X Marks the Scot

by Kaitlyn Dunnett

  Liss didn’t anticipate much of a wait when she finally reached the cruiser. A good many cars and trucks had already left the site and the number of vehicles parked on the shoulder of the narrow road rapidly decreased even as she watched. She caught sight of the steamer trunk again as Benny’s hero loaded it into a white van. The dark-haired man who had bid against her for the Grant piper nodded to her as he stacked framed prints in the trunk of a dark blue hatchback.

  At that moment, Sherri came up behind her. “Ready to go?”

  “You’re not staying till the bitter end?” A steady stream of departing auction-goers continued to pass by them.

  Sherri shook her head. “They’ve mostly cleared out. There aren’t enough people left to snarl traffic.”

  Opening the back door of the cruiser, she reached for one end of the portrait frame at the same time Liss tried to pick it up from the other side. Just as they started to lift, Liss lost her grip. As if it had a life of its own, the painting leaped out of her grasp to land with considerable force on one corner of its frame, striking the tarmac with an ominous cracking sound.

  In slow motion, the portrait tumbled forward to land on its face. Liss stared down at it in dismay. The wooden backing had split open, leaving a gap through which she could see the reverse of the stretched canvas . . . and something else, something that did not belong there. She bent closer to work it free.

  “Talk about a cliché,” she murmured.

  “What is it?” Sherri asked.

  “You’re going to think this is crazy,” Liss said, “but I think I just found a treasure map.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t until that evening that Liss was able to share her day’s adventure with the rest of the family. She and her husband, Dan, were joined for supper by her aunt, Margaret Boyd, as a thank-you for Margaret’s having kept the store open while Liss attended the auction. Margaret was accompanied by her two Scottish terriers, Dandy and Dondi, which meant that any meaningful conversation had to be delayed until after the dogs were reeducated as to the proper pecking order by Liss’s two cats.

  The animals settled in more easily now than they had when Margaret first adopted the two Scotties. Liss suspected that was because Lumpkin, her overweight Maine coon cat, was getting on in years. He still enjoyed spurts of energy, including wrestling matches with his younger feline companion, Glenora, but he no longer lit into everything, be it feline, canine, or human, that invaded his territory. Liss wasn’t sure how old Lumpkin was, but he was at least fifteen. He had been well past the kitten stage when she’d inherited him.

  Glenora had been the first interloper into Lumpkin’s kingdom. The little black ball of fluff had appeared out of nowhere, showing up one wintry day at Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium to worm her way into Liss’s heart. Liss shook her head as she watched the four animals interact with one another. Sometimes it hardly seemed possible that nine years had passed since Glenora’s arrival in her life, or that she and Dan were coming up on their eighth wedding anniversary.

  A glance at her husband, who was also watching the byplay of cats vs. dogs, brought a smile to her lips. She’d known Dan Ruskin most of her life and could still remember what a scrawny, skinny kid he’d been in junior high school. Between then and now, he’d sprouted all the way to six foot two and filled out in the nicest possible ways. The years he’d spent working for his family’s business, Ruskin Construction, had been responsible for most of those muscles. Now that he was self-employed as a custom woodworker, he still kept in shape. As for the rest of the package, in Liss’s admittedly biased opinion it was hard to beat sandy brown hair, worn a little on the long side, and molasses-brown eyes.

  She found it easy to read her husband’s mood by studying his face and body language. Right now, he was relaxed, happy, and content, all feelings she shared. She was also excited, but she could wait to make her big announcement until she’d heard how Margaret’s day had gone.

  “Sales were slow but steady,” Margaret reported when they were gathered around the kitchen table eating bowls of the stew Liss had started in the slow cooker before leaving for the auction. The freshly baked dinner rolls to go with it had come from Patsy’s Coffee House.

  That was about what Liss had expected to hear. Fortunately, her business did not depend on walk-in customers to turn a profit. Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium generated most of its sales through its Web site.

