Gunns & Roses (16 page)

Annie collected the next veterinarian journal, 1986, from the short stack where she’d placed it on her bedside table and nestled into her comfortable chair. Opening the cover, she pictured her grandfather with that spark of latent mischief in his eyes as he sat at the rolltop desk in the library after each workday, scribbling his observations. The flow of his writing and the images he described reminded her of the bedtime stories he told her during her childhood summer visits.

“Here I am, a grandmother, and you’re still telling me bedtime stories, Grandpa. Thank you,” she murmured. Turning to the next page, a name jumped out at her—Mitchel Gunn. He apparently had needed Doc Holden’s help with a sheep that was suffering from a large abscess on his neck. Reading through the note, thankful it did not contain photos of the procedure, Annie’s eyes grew wider at the end. Her grandfather had written, “The sealskin goes to the one who bears the falcon and the rose.”

With a little squeal, Annie lunged for the phone, not bothering to check how late it was. Alice never went to sleep earlier than Annie.

“Hello?” Alice answered.

“I found it!” Annie exclaimed. “It was in 1986. Grandpa went to the farm of a Mitchel Gunn to help with a sheep.”

“Could Mitchel be related to Leathan Gunn?” Alice asked, her excitement obvious in her voice.

Annie looked down at the page. “There’s no mention of Leathan, but Grandpa did make a very interesting notation at the end. He wrote, ‘The sealskin goes to the one who bears the falcon and the rose.’”

She heard Alice gasp over the phone line. “Thank you, Charlie! Is there an address of the farm in the entry?”

“No, just that it was the Mitchel Gunn farm.”

There was silence on the line for a moment. “Farms usually stay in families, around here, for generations and generations. If the Gunn farm is close enough for Charlie to vet for, it shouldn’t be too hard to track down. I wouldn’t be surprised if Leathan answers the door once we find it, either.”

“Not if he sees us coming,” said Annie. “First, I’ll see if I can dig up any additional records with an address or phone number from Grandpa’s papers. If I can’t find anything, then before the club meeting on Tuesday, I’ll stop at the library and see if I can find out where the farm is located.” She paused, staring out the window as she thought. “Even if I do find the Gunns’ address, I think I’m going to wait a few weeks before I try to contact the family.”

“Why?” Alice sounded puzzled.

“You saw how Leathan reacted after seeing the photo of the sporran. If I show up so soon after that, assuming he is related to Mitchel and lives at the same farm, my chances of him talking to me are pretty much nil.”

A disappointed sigh came to Annie’s ear. “You’re right,” Alice muttered. “I shouldn’t complain. We’ve only been back from the Games one day, and already we have an additional lead. Not too shabby.”

“Not shabby at all,” her friend agreed. “And since we have accomplished so much today—and I have a horde of cucumbers to pickle tomorrow—I’m going to say goodnight and go to bed.”

“Sleep well, early bird,” Alice told her. “Let me know if you need any help tomorrow. I’ve left the day completely unscheduled.”

A smile touched Annie’s lips. “I will, and I’ll try not to need help too early.”

Alice chuckled. “It took a while, but I’ve finally got you trained. Have good dreams.”

“You too—when you finally tumble into bed.” The friends ended their call.

Standing at the foot of her bed, Annie scratched her cat under the chin before getting ready to climb into bed. “It’s the end of an exciting weekend, Boots. What will the coming week bring?”

The cat’s mouth opened in a wide yawn. Whatever was coming, Boots wasn’t going to face it without plenty of sleep. Annie intended to follow her example.

16

A couple of weeks later, Annie stood in front of her stove stirring a concoction of two different kinds of vinegar, sugar, mustard seeds, turmeric, cloves, garlic, and some dried chopped cayenne peppers in a saucepan. As she waited for it to boil over the high heat, she turned to check the view from the window. The landscape was still gray with fog. Although Maine was known around the country for its nor’easters, Annie had been reacquainted during the summer with the “smoky sou’westers” she had experienced during her childhood visits at Stony Point. Those were days when a friendly southwestern wind pushed the morning fog off the coast and onto the outer banks. Having planned to go into town with Alice for lunch at The Cup & Saucer, she hoped the fog would burn off—or blow out—by noon. Sometimes it did. Sometimes it didn’t.

