by Traci Hall
Elspeth arrived in a flurry. “I can stay here at the table, if you’d like tae show him inside? Hi—I’m Elspeth Booth, loyal Cashmere Crush customer.”
“Hamish McCall, headmaster at Fordythe.”
Elspeth’s groomed brow rose and she practically pushed Paislee in the direction of the shop.
Amused, Paislee brought Hamish in with pride and showed off her many shelving units full of colorful yarn.
Lydia stepped from behind the register. Hamish was polite to Lydia but didn’t seem to lose his mind at her beauty.
“Lydia, Hamish from Fordythe.” Her bestie’s gaze flicked briefly to the flowers. Paislee walked to the row of orange yarn. “What’s your sister’s skill level?”
“She made us all uneven scarves last year for Christmas.”
Paislee laughed and Lydia melted back with a thumbs-up. “If she’s a beginner, perhaps a thicker yarn? I have a simple knit cap pattern, if you’d like something matching for next year?”
He grinned. “I’ll take it.” Hamish peered around the shop and the many colors. “But my favorite color’s blue. Are these all cashmere?”
“I do carry some cashmere, but most of what you see here is merino—sheep’s wool. Cashmere is verra expensive because the goats only molt once a year.”
Hamish tilted his head at her. “Yer not pulling my leg aboot the goat?”
“Naw. JoJo’s Farm raises the Scottish cashmere goats. They’re about ten miles from here.”
“Is cashmere better?”
“Depends what you’re making.”
“And what ye can afford?”
“Aye, that too.” She chuckled.
She loaded him up with supplies, and they were easily laughing as Lydia rang him up and put his things in a bag. He was very different outside the school.
“Did ye get a keychain?” Lydia asked.
“Aye.” He removed it from his pocket to show Lydia, who nodded as she noticed the silver charm and added it to the paper sack.
Brody raced into the shop. “Headmaster McCall! Guess what I have?” He thrust out two rolled posters.
“What is it, Brody?”
“Edwyn’s dad gave me two, when I gave him the keychain, Mum. He asked if ye were single and I told him that ye were, but ye couldn’t take one more thing.”
Lydia burst out laughing.
Paislee turned crimson in mortification as her son tossed her words back at her. “Gypsies, Brody, gypsies. I could get a good hundred pounds for ye.”
Hamish’s blackish-brown brow arched.
“I’m joking.” Sort of. She glared at her son.
Brody tugged at her arm and glanced to Hamish. “Did ye give him a special keychain, Mum, with the charm?”
Her face was so hot that it hurt.
Hamish rubbed his top lip and pulled the keychain from the bag. “Is this the good one?”
Brody saw the charm and relaxed. “Aye.”
“My godson is a prodigy,” Lydia announced.
Paislee was not so sure. She crossed her arms. “Where is your grandfather? And Wallace?”
“He’s flirting with Elspeth.” Brody swung his posters before him like an imaginary double-bladed sword. “Is that woman blind?”
“That’s Susan, Elspeth’s sister—aye, she is.”
“Wallace licked her.”
“I hope Wallace is a dog?” Hamish asked, trying to keep track of the conversation.
“Aye.” Paislee’s face began to cool, but she didn’t dare look at Lydia, or she would never stop laughing.
“They found him in the park.” Brody peered up at Hamish.
“Your dog?”
“No, me grandpa.”
Paislee bit her tongue to keep a straight face. Hamish probably thought they were all mental—but she’d warned him, hadn’t she?
With a peek back at Paislee, Hamish took Brody by the shoulder. “Well, let’s go meet him.”
The two walked out, the headmaster carrying the gifts for his sister and Brody his new posters.
Lydia poked Paislee in the middle of her back. “I think the universe is letting you know that it’s time tae stop hiding behind your mum jeans.”
Paislee didn’t grace her with a response, and followed them outside to the table beneath her canopy.
Susan had Wallace in her lap and the dog seemed in nirvana as she petted him.
Paislee’s grandpa and Elspeth exchanged a meaningful glance.
“Grandpa, did you meet Hamish McCall?” Paislee asked. She wasn’t sure she could stomach watching her grandfather date one of her knitting friends. She didn’t recall him and Gran together but a few times when she was younger, for holidays.
