by Anne Barwell
Tomas's pencil hit the table with a clatter. "Haunted?"
"The inn is not haunted," Heidi said firmly. "Donovan and I have been here for about five years now, and we've never seen anything we couldn't find an explanation for."
"There was that time you thought you felt someone watching you," Donovan reminded her. "The summer we first moved in there was a freak storm. The lightning lit up the whole sky, and we thought that old oak was going to come down, but it only ended up losing a few branches. One of the upstairs windows shattered. I went to clean up the glass, and there were petals from those climbing roses all over the floor; the wind had ripped most of them off. It took another season before they bloomed again."
"That someone ended up being a certain cat." Heidi dug her fork into her slice of cake. "She was wet through and looking very sorry for herself. I asked around to try and find her owner, but no one would take her and she didn't want to leave."
"She acted like she owned the damn place and has done so ever since." Donovan ran one finger across the center of his cake, dividing the icing into two mounds before proceeding to lick his finger clean with an expression of pure bliss.
"Blackthorn?" Tomas glanced around for the cat, but for once she was nowhere in sight. No, it couldn't have been her. Heidi had said they'd been here five years, and Blackthorn was definitely a kitten, not a full-grown cat.
"Yeah." Heidi shoved a napkin in Donovan's direction when he piled his finger up with cream cheese again, a big blob of it landing on the table in front of him. "She owns us rather than us owning her, but then that's the way with most cats. Apparently this inn attracts stray cats; it has a history of them."
"Blackthorn's only a kitten," Tomas told her. He'd seen enough cats to know. "You must be mistaken."
"She's been that size since forever," Heidi confirmed. "I took her to the vet to get checked out when we realized she wasn't growing. She's perfectly healthy and would eat us out of house and home if we'd let her, but she's never gotten any bigger. The vet offered to run more tests to try and figure out what was the cause, but it would have cost money we didn't have, so we didn't pursue it."
"Weird," Tomas mumbled, retrieving his pencil and sucking on the end of it. "So what exactly are the local superstitions concerning the inn?" He flicked over a few pages, reading over the notes he'd made previously. "Alice Finlay's family owned it, right? Was she the one who planted the roses?"
"Yeah, Alice planted the roses after her husband died. Rumor has it he fought in the war and never came home." Heidi shook her head sadly. "It's a very sad story. She found out she was pregnant after he left, so he never got to see the child and she raised the boy by herself."
Tomas decided to go out on a limb. "I noticed the roses at the library were the same type as these. Is there a connection?" Phoebe had mentioned that the tapestry in the library had been a gift from their patron. It looked fairly old, almost timeless in its design, as was the quote on it about loving forever.
"Mrs. O'Neil is the person to ask about that." Heidi shrugged. "I'm still learning about the history of the area, although both of us are on the committee for the Historic Society. I believe Alice organized the rebuilding of the village library. The original building was gutted during a fire, but I'm not sure of the story behind that either." She tapped the side of her nose. "It's one of those things no one talks about. Either that or they figure you've lived here for so many generations so if you need to know about it you already do. They're bad for that. Even now I'm sure some of the elderly folks think I'm stepping in where I shouldn't by sitting in on their committees."
"Yeah, but they only tried to say that once." Donovan grinned, remembering. "Mrs. O. gave them a piece of her mind. She's way protective of Heidi. The two of them are like this." He crossed his fingers. "It's why I find shit to do when they get together." His voice took on a very serious tone. "Tomas, take it from someone who knows. Wednesday mornings, you get up early and you take yourself off somewhere before they start trying to organize your life for you. Been there, done that. Learned my lesson the hard way." Donovan shuddered. Heidi narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.
"Mrs. O'Neil is a very dear friend," she said, "and she means well even if she does get a bit overzealous at times when she gets an idea in her head. Friends take other friends as they are, with all their quirks." Donovan examined his cake intently, suddenly very focused on eating the rest of it as quickly as possible. Heidi smiled at Tomas. "Tomorrow, being Wednes-
day--" A meaningful glance was directed at Donovan, who ignored it. "--she is coming here for morning tea. If you would like to join us for a while, I'm sure she'd be more than happy to answer any questions you have."
