by Karen Kelly
Mike picked up one of the bands and examined it for a moment, silent. “Ayuh. These are ferrules, connector pieces for a bagpipe.” Before he could say more, the front door of the store swung open and Reed Edwards, Stony Point’s chief of police, filled the doorway. “Oh, excuse me, Annie,” Mike said.
“Of course, Mike.” Annie turned around to face Reed, looking up a fair distance to reach his face. “Good morning, Chief Edwards.”
The chief was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a far cry from his work uniform. Annie thought he looked even more like a lumberjack than usual.
“Morning, Annie. Everything quiet at Grey Gables these days?”
“Yes, except when Boots wants her food, or Alice plays a practical joke.” Annie had had to call on Stony Point’s small police department for assistance so many times she was almost embarrassed. Thankfully, Reed and his police officers had always kept her safe while maintaining general good humor.
“What can I get for you, Chief?” Mike asked.
Reed waved him off. “Just some things for softball field maintenance, Mike.” The police chief came by his dark tan honestly. When he wasn’t vigilantly watching over the citizens and property of Stony Point, he coached softball and spent time on the water. “Nothing I can’t get for myself.” He disappeared between two rows of shelves.
Mike and Annie focused their attention back on the ferrules. “Can you tell me anything about the engraving, Mike? Any idea what the significance of it might be?”
Mike’s mustache quirked up on one side as he considered the symbol. “Bagpipe owners can have their ferrules engraved with anything that will fit on it, according to the skill level of the engraver.” He set one of the ferrules on its side and gave it a little spin. “Whoever engraved these is a master. Sometimes a clan badge or symbol is used, or a military insignia or something significant to the pipe owner.”
“Have you ever seen this bird and rose symbol before?” asked Annie.
Mike stopped the spin of the ferrule, picked it up and squinted at it. “No, I haven’t. Wish I could be more help.”
“Well, you gave me a place to start, Mike.” Annie scooped the ferrules into the sporran. “This is a long shot, but have you ever seen the design on the sporran clasp?” She closed the sporran and handed it to him.
Mike stared at the clasp. Before he could say anything, the back door of the store opened with a bang, forcing everyone’s attention to the source of the noise. Trace Malone, his hair—a shade lighter than his sister’s—almost covering his hazel eyes, grabbed the door as it bounced off the wall and shut it more gently than he’d opened it. “Sorry, Dad.”
Mike set his lips into a straight thin line. “Clock battery needs replacing? Aisle 4. Back room needs work.”
Trace glanced out the front window at his sister, his shoulders dropping. “OK, Dad.” He knew better than to mumble. “Bye, Mrs. Dawson. Sorry I interrupted.”
“Apology accepted, Trace.” Annie smiled gently at the young man before she turned back to speak to his father. “So, have you seen anything like this?” She ran an index finger over the clasp.
Clearing his throat, Mike paused until his son had closed the door of the back room behind him and then smiled. “Believe it or not, that’s one of the worst disciplines I could give that boy. He hates the back room, small with no windows and no way out except past me.”
“Kailyn told me Trace stays outdoors as much as possible.”
“Ayuh. That’s why we nicknamed him Trace. Seems every time I’d ask where the boy was, someone would answer, ‘Haven’t seen a trace of him.’ Then we’d find him outside somewhere, digging holes or climbing a fence or tree.” Mike glanced out the window at Kailyn. “I’ve always hoped one of my children would want to work with me and then take over the store when I retire. I’ve finally accepted it isn’t going to be Trace. Never crossed my mind it might be one of my daughters.”
Annie held back from grinning as wide as she wanted to and commented discreetly, “Kailyn seems very comfortable here.”
“She is,” Mike agreed. “She’s almost as fast at finding things as I am now.” He pulled in a deep breath and pointed to the sporran. “Anyway, I haven’t seen this design either. If I think of someone who might be able to help you, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Annie tucked the sporran into her bag. “Thanks, Mike. I’d appreciate it. Say hello to Fiona for me. Tell her we need to get together and catch up.”
“She’d like that.” Mike went ahead and opened the door for her. “So long, Annie.”
