“Not a care about that,” said William, adding a hearty laugh. “The main thing is you’ll be playing the Old Course which you’ve probably seen many times watching the British Open on the telly. Better still, we’ll get to play several of the other courses, which may actually be even nicer, and meet some local Scottish laddies and drink Scottish whiskey. I believe they have bagpipes lined up to serenade us on the final hole. And I made my best guess of your waist size, so you’ll be able to wear my family’s Campbell plaid kilt for the final evening. And for tonight as well.”
Now Nathan’s face reflected sheer horror.
“I can’t wait to watch all this,” I said, trying to act effusive since he obviously couldn’t muster a whit of enthusiasm. I knew coming in that this wasn’t going to be a traditional honeymoon, but it was turning out even worse than I’d expected.
“Do tell us more about what’s on the docket for the rest of us,” said Nathan’s mom. “What’s this about a tour?”
His sister sighed. “I think I told you about my big publishing project.”
From the expression on Mrs. Bransford’s—Helen’s—face, I wondered if she had been told anything about this. I certainly hadn’t heard any details other than that Vera seemed to be losing it in some subtle way. Helen raised her eyebrows, which might have meant “no” or maybe “tell me again.” Or something else in the Bransford dialect that I had yet to decipher. There was a coolness between them that left me feeling sad and uncomfortable.
William answered. “Vera landed a huge contract for a book about traveling to and absorbing Scotland’s thin places. She’s working with several old friends, and that makes it even more special.”
I snuck a look at Nathan’s sister. She was smiling, but it was not the kind of smile that looked like it came from the joy in one’s heart. This smile was pasted on to cover something—I wasn’t sure what.
“Tell us about thin places,” her mother said. “I’ve heard the term used, but I don’t quite know what it means.” Her voice was flat, devoid of judgment. But I wasn’t convinced that it didn’t lurk beneath the surface.
“Thin places are places where the earth and heaven are close, where the distance between them has shrunk,” Vera explained. “Sometimes people say the veil between heaven and earth has lifted in such locations. Islands are often thin places—they are cut off from undesirable physical and psychic influences.”
Nathan’s brows drew together, his expression perplexed. Under his tough cop exterior, though I’d found him to be more emotional than I’d first imagined, he was not a deeply spiritual man. Expressions such as “lifting the veil between heaven and earth” would not be in his wheelhouse.
“Like Key West,” explained Miss Gloria. “Lorenzo talks about the same thing. He says there’s a current running around our island that protects us. And
that people who are drawn to visit don’t realize it’s the spiritual nature of the island pulling them. They misinterpret that invitation to mean getting drunk on Duval Street.” She chortled, making everyone smile.
“Now that’s a big jump,” said William, “from spirit to spirits.”
“Lorenzo says that Key West is a Capricorn, more concerned about money than anything else—where that money’s coming from and in whose pockets it will land,” I added. “It sounds odd, I know, but cities have astrological signs exactly like people.”
Helen nodded politely. “Fascinating words from a fascinating man.” She had met Lorenzo briefly during her visit last winter, and they had discovered more in common than I would have imagined. She turned her attention back to her daughter. “So, thin places?”
Vera continued, “I proposed the project as a recasting of some of the history behind Scottish tourist sites. Many tour groups pitching Outlander and Game of Thrones sites as a way to understand Scottish history and religion have grown hokey and money-hungry—they skim along the surface and pitch the kind of tourism that appeals to the lowest common denominator. It’s not all about guessing what’s under the kilts of our men.”
I didn’t dare look at Miss Gloria’s face for fear that we’d both break into hysterical laughter, which would have seemed so rude.
“I’m hoping this project can counteract some of that and help teach people how to cultivate their spirituality in our precious thin places,” Vera continued. Her expression was very serious, and I had the bad feeling she knew we were on the verge of laughing, though that had mostly to do with feeling giddy with jet lag and very little to do with her project.
“I’m very proud of her,” William said, putting a defensive arm around his wife’s shoulders as if to block any disagreement from the rest of us. “Not only has she landed a huge advance for this book, but her book will return dignity and truth to our history.”
Vera flashed a lopsided grin at her husband. “Not everyone is as excited as you are, darling.” She turned back to us. “There have been problems with people who believe I’m pretending to be an expert when I am actually nothing but an outsider. Not even born in Scotland.”
I understood this perfectly, as the same dynamic occurred on our Key West island. There was a constant turnover of artistic and foodie and literary types, and the new arrivals seemed to believe they understood the culture better than anyone who had come before. My good friend and police officer Steve Torrence always said that the folks who made the biggest splash coming in were the first to bail out with any signs of trouble.
“I can imagine how that would be controversial,” I said. “Natives to our island are called conchs. But you can’t be one unless you were actually born there. When I write for our magazine, I try to be super clear that these are my opinions, that I’m not trying to speak for the world. I’m not trying to pretend to be anyone but myself.”
“And you’re almost perfect,” said Nathan with a big grin.
“Almost?” I punched his arm and turned back to Vera. “You’re working with several people on this book? I bet that can be tricky.”
Vera sighed, her shoulders tightening visibly. “Yes. And we are arguing a bit about which of the places we’ve researched have to be cut. Our draft has run long, and the publisher isn’t budging. Especially because of the photographs, it’s an expensive project. All that to say again that we’re so sorry about the party that we must attend tonight. I’m afraid nothing about this visit is going the way we would have hoped or planned. Since we’re crashing toward the deadline, I wasn’t able to put any of this off,” she said and then shrugged.