"I might do that." Tomas wrote a reminder in his notebook. It was an idea worth pursuing, especially if she could provide some answers. He was sure he could stand his ground with her for half an hour, although their meeting in the post office hadn't gone exactly smoothly. "You mentioned something about the Historic Society? Has it put out any pamphlets or books I could borrow?"
"No books, but we are putting together some pamphlets about the village. You can look through the box with all the bits and pieces in if you promise not to lose anything. I'll find it for you later this evening. I need it for tomorrow anyway." Heidi sighed. "This project is taking much longer than we'd hoped. The last lot of fundraising we did went toward maintenance on the church organ."
"I thought you were the Historic Society?" Tomas frowned, trying to make connections. "Shouldn't church organs be the responsibility of the parish?" The church was somewhere he hadn't visited yet. He made another note. Parish records could be useful. Often in these small villages the births, deaths, and marriage registers went back hundreds of years. He might be able to use them to trace Alice's family to the present day and also discover more about her husband and his family.
"The church is old; it's been there since the early 1800s, so we're responsible for it. Mrs. McPherson does her best keeping the parish accounts in order and things ticking over, but each year something needs doing on something or another." Heidi finished her slice of cake and poured herself a cup of coffee. "The village has a few buildings about that age, and if we split the money evenly, there's not quite enough for anyone to get anything done. The last few years there's been a ballot, with whoever got funds last time being removed from the equation until everyone's looked after, and then we start again from the beginning."
"Can't the owners pay for their own maintenance?" Tomas scribbled more notes. "Surely not all of those buildings belong to charitable organizations?" The pub would be about the same age.
"They do what they can," Heidi explained, "and we top it up." She ticked off on her fingers. "There's the church, the pub, and a couple of cottages outside town. It's not that many, and it's important to preserve history."
"What about this inn?" Tomas was curious now. "How old is it?"
"Just a baby in comparison." Donovan helped himself to coffee and offered Tomas a cup, pouring him one when he nodded. "Alice's father built the original house, I believe, when the family settled here. He fought in the Boer War and wanted somewhere to retire."
"Was she born here?" Tomas tried to remember the history he'd learned at school, tying the dates into what he'd discovered so far.
Heidi shook her head. "I don't know. That would be something to ask Mrs. McPherson; she looks after the parish records. We looked up the plans for this place at the shire council once when we were thinking about doing some alterations, but the guy I talked to was really vague and not at all helpful. Eoin knew a bit more, but not that much."
"Hold on." Tomas backed up his thoughts a bit, memories of an old lady whizzing past on a bicycle earlier in the day coming to mind. "Mrs. McPherson." He turned to Donovan. "Didn't you say this morning that she was church organist?"
"Anything to do with the church and she's in there." Donovan grinned. "Her and the Reverend. All for one and one for all and all that."<
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"There's only two of them," Tomas pointed out, having read Dumas several times.
"Wait till you see them in action." Donovan faked a yawn. "Between them they have enough energy for a whole army. She talks nonstop; he nods politely, listens, and then acts. Heaven help anyone who gets in their way."
Tomas made a note to keep out of their way as much as possible. He'd had a landlady once who'd tried to mother him. If she'd thought he needed anything, whether it be a meal, a new shirt, or information for a project he was working on, she'd be like a dog with a bone, not giving up until he had what she thought he needed. It hadn't mattered if it was something he didn't actually require, or had once but didn't any longer. She thought he did, and that was what was important. Christine was a nice person, and a bona fide member of her local St. Vincent de Paul church group, but she'd driven him crazy. Even now she still sent him Christmas cards every year asking when he was coming back to visit. Apparently she didn't do that to all her old tenants, just the ones she liked. He was still trying to work out how he'd been lucky enough to make that list.