The sound of the mixture bubbling into a boil directed Annie’s attention back to her pickling. This week she was making a sweet and spicy recipe. Annie reduced the heat under the saucepan and reached for the bowl of sliced onions and cucumbers which she had already soaked for a couple of hours and drained. She shook the vegetables into the pan and gently stirred them into the mixture with a wooden spoon. Humming, she waited until the contents of the saucepan were simmering and then removed it from the heat, switching off the burner with the quick flip of her hand.

Since the day of the Highland Games, Annie had kept busy in her garden. She now had a small army of jars filled with dill pickles, relish, and summer squash decorating the shelves of her bakers rack. Earlier in the morning, as she had circled a date on her calendar, the day on which she planned to mail the garden goodies to her family, she realized how much time had passed since delivering those handwritten messages to Mr. MacTavish and the others. It was looking more and more like she’d have to use the information Grace had helped her find at the library if she was ever to discover the story behind the sporran and ferrules. But with the fog, she wasn’t going to head out to unknown roads just yet. She’d be pleased simply to be able to find the diner in town instead of ending up in the harbor.

Selecting a slotted spoon from the collection of utensils sprouting out of a stoneware crock, Annie divided the cucumbers and onions between the hot, sterilized pint-size jars lined up on the counter next to the stove. Pouring carefully, she filled each jar with enough of the liquid to reach up to a half-inch from the top. After trading the spoon for a towel she had dampened, she made sure each rim was clean and then fit each jar with a lid.

Annie had just placed the jars into a hot-water bath when the phone rang. Setting a timer first, she grabbed the phone from the charger. “Hello?”

Ian’s crisp, friendly voice responded, “Good morning, Annie. Are you busy? I have some news for you.”

“Well, I have about fourteen minutes until I need to take my pickle jars out of their hot-water bath. What’s up?” As mayor of Stony Point, Ian’s news could encompass too many possibilities to try to guess.

“I have two visitors sitting next to Charlotte’s desk. They’ve come about the messages you left at the Highland Games. Can you come down and meet with us?”

Annie couldn’t hold back a squeal. “Really?” A thought darted into her mind. “Wow, and in the fog too? It seems like a mighty strange day to decide to respond.” Her eyes strayed over to the timer. “I’ll leave as soon as I can take the jars out of the bath.”

“Don’t try to rush the driving,” Ian told her. “I’ll keep our guests entertained until you can get here.”

“Thank you, Ian! Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. See you soon.” Annie hung up the phone and dashed upstairs to prepare to leave as soon as the jars were set out to cool on a towel. The timer began to buzz while she was on her way back down the stairs, her hair combed, clothes changed, and teeth freshly brushed. Setting the bag containing the sealskin sporran containing the ferrules on the kitchen table, Annie swiftly transferred the jars of pickles out of the water and onto the counter. A moment later, after donning a light rain jacket against the moisture outside, she dashed out the door, fog or no fog.

Although it seemed to Annie she was inching laboriously along Ocean Drive toward town, she arrived at Town Hall within minutes. She hurried up the steps, through the main door and across the foyer, praying the visitors had not been hit with cold feet while waiting for her. She paused as she came to the mayor’s office, taking a deep breath to calm herself before entering.

Ian’s secretary, Charlotte Nash, sat behind a computer that dominated the right side of her desk. She looked up from the screen and smiled, as she swiveled her chair around to face the newcomer. Annie was surprised to see no other people in the room, and she fought disappointment.

“Hi, Annie,” Charlotte’s short silver hair bobbed as she nodded toward the door of the inner office. “The visitors are with the mayor. You can go right in.”