Which caused me to wonder what else wasn’t right. Whatever I’d overheard them arguing about last night was probably in the mix.
“Turns out the summer solstice can be the best time to photograph special places,” Vera said. “I promise the scenery will be stunning. Meanwhile, since the golf doesn’t start until tomorrow, I thought we could all walk around town, see some of the sights, grab a bite of lunch?”
“I was going to take Nathan to the driving range,” William said, frowning a little. “According to his fatuous claim, he’s very rusty.”
“It’s not a fatuous claim—it’s a fact. I haven’t touched a club since I was twenty,” Nathan said, turning to me. “Is that okay with you if we don’t join you?”
“Sure,” I said, assuming that was what he wanted. “We’ll have an all girls’ lunch instead.”
After an hour of spinning through the ruins of St. Andrews Castle and Cathedral and admiring the glorious juxtaposition of blue sea of the Firth of Forth against weathered stone and green grass, Miss Gloria and I were beginning to droop. The cobblestone walkways and streets, though beautiful, had begun to pound my ankles, spreading an ache up through my calves to my knees.
Vera noticed. “You two need a spot of tea,” she said. “Before we adjourn inside to lunch, I want you to see one more thing. It’s not a thin place, but I think you’ll enjoy it.” We walked back across town and stopped in front of a coffee shop called the Northpoint Café. A plain brown bench sat below the picture window.
“People say this is where Kate met Wills,” said Vera. “At the very least they either had coffee here or flirted on the bench outside the picture window.”
“Kate Middleton? Oh, I love Kate,” said Miss Gloria. “That wedding! And remember how she came out of the hospital carrying her firstborn baby? She was stunning! Even though she must have had a staff to buff and puff her so she looked like a million dollars.” She perched on the bench and pretended to flip her hair back like a princess. “I didn’t think that was quite fair to the rest of us women—it warped our husbands’ expectations about what a new mother should look like. And our own. But I don’t suppose she chose it. She does what the royal family requires of her, and she does it with grace and beauty.” She held one hand up to simulate a royal wave, and we all three snickered.
Vera beckoned us inside the busy café. As we were seated, my phone buzzed, and Connie’s face came up in a FaceTime call. She looked distraught.
“Excuse me, I need to take this,” I told the ladies. “Order me something light, okay? Soup and half a sandwich or a scone maybe?”
“Hello?” I answered once I was seated outside on Will and Kate’s bench. “Is everything okay?” I could see that she was pacing on Miss Gloria’s deck. T-bone, Sparky, and Evinrude were in a furry, purring pile on my former lounge chair, with Ziggy beside them, but six inches away. None of them looked injured, nor did they appear to be pining for us. The houseboat looked homey and peaceful, and I was surprised by the zing of homesickness that pierced my gut.
“All is well, I just wanted to check in. How’s Scotland?” she asked.
I held the phone up so she could see the cobblestone street and stone buildings. “Beautiful. Nathan’s sister looks exactly like his mom, and they live in the most adorable house. Though the family dynamics are complicated, as you can imagine.” I could have gone on and on, but I was certain she hadn’t called to hear about my trip. “What’s up?”
“I hate to bother you, but I’m in knots,” she said. “I can’t get Ray to tell me why he pulled the gun out or even why he had a damn gun in the first place.” She started to cry. “We’ve had to put all our savings toward hiring a lawyer who may be able to get the charges reduced if they can find bystanders to confirm that either he himself was threatened or he didn’t flash his weapon in a threatening way. His weapon. Since when has my sweet Ray felt like he needed a weapon? And now his lawyer wants him to have a psychological evaluation, but so far Ray’s refusing.”
I didn’t want to say this to her, but having been right there on the scene and scared to death by the crowd’s panic, I could understand why brandishing a gun was a big deal. “Do you think he would talk to Eric?” I asked. Eric was a dear friend in Key West, a psychologist who had been through a difficult time when he’d been accused of a crime he didn’t commit. “He has such
a gentle way about him. And besides, he knows exactly what it feels like to be on the wrong side of the law.”
“I can ask,” Connie said, sinking down on the chaise lounge beside the cats. “But I’ll bet he’ll refuse. It’s like he’s withdrawing into himself. He’s spending all of his time at his studio on Stock Island and refuses to say what happened or why.” Evinrude stalked over and rubbed his jowls on her iPhone so the whole screen was filled with gray fur. I liked to think he recognized my voice.
“I miss you, kitty,” I said, clucking at him. “Mommy will be home soon. If it was me,” I said to Connie, “and I’m not saying this is the right thing for everyone, I would go down to the gallery and ask some questions. Talk to the owner. Who was there when he pulled the gun out? Were there any conflicts between the staff and Ray? Did he say anything to you that morning that now seems out of character? Was he antsy or depressed? More wound up than usual? Has he been angry with anyone? Scared? You could ask my mother to go with you,” I added. “She’s pretty good about nosing into things. I come by it honestly.” We both chuckled and she swiped at her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand. “Wasn’t this his big breakout moment? Is he having mixed feelings about that?”
“Yes, it was supposed to be,” said Connie in a voice as soft as a whisper. She reached to stroke the nearest cat, Evinrude, again. “I have no idea why he’d want to sabotage himself. And his family’s future.”
“Hayley?” Miss Gloria stuck her head out of the café, bringing me back to the present moment. “Your soup is here already.” She looked and sounded exhausted. I needed to get off the phone, eat lunch, and get my friend back to the house for a nap.
A Scone of Contention Page 4