"They've achieved a lot more in the ten years Reverend Matthew has been there than in the past fifty, according to Mrs. O'Neil," Heidi pointed out.
"That's because Mrs. McP. and the previous reverend didn't get on as well." Donovan grinned and winked at Tomas when Heidi's attention was drawn to the sound of the phone ringing.
"Excuse me a moment." Heidi got up and walked over to the wall where the phone was. After a couple of minutes of nodding, she put her hand over the receiver. "I'm going to take this in the other room as it's going to take a while."
"Take your time," Donovan reassured her. "Tomas is going to help me with the dishes 'cause he's a helpful kind of guy." Tomas opened his mouth, closing it again when Heidi gave him a bright smile, and nodded lamely.
"Thanks, guys." Heidi walked quickly out of the kitchen, still listening intently to whoever was on the other end of the cordless phone. Whoever it was didn't appear to be letting her get much of a word in edgewise, a feat in itself which was fairly impressive.
"Taking a while means at least an hour in Heidi-speak." Donovan leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. He used one foot to pull the chair next to him closer and then plonked his feet up on it.
"I thought we were doing the dishes," Tomas couldn't help but point out, not wanting to risk the wrath of Heidi.
"Yeah, in a bit." Donovan stretched again, his T-shirt riding up to reveal tanned skin underneath. He burped, wiping his hand across his mouth. "There's a couple of bottles of lager in the fridge if you want to grab one each."
"Okay." It had been a long day, and Tomas wasn't about to turn down a free drink. Getting up, he walked over to the fridge, retrieved the beer, wandered back to the table, and handed Donovan one of the bottles before mirroring his actions and putting his own feet up. The sneaking suspicion that Heidi would not approve he shoved to one side, already deciding he could blame Donovan for whatever happened. "Thanks," he added as an afterthought, taking a swig.
"It's either Mrs. O. about tomorrow or Sally about whatever it is chicks like to talk about." Donovan cocked an ear in the direction of the living room and grinned. "Or not." He nodded sagely, the bottle paused at his lips. "My bet's on Doug. That guy could talk a hind leg off a dog, especially when it's about his favorite topic. I have no idea what the hell she sees in him."
"Favorite topic?" Tomas yawned, glancing toward the window; he was sure he'd seen a hint of black briefly reflected against the glass. It was difficult to tell against the dim glow of the lone outside light.
"Yeah, he's the local Scout leader. Always going on about what his kids are doing and all the stuff he has planned. They're fundraising to go on some jamboree." Donovan tapped the side of his nose. "Bet you a quid that Heidi will want one of us to help go through all the old crap in the attic for the garage sale next week." He mock-sneezed. "It's dusty up there, and unfortunately my allergies would never survive it."
"You're allergic to dust?" Tomas stared at him suspiciously.
"And a few other four-letter words." Donovan took another slurp of beer. "You haven't been in that attic. There's crap up there dating back to when the place was built, including an old trunk. For some weird reason, the family didn't want it and said it had to stay in the inn." He shrugged. "It was one of the conditions laid out in her will."
"Will?" Tomas's eyebrow rose; this attic was somewhere he needed to explore. "Whose will?" He paused. "What's in the trunk?"
"That artist you're so interested in." Donovan put his bottle on the table, his tone suddenly serious. "Just a pile of papers, letters and stuff. Some old clothes as well."
"Wouldn't the letters be worth something?" Tomas was surprised some collector hadn't come looking for them.
"They're personal." Donovan still hadn't picked up his beer but instead was watching Tomas closely. "As far as Heidi and I are concerned, you don't sell personal stuff. It doesn't matter how much someone offers. Alice might have been a bit on the weird side, but she's due some privacy."
"You mentioned a will?" Tomas prodded, running one finger around the rim of his bottle and then licking the moisture off the tip. "And what do you mean by weird? Exactly?" At the first opportunity he was getting access to that trunk.