Kailyn was emptying the rubbish she had swept and collected into a trash can by the curb. “Have a good day, Mrs. Dawson.”
“I plan to, Kailyn. You too.” Annie paused, tilting her face to the warm sunshine. It was a perfect day for an iced coffee, The Cup & Saucer style. Across Oak Lane from the diner, the Stony Point Library caught her eyes. She considered popping in first to check the nonfiction section for Celtic design information, but the lure of a frosty java won. She stepped off the curb to cross the street at an angle toward the diner.
As Annie approached the door, a tall man in precisely ironed gray pants and a blue oxford shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow strode across Oak Lane. “Hello, Annie!” Ian Butler’s call was as warm and cheerful as the August morning.
“Hi, Ian!” Annie paused to allow the mayor of Stony Point to catch up to her. “I feel for you, having to spend the day in your office. This might be the most gorgeous day of the year.”
Ian grinned. “I did take Tartan out for a long walk along the shore early this morning.” He opened the diner door and held it open for Annie. “And I sense another walk coming before dinner. Days like this are the best free advertisements for our fair town.”
Annie gestured at the growing number of pedestrians strolling along Main Street before she stepped through the door. “The tourists do seem to be enjoying themselves. I just ran into Chief Edwards at Malone’s. Apparently the softball field has been getting plenty of use too.” She ran her gaze around the diner. “I don’t see Peggy; maybe she’s in the back.” Annie enjoyed any chance to see her younger friend. As a quilter, Peggy was a member, along with Annie and Alice, of the town’s Hook and Needle Club.
Ian waved her over to a booth by the window. “Peggy will be taking a couple days off. She tripped over a loose board on the dock and twisted her right wrist when she landed.”
“Oh, no!” Annie exclaimed. Peggy Carson and her husband, Wally, were hard workers, but the economic downturn had brought difficulty to their small family, as it had to so many. The family could ill afford the loss of Peggy’s income. “I’ll check on Peggy before I head home. One-handed cooking isn’t any easier than one-handed waitressing, even with little Emily to help.” She fixed her eyes on the mayor. “I do hope the dock gets repaired as soon as possible.”
“The board has already been replaced,” Ian assured her. “As soon as Wally called me, I sent a crew over. We can’t have our citizens or visitors hurt while enjoying the waterfront.”
“I appreciate your diligence, Ian,” said Annie. “I wonder how Lisa is going to handle the whole room during a tourist season shift?”
Ian smiled. “Here comes the answer to your question, I think.”
Annie looked up to see Breck—the young man who usually bused tables—heading toward them with a pad clutched in his long fingers. He stopped, towering over them, his eyes shy. He asked in a voice that sounded as though he didn’t use it very much, “What can I get for you … uh, Miss Annie, Mayor Butler?”
“Just an iced coffee for me, Breck,” answered Annie. “How do you like waiting tables?”
Breck tossed his head to swing the tawny curls from his eyes and scribbled on the pad. After an extended pause he managed, “Won’t be long.”
“I’ll have a regular coffee and an egg sandwich,” Ian said. After Breck had scribbled and left, he turned his attention back to Annie. “Tartan and I went a little too far on our morning walk,
and I had to skip breakfast to get to an early meeting on time.”
“You didn’t skip it,” Annie chuckled. “You just postponed it a bit.”
Ian leaned across the table and lowered his voice, his eyes mischievous. “Would that Charlotte was as good-natured about it. I think she would have rapped my knuckles with a ruler, if there’d been one handy. Perhaps her upcoming vacation will loosen her up again and bring back her smile.” Charlotte Nash was Ian’s executive assistant at City Hall. He settled back against the back of the booth. “So, tell me what you’ve been up to lately.”
Annie paused as Breck served their beverages. “I have found myself, to my utter surprise, to be nurturing thriving gardens this summer,” she bragged to Ian. “Most of my mornings are spent in my vegetables and flowers.” She paused and lifted her project bag. “And … I’m sure this will be shocking to you … my attic has provided me with another mystery.”
