by Anne Barwell
Edward shrugged. “I’ve decided to sell them. I’ve kept a few for the family, but for some reason there seems to be a demand for them lately. Mr. Kemp bought one too.”
Ethan wondered if Tomas had bought it before or after he’d met Cathal. “Perhaps this Cathal needs a commission, if he’s indirectly responsible for the sales,” he said.
“Cathal?” Edward looked surprised, then wary, before his expression went completely blank. “Ah yes, Mikey mentioned Tomas’s young man. So did my father-in-law.”
“The police would have too, yes?” Ethan asked. Surely they would have followed every clue they had?
“That’s right,” Edward said hurriedly, as though he’d forgotten about the police investigation altogether. “Of course, although only a few people claimed to have seen him, so I’m not sure how much help that would have been.”
“You lived at the inn for years, right?” Donovan asked. “Before the Pattersons bought the place?”
“Yes, that’s right. It was owned by my wife’s family before that.”
“Ever see any ghosts?” Donovan asked.
“Not while I lived there.” Edward hesitated. “My wife did, several times, as did a few others, though. However,” he continued firmly, “sometimes the past needs to be left alone.”
“I don’t suppose you know what happened to her family? Her grandfather and his cousin, I mean?” Ethan pressed for more information.
“Sorry, I can’t help you.” Edward seemed puzzled by the question. “I thought you would have known, as you were asking about the inn. They disappeared sometime after the night the original library burned down. My wife talked about how her grandmother waited for her husband to return, but he never did.” He took the calendar Donovan handed him. “Did you want to buy one of these?”
“Yes, please. I’ll take one for Heidi. She’s always admired them.” Donovan dug into his pocket and put money on the counter. “And I’ll tell our customers about them—if we ever have some to tell—if you’d like.”
“Thanks,” Edward said, ringing up the sale. “I appreciate it.”
The bell rang as the post office door opened.
Donovan turned around, recognition sweeping over his face. He groaned aloud, then plastered on a smile.
“Oh, is that the time?” He grabbed Ethan’s arm. “Sorry, Edward, but we need to go. Thanks for your help. I promised Ethan a pint at the Worthington, and we don’t want to be late for dinner.” He pulled Ethan out of the post office. “Hi and bye, Mrs. O’Neil. Have a good day.”
Mrs. O’Neil, a well-built older lady, watched them go before turning back to Edward and pulling a parcel out of a large carpetbag. “We’ll see, Mr. Campbell,” she called after him. “We’ll see.”
“What the hell was that all about?” Ethan pulled himself free of Donovan’s grip once they were out of earshot.
“She’s the reason I don’t hang around the inn on a Wednesday afternoon,” Donovan said. “Every Wednesday she and Heidi have afternoon tea and solve the mysteries of life, the universe, and everything.” He shuddered. “I made the mistake of staying once. Never again. The Spanish Inquisition has nothing on that woman.”
“She looks harmless enough.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” Donovan nodded to a blonde woman as she passed them.
“Hello, Donovan.” She stopped instead of just returning the nod. Ethan remembered her from the train. She’d tried to make conversation, but he’d politely brushed her off. “Good to see you. Saves me phoning you later. I’ve got a couple of trees that need trimming back. I’d do it myself, but I’m working on that rotten window I told you about. You interested?”
“Sure thing, Sally,” Donovan said. “When do you want it done? The weather’s supposed to pack in tomorrow. I can swing by once it picks up again. If you need help with the window too, let me know, okay?” He indicated Ethan. “This is Ethan Leavitt. He’s staying at the inn for a bit.”
“Nice to meet you, Ethan.” Sally smiled. “I need to get home to meet the school bus. Text me before you come over. And if you help out with another window, I insist you take some kind of payment for it this time.”
“Let’s wait and see about that one, okay?” Donovan gave her a mock bow, complete with an exaggerated flourish of a nonexistent hat.
“One day I’m going to get you a hat for real.” Sally laughed. “Keep an eye on this one,” she told Ethan. “I swear he reads far too many books and thinks he belongs in another age. Some of that stuff isn’t real, you know, although it’s nice to be treated like a lady.”
