Cat's Quill (16 page)

"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."

"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 interested 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.

Heidi shook her head. "Whoever left that rose," she said, "wasn't me." She frowned, her puzzlement growing, her next words sending a chill through him. "I went in to air the room just before you and Donovan got back from town, but the window was already open. I remember admiring the vase, as it wasn't one of mine, but it was empty."

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Chapter Ten

Tomas rolled over in bed, scrunching his eyes up against the glare of the early morning sun peeking through partially closed curtains. Finally, giving up on the idea that he might be able to go back to sleep, he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, contemplating the events of the previous evening.

Whoever the rose had come from, it certainly hadn't been Heidi. Reaching over to grab the book from his bedside table, he opened it to find the daisy and rose petal. They were still tucked together between the cover and first page where they had been the night before, the edges of the petal catching the fragile flower of the white daisy to hold it close. The vase stood alone on his bedside table, the water cloudy but untouched. On a whim he had clicked his fingernail against it, the clear pinging noise it made confirming that it was indeed crystal. Who would leave an expensive vase with a single rose in it in a stranger's room? It didn't make sense.

In the finish Donovan had shrugged and told Tomas that maybe his room was haunted after all and that it was the ghost who was leaving him flowers. Heidi had given Donovan a glare and repeated firmly, several times, that there had to be a logical explanation. There was for most things in life, she insisted, and this would be no different. They just had to think outside the box and the answer would be there waiting.

Perhaps he'd talk to Cathal about it later and see if he had any ideas. Running his fingers over the rose petals, Tomas let his mind wander, picturing Cathal's smile and his eyes crinkling in amusement at Donovan's suggestion.

Hmm, maybe not.

Cathal did not have a tendency toward logical explanations, often to the extent of not giving any at all. He was just as likely to seriously consider the ghost as a possibility.

Not that the mental image of Cathal's brow furrowed in thought, his lips slightly pursed, wasn't equally as nice to think about. Tomas groaned and pulled the blankets back over his head, letting his mind drift still further. He and Cathal had kissed. It had felt good. Very good. Tomas wanted to do it again. Feel the touch of Cathal's skin under his fingertips and have Cathal lean into that touch as he had done the day before.

Cathal hadn't been playacting. He wanted more and had told Tomas that before he'd disappeared.

Throwing the blankets back, Tomas watched the curtains blowing in the breeze, the shadows in his room alternatively waning and growing dark again as the material moved back and across to let in and block the sunlight.

Damn it. He needed to move and do something. A crash sounded from downstairs, and he jumped, pulling on his jeans and T-shirt, grabbing them from the floor. He was at the foot of the stairs before he'd even realized he'd moved on instinct. "Heidi?" he called out. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Heidi's voice sounded from the kitchen. Blackthorn slunk out of the door, looked Tomas up and down, and then, tail in the air, stalked across his path. "I tripped over the cat and dropped a skillet."

To Tomas's surprise, a familiar face poked around the side of the door, watching the cat disappear down the hallway. "Hey, Tomas. You forgot your shoes." Mikey grinned. "Heidi's cooking me eggs and French toast. Want some?"

"I thought Heidi was in trouble," Tomas said, scowling.

"Knights in shining armor are supposed to smile," Mikey pointed out helpfully. "Their hair doesn't stick up at weird angles like yours does either."

"I haven't polished my armor yet," Tomas snapped. Dealing with this annoying kid before coffee was not a great idea. The smell of eggs and fried bread made him stop mid-turn to sniff the air. "Save me breakfast and pour me some coffee, and I'll pretend you've grown some manners overnight."

"I have manners," Mikey protested. "After all, I am here to help Heidi sort through the attic. I don't have to do that, you know."

"Of course you don't." Tomas raked his fingers through his hair, the floorboards cold under his feet. It wasn't only shoes he'd forgotten in his haste but socks as well. He'd rectify that before.... Hang on, what had Mikey just said? "You're not helping Heidi sort through the attic. I already offered last night."

Mikey stared at him. "I offered last week!" The stare turned into a glare. "She said I could have some stuff to use for the Scout garage sale. It's the only way I'm going to get to the jamboree." His voice rose, his jaw set in a stubborn line. "Heidi promised!"