“Well, it’s about time!” said Ian. “It’s been a bit since the last one. If it’s fitting in your project bag, it must be smaller than the last one.”
Annie lifted the sporran out of the bag and opened the clasp to draw out the ferrules to show Ian. “This is why I came into town today, to find out more about this sporran. Mike just told me that these bands are ferrules—parts of a bagpipe. I don’t remember Gram and Grandpa ever showing these to me or having a bagpipe. Why would they be in Grey Gables’s attic?”
“May I?” After Annie’s nod, Ian picked up first a ferrule and then the sporran. “I seem to remember one of your grandparents being from Scottish roots. I know these Celtic designs can be Scottish, Irish, or Welsh, but maybe that’s the connection.”
“Yes, Gram’s family hailed from Scotland,” Annie confirmed. “But I don’t think this is connected with them, or I’m sure she would have shown it to me. Both of my grandparents loved telling me family stories, you know. But just to make sure, I’m going to check out the family names and see if I can find any connection to these symbols.” She pointed to the clasp. “Do you know what that sprig is from?”
Ian examined the clasp and then nodded. “It’s some type of juniper.” He ran his hand along the sleek fur. “I know this is sealskin. Imports of sealskin to the U.S. have been banned for decades, so it’s probably older than the ban.”
“Another thing I can’t figure out is why I found a sporran but no kilt, even after searching for hours with Alice, and ferrules but no bagpipes. How about the engraving on the ferrules; have you ever seen anything like it?” Annie took a sip of her iced coffee.
Ian pondered the bird and rose and shook his head. “No, I don’t remember seeing anything like this.” Breck sidled up to the table and slid the plate containing an egg sandwich in front of Ian. “Thanks, Breck.” The young man gave the barest hint of a nod, which more resembled a muscle spasm, before turning aside to another table.
“I’m thinking of checking at the library for Scottish clan information, in case the connection is to Gram’s family. Any ideas for other places where I might find some expert help?” Ian had often helped Annie solve the mysteries she so regularly stumbled upon—sometimes literally.
“Now let me think on it a minute,” said Ian.
Annie smiled. “Eat your sandwich. Maybe the nourishment will spark an idea.”
In response, Ian took a hearty bite, chewing thoroughly as he considered possibilities. His eyes brightened, and then he swallowed. “Hey, have you heard of the Maine Highland Games?” he asked. “It’s held every August at the Topsham Fairgrounds. All kinds of vendors and demonstrators fill the lanes. You’ll find a good deal of Scottish knowledge in one place.”
“August? Do you know when in August?” asked Annie. “I might just cry if it was this past weekend.”
Ian finished wiping his mouth with his napkin. “No tears needed. It’s always on the third Saturday of August. Are you free that weekend?”
“I’m pretty sure I am,” Annie answered, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything on her calendar at home. “How far is Topsham from here?”
“Right next door in Sagadahoc County,” Ian said, setting his coffee cup down. “I’d be glad to take you. They have the best sheepdog trials around these parts, and I haven’t had the chance to go the last few years.”
“Are you thinking of breaking Tartan into another career?” Annie grinned.
“Now, that would be sure to give everyone some entertainment!” Ian laughed. “So, how about it?”
“I’d love to, just let me check my calendar to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. May I call you later to confirm?” Annie sipped the last few drops of her iced coffee, refreshed by both the beverage and the conversation.
“Of course you can,” said Ian. His voice slipped into his “official” voice. “As mayor, I’m always pleased to hear from my constituents, especially when said constituent is a pretty Texas transplant with a penchant for mysteries and a talent for cooking.”
A few minutes later the couple said goodbye and departed to go their separate ways, one to City Hall and the other back to Grey Gables.
4
“I can’t believe you refused to get up early enough for us to walk downtown.” Annie glanced sideways at Alice from the driver’s seat of her car on Tuesday morning. “It won’t be long before this perfect weather is just a memory.”
“I told you August is my semi-vacation month,” Alice argued, with a chuckle hiding behind her words. “Early rising would totally ruin the whole concept. I promise to take a good long jaunt after the meeting, if it will make you happy.”