“There’s no such thing as too much reading,” Ethan deadpanned. “Nice to meet you, Sally.”
“Reality is what you make it,” Donovan added.
“Neighbor?” Ethan asked once Sally was out of earshot.
“Yeah. Her husband died in a car accident a few years back. I’ve done some work for her when she needs it. Casual labor on her farm and all that.”
Donovan kept his tone light, so Ethan didn’t ask anything more on the subject. Just how badly was the inn doing, financially? Judging from the number of entries in the guest book and the visit from the not-so-friendly bank rep, Heidi and Donovan were having some cash-flow problems.
“Did you pick up the book you went back for?” Ethan didn’t remember seeing Donovan with the reserve he’d said he’d gone to collect.
“Yeah. It’s in the car,” Donovan said. He glanced at his watch. “Come on, let’s get that beer.”
Chapter 5
THERE WEREN’T many people in the Worthington, just the regulars Donovan expected to see. Some of those guys didn’t have a home to go to, he’d decided, or if they did, they lived alone and hung around the pub for the company.
He could understand that one. After he’d returned from Afghanistan, he’d kept to himself for months until Heidi had told him he wasn’t cut out to be a hermit. Being around people had helped, as it was easier to pretend in public, but unfortunately the plan had backfired to the point where he couldn’t deal with his own company anymore. It had taken a long time to find a balance. Reading served as another escape route. Sometimes even now, he found himself spending too much time escaping into books and had to pull himself up.
“Hey, Donovan.” Craig grinned at him. “You’ll be wanting your usual Guinness?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Donovan pulled out one of the barstools. “This is Ethan Leavitt. He’s staying at the inn. Ethan, Craig Arliss.”
“Nice to meet you, Craig,” Ethan said, sitting down on the empty stool next to Donovan. “I’ll have a Guinness too, thanks. That’s an amazing collection of horse brasses you have there.”
“They’re way old,” Craig said. He adjusted the tea towel slung over his shoulder when it slipped. Craig, who was in his early twenties, had worked at the pub for a couple of years now and rented one of the rooms on the first floor. Something about needing to leave home, as he’d had a few family issues. He’d never gone into detail, and Donovan hadn’t asked.
“My father collected them, as did his mother before him,” Patricia added from the kitchen door. “He was very proud of his collection, and asked that they remain a part of the Worthington. I’ve kept them to honor his wishes and his memory, although they’re not really my thing. He’d spend hours telling stories about them and their history. There’s some local legends attached to some of them too. Your first drink is on the house, Ethan. It’s our way of saying welcome to Oakwood.” She wiped her hands on her apron, walked over to them, and proffered her hand. “I’m Patricia Crawford, and I own this place.”
“Thanks,” he said, shaking her hand over the bar. “It’s nice to meet you, and I’ll make sure this isn’t my only visit. After all, I don’t want you thinking I only came once so I could get the free beer.”
The comment earned a smile from Patricia. “You’re always welcome here, and I certainly hope we do see you again. Craig, shouldn’t you be pulling pints for these gentlemen, rather than standing around ch
itchatting?”
“Oh right, yeah. Sorry.” Craig lowered his voice when he placed their Guinness in front of them. “Patricia’s not a bad boss, despite all that, you know. Just a bit bossy at times.” He winked.
“All part of the job description,” Patricia said cheerily. “Can I interest you in a meal? I’ve just written tonight’s specials on the blackboard.”
“Another time, Tricia,” Donovan said. “Heidi’s cooking tonight, and you know how she is if I’ve already eaten.”
“Understandably so, and, as I keep reminding you, it’s Patricia.” Patricia leaned in closer, keeping her voice down so others in the pub wouldn’t overhear. “Are you any closer to finding anything? I was sorry to hear about your friend, Ethan. I liked him.”
“No.” Donovan took a swig of his beer. He followed Patricia’s lead and spoke quietly. “We’ve been at the library all day looking for clues, but didn’t find anything that might help.” He saw Ethan tense and added quickly, “We haven’t given up yet, though.”
