A Christmas Tartan

by Paige Shelton

  “Ms. Cruickshank? Annabel Cruickshank?”

  “Aye?” She sniffed and dotted a tissue under her red eyes.

  “It looks like I have terrible timing, but I think I have something of yours. I could come back later if that would be better.”

  “What do ye have?”

  “A box was”—I felt ridiculous—“It’s a long story. It would be better if I came back later, but is there anything I can do for you? Can I help you with anything?”

  She looked at me a long time, blinking in a strange, slow rhythm. “I used tae have the red hair too,” she finally said. “Not as pretty as yers, but it was lovely.”

  I couldn’t have told that by the picture. I would have guessed brown.

  “I’m used to it now, but it’s not always been a great thing. I couldn’t hide a blush even if I covered my face with my hands,” I said.

  “I ken that.” She smiled weakly and sniffed. “It’s my granddaughter. She’s gone missing.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry! Surely the police will find her soon.”

  “I hope so. She’s been gone now for two days. They wouldnae talk tae me yesterday. I had tae wait until today.”

  “That had to be difficult. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded and reached into the robe’s pocket. “This is Moira.” She held a picture toward me.

  It was black and white, just a headshot of a woman who was almost a twin to the woman in my picture. Moira must already know that she’d probably age well too.

  “She’s beautiful,” I said.

  “Aye, thank ye,” she said. “She wasnae blessed with the red hair. Hers is a lovely brown. I’ve often told her she was the lucky one, but she . . .” Her voice cracked. “Would ye like tae come in for some coffee or tea? Tell me what ye think ye have that’s mine?”

  She wanted company, perhaps just someone to keep her mind off her missing granddaughter, and I would have felt terrible if I left her now.

  “I would love to,” I said.

  The space in the flat was shallow but wide. I walked into a small front room on my right, decorated with old end tables and a couch and chair covered in crocheted afghans. A vintage coffee table held a couple of Christmas cards and two mugs with dried brown drips down their sides. There was no Christmas tree, but the fireplace mantle held three small tinsel trees. They looked to be in good condition but were definitely old-fashioned.

  Annabel saw me looking that direction and said, “We dinnae use the fireplace anymore. We get warm from the radiators, but I dinnae think they work verra weel.” She had gone to the small kitchen space to the left of the door and was pouring from a stainless percolator that plugged into the wall. My grandmother had had one like it. “Do ye drink coffee?”

  “I do. Thank you.”

  “Aye. What’s yer name?” she asked.

  “Oh. Delaney Nichols. I’m from Kansas in America. I’m in Scotland working at a bookshop in Grassmarket called The Cracked Spine.”

  “Aye? Och, America is such a long way away.”

  “It is.” I smiled.

  “Do ye miss people?”

  “I do. My parents are there. They have plans to come visit me, but I do miss them. I’ve been fortunate to find a surrogate family here too. I love Scotland.”

  “Aye.” Annabel handed me a warm mug and sniffed again. She seemed to try to swallow away more emotion.

  “This is great coffee,” I said, too enthusiastically after a sip. “Thank you.”

  She nodded and motioned for me to sit on the couch as she moved to the chair.

  “What do ye have that’s mine?” she asked.

  I opened the messenger bag and took out the paper bag. “My boss is Edwin MacAlister. Have you heard of him?”

  “No.”

  “He’s . . .” I was about to say “famous” but he wasn’t famous, just somewhat well-known by some around Edinburg apparently, though I was just beginning to understand what that meant myself. “He owns The Cracked Spine. Someone put a box out in front of his house. It contained some items, but he couldn’t figure out where they came from. He asked me to try to figure it out.” I pulled out A Christmas Carol and started thumbing through it. “I found this picture.”