  “Beth Hogencamp stopped by,” Margaret said. “She wanted to know if you need any part-time help.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That she’d have to talk to you, of course. I’m not the owner anymore and haven’t been for years.” She sent her niece an impish grin that had Liss rolling her eyes.

  Until she’d sold the business to Liss, Margaret had spent a decade as sole proprietor. Before that, she had been co-owner with her brother, Liss’s father, of a business that had been founded by their father way back in 1955.

  Liss reached for another roll. “Now that Angie’s Books has been rebuilt and is open for business, I’m surprised Beth’s mother doesn’t need her there full-time.”

  “Apparently, Angie wants Beth’s little brother to get some work experience this summer. There isn’t enough to keep three people busy.”

  “Much as I love Beth, I don’t think I could keep her fully occupied either. I get a bit overwhelmed when one of the tour buses stops in the town square, but the rest of the time there isn’t much to do but fill orders that come in by mail or online and keep the place clean.”

  “You should talk to Angie,” Margaret said. “And Beth, of course.”

  “I’ll do that. Did you have lunch at Patsy’s? Any tidbits of local gossip to pass on?”

  Around noon on most days, Liss hung out her BACK IN FIFTEEN MINUTES sign and walked across the town square to the combination coffee shop and café. That Patsy was a genius in the kitchen was reason enough to develop this habit, but Liss also went there to find out what was going on in town.

  “Alex Permutter has new hearing aids, and since everyone knows it, he’s had to stop pretending he can’t hear when what he really wants is to avoid talking to people.”

  An explosion of barking from the living room interrupted before Margaret could say more about one of their more eccentric neighbors.

  “What on earth?” Dan started to rise from his chair but stopped when Margaret held up a hand.

  “Don’t encourage them. They probably just heard a car pass by on the street out front. Or if Dandy was on the window seat, she may have spotted a squirrel.”

  “Do they bark at every strange sight and sound?” Liss reached for her glass and took a sip of ice-cold root beer.

  “Not usually, no. In fact, that’s what makes Scotties such good watchdogs. But Dandy’s been getting more vocal lately, and if she barks, so does Dondi. They settle down faster if I ignore them. It’s self-preservation,” she added with a chuckle. “I’d be worn to a frazzle if I got up to look every time one or the other of them wanted my attention.”

  Margaret’s comment had Liss taking a hard look at her aunt. In common with Lumpkin, who was currently lurking under the table in the hope that a bit of stew beef would fall into his mouth, Margaret had slowed down as she got older. Even the way she spoke had undergone a gradual change over the last few years. Liss could remember a time when her aunt always talked a mile a minute, hardly pausing to draw breath. Now her conversation was slower and more considered, as if she wished to conserve energy for more important things.

  She’s nearly seventy, Liss reminded herself. It’s amazing that she’s stayed as active as she has.

  Margaret had only recently retired from a job as events coordinator at The Spruces, the hotel owned by Joe Ruskin, Dan’s father. Within a month, she had taken on a half dozen new responsibilities, everything from volunteering at the food kitchen to serving on the board of the local historical society to joining a bowling league.

  The barking had quieted, but now started
up again at even greater volume. Margaret swung her head in that direction, a movement that set her silvery-gray hair in motion. To celebrate her retirement, she had driven all the way to Portland, patronized an outrageously expensive hairdresser, and come home with a short and sassy do that made her look at least five years younger.

  “Dandy! Dondi!” she shouted. “Be quiet!”

  Silence descended.

  Smiling, Margaret shifted to a far less commanding tone of voice. “Dandy! Dondi! Come here, my darlings. Come to Mama.”

  Obediently, both Scotties trotted into the kitchen and plunked their compact little bodies down next to their mistress’s chair. Liss had to smile. With their small, dark brown, almond-shaped eyes, they epitomized the expression “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed” . . . except that she could hardly call those erect stubs that passed for tails “bushy,” not when compared to the magnificent plumes Lumpkin and Glenora sported. There was, however, one thing all four animals had in common—the hopeful look that said, clearer than words, “Look how cute I am, now feed me before I starve to death.”