“You met Tomas when he was here?” Ethan asked the obvious instead of—which Donovan expected—elaborating on his comment.
“Yes, and sorry, no, I didn’t meet Cathal, although I would have liked to.”
“Your great-grandfather owned the bank back in 1918, didn’t he?” Donovan asked.
“Yes, and my grandmother was one of the children caught in the library fire. She didn’t talk much about it when I was growing up, but in the last year or so of her life, after she got sick, she used to. Some of it sounded crazy. She told stories about their way out being blocked but then their path clearing as though by magic as they went through. I didn’t put much stock in it.” Patricia sighed. “I loved my granny, but she didn’t make a lot of sense towards the end. It was difficult to watch her go downhill like that.”
“I’m sorry,” Donovan said softly. He felt bad asking now.
“Don’t worry about it. I—”
Whatever Patricia was going to say was cut off as Jane Fitzgerald strode over to the bar.
“Mr. Campbell! What a pleasant surprise seeing you here, and Mr. Leavitt too.” Jane beamed at them as though they were long-lost friends.
“What can I get you to drink, Ms. Fitzgerald?” Patricia asked.
“I’d love a dry white wine, please. I’ll leave it up to you to choose,” Jane said. “After all, you know more about that kind of thing than I do.” She smiled at Ethan. “I believe you’re new in town just like I am, Mr. Leavitt. Please let me buy you a drink.”
“I have a drink, thank you,” Ethan said.
“Miss Johnson told me your great-grandfather used to manage the bank I work at, Mrs. Crawford,” Jane said, moving the conversation along without breaking her stride. She settled herself down on the stool on Ethan’s right.
“That’s right.” Patricia placed Jane’s drink in front of her. “He worked there for thirty years, and they spoke highly of him. Sadly I never got to meet him. He was a good man.” She rang up the till and handed Jane her change.
“That’s a shame,” Jane agreed. “That you never got to meet him, I mean, not that he was a good man.” She sidled up to Ethan. “I was thinking we should meet for coffee or something. I’m sure there are some sights you haven’t seen either, and it’s so much better with company, don’t you think? I have this weekend free.”
“I’m here on business,” Ethan said, “and I have a lot of work to get through.” He edged away from her. “Sightseeing isn’t on my list of things to do. I have a classroom to get back to.”
What was up with her? Ethan had made himself clear he wasn’t interested when he’d turned down her offer to buy him a drink. The woman needed a visit from the clue fairy.
“Ethan’s got a lot of work to get through,” Donovan added. “It’s very important stuff and on a deadline.” He winced mentally after he’d said the words. Why had he felt the need to keep Ethan out of her clutches?
“I see.” Jane sipped her wine. “Well, if you decide you need a break, Ethan, you know where to find me. I’m here for a few weeks, and it is a lovely place. So quiet. It’s one of the reasons I chose to come here.”
Forget one clue fairy, she needed a squad of the things, preferably armed to the teeth with whatever their weapon of choice was these days.
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Ethan said. He took a long drink of beer.
“Someone’s phone is ringing,” Craig said. “It’s not mine.”
“Oh goodness, it’s mine.” Jane retrieved it from her pocket, stared at the screen, and frowned. “Excuse me a moment, will you?” She put the phone to her ear and headed toward an empty table by the pub door, abandoning her glass on the counter. “I told you not to contact me! This better be a matter of life and death….”
The conversation faded as she walked away from the bar.
“She’s a strange one,” Craig said, leaning in close as though he was sharing the secrets of the universe. He’d always had a flair for the dramatic. “When she arrived, I picked up her bags to carry them up to her room, and she nearly bit my head off.” He shrugged. “Her loss. The bloody things weighed a ton. I figure they’re full of gold bullion or something.”
Patricia snorted. “This isn’t a detective novel, Craig. Now, if you’ll put your inner Foyle away, there’s a dishwasher that needs emptying.”
“Yes, ma’am. Straight away, ma’am.” Craig mock saluted. “Nice to meet you, Ethan. Come back soon.”
Ethan chuckled. “Is he always like this?”
“Oh yeah,” Donovan said. “I swear he thinks he was James Bond in another life.”