  But it wasn’t there. Annabel sat forward on the chair and watched me as I went through the book two more times. I set it on the couch, then searched the paper bag and my messenger bag. My wallet was inside the messenger bag but nothing else was. In fact, it looked like I’d forgotten my phone too. I must have left it on the desk with the things I’d dumped out.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Cruickshank, but it seems I left the picture back in my office. Do you recognize this book?”

  “Aye. Weel, I’m not so sure,” she said. “Moira is the reader. This might be one of hers. Ye say someone left this at yer boss’s house?”

  “Yes, this book, a scarf, a button, some food serving items, and a picture that I’m assuming was of you. The person in it looked very much like Moira’s picture. Does she look like you?”

  “Aye, a wee bit when I was younger.”

  I looked around. There were no other pictures displayed in the flat.

  “I’m sorry I forgot it, but perhaps I could bring the entire box by tomorrow,” I said. “Or at least at a better time.”

  I tried to sound unfazed because in the big scope of things a missing picture was nothing compared to a missing woman, but I was bothered by what I guessed was the slip in my memory. I was sure I’d put the picture inside the book. Positive. I resisted the urge to grab it again and search through each page even more slowly. I would do that, but not in front of Annabel.

  “What did the scarf look like?” she asked.

  “A tartan-plaid, green and red, very Christmas-y,” I said.

  “The button?”

  “Brown.”

  Suddenly, Annabel’s face lost all color and became pale, her features suddenly wide and frightened.

  “Annabel?”

  “I need to ring the police,” she said.

  “Okay. Why?”

  “Moira was wearing that tartan and her brown coat when she went out two days ago.”

  Chapter Three

  “Oh dear,” I said as I stood and searched in my coat pocket for my phone. But it wasn’t there, of course, and I remembered again that I’d forgotten it. “Where’s your phone?”

  Annabel couldn’t quite get herself up from the chair as she pointed toward the wall in the kitchen area.

  There were people in Kansas who still had rotary phones. My parents had gotten rid of theirs only a few years earlier, but I knew what I was looking at when I spied the black box on the wall with the rotary dial and the twisted cord that attached the body to the handset.

  I grabbed the handset off the hook and dialed 999. The rotary seemed to take forever to return to its starting position in between numbers.

  “Annabel?” a woman’s voice said to me.

  “No, but I’m with her,” I said. “Is this the police?”

  “No, do ye need me tae connect ye?”

  “Yes, as quickly as possible.”

  A few clicks later I was through to the police. They said they’d send someone to the flat as soon as possible.

  As I hung up I was worried that I should have also asked for an ambulance for Annabel, but her color came back and her breathing began to normalize.

  I sat next to her as we waited, and a million things went through my mind. One of my thoughts was about how Edwin was now going to have to talk to the police. I knew that it shouldn’t matter, since a woman was missing, but his relationship with law enforcement was tenuous and I was sure it was only going to get more so.

  It probably took only a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity before a knock sounded on the door. I hurried to open it, greeting the same officers I’d seen leave earlier.

  A flurry of questions and answers followed.

  Yes, my boss, Edwin MacAlister, had given me the box to try to find the owner. Yes, he said he foun
d it out in front of his house, and I was pretty sure he said that he found it this morning. Of course you may call him. Here’s his number. Yes, I had a picture that led me to this flat, but I must have left it at the bookshop with the other things. Of course we could go back there now if that would help. I had a key and would be happy to let them in. My passport was locked in my small cottage and I didn’t have any identification on me because I’d taken my old driver’s license out of my wallet, but I explained why I was in Scotland. They seemed oddly dubious about me, and their facial expressions set me off-kilter even more than I already was. I felt like defending myself, but I wasn’t sure exactly what I would be defending myself against.

  The officers did want to go to the bookshop, but they wanted to track down Edwin first. They decided that one of them would go with me and the other one would go find Edwin to talk to him, but those plans changed as Officer Robbins and I started to leave the flat.

  We both turned around as we heard a loud thud.

