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Copyright, 2017
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except for use in any review. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, locales, and events are either pure invention or used fictitiously, and all incidents come from the author’s imagination alone.
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Maggie Mulgrew took in a deep breath, and smiled.
She was home.
Aunt Irene’s huge Victorian looked the same, and smelled like scones, tea, and wildflowers.
Every summer, since she was ten, she had come here, and spent three glorious months with the people she loved most.
Tonight, she was going to meet her best friend, Spencer Knight, at the Bonnie Prince Charlie pub. The owner, Walter, despised Yanks, and made a point of letting Maggie know that every time she dared walk in, but she loved the atmosphere. And Spencer loved poking at Walter.
“Maggie—can you come down for a moment?”
“Coming, Aunt Irene!”
She dropped the clothes in her hand on the bed and ran out of her bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time.
Her Great Aunt Irene stood at the bottom of the stairs, an amused smile on her face. The wild red hair that Maggie had inherited was pulled back in a low bun, and Aunt Irene wore her going to estate sales outfit—jeans and a simple button down shirt.
“I know you just arrived yesterday, and you must be tired, my dear, but are you up for an estate sale?”
“Yes!” Maggie barely kept from jumping in place. At sixteen, she figured she should start acting a little less like a kid. “Where?”
“The old Mandor mansion finally sold. If you want to join me, we have to leave now. It will be a one day sale, and I want to get there before they open the doors.”
“I’m ready, if this is okay to wear.” Maggie looked down at her jeans and shirt.
She’d already brushed her teeth, and pulled her hair into a ponytail, so she felt fresh, if still tired. Sleeping on the plane was never an option, even when her parents sprang for first class. Too much going on, people moving around, and Maggie didn’t want to miss any of it. And she never slept well her first night here, with the excitement of being back keeping her awake.
Aunt Irene nodded. “You look perfectly suitable for a day of poking through dusty furniture and tchotchkes.”
“Then I’m definitely ready.”
Aunt Irene smiled at her. “If you would please fetch the basket in the kitchen, we can be off.”
“Got it.”
Maggie ran to the kitchen and grabbed the familiar picnic basket off the farmhouse table. Her aunt always packed plenty of food for what usually became day-long jaunts through the countryside, hunting for fresh stock for her consignment and antique shop, The Ash Leaf. Maggie had experienced her first estate sale during her second summer here, and had instantly fallen in love with antique hunting.
She also had a good eye, according to her aunt, and had learned to trust her instinct about a piece. Aunt Irene had been telling her about the old Mandor mansion for the last three years, after it went on the market.
According to her, the huge, rundown mansion was filled to the rafters with furniture, decorative items, and more paintings than walls to hang them. If anyone would know, it would be her aunt.
Maggie followed her out to the beat up Land Rover, and climbed into the passenger seat, twisting to set the basket on the floor behind her. Riding in the Rover was always an adventure, because Aunt Irene drove it like she was on an urgent mission. Maggie always held on and smiled the entire time.
The small open trailer had been hooked up to the back, which told Maggie this was going to be a serious shopping trip.
“Ready?” Her aunt’s voice brought her back to the moment.
“Excited.”
Aunt Irene glanced over her, and started the engine. “So am I, dear. Let’s go find some treasure.”
***
The drive to the Mandor estate was beautiful. They passed fields dotted with sheep and wildflowers, rolling green hills, and a ring of standing stones. Aunt Irene stopped on the side of the road, pointing to the stones.
“Those are part of an old legend. Beyond them is the village of Dell.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“People here don’t like to speak of it. The village was abandoned, meals left on tables, belongings left behind. I want you to stay away from it, Maggie. Nothing good has happened there since a witch was condemned, and sentenced to death by burning.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Maggie shivered at the thought of someone being burned alive, of an entire village disappearing without a trace.
“Good. On to a happier topic, then. Did you ask your parents about returning for Halloween?”
Maggie’s good mood faded. “They said no. It was actually more of a ‘hell, no, not a chance in this lifetime’ kind of no.”
“I will speak to your mother.” Aunt Irene smiled at her, and winked. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“Okay.” Hope pushed back the memory of that conversation. Her parents had reacted like Maggie had asked to meet the devil; with horror, and more emotion than she’d seen from them in a long time. “Are you looking for anything in particular at the sale?”