“Bond with a bit of Sherlock Holmes thrown into the mix, although he’s on a Foyle’s War kick at the moment,” Patricia agreed. “Still, he’s a good boy and reliable.”
“I heard that!” Craig yelled from the kitchen.
“You were meant to!” Patricia called back. She laughed. “That reminds me. Donovan, are you still okay to come around tomorrow afternoon and watch the boys for a bit after school?”
“Sure,” Donovan said. Patricia didn’t ask often, and they were good kids. “We can do some more work on the model plane they’re building.”
“Once they’ve done their homework,” Patricia said.
“Of course.” Donovan grinned. “That’s the point. It’s amazing how motivated kids can be when there’s some kind of reward waiting for them after they’ve done their work.”
“You make homework sound like a bad thing.” Ethan shook his head, although there was a twinkle in his eyes.
“Right, Teach.” The nickname was out of Donovan’s mouth before he had a chance to think about what he was saying.
“What do you teach, Ethan?” Patricia asked.
“Secondary school science and maths. My students’ favorite subjects.” Ethan pulled a face. “I enjoy them, but unfortunately not everyone shares my opinion.”
“My son Brendan loves maths,” Patricia said, “although he doesn’t like school.” She glanced at Donovan. “We’re working on it, though.”
“Yeah, we are.” Donovan drained his beer and noticed the clock on the wall. “Shit, is that the time? Heidi won’t be happy if we’re late. Sorry, Tr—Patricia, need to run.”
“It’s been a pleasure,” Ethan said. He put down the empty glass he’d been nursing for the last few minutes.
Jane looked up as they left the bar, then waved, but she didn’t look happy. Whatever her call was about, it didn’t look like good news.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue earlier with Jane,” Ethan said as he fastened his car seat belt. “No offense, but I didn’t fancy spending time with her. She seems… exhausting.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” Donovan pulled out onto the road. “I hope you didn’t mind me calling you ‘Teach’ earlier. It just kind of slipped out.”
“It’s fine.” Ethan smiled. “What’s the story with Patricia? I notice she didn’t mention a Mr. Crawford.”
“He’
s no longer in the picture,” Donovan said. He’d left her for a younger woman about a year after Donovan and Heidi had moved to Oakwood. “She’s good people, so I try to help out where I can. Unfortunately, Brendan is being bullied at school. I’ve talked to him about it and taught him a few moves.”
“I hope you’re not condoning solving violence with violence,” Ethan said.
“Of course not, and I’ve stressed it’s a last resort. He knows enough to defend himself if it comes down to that. It’s helped his confidence a lot, and he’s a quick learner.”
“Hmm.” Ethan didn’t seem so sure. “Sometimes you’ve got to just walk away, you know? Not give them a target.”
“Sometimes you don’t get a choice.” Donovan took a left turn onto the road out of town.
“I suppose.” Ethan folded his arms and stared out the side window of the car. “I had hoped Tomas would turn up again while I was here, but I’m thinking that was naïve of me. Perhaps I have wasted my time coming here. I’ve put you and Heidi out as well. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden.” Donovan broke the silence a few minutes later. “What are you going to do if he doesn’t turn up?” It was an outcome Ethan needed to consider sooner rather than later. The longer he avoided it, the more difficult it would be to come to terms with it.
Ethan’s hands were clenched, and he was still focused on the view through his window. Poor guy. Donovan knew what it was like to lose a friend.
“Shit happens,” Donovan said. “People die, or they disappear, and we never see them again. I know it’s difficult, but you need to start thinking about the possibility. If you don’t come to grips with it, it will eat you up inside.”
“What the hell would you know?” Ethan’s voice shook. “Tomas isn’t dead. I can’t believe that. I won’t believe that. Not until I see a body.”
“How would I know?” Donovan didn’t look at Ethan. He didn’t dare. Despite the anger in Ethan’s voice, Donovan knew it for what it was. He’d been there. “You’re not the only person who’s lost someone.” He softened his tone, kept it neutral and nonconfrontational. “You’re not the only one who’s been through shit. I know. Okay?”