To Scotland With Love (21 page)

“I don't know. They wanted to talk to Duncan alone, so Deydie and I took Mattie for a walk.”

Duncan hollered from the other room, “Tell him to mind his own business.”

“Did you get that?” she asked Graham.

“Tell him it'll never happen,” Graham said.

“I'm not your mediator. Do you want to talk to Duncan yourself?” she challenged.

Graham's voice softened. “No. I want to talk to you.”

If she didn't know better, she might've sworn she heard a hidden meaning in Graham's words:
I need you. Hearing your voice makes me feel better.
She shook her head, erasing that ridiculous thought from her addled brain.

“Why did you do it?” she asked, trying to change the subject. “Why did you send those physicians here? You were with Duncan in Aberdeen. You knew the diagnosis was correct.”

“I needed the top experts to take a look at him. And because Mohammed wouldn't go to the mountain, I brought the mountain to Mohammed.”

“The only thing you succeeded in doing is pissing Mohammed off. He's worn-out,” she added.

Graham cut her off. “I'm sorry for that. Hey, I've got to go. I'm getting a call. It's probably the doctors.”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead.” But he'd already hung up.

That night, Mattie and Dingus went to bed with Duncan, but soon afterward, Cait found Dingus asleep in the middle of Graham's bed again. She lay down next to him and scratched his ears.

“Are you missing your master?” she asked the puppy.

He sleepily licked her nose and shut his eyes. She wanted to say,
Me too,
but she wouldn't allow herself.
And to counteract her longing for the master of the house, she tried to focus on her mission—finishing the story on Graham Buchanan, movie star.

But of course she couldn't ransack Graham's house with Duncan ill in the next room. It wasn't the right thing to do. When Duncan felt better, she'd seize her chance.

As if a chilling breeze swept over her, she felt the cold grip of Death come into the room. Down in her bones, the truth clutched her like ghostly icicles.
Duncan will not get better.

“No,” she whispered. And fled the room for her own salvation.

* * *

The next day, Deydie organized a sewing bee in Graham's formal dining room. Instead of turkey and stuffing, the table groaned with the new sewing machines.

“Ladies,” Bethia said, getting all of their attention, “it's now or never. It's time to complete our round robin for the raffle. I've finished all the shoreline blocks. Caitie, how are you coming on the bluff blocks?”

Crap.
She'd forgotten. She'd wanted to be included in the quilting group. But then she'd let them down by not doing her part.

“I'll get right on it,” Cait said.

Deydie stopped sewing. “Moira, get my basket from the other room and give it to Caitie. I picked out some fabrics she might want to use.”

Was this Gran being thoughtful and nice? Cait waited for the other shoe to drop—a snide remark was sure to follow. She looked around at the quilting ladies to see if they'd noticed, but they seemed to take it in stride.

“Eight-inch blocks,” Rhona instructed Cait in her
schoolteacher voice. “You'll need to make nine for the row.”

Deydie smacked the table. “Caitie's been busy. Hasn't had a moment to work on the quilt.”

The other women's jaws dropped open. A jet could've crash-landed on the long table and their eyes wouldn't have shifted from Deydie.

Bethia regained her composure first. “Rhona wasn't lecturing.”

“Just saying, that's all.” Deydie caught Cait's smile. “Don't glean nothing from it, lassie.”

Cait shook her head. “Wouldn't dream of it.” But it felt good that Deydie might be warming up to her a bit. A little bit.

“Let's get on to the quilting,” Deydie ordered.

Amy sat behind her machine. “Have you heard about the Lynches? Little Mary had to be taken to the hospital. I don't know how they're going to pay for it with Mr. Lynch dying like he did over the summer. Mrs. Lynch hardly has enough to feed those six sweet bairns. And now this.”

Bethia sighed. “If only we could make more money on the quilt raffle.”

“It's hard times for everyone,” Moira said as she set the fabric basket on the table.

A glimmer of an idea came to Cait. She'd seen the movie
Calendar Girls
and wondered if something like that would work for Gandiegow. Not naked quilters, but something. “It would have to be longer-term, though,” she said to herself.

“What are you rattling about?” Deydie said.

“Just an idea.” Cait picked up the basket and held it to her chest.

“Get to working on those blocks,” Deydie huffed.

“What idea, child?” Rhona asked.

“A way to make more money for the Lost Fishermen's Families Fund,” Cait said.

Bethia came to stand by Rhona. “Speak up, then.”

“Why don't we try to auction the quilt on the Internet? It would certainly bring in more than the projected one hundred pounds. I could use my contacts to get some press. We could use eBay or sell it on Etsy.com.”

