Gunns & Roses (3 page)

Alice gave a triumphant grunt. “Ah! Here are some bird-of-prey designs. Eagles are close, but the angle of the head
is
different, like I thought. Here’s a kestrel; that looks pretty close. Oh! This one looks similar as well. The design description says it’s a hawk.” She angled the computer so Annie could see.

The website page contained several pictures of bird designs. Annie leaned closer and pointed at the top one. “Are those two birds biting each other or themselves? I can’t quite tell.”

“They’re biting their own necks, according to the fine print.” Alice hovered an index finger between two pictures further down the page. “These are the two I was talking about.”

“Sorry, I got distracted by that fascinating, but rather disturbing, design.” Annie moved her eyes down the page and bobbed her head. “You’re right; they both have a lot in common with the band design. So, it looks like we’ve got either a Celtic hawk or kestrel …” she held up the sporran, “and a sprig of … something. Any ideas?”

Alice peered at the newly polished silver. “Hmmm. My guess is … I have no idea. My knowledge of plants and trees isn’t huge. It mostly revolves around what fits in a window box.”

“And we don’t even know what the bands
are
. Who do you think might be able to help us?” Annie asked.

Alice slowly closed the laptop, thinking. “Maybe we should start with Mike Malone. After all those years he’s spent writing
The Point
, he’s a fount of miscellany.”

“I’ll pop into the hardware store tomorrow and see what Mike can tell me.” Annie lifted the sporran closer to her eyes, examining both sides thoroughly. “Now that we have the sporran and bands gleaming, let’s head to the attic.”

Alice cradled the computer in her arms to return it to the library on the way upstairs. “Right behind you. Hopefully, the attic will provide us with another piece of the puzzle.”

3

Annie had always been one to awaken by the sun, rather than by an alarm, which made for some early rising in August. That would be rated disgustingly early by Alice’s standards and on the late side for those who manned the many Stony Point lobster and fishing boats, which had already left the harbor for the Gulf of Maine. To Annie, her body timed it just right and gave her the joy of watching the world stretch its arms and shake off the night. It also gave her plenty of time to care for her vegetable garden and her roses. It was a glorious morning, so Annie decided to walk into town to see Mike Malone as soon as he opened his hardware store.

At the top of the rise on Maple Street, the crossroads at Main Street just ahead, she paused long enough to turn and take in the lupines as they festooned the sides of the road with riotous color. No wonder Gram had incorporated the wildflowers into many of her cross-stitch designs; they were as heart-lifting as she had been. Shifting her project bag, which contained the sporran and its contents, to her other shoulder, Annie turned again toward downtown and resumed her walk.

Within minutes she rounded the corner and stepped onto the sidewalk, passing Magruder’s Grocery as Mike Magruder was flipping his door sign from “Closed” to “Open.” Annie always thought of this section of Main Street as the M&M Way with one Mike owning the grocery store and another Mike the hardware store next to it. Mike number one lifted a hand to greet her through the plate glass window of his store before turning his attention to other chores.

Annie heard the door to Malone’s Hardware being unlocked, and a girl in her late-teens opened it, broom in hand.

“Good morning, Kailyn,” Annie greeted her. “Is your father in this morning, or are you and Trace manning the store?”

“Hi, Mrs. Dawson,” Kailyn answered, her voice cheerful. “Dad’s here. Good thing, too, because Trace is M.I.A. Probably stayed up too late playing
Skyrim
.”

Annie tilted her head to the right. “
Skyrim
?”

“It’s a video game. Gaming is just about the only thing that will keep Trace in one place for more than two minutes. Otherwise, he’s outdoors.” Kailyn brandished the broom. “And he’s missing the one store chore that would take him outside.”

Annie patted Kailyn’s shoulder, taking care not to snag her ring in the girl’s straight, cinnamon-sugar–color hair. “I’m sure your father appreciates your help. And enjoy the sweeping; this morning is as perfect as they come.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Dawson.” Kailyn opened the door for Annie.

As Annie’s eyes adjusted from being in the bright summer sunshine, she heard a door in the back of the store close and a voice call, “You’re my first customer of the day, Annie. How can I help you? Boots hasn’t shredded any more screens, has she?” As Mike came closer she could see his brown hair—not as thick as it used to be—and friendly eyes.

Annie’s green eyes danced. “No. Boots has moved on to more interesting acts of minor destruction.” She pulled the project bag from her shoulder. “My most important reason for coming today is to see if you can help me identify something I found in the attic.”

“Another Grey Gables mystery?” Mike’s eyebrows rose. His hand reached up to tug on his left ear.

“I’m not sure yet,” admitted Annie.

Mike waved her over to the front counter. “Well, let’s have a look.”

Mike made sure his front counter was kept tidy and clean, which was no easy task when running a hardware store in a state full of committed do-it-yourselfers. Annie opened the bag and drew out the sporran.

“Ah, a sporran,” Mike leaned closer to it. “Sealskin.”

“Yes, that’s what Alice thought it was,” said Annie. She opened the clasp. “The items inside are what brought me here.” She reached in to pull out the bands, setting them on the counter in a row. “Do you know what these are?”

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.