  “She’s dwaumie,” Officer MacGallager said. Officer Robbins and I ran back to MacGallager and Annabel, who had fallen to the floor in a faint.

  The officers didn’t seem to be radioing in for help, so I took it upon myself to use the phone again. The same woman who’d been there before was there again, and I didn’t even bother dialing this time.

  “Annabel?” she asked.

  “No. Me again, but now I need an ambulance.”

  “I get one there at ance.”

  “Thank you,” I said, hoping that she meant “right away.”

  Annabel came to a moment later, and the officers were delicate with her, helping her to the couch and getting her a glass of water. Finally, Officer Robbins said that I was in the way and that I should go, but that he’d ring another officer to meet me at the bookshop.

  I hesitated, but I understood what he was saying. They needed to see the box of what might turn out to be evidence, but they both thought they should stay with Annabel. Actually, I sort of understood what he was saying. I was so frazzled that I wasn’t sure I was thinking clearly about anything, but I promised I’d hurry back to the bookshop and they seemed to believe me.

  Annabel wasn’t totally aware of who I was as I told her goodbye. Nevertheless, I promised I’d come back tomorrow to see her. She nodded and her eyes lit briefly but then became pained again as I suspected that she remembered what was truly going on.

  Once I was back in the hallway, the cold silence almost swallowed me whole. I needed to get out of that building quickly. I ran down the stairway and out the doors, finding only one police car out front, this time with no lights flashing. I hurried around the corner and came out of the close and onto Cowgate. It had been so cold earlier that I’d kept my head down against the wind most of the way, but though it was still cold, the wind had mellowed and I was able to look around.

  I was relieved to be out of Annabel’s building, but also oddly disappointed. I hadn’t noticed until just now that Cowgate hadn’t caught quite the same Christmas spirit that the rest of the city had. There were no holiday lights and decorations on the outsides of the buildings. The mostly dark street was lit by only a few streetlamps and patches of brightness coming out of the few shop windows. However, I was grateful for the absent wind as I began to hurry down the hill toward Grassmarket.

  This day certainly hadn’t gone as I’d expected, but the unexpected had become the norm when it came to my time in Scotland. I lived an exciting life, but there was some excitement I could do without. I hoped Moira would be found soon. Of course, I couldn’t help wonder why the box of her belongings had shown up at Edwin’s house. I just needed to get back to The Cracked Spine and turn the box over to the police and get to Rosie’s.

  As I hurried past the window of a butcher shop, I slowed and peered inside. I’d never noticed it before, and though it was just a butcher shop, it had an old-world charm to its display that made me think back to the days when my grandmother raised her own chickens, from egg to table. Kansas farm life had called for such skills. To some extent it still did, but I knew a few farmers who got their chickens from grocery stores.

  Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the butcher hand a white paper–wrapped package over the front cooler case to a waiting customer.

  A customer who wore a red and green tartan around her head and a brown coat.

  I made some sort of squeal sound as I reached for the door to the shop. In my haste, twice I missed the handle. Finally I grabbed it and yanked it open with way too much force. I tripped on the step going inside, and the customer and butcher looked at me as I righted myself.

  “Are ye hurt?” the woman asked.

  Tears came to my eyes as I saw her face.

  “Oh, ye are hurt. Come, let me help,” she said as she walked toward me.

  “No, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I’m happy to see you. Moira? Moira Cruickshank?” I guessed that was her last name.

  “Aye? Who are you?”

  “I’m Delaney. Your grandmother is looking for you. Let’s call her and I’ll walk you home.”

  Moira turned toward the butcher. “Would ye ring my grannie for me, Lamont? Tell her I’m fine.”

  “Aye,” he said before he disappeared to the back of the shop.

  “No, you don’t understand. She called the police. She says you’ve been gone two days. She’s worried. We need to get you back there as soon as possible.”