Of course, Cait knew they could get a hell of a lot more press if the world knew the quilt came from Graham Buchanan's hometown. She could start by informing his fan club about the quilt, then do a full press release to all the major publications. The quilt could bring in thousands, maybe tens of thousands. A good reason if she'd ever heard one for writing the
People
magazine article about him. She'd be helping the town. They'd thank her.
Hell, they'll probably throw me a parade.

“You check into it, Caitie,” Ailsa said.

“See what you can find out,” Aileen added.

“Yes,” said Amy excitedly.

“Right now ye better get yere head out of the clouds and get those damn bluff blocks done,” Deydie said.

“I'm on it.” Cait pulled out five shades of brown and several gray pieces of fabric, her mind buzzing.

More could be done, besides auctioning the Our Town Gandiegow quilt. She just didn't know what it would be yet. She could—and would—make a difference to this community.

For one brief wonderful moment, Cait felt Death stepping back into the shadows and Life stepping forward toward her.

* * *

Deydie left the dining room and headed to the back of the house to the bedroom off the kitchen. The Valentine's Céilidh would still need a quilt to raffle and she had a Pinwheel quilt started that would be just the ticket.

Caitie's idea to sell the quilt on the Internet was a good one. Deydie had heard tell of how high some of those auctions could go. Her granddaughter was a smart one, just like her Nora. Had a way with numbers.

Deydie pulled the quilt top from her sewing bag. The only thing left to do was to add a border and do the quilting. The ladies could work on this while Caitie finished her blocks. Pride swelled in Deydie's chest. Her granddaughter had turned out to be a hell of a quilter.

A ringing sound came from Caitie's coat, which lay across the bed.

“Probably Graham again.” Deydie dug around until she found the phone. She hadn't used one of these contraptions but had watched how Caitie had done it. Deydie slid an arthritic finger over the green line.

“Hallo,” Deydie shouted into the phone.

“Yes, it's Margery Pinchot with
People
magazine. Is this Cait Macleod?”

“No. I'm her gran.”
You ninny.

“Please give her a message for me. If I don't get the Graham Buchanan story soon, the deal is off.”

Deydie's old breath stopped and then rage filled her. Red, boiling-hot rage.

“Hello? Are you there?” said Margery.

“Aye,” Deydie spat into the phone, seething. She did her best to hold back the obscenities that threatened to jump off the end of her tongue. “Let me make sure I have this right, missy. My granddaughter, Caitriona
Macleod, has promised to write an article for your magazine about Graham Buchanan.”

“Yes,” Margery said.

“I see,” Deydie answered, spitting-nails mad.

“And I need it ASAP,” Margery said hesitantly. “Will you tell her I called?”

“You can bet your last sheep on it,” Deydie said sarcastically.

“Thank you,” Margery added and hung up.

Deydie threw Caitie's phone on the bed. “Me granddaughter doesn't have a lick of sense. She's as bad as her damned father.”

F
or the rest of the afternoon, the quilters worked on the Pinwheel quilt that Deydie had started while Cait set up the blocks for the bluff. She used chunks of the gray fabric to construct a small castle block that would represent Graham's mansion and inserted it among the brown blocks representing the bluff above Gandiegow.

After being almost nice to her earlier, Deydie now shot lethal glares in her direction. Cait wanted to ask her what her problem was, what had happened between now and then, but decided not to rock the boat. Deydie had stood up for her earlier, had acted as if she halfway liked Cait, and she wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize her gran's newfound affection.

Ailsa and Aileen headed off to the kitchen while Bethia and Amy went to check on Duncan and Mattie in the media room.

Cait held up the castle block. “What do you think, Deydie? Did I do a good job on Graham's house?”

“A hack job, that's what ye're doing,” Deydie muttered and put her head back down, sewing the border to the Pinwheel quilt.

What stick had gotten up Deydie's backside? Would it kill her gran to be nice for two minutes in a row?

Moira looked embarrassed. “I think it's wonderful, Caitie. It'll really add to the Our Town Gandiegow quilt.”

Graham's landline rang. Cait picked it up and took the cordless in the other room. “Hello?”

“Why didn't you answer your mobile?” It was the big house's owner.

Cait looked down at his castle block in her hand. Then patted her cargo pockets. “Must've left my cell in my coat pocket. What's up?”

“Shooting is delayed and I just needed someone to talk to.” Graham sounded dejected.

Part of her wanted to tell him to go jump off a cliff for hanging up so abruptly yesterday. The other part of her wanted him to come home and cuddle up next to her for the rest of his life. Every time she heard his voice, she fell for him a little more. And each time, when he backed away, it broke her heart a little more, too.

“Are you there?” he asked.

“Yes, of course, I'm here.”
I'm always here for you, you bozo.

“Duncan's results came back positive,” he said.

“Does that mean you'll finally accept your son is truly sick? I think he needs your support, not your denial,” she said.

“You're right. I just had to find out for myself.” He sighed. “I hate being away from him and Mattie.”