Grandpa and Hamish shook hands; then Hamish petted Wallace. The dog wagged his tail but remained content on Susan’s lap.
Paislee handed out her crocheted-flower keychains, greeting people as they passed, smiling at the conversation behind her. This was a community, and she was a part of it.
Sneaking a glance at Hamish, who chatted at ease with her family and friends, she dragged up a mental image of her clothes. She didn’t own “mum” jeans, did she? Her wardrobe might need an update, but she was the same size she’d always been and didn’t have money to spend on an elaborate wardrobe, like Lydia.
After an hour or so, Hamish said his good-byes. “I’ll let you know how the cap project goes,” he said.
She smiled. “My number’s on the card.” She realized how that sounded and stammered, “If your s-s-sister has any questions.”
As she watched him stride away, she rubbed at a painful tinge in her neck.What an odd day it had been, but she couldn’t forget that Isla’s killer remained on the loose, and was probably in Nairn.
Chapter 27
Paislee shivered as a chill of apprehension snaked down her spine. A killer in their shire was hard to fathom. Detective Inspector Zeffer’s caustic remarks aside, she would do what she could to help him, for Isla’s sake.
Brody’s exuberant laughter brought her back to the present. She gave out another flower keychain, and returned to the table.
“How are ye feeling?” Elspeth asked Paislee, patting her own neck in sympathy.
“Fine.” Truth was, she could use more ibuprofen. “Grandpa, are you ready for a break? Why not wander for a while?” She’d handed out cash this morning before they’d left so that Grandpa and Brody had pocket money.
Grandpa stood and sniffed the air. “I smell popcorn, fresh popped.”
Brody leapt off his chair to tackle her in a hug. She tried not to wince when his enthusiasm hurt her shoulder. “Is it time tae get an elephant ear?”
“How about we let Grandpa and Lydia go first, and after that, we’ll go. Do you want your face painted?”
“That’s fer bairns.” Brody scowled at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I’m ten.”
Grandpa whistled. “That would be a no, then.”
“They grow up so fast,” Elspeth remarked. She turned to Susan and Wallace. “Are ye ready, Susan? I’d like tae stop at the tea shop for a sweet treat myself.”
Susan nodded. “What a wonderful pup you have, Brody.” She reached for her cane.
Wallace hopped down from her lap and wandered toward Paislee and Brody to sit at their feet, as polite as you please. She scratched behind his ears to reward him.
Elspeth said good-bye with the promise to meet up next week about the historical society possibly preventing the sale of the building.
“Thanks!”
Grandpa also left, and Paislee sent Brody inside the shop to let Lydia know she’d be on break once Grandpa returned. She filled up her basket of keychains from the big box below the table and stood before her booth. The fine sunny day had folks laughing and smiling, and eating ice-cream cones as they enjoyed the festival.
Her gaze was drawn to Tabitha and Ritchie across the street—Tabitha handed out a single rose per person as they passed the flower booth. Tabitha occasionally glanced Paislee’s way.
Paislee was pleased by the people milling around Flora’s booth. A lot of folks walked by with a bag of Flora’s yellow or green yarn, which meant sales.
By the time Grandpa and Lydia had each gotten something to eat, Paislee was hungry, too. “Ready, Brody?”
He fist-pumped the air. “Finally!”
He’d been patient, considering this was his favorite treat. They made their way down the sidewalk and she stopped to say hello to each of her fellow business owners. James and his daughter, Nora; Ned, who gifted free closet sachets; Margot and her team at the lab, who handed out neon-colored bandages. Lourdes and Jimmy donated pencils, and Theadora offered her freshly baked sugar cookies.
Paislee and Brody strolled to the bandstand and she breathed in deep of the seaside air. The park was crowded with picnickers at tables or on blankets, and booths selling food of all kinds dotted the lawn. Seagulls cawed and swooped through the sky. It was difficult to believe that bad things could happen in such a beautiful place.
“Over there, Mum!”
Brody practically dragged her and Wallace across the grass to a red and white awning and a wheeled cart where a man sold deep-fried dough sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon.