“You know my stock, dear. Whatever you think will work in the shop is fair game. I can always store what doesn’t fit in the carriage house.”
“So, no limits.” Maggie grinned at her aunt’s laugh.
“It has to fit in the Rover, or the trailer, unless I can arrange for delivery.”
“Check.”
They rode in comfortable silence, until the huge mansion came into view. Dozens of cars sat in a temporary car park, and Aunt Irene joined them, aiming the Rover toward the road, for an easy exit. Maggie grabbed the picnic basket and climbed out, waiting for her aunt. Excitement and anticipation had her bouncing on her toes.
“I will carry the basket, Maggie.” Aunt Irene took it from her, heading for a huge oak tree near the side of the mansion, and tucked the basket up against the trunk. It marked their lunch spot for later, and the shade would keep everything cool. “A queue is forming already. Can you go and hold a place for us? I want to make certain the food is in order.”
“On my way.”
Maggie ran over to the queue, and watched it quickly grow behind her. Thank heavens they got here early; this was turning out to be a popular sale. Aunt Irene joined her right before they opened the double doors, and ushered in the first twenty people. Maggie stuck close to her aunt as they walked into the mansion, taking in the huge foyer, and the furniture crammed into nearly every inch.
The organizers had carved out narrow pathways, with just enough room for two people to walk next to each other. Aunt Irene pulled out her business cards and tape, handing some cards to Maggie.
“If you see something interesting, tape the card to the price tag, and let me know so I can add it to my list. My card will mark the item.”
“What if there’s a card already there?” Maggie saw more than a few tucked into pieces.
“Then we negotiate.” Aunt Irene winked at her. “All part of the fun.”
They each took a side of the pathway, taping cards to at least a dozen items before they even got out of the foyer. Maggie knew they wouldn’t get everything, but finding possibilities was such a rush.
When they reached what looked like a library, floor space opened up, allowing them to wander the room. While Aunt Irene studied the bookshelves, Maggie headed for a table filled with costume jewelry and small decorative items.
She spotted the bracelet right away.
At first glance, it looked like a charm bracelet. But when she got closer, she saw that the design was deliberate—delicate gold leaves scattered between what looked like aquamarine, all beaded on a delicate gold chain.
She carefully picked it up, and almost dropped it again when she spotted the makers mark. It was Tiffany & Co.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” One of the attendants smiled at her. “If you would like to carry it with you, I’ll just tag it.”
“Yes. I’d like to purchase it.”
She almost flinched at the price, but she had enough money to buy it for herself, if she budgeted the rest of the summer. Once she touched it, she couldn’t let it go.
The attendant added a red tag, and Maggie thanked her, walking away from the table in a daze. It was her first real purchase, with her own money. She was still staring at the gorgeous bracelet when she ran into someone.
“Maggie?” Aunt Irene caught her arm to steady her. “What did you find?”
“A bracelet.” Maggie held it up, and her aunt took it.
“Tiffany & Co. You have a keen eye, my dear. This is odd.” She separated a small gold rectangle attached to the clasp. “This says the piece was made in Egypt, for Tiffany. I have never seen anything like this.”
“What does it mean?”
“The bracelet may have been created for a specific customer, and assembled in Egypt for them. We can do some research on it.” She touched one of the stones. “If I’m not mistaken, these are blue diamonds.”
“What?” Maggie whispered. “I thought they were aquamarine.”
“Not on a Tiffany piece, dear. You found quite the bargain, if they are diamonds.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t buy it.”
“Nonsense. This is an estate sale, Maggie, not a fine jeweler. The price was determined by the people organizing this sale. Certain items will always be priced under their value, to ensure a purchase.” She handed the bracelet to Maggie. “If you love it, my dear, then it is yours.”
“I do, Aunt Irene.”
“There are few items I fall in love with, but when I do, I don’t question why.” She rubbed Maggie’s back, smiling at her. “Ready to keep going?”
