The Gift: The Pocket Watch Chronicles

by Ceci Giltenan

  She heaved and exaggerated sigh. “Ah, well, if ye don’t want to wait until January, I suppose it will have to be the second day of November. That way the three days of feasting will conclude before the fasting of Advent.”

  “November?” He didn’t want to wait until November to marry her. “Why do we need to wait that long?”

  Claire rested a hand on his arm. “Tavish, if ye keep arguing, we might find the wedding date set for after Easter.”

  “Ye’re a very clever lass, Claire,” said Coll. “Quit while ye’re ahead.”

  It was beyond frustrating, but Tavish knew Claire was right. “Fine. The second of November.”

  Once that was decided, messengers were sent to the allies of both clans. But given the short notice and the time of year, they really only expected close allies who could easily travel to Castle Ranald to be able to attend.

  Finally, to his great joy, Father Paul drew up the final betrothal documents and they were signed on the fourth day of October. Afterwards, there was a great feast.

  Having so recently learned how, Claire was happy to dance every dance. But eventually he suggested that they take a break.

  “Aye, if ye insist.”

  “I do,” said Tavish.

  “I really do love to dance.”

  He laughed and led her to the laird’s table. “I know. But let’s pace ourselves. I’ll fetch us some ale.”

  He was back in moments, with two tankards of ale.

  After taking a long pull from his, he said, “We have an extremely skilled brewer. Ours is some of the best ale in the Highlands.”

  “It is quite good.” Then she leaned close and whispered, “But I’d prefer it a little colder.”

  He whispered back. “Even at room temperature, if memory serves, it’s better than Natty Boh.”

  “But ye loved—” Her eyes went wide and she clamped a hand over her mouth. She looked terrified.

  “Sweetling, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head and tapped her lips with her forefinger.

  He frowned, then realized what she was trying to tell him. “Holy Mother of God.” He glanced around to make sure no one was listening then whispered, “That’s yer return word?”

  Claire nodded. “Aye, it is. When Gertrude said to pick one, a beer mat caught my eye. I figured there’d never be a reason to say it.”

  “And there isn’t.”

  “That was too close for comfort. What if it happens again?”

  Tavish squeezed her hand. “It won’t. Especially now that I know.”

  She still looked concerned. “Maybe I should just not speak for the next week.”

  “Ye can’t stay silent for an entire week. Ye won’t say it again. Stop worrying.”

  She sighed. “I suppose ye’re right. Thankfully, it is only one more week.”

  “Aye, ye’ll have no trouble.”

  She nodded, still obviously a little worried, but said, “Ye’re right. There’s no reason it should come up again.” She canted her head. “Now that it’s come up, what was yer word?”

  He frowned slightly. “As I told ye, I knew I wasn’t going to use it, but I had to have one. Because time was critical, Gertrude suggested the word to use believing that there would be no chance of saying it accidentally. And she was right, I’ve never had cause to say it in over seventeen years.”

  “So what was it?”

  “Something I hated, chemo.”

  ~ * ~

  Having come so close to saying her return word by accident on the night of the betrothal celebration, even after Tavish had assured Cassie there was no reason to worry, worry she did. She couldn’t help it. The idea of losing him again, just because of the slip of a lip, terrified her. In spite of the fact that she told herself over and over, it was an irrational concern, she remained tense and edgy until the eleventh of October—the last day she could return to the twenty-first century.

  Except for that one moment, it wasn’t as if she had given Natty Boh any thought since she’d been here. But all it took was one moment. And having almost slipped, she was paranoid. She’d even had a dream—a nightmare really—that she’d said it. In her dream, the last day had passed and she thought it was safe. The instant she’d said it, she had been immediately yanked back to the twenty-first century. In the nightmare, she’d learned too late that she was supposed to have wound the watch and that it had stopped before it reached twelve.