From the cart, she could see the police station and the large oak tree outside the detective’s window. Was he too hard at work to enjoy the sunshine, even for a few minutes?
Tomorrow morning she would find time for a mug of Brodies Scottish Breakfast and knit the fisherman’s sweater on her back porch in the quiet to let her mind untangle the threads surrounding Isla and her death. Her gran had taught her to gather her thoughts while her hands were busy.
She purchased an elephant ear for Brody, and candied nuts for herself. They took their time returning to Cashmere Crush, eyeing the wares at every booth. Even the comic book booth, where Paislee met Edwyn, and Edwyn’s gorgeous single dad.
He was just the kind of guy that Lydia would love—tall and charming with a lean body, big jade-green eyes, and blond waves around his long face. Thirty, if she had to guess, and very friendly.
“Bennett Maclean,” he said, introducing himself. “I just opened up the comic shop six months ago and we’re goin’ strong. I have a few arcade games in the back for the kids tae hang out and play.” He tugged his son’s blond hair. “I dinnae want him gettin’ bored and looking for trouble, aye?”
“Smart thinking.” Paislee palmed Bennett’s card and decided to send Lydia his way.
By one thirty, Paislee and Brody had made the loop back to Market Street. Tabitha was still giving away roses for the florist’s booth, and this close Paislee could see that Tabitha was wearing Isla’s scarf. The young woman gave her a sly smile as she handed over a pink blossom. Paislee checked first to make sure there wasn’t a thorn.
Tabitha’s plain brown hair had been pulled up into a ponytail. Her brown-eyed gaze challenged Paislee to dare ask a question about Isla, or Billy.
She smelled the rose and decided to keep the peace.
Ritchie’s silver earrings glinted in the sunshine as he transferred more roses into a bucket. “How’s it going over on your side of the street? I can hardly see, there are so many people.”
“Tae be sure, it’s packed this year. We’re doing well—I sold a few sweaters, which is always good.”
Brody tugged her along, and she said her good-byes. Tabitha had turned to the next person walking by to give the young woman a rose.
“Let’s go say hi tae Flora and Donnan.” Paislee’d seen Mary Beth head that direction earlier and assumed it was to give them a break, but she wanted to at least say hello.
When she and Brody reached the Robertson table and canopy, Donnan was resting in his camping chair against the back crates of their yarn, away from the foot traffic. Flora greeted them with a smile and a flushed face, the yellow gerbera in her hair minus half its petals. “Paislee, Brody—ach, what is that?” She pointed to Brody’s fried dough that had been devoured down to half its original size. “Looks delicious.”
“An elephant ear,” Brody said, offering her a bite.
“No, no, you finish it, lad. I have my own treats here.” Flora glanced to the platter of cookies next to her stack of yarn, then sat and plucked a square shortbread from the selection. “Help yourselves.”
“Would ye like a break?” Paislee offered, choosing a thin orange lace cookie with nuts. “I can sit with Donnan.” She perched against the edge of the table. Wallace dragged Brody to sniff crumbs on the other side of Flora’s table, near a man selling ceramic vases.
“We’re fine,” Flora said, looking back fondly at her dozing husband. “Mary Beth and Arran were here, and he helped Donnan tae the bathroom. My husband just isnae the same, but . . .” She dabbed her eyes. “I cannae imagine being without him. Well.” Flora blew out a breath. “How are sales on your end of the street?”
“Good.” Surprisingly good. “I’d hate tae lose this location.”
“Maybe ye willnae. I know ye asked me about online business, but things are hard tae manage since Donnan’s stroke. I’m doing the work fer us both.” She snatched another cookie and took a bite. “What I need is a third person at no extra cost, and then I’d be just fine.” Flora laughingly gestured to Grandpa Angus, who ensured each person going by Cashmere Crush had a postcard at least. “Mibbe send him my way for room and board if ye don’t get on?”
Grandpa Angus belonged to her and Brody now, and she wouldn’t be passing him on, though he might be flattered that there was a line forming for his cranky services. Brody was now on the left side of Flora’s booth, feeding ants crumbs of sugar by the curb, before Wallace licked them up.