  “Dearest Grannie. I’ve only been gone from the hoose for a short time, lass. My grannie is getting auld. Lamont will ring her and she’ll be fine. I’m late on my shopping. I need tae finish and then I’ll go directly home. I promise. Now, what can I do for ye?”

  I blinked and tried hard to think of what to say next. Was it possible that Annabel was delusional? I supposed it was, but she was so upset. We were only about half a block from the close. If Moira would just run up there with me, everyone would feel better.

  I was silent long enough that Moira continued, “Come along with me a minute. I just have a few more stops and then we’ll go see Grannie together if ye have the tiem.”

  I blinked more and then nodded. I needed to get back to the bookshop and head off the police. Maybe I should ask the butcher to call them too, but they would know Moira was okay if they were still with Annabel, and I was sure they were. The panic I felt was now unnecessary because Moira was okay, but I couldn’t shake it. Yes, I’d stay with her and make sure she got back to Annabel soon.

  I nodded again.

  “Are ye awright then?” she said.

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  We left the butcher shop as Moira stuck the wrapped meat into a shopping bag she held over her arm.

  “Are ye from America?” she asked as we walked down the hill, away from her flat and toward Grassmarket and the bookshop.

  “I am. Do you have more than one of those tartans?” I asked.

  She put her fingers to the scarf. “This one? No, this was from my cousins in America. They thought it looked verra Scottish. They live in New York City.”

  “Oh,” I said. I glanced down the front of her coat. It seemed all buttons were present and accounted for.

  She looked down her front. “What?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. Just one of those tartans, really?”

  “Aye. I think so. They only sent one. And why aren’t you with your family, lass? It’s almost Christmas.”

  “I’m here working, and it didn’t seem sensible to go home for the holiday. My parents will come visit me here soon.”

  “Och, such a long way away. Why are ye in Scotland?”

  I explained why I was there. She knew about the bookshop and said she hoped to visit it someday soon. I told her to ask for me when she stopped by.

  “It’s so charming here, with all the Christmas markets, and the lights,” I said.

  “I dinnae ken anything aboot those,” she said. “Our cousins also sent us some cards and some wee trees. They’re delightsome.”

 
“I saw them on the mantle.”

  “Oh. Aye. It’s because of our cousins that I wanted tae do a little shopping for Grannie. She needs some things and I thought I could bring some Christmas traditions tae her a wee bit. I understand the religious part of Christmas, but mostly I just like tae see Grannie smile, and I’ve saved some bawbees just for her.”

  I suddenly had a list of questions for my coworkers about how the Scottish people celebrated this holiday. Was it not as big of a deal here? But there were festivals, rides, Christmas markets. I’d ask for clarification at dinner.

  “Here we are. I need tae go in here. Would ye like tae come with me?” she asked as we stopped outside a shop that seemed to be filled with silver. It was another shop I hadn’t noticed, but I hadn’t spent a lot of time up and down Cowgate. This one was on Cowgatehead, the short street that connected Grassmarket to Cowgate via a roundabout.

  “Sure,” I said as I looked again at the items displayed through the windows and then followed Moira inside.

  “Moira! Guid tae see ye,” the shopkeeper, a twentysomething man with short jet black hair and glasses said from behind the counter.

  “Hello, Branan. Guid tae see ye too. This is my new friend Delaney.”

  Branan and I exchanged greetings as Moira and I made our way to the counter. I’d never seen a shop with so much silver—at least with so much that was just placed out on shelves or on countertops, easily accessible and not behind locked cabinets. I was afraid my elbows would run into some platters or pitchers and I would topple them all.

  I wanted to ask if he had to polish everything every week, but I didn’t.

  “How are ye, lass? Yer grannie?” he asked as he took off his glasses and kept a smile directed at Moira. He ran his hand through his hair as though he wanted to look his best.

  “We’re fine. Grannie’s getting auld, but I’m glad I still have her.” Moira took off the tartan, and I was momentarily stunned by her beauty. No wonder Branan wanted to look his best.