"Children!" Heidi yelled from the kitchen. "Eat breakfast first and work out your playground squabbles later."

"Pour my coffee and I'll negotiate." Tomas dropped his voice to a loud stage whisper. He had no intention of letting Mikey anywhere near that trunk. If he wanted to sort through junk on the other side of the attic, perhaps something could be arranged, but that trunk was Tomas's. Besides, Heidi had already promised
him
. "That's my final offer."

Said offer was met by a loud snort. "It's not up to you; it's Heidi's decision." Mikey looked smug. "I'll pour your coffee and talk to her while you find your shoes." He sniggered. "Maybe it's where you left your towel."

Tomas glared at him. "You little shit!" Where the hell had Mikey heard about that? It was lucky that Donovan was nowhere in sight or he would have been dead.

"Tsk tsk." Mikey grinned. Tomas's eyes narrowed. The kid must have eavesdropped. Yes, that had to be it. Decision made, Donovan's life expectancy rose another couple of notches, although there must have been a conversation for Mikey to overhear. "If Heidi hears you swearing you'll be in the dog house." The grin turned into a sweet smile which didn't fool Tomas for a minute.

"I'm going to get my shoes," he muttered. "Coffee. Waiting when I get back." Tomas turned and strode up the stairs, counting slowly in an attempt to curb his growing temper. He did not lose his cool often, but for some reason Mikey pushed all his buttons.

"Would you like fries with that?" Mikey yelled up the stairs after him.

"No!" Tomas's retort was equally as loud, his resolution not to respond to the brat from hell disappearing in an instant.

Letters. He had to think of the letters; they were far too important to risk losing because he had allowed Mikey to get under his skin.

Stomping into his room, he slammed the door and stood in the middle of the floor, taking several deep breaths. The curtains were open, as was the window, although Tomas didn't remember opening either of them. The sun hit his eyes, and he shaded them against the glare, walking over to the window to gaze for a moment at the field below.

The tree stared back at him, hues of transparent color glistening through its branches, filtering the sun through the fading dew of the night before. Despite his bad mood, Tomas found himself smiling, remembering again the kiss he and Cathal had shared under that tree, its canopy providing a little privacy to partially obscure the view from his window, but not as much as he would have liked. He wondered if there was somewhere nearby which might offer them more shelter from prospective prying eyes. The last thing he wanted was someone like the brat downstairs to get wind of his and Cathal's friendship and start spreading rumors.

Another thought struck him, and he froze.

God.

Mrs. O'Neil.

If she found out, that would be far worse.

Tomas's eyes were drawn to the alarm clock by his bedside table, his watch lying next to it. He hated wearing a watch to bed; the only time he'd left it on was when he'd been too drunk to care, collapsing into a restless sleep before groggily stumbling into the bathroom the next morning. It was the first and last time he'd allowed himself to be talked into more than a couple of beers. Embarrassingly, he did not hold his liquor well; it was not a flaw he wanted advertised, and those who knew had been sworn to secrecy.

Laughter from downstairs steered his brain back to the present and his immediate future. He needed a plan of attack. It was eight already, and Mrs. O'Neil was due to arrive in two hours.

Rummaging through his drawer, Tomas found a pair of socks and sat down on the bed to pull them on. Mikey would need to be dealt with first, but the trunk in the attic was a priority. He was convinced that it contained a few answers, at least. The letters Alice had written to her dead husband would give some insight into her life and hopefully throw some light onto why he felt so compelled to find out more about her. She wasn't connected to the book, but she was an artist. She knew
something
; he just wished he knew what. Tomas wasn't a great believer in intuition, but this, whatever it was, was growing more and more difficult to dismiss.

His favorite worn brown boots joined the socks, and he finger-combed his hair, scowling when it refused to do what he wanted. Marching down the stairs again, he entered the kitchen, frowning when the conversation stopped the moment he did so.

To his surprise, however, a mug of coffee stood waiting for him, a plate of scrambled eggs and French toast next to it. He raised an eyebrow in Mikey's direction. The kid shrugged, barely pausing to grunt something under his breath while he shoveled food into his mouth.