“Funny how quickly life changes.” You couldn’t take anything for granted. She looked at Donnan with empathy for Flora. He must’ve felt the weight of her gaze because he startled; his eyes opened wildly as if waking from a bad dream.
“Donnan?” Flora jumped up. “What is it, love?”
He twitched and his leg jerked, knocking over the crate of yarn in front of him. Skeins of green spilled to the cement.
Paislee sprang to his side and righted the yarn. “Hey, Donnan.”
Flora offered her husband a mug of sweet yellow tea—honeysuckle? He drank it, not fully awake as he murmured something about the flower’s bloom.
She rubbed Flora’s arm. “What does Doc Whyte say, about his prognosis?”
The stroke had been two months prior. “He’s getting better—I shouldnae have expected an immediate rebound. I could hire help, but it all costs money.” Her smile turned sad as she caressed her husband’s short brown hair.
Paislee thought of Lourdes and Jimmy, who might give up the office supply shop if the building sold to run an adult day care. Donnan would be a perfect candidate.
“Rest is supposed tae be the best thing for him, but I dinnae dare leave him alone for long stretches of time. Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary,” Flora said. “At Saint Ninian’s fourteen years ago. Time goes by so fast.”
Paislee was feeling the speed of time firsthand herself, whenever she looked at her son—who was ten, thank you, and not a bairn wanting his face painted.
“Happy anniversary,” she said. “What will ye do?”
“I’ll make him his favorite—leek and tattie soup, and fresh-caught salmon.” Flora brought her fingers to her mouth. “He’s lucid for hours at a time, and we talk aboot the old days.”
Cheers and bagpipes sounded as the parade began. It would start by the clock tower and end at the park to the far right of the police station. “Brody, get Wallace. It’s time for the parade.” She hugged Flora and called good-bye to Donnan.
They crossed the throng of people to the other side of the street and the corner of their building. Grandpa stood with his arms at his sides in the doorway, the shop empty of customers. She and Lydia sat at the table as folks gathered on the sidewalks to watch the parade, Brody and Wallace on the chair in front of their booth.
The high school bands marched by with
flags, drums, and horns. A dance troupe of girls from three to teens, all in pink ballet costumes, twirled and tossed candy to the folks on the sidelines; then acrobats—both boys and girls—came flipping and doing handstands. A pair of jugglers tossed bowling pins. Then, Scottish dancers in tartan and plaid whirled knives as they pranced in tempo to the band of bagpipers behind them.
She whispered in Lydia’s ear, “How do you feel about comic books?”
Lydia waved the comment away and pointed to a man in Highland garb.
“Is that Gerald?” Shirtless and in a kilt suited him; Paislee would give credit where it was due.
When he noticed them watching, he flashed a peek of his backside. “More than nice legs,” Lydia said admiringly.
Grandpa chuckled.
The parade lasted an hour, and by the end Paislee’d clapped and whistled until she’d given herself a headache.
“I want tae play the bagpipes,” Brody declared.
Imagining the noise that’d bring compounded the pressure behind her eyes. “Why is that?”
“I could wear a dirk,” he told her.
“You want tae play the bagpipes so you can wear a knife?” She looked to Lydia to see if her bestie understood this logic.
“You can play the bagpipes without a knife,” Lydia assured him.
His nose scrunched. “What for? Mum cannae tell me no tae a dirk if it’s part of me uniform.”
“You arenae getting a dirk,” Paislee said, cutting to the chase.
He threw himself back in his chair. “I’d be careful with it.”
Did he really think she’d allow him to have a sharp blade like that, ever?
“A knife isnae a bad thing,” her grandfather said from behind them.
Brody’s eyes widened and he shot up at the unexpected support from his crotchety great-grandpa. “Yeah!”
Grandpa said to Paislee, “We gave yer da a wee pocketknife at twelve, for cutting fishing wire.”
She glared at her grandfather, and then her son. “This is not the time or place for this discussion.”
“How aboot tomorrow?” Brody pleaded, his hands folded together as if he were a starving beggar child praying for a crust of bread.
“Aye. But the answer will still be no.”