  Margaret appropriated Dan’s empty stew bowl and, along with her own, placed it on the floor in front of the dogs. Fur bristling in outrage, Lumpkin shot out from beneath the table. Dogs were cleaning supper dishes? That was his prerogative! A low growl issued from his throat, but Dandy and Dondi ignored him.

  Before her cat could launch an attack, Liss hurriedly scooped out the last chunks of beef and vegetables in her bowl and offered it to Lumpkin. He deigned to sniff the contents. Having established that he was doing her a favor by cleaning up the liberal coating of broth, he dove in. His enthusiasm surpassed even Dandy’s.

  “Well, that was exciting.” Dan got up to take a Boston cream pie out of the refrigerator.

  Glenora was curled up on top of the appliance but showed no interest in hopping down. In fact, as far as Liss could tell, she was sound asleep and completely uninterested in begging for food. If they’d had fish for supper, it would have been a different story.

  “Getting back to Beth Hogencamp,” Dan said when he’d served up dessert and resumed his seat at the table. “If you can’t use her, Maud could probably do with some help.”

  “I’ll mention it to Angie when I talk to her,” Liss promised.

  Maud Dennison was the only full-time employee at Carrabassett County Wood Crafts, the retail outlet where Dan and other local craftspeople sold what they made. She was a retired teacher about to celebrate her eightieth birthday, which meant they were all on call to help out when she needed some heavy lifting done. Although Dan spent long hours in his workshop behind the house, worked the occasional shift at The Spruces, usually when one of his father’s employees called in sick at the last minute, and pitched in when needed at Ruskin Construction, the company now run by his brother, he stopped in at least once a week to give Maud a break.

  “So how was the auction?” he asked, giving Liss the opening she’d been waiting for.

  “I ended up buying a painting—that copy of the Grant piper that used to hang in the dining room at the Chadwick house—and I got a bonus along with it.”

  “Another purchase?” Margaret asked.

  Liss shook her head. “Something extra tucked into the backing. You’ll never in a million years guess what it is.”

  “Treasure map?” Dan suggested.

  Liss’s face fell.

  “No, really?” Margaret started to laugh, then caught sight of Liss’s face. “You’re serious.”

  “Well, it’s a map. What it leads to isn’t clear, but there is a big old X marking the spot.”

  Liss had taken the precaution of slipping her find, which measured slightly smaller than eight inches by ten, into a clear page protector and storing it out of sight in the drawer of one of the end tables in the living room. While she left the kitchen to fetch it, Dan cleared away the dishes, including those prewashed by the pets.

  Returning to the table, Liss placed the map so that both Margaret and Dan could see it. They studied it with identical expressions of bemusement on their faces.

  “What is this a map of?” Margaret asked. “Or should I say where is this a map of? There doesn’t seem to be any indication of location, or anything to say which way is north or south.”

  “Or any scale of miles,” Dan added.

  “But it has been carefully drawn,” Liss pointed out. “Trees, outcroppings of rock, even a river.”

  “But no towns.” Dan spread his hands apart in a gesture of futility. “No houses. No names. No distances. Shouldn’t there at least be something along the lines of ‘Walk ten paces east from the oak tree, then twenty paces south to the stone wall’?”

  “Old as that map seems to be,” Margaret said, “the trees shown on it have probably been cut down by now.”

  Their comments and general lack of enthusiasm had Liss frowning. She already knew that locating X was a long shot. She doubted she’d ever be able to discover why the map had been hidden behind the portrait. Still, she had hoped for a little encouragement. If they all put their minds to it, surely they could discover something about her find.

  She picked up the page, meaning to store it somewhere safe.

  “What’s that on the back?” Dan asked.

  Liss turned the map over, squinting at a faint series of markings she hadn’t noticed before. “I can’t make it out.”

  Dan and Margaret each took a turn but had no better luck deciphering the squiggles.

  “It’s probably not important,” Dan concluded. “Unless it’s like the directions in the first Indiana Jones movie.”