  She awoke in a panic, incredibly relieved to find herself still in Castle Ranald. She knew the watch didn’t need to be wound, but she dug it out of its hiding spot the next morning, just to make sure it was still working. And even though it was, she continued to check it every morning after that. And every morning, the single hand had advanced one more second just as it was supposed to have.

  On the morning of October twelfth, as soon as she woke, she reached into the trunk where she’d hidden it. She had to make absolutely certain that the time was up. But the pocket watch was gone. She wasn’t sure whether she should be worried or relieved.

  When she went down to the great hall that morning, Tavish knew something was wrong instantly. He frowned. “What’s the matter, sweetling. There’s nothing left to worry about—time’s up,” he added in a whisper.

  “I know. But I can’t find it.” She whispered back. “I checked this morning but it wasn’t where I’d hidden it. It was there yesterday.”

  He smiled broadly and leaned into her ear, saying softly, “Ye’ve nothing to worry about. After the last day, it disappeared for me too.”

  Finally she was able to relax. She was here, at his side, forever. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She can disappear, so why wouldn’t it?”

  Chapter 22

  Hooked Restaurant and Bar

  Baltimore, Maryland

  Monday, August 12, 2013

  Mike Roberts usually didn’t arrive at Hooked until well after the morning rush hour. He hated traffic. He’d rented a reserved spot in a nearby parking garage for years so that coming in late wouldn’t create a different problem. The restaurant didn’t open until eleven on weekday mornings and he usually aimed to get there by ten, just ahead of the kitchen staff.

  The phone behind the bar was ringing as he unlocked the door. He let it go to voice mail, until he heard the caller’s voice. “Hi, Mike, it’s Alicia. I hate to do this to you—”

  He picked up the receiver. “Alicia, I just got in. What’s up?”

  “Listen, Mike, I’m sorry but Dustin is sick. He was up all night, screaming and he’s still running a fever. I called Maggie, a friend of mine from back in New Jersey—she’s a nurse. She thinks he might have an ear infection and says I should take him to see the doctor.”

  Mike rolled his eyes and suspected Alicia’s nurse friend had probably done the same thing. “Alicia, when a kid has a fever and is awake crying most of the night, a trip to the pediatrician is always a good idea. And I told you yesterday when you said he was pulling at his ear that it sounded like he might have an earache.”

  “Yeah, but you aren’t a nurse or anything,” said Alicia.

  “Nope. Just an observant human being.”

  “Exactly,” she said, failing to recognize Mike’s sarcasm. “Anyway, I was supposed to work the lunch shift today and I can’t. But I could come in this evening. My mom said she’d watch Dustin until Todd gets home from work. Cassie’s working tonight. I thought maybe she’d change shifts with me, but she’s not answering her phone. Could you ask her for me?”

  “Sure. And, if she’s not available, I’ll see if I can get someone else to either work for you today or trade the dinner shift with you. I’ll let you know if you need to come in.”

  “Great. Thanks, Mike. I’m pretty sure Cassie won’t mind. Give her a big hug for me.”

  “Okay. Take care of the little guy.”

  After he hung up with Alicia, he called Cassie’s cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. She wasn’t one to sleep very late in the morning, but
she had closed up the night before. Maybe she was in the shower and couldn’t hear. The kitchen staff were arriving now. Once he got them started on the lunch prep, he’d try again.

  Twenty minutes later he redialed her number. Still no answer.

  He went up the stairs to the apartment and knocked.

  Nothing.

  He listened at the door for a minute, to see if he could hear the shower running or anything that might suggest she was there, but all was quiet.

  Maybe she had already gone somewhere for the day. He pulled out his cellphone and dialed her number again. He could hear her Game of Thrones ringtone faintly. If her phone was in the apartment, so was Cassie. She was never without it.

  He pounded on the door. “Cassie! Hey, Cassie, it’s Mike.”

  He listened for a response. “Cassie,” he yelled again, pounding harder.

  Something was wrong. This wasn’t like her at all. He went downstairs to his office where he had a master key. When he was back at her door, he knocked and called to her one more time and again, she didn’t answer.