Graham hesitated a moment longer and she wondered if he meant to add one more person to the list—herself. But he didn't.

He went on. “You know the script you read?”

“Aye,” she said.

“I turned it down,” he said, sounding even more depressed.

“Why? It was a great part. I told you—you'd be perfect for it.”

“I know. I was excited about it until I found out the shooting schedule.” He paused again. “I decided it wasn't the right time. Filming begins in March.”

Yes, she understood. “And you couldn't be away from your son. I know.” She tried to console him. “You want to know something? I think you're an amazing father. Duncan is lucky to have you.”

“He doesn't think so,” Graham said.

“Well, I know you're an amazing father, and that's all that matters,” she said.

He laughed, and it sounded good to hear a bit of cheer in his voice.

“I like a woman with a healthy ego, Ms. Macleod,” he said. “You do have a way of brightening my day.”

“I'm a little piece of sunshine,” she boasted.

He chuckled again. “A piece of work, that's what ye are.”

She remembered—
a masterpiece
.

He stopped laughing and went serious all of a sudden. “I am grateful for you. You know that, don't you?”

He didn't say
grateful to you
but
for you.
She shouldn't put much stock in a word choice, but the distinction made all the difference to her. Her heart swelled.

She had to bring them both back down to earth. “Yeah, I'm grateful for you, too. Especially when you walked around in your boxers in
Passage to Manchester
. Ooh-la-la.” She shouldn't have relegated him back to the movie star realm. But if she was going to safeguard her heart and maintain her sanity, she'd have to keep them firmly in their respective places.

“Aye, I'm just a pretty face. Thanks for reminding me,” he grumbled.

She'd hurt him. Her own heart wanted to tell him the truth.
I see you. I know who you really are.
But her heart had been stupid before, so she bit down on her lip to keep from saying it.

“I'd better get going,” Graham said. “Let Duncan know I called.” He hung up.

Cait looked down at the castle block in her hand. It was crushed in her fist. “Why do I have to be such an ass?”

Because you have to protect yourself,
her rational brain answered.

Cait returned to the kitchen and found Duncan alone, Mattie nowhere in sight.

“Your da called,” she said to Duncan.

“So, what did he have to say? That he was too busy to be bothered with us mortals?”

Something in her snapped, and she didn't care that Duncan was sick.

“Don't you dare bad-mouth your da,” she said. “You have no idea the sacrifices he's made for you.”

“I think I know better than you what he's done and not done,” Duncan retorted.

“A regular Oliver Twist, were you?” she sneered. “Were you sent off to boarding school to live among strangers?”

Duncan remained silent.

Cait went on. “Or were you left in the care of family and friends?”

Duncan shrugged. “'Tis of no matter.”

“I know your da has done some stupid things, like sending those damnable doctors
to examine you. But do you know why?” she said.

“To torture me.”

“No. He can't accept that his lovely lad is sick. He had to have the best-of-the-best look into it and to hear it from them. He loves you so much, Duncan.”

“He has a strange way of showing it,” Duncan jabbed.

“Listen,
Dunkie
.” Because he was acting like a spoiled brat, she'd use his childhood name. “Your da just gave up the role of a lifetime for you. I read the script. It's going to be a huge hit. Your da didn't even think twice about it. He told them no on the off chance that his boy might need him. What do you have to say about that?”

“I never told him to give up any role.”

“But have you ever been grateful for anything that your da has done? Do you have any idea the money he shells out to help this town? He would've loved to be living the life that you've had. He only wanted to be like his own da, a fisherman. The fact that you've been able to live out his dream gives him great satisfaction. If he weren't an actor and done the things that he's done, you wouldn't be here raising your son in this village. And without your da's help, it's possible this community would've been washed out to sea a long time ago.” Quite a speech on her part and maybe a stretch. She was thankful Duncan didn't ask her how she knew all this.

He hung his head, perfectly ashamed.

“Good. I'm glad you're getting the right of it. Your da is a good man, doing the best that he can with the abilities that he has.” She plopped down on the barstool next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “All I ask is that you give him a break.”

“We'll see,” was all he said.

Warily, Mattie walked into the room and mirrored Cait's action, putting his hand on his da's other shoulder.
She felt bad that he'd heard that whole lecture, but she guessed it wasn't terrible that the kid knew the truth.

“You know, Mattie,” she said to him, “you have a terrific da, too.”

Mattie looked up and nodded. Cait expected him to hug Duncan, but Mattie came over and kissed her cheek instead.

“I'll leave you two alone,” she said. “I'm sure the quilting ladies are wondering where I've run off to.”

Cait found her phone on the bed in the room off the kitchen and gave only a passing thought as to why it was lying out before shoving it back in her pocket. She rejoined the others in Graham's dining room, but they were winding up, all their sewing things being stowed back in their bags. It was just as well. Deydie was really in a snit now, and Cait was grateful for her guest room upstairs so she didn't have to go back to her grandmother's cottage with her.

