by Traci Hall
“Thirty days,” Paislee managed. Her stomach clenched and the shop tilted. Cashmere Crush was her livelihood. She’d poured her life into it to create something for her and Brody to survive.
“Now, Ms. Shaw, I’m sure ye’ll find another place tae lease.” Mr. Marcus took a step toward the door.
Her temper flared at the tone of his condescending words. She forced herself to sound calm. “Will the new owner be willing tae consider the previous tenants?”
Mr. Marcus waved his hand, the flash of a gold ring catching the light from the window. “Doubtful—they’ll be tearing down these old bricks tae make a boutique hotel.”
Paislee cursed aloud.
Brody handed her his toffee with a disappointed look on his sweet face. “Ah, Mum, that’s fifty pence for the swear jar.”
Chapter 2
Paislee stood in the middle of Cashmere Crush, reeling from all directions. She eyed the men around her and ground her teeth together. Shawn Marcus retreated two steps closer to the front door.
“Wait just a”—she glanced at her wide-eyed son—“a blasted minute. Have you talked tae the others yet?” She gestured to her left and the shared wall with her neighbor James, who owned the leather repair shop. She’d lined both long walls with shelves for vibrantly colored yarn and it brightened the interior, even without the overhead lights on.
“You were the last stop,” Mr. Marcus said. “But the only one tae actually open yer letter.” His mouth turned down in disapproval, as if by reading his notice she’d been impolite.
Detective Inspector Zeffer wore the slightest frown as he observed them, his hands folded before him.
Brody tugged on her sweater. “Mum! We have tae go.”
“Where?” the detective asked.
“School.” Brody crossed his arms. “We are always late.”
“Not always,” Paislee said, her face on fire as all four of the men looked to her with judgment. Really?
They had no idea what it was like to raise a son and run a business and a home.
And if she lost this location for Cashmere Crush? She’d lose the eight years she’d spent building up her clientele; the loyal group of crafters were now like family.
“If ye want, I can drop him off,” Jerry offered from behind her. “I only have two more stops tae make.”
“Naw, I can do it,” Paislee said, feeling the pressure. “I’ll need you all tae go now, though.” She shooed the detective and her landlord toward the door.
Her grandpa adjusted his tam, but his brown boots didn’t move. What on this green earth was she supposed to do about him?
Jerry made for the back door and called out his good-bye, apologizing about the yarn.
She lifted her hand, but the yarn had moved to the last worry on her list. “Tomorrow, then, Jerry. Cheers.”
Mr. Marcus shuffled awkwardly before just ducking out. What could the man possibly have to say that she would want to hear? Thirty days to be gone?
Detective Inspector Zeffer hesitated, his hand on the tabletop. She could feel his need to fix whatever had just happened, but since no crime had been committed his services weren’t needed. He squared his shoulders and followed her landlord out. Paislee didn’t bother saying good-bye—she had no words for the havoc those two men had just created in her life.
No lease, and a new responsibility.
“You’ll have tae come with us,” she told Grandpa Angus.
He didn’t argue but didn’t agree; he just picked up his suitcase.
She locked the door and herded Brody and Grandpa Angus to where she’d parked the Juke behind the store.
Brody eyed her grandfather before offering the old stranger the front seat, which the man refused, to Brody’s relief.
She gave her son a nod of approval at the show of good manners, and they drove the mile to Fordythe, a single-story brick building that was very long, with central double doors that had been painted blue. A fenced lawn was to the left for the bairns to play on. She followed the paved drive where parents could drop off their children in the morning and then pick them up again at three thirty—normally there were two attendants and the teachers took turns to supervise.
The last attendant was just going inside and Brody dashed out without so much as a see-you, his black backpack over his arm.
“He only has one more year of primary school,” she shared, her voice thick.
Her grandfather played mute.
What was she supposed to do with him? She couldn’t take Grandpa Angus back to her house; she didn’t know him from Adam. Her home was dear to her, and while she didn’t have an abundance of new things, she treasured what she had.
What if he took off with the telly?
“Could you please sit up here so I dinnae feel like a cabby?”
With a grunt, Grandpa Angus opened the rear passenger door and climbed into the front passenger side. He stared straight ahead, his jaw hidden behind a full silver beard.
He smelled of the sea and she was reminded sharply that while things for her had been tight, for him they’d been worse.
“Would ye like tae get a bite tae eat?” When was the last time he’d eaten?
He didn’t reply.
The digital clock on the car radio read 9:15. “I have customers in this morning.” And Isla, drat. “I’ll pick up some breakfast sandwiches from the market, and coffee—it’s a coffee kind of day; then we’ll go tae Cashmere Crush.”
He still said nothing.
“I cannae help, if you don’t talk tae me.” She wanted to keep him off the streets, aye, but what could she do?
“I dinnae want yer help. Just let me oot somewhere.”
“And have the detective bring ye back?” Her voice pitched high. “He knows who ye belong tae now.”
“Dinnae fesh yerself.” He removed his tam and focused out the window at the passing businesses in stone or brick. Nairn had once been a popular fishing village.
“Don’t worry? Really?” That would be impossible now that she was aware he was in trouble. “Where’s Craigh?”
He said not a word.
Paislee drove the half mile to the small market near her shop. She could practically hear the wheels in his silver head churn. She had no time for more drama, but it seemed impossible to avoid today.
Paislee parked and faced her grandpa. Her memories of him were vague, and colored by Granny’s refusal to discuss him. She’d never outright disparaged him—but the mutterings whenever his name arose were enough for Paislee to realize he was not a welcome subject.
The last time she’d seen him had been at Granny’s funeral, and Paislee had been such a mess that she could hardly recall the proceedings. Granny had been sick for months before she’d passed. Father Dixon had managed things, thank heaven.
Paislee’s grandmother had not once asked to see her husband before she’d died. And why was that?
In a final act of love, Gran had bequeathed her home to Paislee, saying that nobody should fear being without a roof over their head, not if she could help it.
This couldnae be what ye meant, Gran.
Grandpa Angus finally looked at her. Clear brown eyes behind black glasses, silver hair and beard, deep wrinkles of a hard life furrowed his cheeks and brow.
“You can come in with me, and choose for yourself, or wait here and I’ll be right back with two bacon butties and coffee. Aye?”
He nodded his thanks and stayed in the car.
Paislee kept her keys and cardigan as she ran inside the small market. It had odds and ends that a tourist might need—travel-sized shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste, razors.Would her grandfather need any of those things?
Where the devil was Craigh?
She stepped up to the register and smiled at Colleen, fresh faced at twenty. Paislee would kill for the girl’s boundless energy.
“Mornin’. Two bacon butties, two coffees.”
“Hiya, Paislee,” Colleen said, bouncing behind the counter as she gathered and rang up Paislee’s order.
The smell of the bacon made her mouth water, despite already having had a bit of breakfast earlier with Brody.
Colleen handed her the bag and two coffees in a cardboard box.
“Thanks!”
Colleen grinned and greeted the next customer in the queue.
Paislee took the goodies back to the Juke, apprehensive that maybe her grandpa had made a dash for it while she was gone.
Where would he go?
It was obvious that if he was sleeping in the park in cool spring his options were limited.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the outline of his hat now back on his head and the glint of silver at his beard. He didn’t offer a smile, though he did reach across the inside of the car to open her door for her.
She climbed in and handed him the coffees first, then the bag.
“I hope you’re hungry. These are huge.”
He gave a nod and swallowed hard, his fingers trembling on the cardboard tray for the hot coffee.
She averted her eyes before she said something to offend his pride.
There weren’t many cars on the back roads and she made it in five minutes to Cashmere Crush, where she parked in the alley.
“Would you like tae keep your suitcase in the car?”
He shook his head and got out of the Juke, balancing the coffee and his suitcase as she grabbed the bag of food.
When faced with any dilemma, Granny would put the kettle on for hot water and Brodies Scottish-blend tea, then warm the scones. They’d had so many life discussions at the kitchen table, overlooking the back garden. The biggest was when Paislee had arrived on the doorstep with her own suitcase at eighteen, and pregnant.
“Mind the step,” she said, holding the back door open for Grandpa Angus. “I know the ledge is there, and I still trip over it.”
He peered down and lifted his foot.
Once they were inside, the interior of the shop was dark—she’d have to replace the bulb for the storage area—and she quickly flicked on the overhead lighting.
A rush of pleasure, something she never took for granted, washed through her as the lights showcased her shop.
Paislee had separated the interior with floor-to-ceiling shelves that acted as room dividers, leaving the majority of the room open. Shelves lined both long walls toward the street and were filled with a variety of yarn.
Sweaters and knit goods were kept on a display by the front window. She brought out foldable worktables as needed, depending on the group. Her weekly Thursday night Knit and Sip event was very popular. Her floor was polished cement.
Cashmere Crush had been her home away from home for eight years. How dare Shawn Marcus sell it from underneath her like this? She pressed her hand to her stomach to stop it from rolling.
Grandpa set the tray of coffee on the counter next to the register that also had a cup of odds and ends pens, pencils, and crochet hooks. She put the bag of food next to the store laptop and took a subtle sniff as he passed her. The old man had an outdoor scent—trees, grass, the Firth—but he was fairly clean. How long had he been without shelter?
He shuffled toward a chair and sank down. She’d found eight sturdy high-backed wooden seats at an estate sale and nabbed them, giving them a coat of varnish to make them seem new, and a half-dozen assorted stools for the chest-high worktables.
She glanced at her watch. “I have a girl coming in for an interview at half past.” Ten minutes. What could possibly be decided in ten minutes? Nothing—he had bags under his eyes, which meant he probably needed rest, not twenty questions fired at him. “A few crafters will be in tae finish some pro-j ects.”
“I’ll stay oot of yer way,” he said in a low voice. His gaze flicked to the bag, but he didn’t reach for the food.
She imagined herself in his place and flashed a smile, doling out the bacon sandwiches. “Cheap but good—they pile the bacon on thick. Comes with brown sauce, though; you have tae ask for ketchup if that’s your preference.”
“Brown sauce and butter is how I make mine at home,” he said, unwrapping the sandwich from the foil and eyeing it with a nod. “Plain white bread. Tasty.”
Paislee liked the simple version best, too. “I ordered one of these down at the harbor café and they served it on toasted artisan bread, and added fried bananas.”
“Spoilt it, then.” Grandpa removed his tam and set it on the floor, then bit into the sandwich. His eyes closed as he savored the food. She admired his self-restraint as he took his time, wiping his mouth and beard between bites. He must have been starved.
She took the top off his coffee and handed it over. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Aye, both—I’ll do it.”
She checked the time again, seeing it was twenty-five minutes past. With brutal clarity she realized that there was no way she could hire Isla now. Not only did she have to move, but her grandfather would need whatever extra money she could scrape up.
She would have to tell Isla that she couldn’t offer her any work at all, and that wasn’t something she was eager to do. “So, where has Craigh got off tae?”
He focused on the sugar packet. “Missing.”
“What?”
“Aye. I’ve told the authorities. They’re lookin’ into it, but havenae helped.”
Paislee shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“He went two months ago tae work on the Mona, an oil rig far out in the North Sea.” Grandpa poured sugar into his dark coffee. “I know from past jobs that they dinnae always have phone or internet access, but he got in touch when he could. It’s lonely work.There was a bonus tae be paid for doing a four-month stretch before taking the helicopter home tae Aberdeen.”
“Aberdeen?”
“Aye. This was a new company and the money was enough so Craigh could retire in two years. He planned tae rent a car tae drive tae our flat in Dairlee.”
Dairlee was eight miles from Nairn, and Aberdeen less than two hours away.
His voice became hoarse. “I wasnae alarmed until I realized that no money had come in tae the account he’d set up fer the expenses of the flat rental. I called the Mona.” His body trembled. “They said Craigh Shaw never worked on that rig.”
“That cannae be possible. Perhaps ye made a mistake about the name, being as it was new?”
Her grandfather’s face turned ruddy with anger. “Now ye sound like the authorities. I’m a dotty old man makin’ things up. Not so.” He used a wooden stick to stir his coffee while adding powdered creamer.
Paislee thought he seemed sane enough to her. She gestured toward his square brown suitcase, so old-fashioned it didn’t have wheels. “What happened?”
“Booted from our flat two weeks ago, having used up our savings. Craigh’s accounts were empty.” His cheeks flushed as if ashamed. “I get a little pension from when I’d worked at the fishery before me back injury, but it isnae enough tae pay for me own place.”
“Why didnae you come tae me straightaway?”
He peeked at her before sipping his coffee. “You dinnae know me. I doubt what ye’ve heard is anything tae convince ye tae help me.”
He had a point.
“Let me try tae call what numbers you have for Craigh later today.”
He scowled. “The answer willnae be any different, but yer welcome tae waste yer time.”
The immediate problem so far as Paislee could tell was where Grandpa was going to rest his head for the night. Paislee didn’t have the cash to set him up in a hotel somewhere.
“There has tae be an agency we can contact about finding you a place tae live, or benefits so that ye don’t have tae sleep in the park. What was yer plan?”
“I’ll buy a tent and camp, once the campground is open for summer. I’ve got tae find out what happened tae Craigh. The library will have internet and phone service. I showered at the park.”
Brr. Two weeks of sleeping outdoors already? It couldn’t have been comfortable, and whether she knew her grandfather or not, they were still family.
“Spring nights are cold—June is three months off.” Maybe the old man was a wee bit mental.
Nine thirty. Her shoulders bowed. Isla would be here any minute, thinking she’d have at least a part-time job, but with the eviction and Grandpa, Paislee couldn’t hire her at all.
“I didnae ask yer opinion, lass.”
She bit her tongue and looked at her phone, then the front door, expecting to see Isla’s smiling face any second.
Now twenty-two, Isla had come from Edinburgh at twenty, a bonny blonde who’d fallen for the wrong guy. He’d brought her to Nairn for a romantic weekend and then they’d broken up after a big fight. Cheery-natured but brash, Isla had walked in and asked for a job—she’d take anything, she said, and do anything, but she couldn’t go crawling back to Edinburgh after the bum. She’d averted her face, but Paislee had glimpsed the tremble of her lower lip.
In the flush of tourist season, Paislee had hired her on the spot. She’d seen herself in the young woman trying to make her way. Isla had worked at Cashmere Crush until a few months ago when she’d moved to Inverness to be with her new boyfriend, Billy, in a bigger city.
Paislee had written Isla a glowing recommendation, happy to help her protégée find happiness and full-time employment. It had been an adjustment doing everything herself again, but the winter months were slower, so Paislee had been able to handle the shop on her own.
And now Isla was back in Nairn, and asking for her old position back. What had happened? It would be good to see her and catch up, though she knew it would be a blow for Isla to not work with Paislee. But how could she justify the hours, especially now that she might have another mouth to feed?
Grandpa wadded up a paper napkin and kept it in his palm. “Why do you keep looking at yer phone?”
“I told you that I have an appointment at nine thirty—I was going tae hire someone part-time.”
He shifted in his chair. “Yer hiring?”
“Isla used tae work here, so when I got her email saying that she was back in town, I thought it a blessing—with tourist season, the timing was right.”
Grandpa scratched his full beard and peered at her over the top of his black frames. “Now?”