  He let himself in her apartment. “Cassie, honey, are you in here? Are you okay?” She wasn’t in the living room or kitchen. Her bedroom door stood ajar. “Cassie?” He poked his head in. The blinds were pulled, the room was dark and she lay curled up in her bed, looking peacefully asleep. Except she was completely still. “Cassie, wake up.”

  She didn’t stir.

  He flipped on the overhead light. “Cassie, honey, wake up, you’re worrying me.” He walked to her bedside and reached out his hand to shake her shoulder but froze. Her skin was ashen, with a blue tinge. She wasn’t breathing. His heart rate sped up with a rush of adrenaline.

  She’d be all right. She had to be.

  He turned her to her back to begin rescue breathing, but as soon as he touched her he knew it was too late. She was cold. The sweet girl who he loved like a daughter was dead.

  He took a step back, pulled out his phone and called 911. Then he went downstairs to call his wife and wait for the police to arrive.

  “Jean, sweetheart, something has happened.”

  “Mike, you sound terrible. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Cassie. She wasn’t answering her phone so I went up to ask her if she could cover the lunch shift for Alicia. She was in there, I could hear her phone ringing but she wasn’t responding. I let myself in with the spare key. Jean,” his voice broke, “she was in bed, dead.”

  “Oh my God. Oh, Mike, I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

  “We need to close Hooked down for the day. I can’t open under these circumstances.”

  “Of course not. I’ll be there soon to help you.”

  The police and paramedics arrived almost before he was off the phone with Jean.

  It was hours later before the scene was processed and Cassie’s body was taken away.

  The police detective asked, “Does she have any history of substance abuse that you know of?”

  Mike frowned. “Cassie? No. Definitely not.”

  “Was everything okay in her life? Was she depressed or anything?”

  “Well, she had just lost her boyfriend to cancer a couple months ago. She was pretty sad about it all, but I can’t imagine she took her own life.”

  The officer shrugged. “It’s hard to know what pushes people to the edge. However, in the absence of any signs of foul play, and if an accidental overdose isn’t likely, the next thing that has to be ruled out as a cause of death is suicide. The fact that a copy of her will was laying out on her desk makes it a distinct possibility. Of course if it was suicide the medical examiner should be able to determine that.”

  “It’s not suicide. I’d bet my bar on it.”

  ~ * ~

  Mike had been right. The medical examiner found no drugs or poisons in her system. He could also find nothing to explain Cassie’s sudden death. Her heart, lungs and other vital organs were normal and healthy. She hadn’t had a stroke. There was no sign of brain injury.

  In the end, the medical examiner determined that Cassie died of unexplained, natural causes.

  Mike was relieved to be able to give that news to the rest of his staff.

  “How can they not know how she died?” asked one of his cooks.

  “They know how she died—her heart stopped. I guess they just don’t know why,” said Mike.

  “Wow,” said one young waiter. “It’s like she was hit by the Avada Kedavra curse.”

  The same thing had occurred to Mike.

  He closed down Hooked on the day of her funeral. He held a celebration of her life there that evening, inviting her friends, and the entire Hooked staff. He had invited Cassie’s family too, but they declined. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He didn’t see them actually talk to any of the mourners who were Cassie’s friends. Before he was out of earshot, he’d overheard her mother say to her father, “Why on earth would anyone think we’d want to mourn our daughter at a bar in Baltimore?”

  Alicia, bless her, heard the disparaging remark and jumped on it. “Why? Because it’s what she would have wanted. Hooked was her home, she loved it there, she loved us, and we loved her. And for that matter, we aren’t mourning her. We are celebrating because she was a part of our lives, even if only for a little while.”

  He’d have to give that girl a raise.

  ~ * ~

  Slowly Mike’s life resumed its normal rhythm over the next few months. He missed Cassie. Many was the night he’d hear a feminine laugh and look up, expecting to see her. But by the end of October that happened less and less often.