"Her will states that the trunk stays in the attic." Donovan picked up his beer and took a slow sip, his gaze riveted on Tomas. "And that the contents of the trunk are not to be removed from the premises." He crossed his legs at the ankles, pulling the chair they were resting on closer. "Something about him coming back one day and wanting them." He rolled his eyes. "I told you she was weird. Loses her husband in the war but doesn't believe he's dead. Apparently she wrote him all these letters in the hope he'd come back one day and read them."
"That's not weird," Tomas said quietly. "I think it's rather sad." People had different ways of dealing with loss. This had apparently been Alice's. A thought struck him. "Have you read them?"
"Yeah." Donovan nodded slowly. "Just one or two though. As I said, they're personal. As soon as I figured out what they were, I didn't look further. That's what the first one says, what I just told you." He lowered his voice. "I figured she was in denial and couldn't believe he'd died. They say she went a bit weird afterward, used to sit under that tree you like for hours. The old guy was the same, at least until he had the stroke. He doesn't get out much now. He has days when he's lucid, others when he makes no sense at all."
"Old guy?" Tomas drained the rest of his beer, wondering if there was any more. Outside a dog began to bark, the noise carrying through the dark, another a few farms over picking it up and joining in.
"Apparently her son's in the nursing home off the local hospital a couple of hours from here." Finishing his beer, Donovan stood. "We'd better get on with these dishes or we'll never hear the end of it." He listened for a moment. "By the time she reaches the kitchen we'll be hard at work and she'll be eternally grateful."
Tomas scribbled a few notes, circling the words "trunk" and "nursing home." "She won't kick your arse, you mean," he translated.
"Our arses," Donovan corrected, already over at the sink, filling it with hot water and dishwashing detergent. Tomas caught the tea towel thrown in his direction. "We're in this together." Donovan looked at him, his eyes reminiscent of a puppy, albeit a bad imitation of one. "Surely you wouldn't leave me all on my lonesome."
"That depends...." Tomas rolled his eyes. He cleared the table, found the dishcloth, and wiped it down. "I'd like to look at the attic tomorrow." It was too late tonight and he wanted to write for a while before bed. Besides, if he seemed too keen, it might arouse suspicions.
"Sure. I can show you the way before I hit the sack tonight and then you can go check it out whenever you want." Donovan washed a glass, upended it on the bench, and began washing plates, balancing them on the glass so that they would drain. "What's with the interest in Alice? You seem really intereste
d in her, obsessed even." He turned to glance at Tomas when he picked up a plate to dry it. "Has she got something to do with that book you were looking for?"
"No." At least he didn't think there was a connection. At least not a direct one, even taking into account where he'd found the postcard. "I'm researching the area and she's an interesting part of that."
"Right." Donovan rinsed the beer bottles and deposited them in a cardboard box next to the bin. He opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by an amused chuckle from the kitchen door.
"I do so like watching men at work in the kitchen." Heidi hung up the phone on its hook. "Please don't let me interrupt. You're doing such a good job, even if it's a last-minute one and it took a beer to psych yourself up for it." She tsk-tsked. "It would be less effort just to fix the dishwasher, Donovan."
"I'm waiting on parts," Donovan said stubbornly. "I already told you that."
"Yeah, I know." Heidi opened the fridge, helping herself to a beer. "I'll come home one day and it will be fixed," she told Tomas. "He'll be very pleased with himself, at least until it breaks down again. It's an old dishwasher and really needs replacing, but we can't afford to until we make more money on this inn. The last couple of seasons have been very slow." She smiled. "We're very pleased that you are staying with us a while, and not just for the custom."
Tomas mumbled something under his breath that sounded like "you're welcome." Her comment seemed very genuine. He hunted through his mind for something else to say, poking it several times in an attempt to elicit some cooperation. "Thank you for the rose you left in my room," he said finally, somewhat lamely.
To his surprise she and Donovan exchanged a glance. "Rose? What rose?"
"The one in the vase on the table," Tomas explained, his fingers closing over the edge of the linen cloth in his hand. "The crystal vase," he continued when both of their expressions remained blank.