Relief flooded Annie as she shed her outerwear and hung it on a coat tree in the corner by the door. With a quick “Thanks, Charlotte!” she strode to Ian’s door and knuckled a light rap on it. At Ian’s response, she stepped inside the office, closing the door behind her.

A man and a woman sat in front of Ian’s desk, the man with dark hair and the woman with a layered, shoulder length cut, her light brown locks shining with gold highlights. There was something familiar about the man, although Annie was not yet in a position to see his face.

Ian’s smile widened as he looked up at Annie. “Welcome, Annie. You made it in good time. How’s the fog?”

“Still as thick and gray as Boots’s fur,” Annie answered. “But I’m starting to get used to it.”

Ian addressed the newcomers. “Annie lived most of her adult life in Texas, but we’re thankful to have her grace Stony Point now. Annie, this is Ansley Gunn Bell, and you might recognize Finley Rose.”

Gunn, Bell and Rose!
Annie maneuvered around the back of the chairs and approached the man and woman to offer her hand. Looking into Ansley’s eyes, she almost felt as though she already knew her and realized why. “You must be related to Kyla Bell.”

The woman, who appeared to be about ten years younger than Annie, smiled up at her. “Yes, Kyla is my daughter.”

“She was a delight to meet and talk with,” said Annie. “She gave such encouragement to the daughter of one of my friends.”

“You must mean Emily.” Ansley answered. “Kyla has talked about her since the Games. I think she would be thrilled to adopt her as a sister, especially since she doesn’t have any.”

A light laugh escaped Annie. “I have no doubt Emily feels the same way. She was so excited to meet her favorite dancer from the competition. Oh!” Annie caught her breath. “Did Kyla get her shoes back? Emily was beside herself with fear she wouldn’t. We tried to find her to return them when she left them behind at the sheepherding field, but the crowds were too much so we left them at the lost and found booth.”

“Yes, she did,” Ansley reassured her. “And Kyla told me to pass on a message of thanks to all of you and to tell Emily she loved the note and the drawings. She wanted to come today, but I thought it better for her to stay home this time.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Emily,” said Annie. “It will make her day.” She moved closer to the man and held out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Rose. My friends and I were very impressed with your falconry demonstration.”

She was relieved when Finley reached out to accept her hand, his grip firm yet gentle. A shimmer of embarrassment tinted his dark cerulean eyes. “Thank you, Annie. You’re being most kind, considering my actions on the day of the Highland Games. You and your friends caught me totally by surprise, and I didn’t handle it well. Please forgive me.”

Annie gave the man’s hand a light squeeze before letting go. “Of course I forgive you, Finley. I am, however, extremely thankful that you have your eagle so well-trained. She is quite frightening when she swoops so close!”

“It was a foolish thing for me to do.” The sincerity in the man’s eyes was obvious. “Athena
is
exceptionally well-trained. She took to training immediately from the first day I began working with her. But she is still a wild animal for all that, and it was unwise for me to use her in the way I did.”

Annie moved over to the free chair and sat. “May I ask why our questions prompted such a response, Finley? They seemed to cause shudders from one end of the Games to the other.”

Ansley looked at her companion, as if asking permission. When the man nodded, she reached into her purse. “Fin and the others were not acting for themselves, but trying to protect two of their loved ones.” She pulled her hand free, opening it up as she held it out for Annie and Ian to see. On her palm lay another ferrule bearing the hawk and rose. The set from Annie’s attic was now complete. “I was one of them.”

“And my mother was the second,” Fin finished.

After a moment of silence, Ian asked, his voice gentle. “Did the bagpipe belong to you, Ansley?”

Ansley took a deep breath and answered, her voice tinged with sorrow. “No, it did not. It belonged to Fin’s brother, Toren.” She moved her gaze over to the man sitting beside her.

“Tor was my younger brother,” Fin continued. “While my interest has always been falconry, Tor’s was music—bagpipe music to be specific. He played so well you’d swear you were standing on a Munro mountain in the Highlands with the wind whipping around you. It felt like he played that way from the time he was still small.”