  One night, near closing, he was doing some paperwork in his office. Alicia knocked on the open door. She had a small box in her hands. “Hey, boss, you got a minute?”

  “Sure. What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing. Well, I guess something. Um…I…well, not just me, a bunch of us…well…”

  “Alicia, sweetie, just spit it out.”

  “We miss Cassie,” she said bluntly.

  Mike sighed. “I know. I do too.”

  “So we wanted to put something in the bar sort of as a memorial to her. Only not a memorial like a dull old plaque that would make us cry. We wanted something that would make us smile.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  A grin split her face. “This,” she said and pulled something from the box, handing it to him.

  It was a wind chime dangling from the silhouette of a pixie.

  “You know we always teased her about being Hooked’s very own Tinkerbell. And we thought,” she shrugged and gave him a small smile, “hearing the tinkling of the chimes every now and then, and seeing the little pixie would be a nice way to remember her—something she would have liked too.”

  Mike swallowed hard. “Alicia, this is perfect. I’ll hang it up first thing tomorrow.” Then he remembered he had an appointment with Cassie’s lawyer the next day and would be away from Hooked for most of the morning. “On second thought, let’s go find someplace to hang it now.”

  ~ * ~

  Mike wasn’t sure why he’d been asked to attend this meeting. The lawyer’s administrative assistant had made the request the previous week, but had given him no clue as to what the meeting was for. Slightly worried about the whole thing, he’d asked Jean to come with him. When he arrived another couple waited in the reception area. He recognized them as Tom Hatcher’s parents. They had come for a little while to the celebration Mike had held for Cassie at Hooked.

  Just before the appointment time, the receptionist showed both couples to a conference room. Moments later a tall woman with warm brown eyes and a smile to match joined them. “Hi. I’m Anne Myers. I’m Cassandra Calloway’s attorney.

  Tom’s father stood and offered her his hand. “I’m Jack Hatcher and this is my wife Nina.”

  Mike stood too and shook her hand. “I’m Michael Roberts, Mike to most people. This is my wife Jean.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I hate starting late, but I
am expecting Cassie’s parents to join us as well. Would you mind waiting briefly while my administrative assistant tries to reach them? If they’re going to be much longer, we’ll start without them.”

  Moments later, the receptionist, looking slightly flustered, led Cassie’s parents into the room.

  Before introductions could be made, Cassie’s father demanded, “What are these people doing here?”

  Anne appeared to ignore his question. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Calloway. I’m glad you could make it. This is Mr. and Mrs. Hatcher—”

  Mr. Calloway waved a hand to cut her off. “I know who they are. And he’s the bartender.”

  Anne smiled pleasantly, once again ignoring Mr. Calloway’s rudeness. “As I was saying, this is Mr. and Mrs. Hatcher. Their son, Tom, and Cassie were very close before his death this past summer. And this,” she motioned toward Mike and Jean, “is Mr. and Mrs. Roberts. They were also dear friends of your daughter’s.”

  Mr. Calloway gave them a curt nod before sitting down. Mrs. Calloway sat beside him, not acknowledging anyone else in the room.

  “Let’s get on with this,” said Mr. Calloway.

  Anne smiled and sat at the head of the table. “Certainly. You are all here because Cassie’s will is out of probate now and she requested that you all be informed of the will’s contents at the same time.”

  Mrs. Calloway huffed but said nothing.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Calloway, did you wish to say something?” asked Anne.

  “Well, yes. First, her name is Cassandra. And I’m just irritated by this whole charade. Reading the will like this is some Hollywood melodrama.”

  Anne nodded. “I see. Well, this whole charade won’t last much longer, I assure you. As I was saying, Cassie wanted you all to hear this together. She wrote a letter that she requested I read aloud first. After that, I have letters from her for you.”

  “And we’re only getting them now?” demanded Mrs. Calloway.

  “These were her wishes,” said Anne.

  “Fine,” said Mr. Calloway tersely. “Read.”

  Anne arched a brow at him, but opened one letter and began to read: