She shrugged. “Deasil.”
He rotated it to the right until he felt the groove settle into a slot. “By damn…watch.”
He gradually pushed the whole disk inward, recessing into the mantle. They heard a scraping sound, but couldn’t tell where it came from. Cian looked at Gillian to see if she pinpointed the source of the noise. She shrugged. The disk stopped, didn’t sink any farther into the marble mantle.
“Now what?” she asked.
Cian stepped back to look at the fireplace to see what he was missing. “You’re the great unriddler.”
Putting her hand on his bicep for balance, she leaned over to look up at the underside of the deep hood of the mantle. “It sounded like maybe from inside here. Look…isn’t that a crack? Give me the screwdriver.”
“Mitts off my tool, lass,” he joked, kneeling down until he was beneath the mantel. Inserting the flat of the blade into the crack, he pried. “It’s moving―”
There was a pop, and instantly, gold coins rained from the mantle.
“Bloody hell.” Cian yanked her back as the fireplace spewed hundreds of large gold coins like a berserk slot machine.
Gillian jumped up and down and hugged him, thrilled they’d found it. “Cian, we did it! We found the Grant’s treasure!”
“No Blue-haired Go-Ins?” He picked up a coin, examining it front and back.
Gillian chuckled. “Actually, after spending this past week exploring the castle, I decided opening part to guests isn’t such a bad idea. Dunnascaul is something rare, magic. Wouldn’t hurt to share that for a few hours.”
Cian glared at the coin. “Might be good you feel like that.”
“Why? What’s wrong? We found the treasure. No telling how old those coins are. Their weight in gold is worth a fortune, but old coins should go to auction for collectors. No telling their value.”
He held a gold coin between his fingers flipping it. “We found a treasure, but not the Grant’s cache. The date on the gold Louis is 1740.”
“I don’t understand.”
Cian reached up in the hidey-hole dislodging more coins. “Your Yank raising is showing its head, lass. The French sent £4000 in gold Louis coins to the Bloody Bonnie Prince. Only when they arrived on the shores of Loch nan Uamh to deliver the four chests, they couldn’t find anyone to give it to. Supposedly, they just left the gold on the beach. You think the Mackinnons and Grants hunted for the Grant’s fortune. All of Scotland has hunted for centuries for Charlie’s gold. The government will snatch this up. We’ll get a finder’s fee. Certainly will give the Go-Ins something to natter about.”
“Cian, the finder’s fee won’t be small change. Can help with repairs―”
“I found something else.” Cian pulled his lower arm from the hole, his hand holding a small chest. He rubbed his thumb across the dusty metal crest that adorned the top. “’ello, ‘ello, I think this is the Grant’s booty. Your family’s crest.”
“Maybe the Grants hid their treasure with Charlie’s.”
With a playful grin he held up the screwdriver. “We’re about to find out.”
“Down, Toolman. Let’s try this before you destroy a piece of our history.”
She removed the delicate chain from around her neck, then carefully pried apart the heart-shaped locket. Inside was a small key. Holding it up, she fit it into the lock on the box. Her hand shook as it finally gave in the lock and the key turned. “Gran gave me the locket, when I was seventeen. Passed down through the Grant women. Said it’d hold the key to my heart’s desire.”
Moving to the table, Cian spilled out the contents. Large gems of every colour twinkled in the light. Basil tried to hoist himself up to the table to see what was going on, but only succeeded in looking as if he did chin-ups. Cian laughed, picked him up and put him on the table. Immediately the cat seized the idea the pretty toys were there for his enjoyment and batted a large yellow stone like a hockey puck.
“Careful, Basil. You’re due to keel over any second,” Cian teased.
Gillian snatched the stone away from the cat at the instant he sent it sailing off the tabletop. “Watch it there, Puss. Oh, Cian, they’re…beautiful. Prepare for a little I-told-you-sos.”
“They’re beautiful lass. But basically worthless. These are garnets of various shades, citrine, beryls. Semi-precious stones. They were likely worth a lot to them, but not much today.” Cian’s eyes reflected his fear she was disappointed.
Gillian leaned to his kiss. “Oh, don’t know about being not worth much. I think this citrine Basil used as a hockey puck would make the most beautiful engagement ring, and this green garnet would be a gorgeous pendant. Cian, we found not just the Grant’s treasure, but Charlie’s treasure. Our Blue-hairs will be so excited. Think what a great PR tag it will make when we advertise our vacation package.”
“Lass, as long as I have you by my side I can face a whole herd of Blue-haired Go-Ins.”
He leaned to kiss her, but there was a loud thump on the table.
“Basil,” they said in unison, then slid their arms about each other.
The cat lay sprawled in the middle of dozens of semi-precious stones, purring.
~~~
The library was dim, lit only by firelight. Its orangish cast lent a magical glow to the room, fading into deep shadows. Anne patted the snoring kitty, still resting on the table in the midst of gold coins and the glittering gems.
“You’re a silly beastie, Basil,” she said in a whisper. Her eyes took in the couple drowsing on the sofa. Oh, but David’s Cian was a braw and bonnie lad. Perfect for her beautiful, valiant Gillian.
David approached, just behind her shoulder and placed a hand on her back. “Mo gràdh, why do you fash? I thought you’d be happy. Cian and Gillian will marry soon. The castle shall fare well in their care. People will come from all over the world to see where Bonnie Prince Charlie’s treasure was found. All is settled and well, isn’t it. Did I no’ promise you, lass?”
“Oh, aye. It’s all so perfect. Dunnascaul is in their safekeeping. Gillian and Cian are a beautiful couple, their love grows stronger every day. He’ll give her beautiful bairns…”
“And?”
She forced a smile, her hand still rubbing the purring body of the silly pussycat. “You were never one for letting me hide from realities, David Mackinnon. That can be damned annoying at times.”
“Stop avoiding the answer.”
“He’ll give her beautiful bairns, but we won’t be here to see them.”
“Och, Annie, where do you think we’d go?” He lovingly took her into his arms, cradling her head to his shoulder.
“But you said once our duty was finished we’d―” Anne looked up into the face she loved, willing to follow him into the fires of Hell.
His chest vibrated with the soft chuckle. “Annie, lass, you and Glennascaul are Heaven.”
Be sure to visit DeborahAnne’s website
www.deborahmacgillivray.co.uk
A Ray for Mary Jo
Susan Barclay
• Arkansas - It’s against the law to kill any living creature
Mary Jo applied a swift, sure pass of Paradise Pink lipstick, pressed her lips together, and blotted them with a tissue.
Her mother was right. Clint was gone, and the time had come to move on. She sighed as she walked from the powder room into her bedroom to put on her uniform. Pink button-up sweater over a pink tank top, white knee-length skirt, neutral pantyhose, and low heeled, black shoes. As the proprietor of the café, even she had a dress code, albeit a little more flexible than the rest of the staff’s.
Naming the café had been a bit of an ordeal. Her Uncle Howard had suggested calling it The Merry Widow’s Place, but Mary Jo’s mother, Millie, had squelched that. “Ain’t nothin’ merry ‘bout bein’ a widda,” she’d said eloquently, speaking from experience. Indeed, it would only remind Mary Jo, and might even sound like she was advertising for a new husband. However, Millie’s own proposal had been “Coffee, Te
a, or…Cake,” and Mary Jo thought that idea was as flawed as her uncle’s. Everybody knew the common phrase was “coffee, tea, or me,” and Mary Jo had no intentions of being on the menu.
After much back and forth discussion, Mary Jo finally set her foot down. “I really appreciate your interest, y’all,” she’d said, interrupting, “but I’ve already decided. I’m calling it The Mary Cake Coffé.” A hushed silence followed her declaration, then everyone had started speaking at once.
“You mean, The Merry Cake Café?”
“No, I think she said the Mary Kay Café.”
“Mary’s Cake and Coffee! I love it, girl – you shore got a way with words!”
“Mary Kay? Couldn’t you get in trouble for that? Wouldn’t it be like goin’ against brand name or something?”
Heaving a sigh, Mary Jo scrawled a few words on a large piece of cardboard. “Shush, y’all,” she’d said, holding up the sign. It’s spelled this way—‘The Mary Cake Coffé’.”
“Well, now, don’t that beat all,” her cousin, August, had shrugged. “I don’t get it.”
But Mary Jo didn’t give a hoot what anyone else thought. It was The Mary Cake Coffé, plain and simple. Mary for her name, Mary Cake because of the play on Mary Kay – and cake was her specialty – and not only was Coffé a high falutin’ allusion to coffee or café, but coff was an archaic past participle of the verb ‘to buy’ – which she hoped a lot of people would be doing at her shop. Mary Jo loved words as much as she loved cake.
Six years ago, she’d have laughed if anyone told her she’d be a Mary Kay rep. Wasn’t that for old people? She was only twenty-one, for heaven’s sake! But neighbors had been moving out as Mary Jo and Clint moved in and Jenny had come right over to say “hi.” She’d suggested Mary Jo pick up the Mary Kay clients Jenny was leaving behind. “Think about it,” she’d said. “You’ve already got the right first name.”
Mary Jo had laughed. The idea! Still, she’d taken Jenny’s list of customers, just to be polite. And when weeks of loneliness and isolation followed as Clint kept busy learning the ropes at his new job, she’d finally called Jenny’s MK supervisor and registered as a bona fide vendor. It hadn’t made sense for her to look for any other kind of work. She’d needed flexibility since they planned to start a family, and it was a great way to meet people in a town as foreign to her as democracy to Cuba. Clint had joked, “Honey, we sure ain’t in Arkansas anymore.” Indeed, ‘Bastin’ was as far from Arkansas as Mary Jo could have ever imagined.
Working for Mary Kay had been Mary Jo’s salvation. She couldn’t count the number of women she’d met, and a few of them had become close friends. She’d needed friends after the accident. Even five years later the nightmare continued to play out before her in waking dreams.
~~~
Clint’s home from work early for a change. With the baby due in three weeks, both were on pins and needles. At this advanced stage, Mary Jo didn’t feel much like cooking, so Clint picked up a prepared meal from their favorite deli on his way home and dinner sat on the table. Even though it smelled good, Mary Jo couldn’t eat more than a few bites.
“I can’t wait for the baby to come, can you?” she asked between nibbles.
“Mmm,” agreed Clint. “I’ll bet she’s beautiful, just like her mother.” Smiling, he reached over and rubbed Mary Jo’s back.
“Or handsome like his father,” she grinned.
The phone rang just as Clint poured their tea, and he jumped up to get it. “Hello…Oh, hey Mark…Uh huh…Uh huh…Sorry to hear that, buddy. Sure…I’ll be right over…Bye.” He hung up. “Sorry, Mare,” he said. “You okay if I go over to Mark’s for a little while? Crisis time.”
“Sure, honey,” Mary Jo replied. “You go on ahead. I’ll page you if I need you.”
Clint smiled, leaned down and kissed her on the lips. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he promised.
But it’s a promise he’d never keep. On his way home, a driver too drunk to even see him, killed him. Clint’s body lay shattered on the ground surrounded by a scattered bouquet of flowers she’d never receive. In shock, Mary Jo went into premature labor that night and, in that time between dusk and dawn, brought their son into the cold world.
Millie came out at once, but had to return home to Fayetteville after a month. Mary Jo’s friends rallied around, helped with the baby and the chores, saw her through the investigation and the inquest, and finally helped her pack for the move back home. It had been a draining nine months and Mary Jo didn’t know how she would have managed without their kindness.
~~~
A voice broke into Mary Jo’s meditation. “Mama?”
“Yes, Jabez, I’m coming,” she replied. She tugged on her sweater, squared her shoulders, and pasted on a smile. Her son needed her.
She’d finished reading The Prayer of Jabez just before Clint’s death, when the tiny book had been sweeping the nation. Mary Jo felt it a fitting name for her own son, because she’d given birth to him in pain. The pangs of labor, yes, but even more, the pain of death and loss. The pain of being without a father. Maybe God would bless her son, bless her Jabez.
“Let’s go, Sunshine,” she said to him now. “I’ve got to get you off to Grandma’s house and myself to work.”
“I’m all dressed, Mama.”
“Yes, Jabez,” she whispered, feeling a rawness in her throat. “You’re such a good boy.”
Millie smiled warmly for her grandson, but when he turned his back, she eyed Mary Jo pointedly, her eyebrows raised. “That boy needs a man in his life,” she mouthed.