  Liss punched him in the shoulder. He pretended it hurt.

  “You know,” Margaret said, “there were a lot of stories about the Chadwicks, back when there were still Chadwicks.”

  “I know about Blackie O’Hare,” Liss said.

  The notorious hit man for the Boston mob had married the Chadwick heiress and inherited the mansion after his wife’s death. There had been rumors that he buried his ill-gotten gains somewhere on the property, but if any such cache had ever been found, the person who discovered it had kept it quiet.

  Liss had a theory about that, not that she ever intended to pursue it, but whatever the fate of Blackie’s loot, it could have no connection to this map. She was no expert on the age of paper, but to her it looked old. Really old.

  “I bet this dates from well before Blackie married Alison Chadwick,” she said aloud.

  “I think you’re right,” Margaret agreed. “And if those stories I mentioned are to be believed, Alison’s parents and grandparents weren’t exactly law-abiding citizens.”

  “The rumor I heard is that the Chadwicks made their fortune smuggling liquor into Maine from Canada during Prohibition,” Liss said. “Is there more to it than that?”

  “Isn’t that enough? Of course, that was well before my time, so I have no firsthand knowledge of what went on, but I’m sure we could find out more about the family’s history. Maybe there’s a clue there to tell us what the landmarks on this map represent.”

  From Dan’s place at the sink, where he’d started to wash the supper dishes, he was smiling to himself. “Well, there you go,” he said over his shoulder. “Locate where X marks the spot and dig deep enough and you know what you’ll find?”

  Liss accepted the teasing with good grace. When she stopped and thought about it, the whole idea of a quest for buried treasure was pretty silly. “Go ahead. Tell us.”

  “A lost shipment of bootleg whiskey, of course. Could be worth quite a pretty penny by now. After all, it will be really nicely aged.”

  Chapter Two

  Three days later, on a gloomy, overcast Tuesday, Liss sat behind the sales counter at Moosetookalook Scottish Emporium staring fixedly at the painting of the Grant piper. She had hung it in a place of honor on the wall directly across from her perch. She did not look away when her aunt came in through the back door and entered the shop from the stockroom. A few minutes earlier, Liss had h
eard Margaret make her usual morning pilgrimage down the outside stairs from her apartment above the shop to let Dandy and Dondi into the fenced-in backyard.

  “Wishing he could talk?” Margaret asked.

  Liss responded with a rueful half smile. “The portrait intrigues me. Or rather, the mystery surrounding the map hidden behind it keeps nagging at me. I can’t help but think that there has to be some way to find out what place it shows.”

  “Maybe there is.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Liss gave Margaret her full attention. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been doing some thinking too. About the Chadwicks. Old as that map looks, it must have been one of the family who hid it.” Margaret looked a trifle smug, as if she was hugging some delicious secret to herself.

  “Go on,” Liss said. Whatever her aunt was up to, she wanted to hear it, especially if it led to a speedy solution to the mystery of the map.

  “Family tree.”

  Liss’s hopes plummeted. She had zero interest in genealogy, one of Margaret’s new, post-retirement passions. Who cared what the MacCrimmons had been up to hundreds of years ago?

  “That’s the only way to go.” Margaret’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm. “In fact, I’ve already started.”

  She proceeded to sketch out the steps she’d taken so far to track down Chadwick ancestors. At first, Liss listened with only half an ear, but there were no customers in the shop to distract her and before long the gist of what Margaret was saying began to sink in. It made sense that the clue to whatever place was shown on the map would be found in the family that had owned the portrait.

  “You know,” Margaret said as an aside, “if you’d paid this much attention at Christmas, when I was telling you about the history of our family, you’d already have thought of doing this sort of research yourself.”

  “Hey, I listened!” Liss grinned at her. “I heard every word, right up until you said it was probably impossible to tell which one of about fifteen Archibald MacCrimmonses was our ancestor. Besides, you’re the one with access to that genealogy Web site.”