Annie turned left from Oak Lane to Main Street, slowing to look for a parking space near A Stitch in Time, Stony Point’s needlecraft shop and meeting place for the Hook and Needle Club. “Early rising? The meeting’s at eleven o’clock! Are you sure you want to go with Ian and me to the Highland Games? We’re leaving at eight o’clock in the morning, sharp. It might ruin your semi-vacation month.”
As usual, Stella Brickson had already arrived, her white Lincoln parked right in front of the shop door with her driver, Jason, standing beside it. He waved as Annie pulled into the parking space behind him.
As she opened her door, Alice answered her friend. “I think an event that I’ve never attended and that happens only once a year is sufficient motivation for getting up so horribly early.”
“Well, thank the Lord for that,” Annie said. She grinned at Alice and exited the car. “Good morning, Jason.”
“Hello, Annie. Alice.” Seven years of life in Maine had done nothing to alter the man’s strong New York accent. Annie supposed after seven years, she would still have plenty of the Lone Star state in her voice. “Great baseball weather we’re having.”
“Shall we tell Stella you’ll be at the Yankees game, should she need you?” Alice asked, batting her eyelashes outrageously at him.
Jason pointed a curled-up sports section of the New York Times at her. “Don’t tempt me, Alice. Don’t tempt me.”
At that, Alice opened the door of the shop and Annie followed her inside so they wouldn’t miss the start of the meeting.
A Stitch in Time had grown a reputation in the nearby counties for being a place filled with inspiration and the supplies to make those inspirations real. More and more customers had found their way there, and it was particularly busy during tourist season when folks were looking for something to occupy themselves during long rides, whether in a car, plane, or train. But Annie still found herself a little surprised to see several people she’d never seen on a Tuesday morning.
The owner, Mary Beth Brock, stood behind the cash register ringing up a pile of yarns and pattern books. Excusing herself to the customer, she called out. “Hi, Annie and Alice! I’ll be there in just a few minutes. Please let the others know.”
“We will, Mary Beth,” said Annie. “Don’t rush; we all have plenty to work on, I’m sure.” She turned to Alice as they walked to the familiar circle of chairs where the Hook and Needle Club meetings took place.
>
“Or a mystery to talk about,” Alice whispered. “You did bring the sporran, didn’t you?”
Annie nodded before addressing the other members of the club. “Good morning, Stella and Gwen. Oh, and Kate,” she added the last as the door to the back storage room opened to reveal the Mary Beth’s shop assistant and crocheter extraordinaire.
“Hi, everyone,” Kate greeted them. “I’m going to go relieve Mary Beth from helping customers so she can get the meeting started. I’m close enough that I won’t miss much.”
“Good,” said Alice. “You always come up with such fun designs. Even though I don’t crochet, I’m still inspired by them.”
“Thanks, Alice.” Kate paused on her way to take over for Mary Beth. “Even if the shop stays too busy, you’ll get to see an example of my latest design. Mary Beth will be showing it to everyone.”
“I’m going to miss seeing Peggy today,” said Gwendolyn Palmer, wife of the president of Stony Point Savings Bank and an avid knitter.
“Well now, you don’t have to go doing that, Gwen.” Peggy sashayed into the meeting, her right hand bandaged tightly and her daughter Emily by her side. “Em and I would go bonkers sitting around home all day with Wally working extra hours this week.”
Stella looked up from her knitting, her fingers not slowing at all, and gifted Peggy’s young daughter with a smile. “Emily, you are old enough to begin learning a needlecraft. Do you have a favorite type?”
Unlike a fair amount of adults who were faced with Stella’s scrutiny, Emily was comfortable conversing with the octogenarian widow. “I don’t know, Mrs. Brickson. I kinda like them all.”
“Perhaps, then, your goal should be to decide which one to learn first,” said Stella.
“Maybe you can teach me to knit,” Emily said. “Can—I mean—may I sit next to you and watch you today, Mrs. Brickson?” Emily stood at the seat next to Stella, while the ladies around the room kept their smiles restricted to their minds.