As everyone filed out, they said goodbye. Except her gran, who only made a grating noise. Deydie's revived contempt reminded Cait of her mission.

When she got to her room, she sat on the bed and laid her head in her hands. She just
had
to do this story. Not for herself, but for Gandiegow.
Big star in little town
. Tourists out the wazoo. They could sell Graham Buchanan souvenirs. Then maybe Gandiegow could stand on its own two feet without the help of Mr. Charitable. Whether or not any of them understood, Cait would be doing them all a favor by exposing Graham.

Focusing on the village made Cait more determined than ever. Tonight, when everyone slept, she would get back to working on the story. There was plenty of this house she hadn't searched yet.

* * *

Later that night, after Duncan and Mattie went to bed, Cait slipped out of the guest bedroom and snuck across the hall to Graham's room. As usual, Dingus lay in the center of his bed. He perked up when she came in and gave an excited yip.

“Shh,” she said as she closed the door behind her. “If you're quiet, Caitie will give you an extra treat after she ransacks Master's room.” Guilt welled up, and she squashed it down.

The dog ran to the edge of the bed, jumped off, and followed her into Graham's closet.

“What little secrets do you have hiding in here?” she whispered.

She started at the top with an ancient red hatbox and pulled it down. When she took off the lid, she found pictures—black-and-white snapshots. She took the box to Graham's bed and got comfortable, the dog cuddling up against her while she pulled out a handful of photos.

Graham had been a cute little boy, and she could see a lot of Mattie in him. Except Graham always had a smile on his face. It was like he was born to be in front of a camera, still or otherwise. Cait could've spent the rest of the night going through these pictures but decided she'd take this box back to her room and go through it later. Maybe there'd be more pictures of her mama in there, like the one Graham had given her for Christmas.

She squashed down the pang of guilt that rose up. Cait would write an article that painted him in the best of lights. He was a good guy and the world should know it.

She went back to the closet and pulled down a shoe box that held only a cruddy pair of worn work boots. They had to be important to Graham or else they
wouldn't be there. She took a picture of them with her cell phone and slipped them back on the shelf. As she was pulling down the next item, an old quilt, she heard Graham's bedroom door creak open.

“Caitie?” Duncan whispered. “Are ye in here?”

She started to slip in among Graham's suits but knew she'd been busted. She came out from the closet.

Duncan stood there drenched in sweat. “Can you help me?”

She ran over to him. “Are you all right?”

“Can you put Mattie into his room? I need to change the sheets. They're soaked. I must've had a fever when I went to bed.”

She moved the red hatbox to the floor. “Here, lie down. I'll take care of Mattie and the bed. Do you need something to drink?”

“No. I'll be fine.” He'd already stretched out and closed his eyes. Dingus tentatively crawled up beside him and lay down.

“I'll be back in a flash.” Cait shut the door behind her.

If Duncan had been a little more cognizant, he would've demanded to know what she was doing in his da's closet.

She went into his room and saw Mattie, the boy she loved so much, lying in the bed. This beautiful child had been through hell. He was still going through hell with his da so sick. Her heart ached for Mattie. She wished she could take his pain away. She would never do anything to hurt him. Never.

In that moment, Cait had clarity, the unmistakable truth now blindingly clear. She couldn't do the story on Graham. God, how could she have been so dumb for so long? He and his family had come to mean the world to her, everything she held dear. It would hurt him, and to
hurt Graham would hurt everyone. She'd stupidly been lying to herself to think that she could expose him. And Duncan. And Mattie. But she couldn't. Not for the good of the town. Not for
any
reason.

She moved Mattie to her bed in case he had a bad dream and kissed his forehead before leaving. For a long moment, she watched over him, knowing she was finally on the right path. Next she changed Duncan's sheets and then helped him back to his bed. After a few sips of water, he was back to sleep before she left his room.

“When are you coming home, Graham?” she said to herself just outside Duncan's door. “We need you.”

But Death was the one who answered. She could feel him laughing at her efforts to keep him at bay, tendrils of dread pricking at her spine.

* * *

Deydie busied herself with binding the quilt, avoiding Bethia's gaze.

“Something is on yere mind. And don't tell me it isn't,” Bethia said as she sat down at Deydie's wooden table. “What is it ye're keeping from me?”

Deydie waved her hand in the air, not looking up. “Nothing's going on. Yere powers are off, that's all.” Except Bethia's instincts were square on, as always.

Deydie was fuming mad over Caitie and that story, enough to take a stick to that girl. She felt damn near ornery enough to tell Graham, her quilting ladies, and the whole town what tomfoolery her granddaughter had been up to.

But she hadn't.