Mary Jo nodded and mouthed back, “I know.” But she thought, Uncle Howard’s a man! August is a man! She knew what her mother meant, though, and sighed. Time to get on with it. Pulling out of Millie’s driveway, she steeled herself for what must come.
Mary Jo’s staff had been telling her for weeks that Ray, one of Fayetteville’s finest, had the hots for her. “Look,” said Ella, who helped out at the counter, “he used to come in during the morning crush and get lost in the crowd. He’s figured out the downtime so he can see you.”
“You should see how moony-eyed he gets whenever you walk out from the back,” teased Janine. “He’s spent oodles of money here just waiting for the chance to talk to you.”
Mary Jo decided today, Officer Ray would get his chance.
For the next couple of hours, she found herself too blessed busy to think about it. She kept herself and three other staffers occupied. 7-Up, Red Velvet, and Amalgamation cakes; Mississippi Mud, pecan, and peach pies; along with a variety of cookies and other sweets were made fresh every morning before the café opened. Mary Jo kept lunch simple. Three kinds of sandwiches – but no fried catfish, it’s too smelly – coleslaw, and cornbread were the staples. To drink, people could chose from sweet tea, hot tea, coffee, and the usual soft drinks.
With the kitchen under control, Mary Jo checked the dining area. It held about a dozen small tables, each with a pink cracked-ice laminate surface and chrome legs. The chrome chairs had pink vinyl backs and seats. Certainly not a man’s café per se, but Mary Jo had known the men would come. Once their girlfriends, mothers, and wives brought her goodies home, they’d have to come themselves. She knew her desserts were irresistible.
The menu and prices were neatly printed on a huge chalkboard on the wall behind the counter. The menu holders on the tables contained Mary Kay catalogs. Mary Jo made sure each holder held the current issue. Her regulars looked forward to thumbing through the pages, marking their choices, and filling out their orders while they drank a Cheerwine soda and ate one of Mary Jo’s yummy concoctions. One evening a week when the café closed, Mary Jo ran sessions on skin care, makeup, and spa treatments for her Mary Kay clients. Combining her two businesses proved very profitable. She’d built a good life for herself and her son.
The café opened at 8:30, two and a half hours after her arrival. Someone always waited outside for Mary Jo to unlock the door. A little jingling bell annou
nced the entrance of the first customer and every customer thereafter. Soon a happy hum and steady rhythm of activity swept through the café. The wait staff ensured coffee cups were topped up, while the girls at the take-out counter had a stream of people to serve. Every once in a while a pleasant lull settled in, allowing everyone to catch their breath before the next onslaught.
During one such quiet period Ella poked her head into the kitchen, getting Mary Jo’s attention. “He’s here,” she hissed. No need to elaborate—everyone knew who he meant.
With a deep breath, Mary Jo wiped her hands on the apron she wore, untied it, and tossed it down on her worktable. Checking her image in a mirror by the door leading into the restaurant, she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, trying to calm her racing heartbeat.
Janine kept Ray waiting, pretending to rearrange some cream puffs behind the glass. Mary Jo walked over to Ray’s table, hoping he couldn’t hear the pounding in her chest. “May I help you?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Her hands were as cold as ice. Raising her eyes to meet his, she couldn’t help noticing how handsome he is in his uniform. His cap lay on the table and she took in his thick, wavy brown hair. His jaw was square, with a cleft in his chin. Above it, his lips looked ready to laugh, a straight—but not sharp—nose, and twinkling blue eyes. Her mouth dry, Mary Jo pressed her lips together.
“Yes, thanks,” he answered with a smile, exuding confidence and ease. “I was hoping to get a slice of your famous Mississippi Mud Cake. Unless you’d make some other recommendation?”
“Well, I’m rather partial to the Red Velvet myself.”
“Great!” exclaimed Ray. He peered over her shoulder and hollered to Janine, “Two slices of Red Velvet, one medium coffee, black, no sugar…” He turned back to Mary Jo who, startled, slumped into a chair across from him. “You like coffee?” he asked. At her wordless nod, he turned his attention to Janine again. “And another coffee. I assume you know how your boss likes it.” Ray leaned across the table. “I don’t usually have the pleasure of such lovely company on my morning break,” he said with a grin. “You don’t mind joining me?”
No Law Against Love Page 22