Annie was reminded of a comment the pipe-maker MacTavish had made about a young piper. His voice had also held a shade of sadness. “Did Mr. MacTavish know Tor?”

“Yes, my mother had him build Tor’s first set of pipes,” Fin answered. “My mother created the design of the hawk and rose, and commissioned a silversmith to make the ferrules for it. My family has been involved in falconry for generations, and she was paying homage to it.”

Before either Ian or Annie could respond to the new information, the pendulum clock on the wall of the office chimed the noon hour. The reminder of the time jerked Annie from her thoughts, and she looked apologetically at the visitors. “Oh no—I’ve lost track of time. I had made prior plans to meet a friend for lunch, and I completely forgot to warn her that I could be quite late.” She turned to include Ian. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I need to give Alice a quick call.” She rose to step outside the office. Both Ian and Finley stood as well.

Ian held up his hand indicating for her to wait. “I have an idea. Ansley and Fin, would you join us for lunch? The good folks at The Cup & Saucer would be glad to deliver for us, and we can use the conference room for our meal.” He saw Annie’s eyebrow rise and answered the question in her eyes with his next sentences. “Annie’s best friend, Alice MacFarlane, was with us at the Games and has been helping Annie solve the mystery of the sporran and ferrules found in her attic. If it is agreeable to you both, perhaps Annie could invite Alice to join us?”

The two visitors were quiet, their eyes meeting. Ansley inclined her head toward Ian. “I appreciate the hospitality, especially on such short notice, Mr. Butler. If Fin is agreeable to Alice joining us for lunch, I’m pleased to have her invited.”

Annie attempted to look as casual as possible, as she didn’t wish to put pressure on Fin’s response. But although she was sure he had been sincere in his apology, she wasn’t as sure he’d accept adding Alice to the visit.

With one more look into Ansley’s brown eyes, Fin finally nodded. “Can I assume she was with you when Athena harried you?”

Relieved, Annie answered, “Yes, you assume correctly.”

“Then I’d welcome her presence so that I may apologize to her personally,” Fin said. He settled back in his chair.

“Thank you both,” Annie said as she started again for the door, digging her cellphone out of her bag. She almost paused to suggest that her friend could stop by the diner to pick up lunch but thought better of it. Perhaps Peggy would be sent and yet another sleuthing friend would be alerted to the developments in the mystery. “I’ll be just a moment.” As she shut the door behind her, she saw Ian reach into his desk for a copy of the diner’s menu.

Since Charlotte took her lunch promptly at noon, the outer office was empty. Annie walked back and forth as she waited for Alice to answer.

“Hey, Annie. You’re not calling to cancel are you?” Alice’s voice sounded in her ear.

“No, but I have a slight change in plans to suggest,” answered Annie. “Instead of meeting me at the diner, come to Ian’s office.”

Annie could hear the puzzlement in her friend’s voice. “Um, why? Have they added a salad bar in Town Hall—and finally gotten some decent coffee?”

“Because the falconer from the Highland Games is sitting in Ian’s office as I speak, and he brought someone else with him. I think you’d like to hear the conversation over lunch, wouldn’t you?” Annie grinned, imagining the look on her friend’s face.

“Are you serious? What a crazy day to come! The man must have fog fever. Who’s the other person?”

“Kyla Bell’s mother. You’ll see the resemblance as soon as you see her.” Annie told her the plans for lunching in the conference room. “Charlotte is at lunch, of course, so just head to the room.”

“OK.” Annie could hear the sounds of her friend preparing to leave her house, the jangle of keys. “This is so exciting! I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I’ll tell Ian. Do you trust us to order your lunch?” Annie thought to ask before she disconnected.

Her friend chuckled. “Just this once. And you’d better not mess it up.”

“Considering how often we eat at The Cup & Saucer together, I think you’ll be safe.” Annie said goodbye and closed her phone.

Pausing before the door to Ian’s office, she closed her eyes and silently prayed that the truth would be a blessing to everyone involved.