"Mikey is here to collect stuff for the jamboree sale," Heidi said, giving each of them a pointed look in turn. "Tomas is going to look through the old trunk in the attic." Her eyes narrowed. "Neither the twain shall meet. Have I made myself clear?"

"The attic's big enough for both of us," Mikey muttered. "It's not my fault if he gets in my way." He met Heidi's gaze squarely. "Besides, I asked first!"

Tomas snorted. "You couldn't pay me enough to get in your way," he exclaimed. "Just make sure you stay out of mine." The last thing he needed was Mikey leaning over his shoulder and interrupting his train of thought while he was attempting to piece very important clues together. Kids and his creative process did not go hand in hand. They were almost, but not quite, as bad as cats. An old adage about never performing with animals or children repeated in his mind, and he shuddered.

"Is that an offer?" Mikey perked up. "I do need money for this jamboree, after all," he implored. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be anywhere near you."

"Mikey, you asked first, so you have every right to be in the attic. But so does Tomas because Donovan promised him that he could look through the trunk." Heidi paused, her tone firm. "But don't forget your own promise to clean out my attic in return for what you can find for your garage sale. Promises are more important than any monetary gain."

"Much more important than any monetary gain." Tomas wasn't going to let Mikey go down that track. "Heidi's right."

"Yeah, I suppose." Mikey's face fell. "It was worth a go, though," he added brightly, jerking a thumb in Tomas's direction. "It would have worked too, if Tomas wasn't such a tight-ar--" Heidi coughed loudly. Mikey returned his attention to polishing off the rest of his breakfast, making a point of avoiding Tomas's eyes.

For his part, Tomas was too engrossed in finishing his own breakfast to be bothered wasting time encouraging Mikey to continue what he'd been about to say. This kid needed a good sharp kick up his own arse.

"Tomas?" Heidi was staring at him, frowning. Had he missed something?

"Hmm?" Using the rest of the French toast to mop up what was left of his eggs, Tomas looked in Heidi's direction. She was watching him, an amused expression on her face. An apology would probably be a good idea at this point, the annoying little voice in his mind pointed out. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"I asked if you were still joining Mrs. O'Neil and me for morning tea." Heidi shook her head. "You get distracted from conversations easily, I've noticed. Lot on your mind, huh?"

"Something like that." While Tomas might have said more, he wasn't about to admit to anything in Mikey's presence. The kid was pretending to focus on his food, but Tomas knew better. "I'll be down by then, thanks, Heidi. If I'm not, come and get me." If the trunk proved to be the treasure trove he hoped, he'd be lucky if he surfaced before tea that night, let alone mid-morning, without some prompting.

"I'll remind you," Mikey said helpfully, pointing to his watch. Tomas could almost see his mind ticking over, the little hamster wheel working overtime. "You're seriously going to have morning tea with Mrs. O'Neil?" His brow wrinkled in disbelief. "Okay, what's she got on you? She's got to be blackmailing you or something." He eyed Tomas up and down. "Unless you're crazy. Really crazy."

"Gee thanks, Mikey." Heidi's tone took on a dangerous edge. "So I'm crazy, am I?"

"Of course not, Heidi." Mikey corrected his statement quickly. "There's always an exception to every rule, and you're it." Draining his cup, he burped loudly and put it down on the table. "Great breakfast, but Tomas and I have got a job to do." He glanced at Tomas and then toward the door, his head jerking in that direction not exactly subtly. "Right, Tomas?"

"Right." Tomas gulped down the last of his coffee. If Mikey got Heidi up in arms, the chances of getting near that trunk would be very slim. While he usually took care not to take sides, some arguments were not worth getting into, or risking Mikey figuring out the reason for all the questions Tomas was asking.

Standing, he collected his dishes and placed them in the sink before heading for the door. Mikey quickly followed suit, his hand tugging on the end of Tomas's T-shirt.

"You forgot to thank her for breakfast," Mikey hissed.

"Um, thanks for breakfast, Heidi." Tomas followed Mikey's suggestion without stopping to question it. "It was really great."