Maggie nodded, and they spent the rest of the morning wandering through the mansion. She couldn’t help taking a quick peek at the bracelet every couple of minutes. Aunt Irene had her put it on, to keep it from getting lost, and the weight of it on her left wrist felt right. She couldn’t describe how she felt any other way.
They took a lunch break, sitting on a blanket under the tree and eating roast beef sandwiches. Aunt Irene went over her list of possible purchases.
“If we end up with half of these, it will be a profitable day.”
“You think we’ll only get half?”
“That is my usual estimate, at highly anticipated sales. When we go back in, we can start with the starred items, and work our way down the list.”
“Won’t it still be busy?”
Aunt Irene shook her head. “Only the serious dealers will be left.” She waved to the parking lot.
More than half the cars were already gone, and more leaving as people finished their picnics and packed up.
“It’s almost like a system,” Maggie said.
“In this part of the county, we have fallen into habits, you might say. Now comes the serious bit—fighting over the more valuable items.”
The gleam in her aunt’s eyes told Maggie that she enjoyed this part of the process. If her negotiation in the shop was any indication, Aunt Irene would be brilliant.
Maggie was right.
Not only did they win most of the items they tagged, Aunt Irene got a bulk price for many of them. Maggie watched in awe as her aunt handled the transactions with such finesse, she made everyone involved happy. By the time every piece was loaded up, both the Rover and the trailer were full. At least half a dozen pieces of furniture would be delivered to the shop in the next few days.
Aunt Irene and Maggie climbed into the Rover, both of them sighing at the same time. Maggie laughed, looking over at her aunt.
“That was amazing.”
“I hope I didn’t tire you for your evening with Spencer.”
“I have time to rest. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.” She touched her bracelet, again. Every time she looked at it, she found another detail she had missed.
“You have another diversion for the summer, on your wrist.”
“I want to find out who owned it, if I can.”
Aunt Irene pulled the Rover out of the lot and on to the road. “Tiffany & Co. keeps an archive. If they did make that bracelet, there will be a record. They do charge for the search, but I will be happy to cover that. I want to find out more about the bracelet, as well.”
“Aunt Irene—thank you.” Maggie leaned over and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I can’t wait to show Spencer. He’s going to want to start researching right away.”
“You are two of a kind.”
“Yeah.” Maggie smiled, running her finger over one of the gold leaves.
They alternated, solid gold with a beautiful cutout leaf, and got smaller as they spread out from the middle leaf. Whoever had owned the bracelet had taken care of it; there were a couple of small scratches on the solid leaves, but everything else was almost as perfect as the day it was made.
Finally, the excitement of the day caught up with her, and she closed her eyes, letting the cool air from the open window brush her face.
Her first day here had been more eventful than the last few months at home. She could hardly wait to see what the rest of the summer brought her.
***
Spencer waited for Maggie outside the Bonnie Prince Charlie.
She started running as soon as she saw him.
“Mags!” He met her halfway and lifted her off her feet, turning her in a circle. “I missed you, sweetheart.”
“I missed you, Spence, so much.”
He gave her a smacking kiss and set her on the ground. “Ready to eat? I’m starved.”
“You always are.”
Grinning, he took her hand and they walked into the pub. Maggie braced herself for Walter’s hostile non-greeting, and blinked in surprise when she saw a smiling woman behind the bar.
“He’s on holiday,” Spencer said, waving at the woman. “That’s his niece, Amelia.” He led Maggie over to the bar. “Amelia, this is Maggie Mulgrew.”
Amelia set down the glass in her hand and reached across the bar. “A pleasure, Maggie. Spencer hasn’t stopped talking about you. I’m glad you made your way here.”
“I love this place, even with your uncle glaring at me like I’m a contagious disease.”
Amelia laughed. “He thinks all Yanks are the same. I know better. Supper is on me, as a welcome back. No argument,” she said, when both Maggie and Spencer started to argue. “I think you are owed at least one meal, for putting up with my uncle. Just order when you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said. She smiled at Amelia before following Spencer over to their usual table. “I want you to tell me everything you did this year, Spence.”
“I made a list,” he said, winking at her.
Maggie smiled. “The day you make a list is the day I start to believe in ghosts.”
She did like her lists; they kept her mind organized, helped her get things out of her head and on paper, and she always felt like she’d accomplished something when she finished everything on a list.
“You can make lists for me.” Spencer leaned forward, pointing at her. “I promise you, Maggie Mulgrew, one day you will believe in ghosts.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“You spend any amount of time in your aunt’s house, or the shop, and you’ll run into the ghost.”
Spencer had mentioned the supposed ghost before. Like every other time, Maggie fought to keep from rolling her eyes.
“Have you seen this ghost?”
“Well, no. But she exists, Mags. There’s been more than one sighting, from tourists who swear they’ve seen a woman hovering in a corner of the shop.”
“Hearsay. That’s going to convince me.”
“Ask your aunt. I bet she has seen the ghost.”
“I’ll do that.” Maggie wouldn’t insult her no-nonsense aunt with a question about a ghost. “I thought you were starved.”
“I am. Let’s go order.”
Spencer jumped to his feet and headed to the bar. Grabbing one of the menus on the table, Maggie followed him, doing a quick scan as she made her way around the tables—and looked up just before she ran into Patrick Tucker.
“Mr. Tucker—I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
He stared at her, his thick glasses emphasizing his brown eyes. After muttering under his breath, he nodded to her and headed to the opposite end of the bar.
Someday, Maggie would get a complete, coherent sentence out of him.
“Mags—are you planning to order?”
“Yeah.”
She joined Spencer, and picked the first item she saw on the menu.
“Um, Maggie.” Spencer studied her. “Are you certain about the fire wings?”
“What? Did I—” She looked down at the menu. Sure enough, her finger pointed to the appetizer she’d tried her third summer here, and swore never to eat again after nearly burning the entire inside of her mouth. “I’ll have the burger, with cheddar, and chips.”
“Coming right up,” Amelia said. “Good decision, with the wings. I’m surprised my Uncle Walter hasn’t been sued yet over those.” She winked at Maggie and headed back into the kitchen.
“You all right, Mags?”
“I ran into Mr. Tucker.”
“Ah.” Spencer took her hand. “Still trying to get him to talk to you?”
Maggie glanced at the bar, and saw him at the end, sipping his tea as he read a book.
“He muttered this time. It’s a step forward.”
“Maggie—he doesn’t talk to anyone, except his customers, and only when he absolutely has to.”
“That doesn’t mean he won’t.”
“Always the optimist. Hey.” He held up her arm, touching the bracelet. “What’s this?”
“Oh. I found it at the estate sale today.”
“It’s gorgeous.” He whistled when he checked the maker’s mark. “Tiffany & Co. You made out, finding this. Most families would have passed it down.”
“Yeah. Aunt Irene’s going to have Tiffany do a search, see if there’s a record of the original owner.” She showed him the tag. “It should be easy to find, with this.”
“Made in Egypt. That’s not a usual Tiffany thing.”
“Hopefully, we’ll get some answers. If not, I have a beautiful bracelet, and a story to go with it.”
Amelia came out with their meals, and they dug in.
After Spencer devoured half his burger, he set it down. “Did you want to see the latest shop on the high street?”
“Not tonight. It would be closed by now.”
“Nope. This was opened by a couple of Yanks, and it stays open until late. I’ve never seen the like, Mags. It has a bit of everything, some of it for less than a pound.”
She smiled. “Sounds like a discount shop.”
“That’s it. Everything has slashed prices on it, not that I would pay the original price for some of the items. I’d barely pay the discounted price. Holmesania looks like a fine souvenir shop in comparison.”
Maggie covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. Holmesania was the tackiest shop in the village. If Spencer was comparing this new place to it, she had to have a look.
“I’m game.”
“Excellent!” He picked up his burger. “We can head over after we finish.”
She nodded, and dug into her own burger. It would be interesting to see what an obviously American shop looked like, next to all the quaint, well established businesses.
***
They headed over to the discount shop, which turned out to be two blocks down from Aunt Irene’s shop. Maggie was surprised her aunt hadn’t mentioned it. She wouldn’t have been pleased by the addition—or the proximity.
Junky toys and off brand makeup filled the display window, along with the cheap souvenirs she saw all over London.
“I don’t think I’ll be spending much money here,” she said.
“Not with your snooty taste.” He winked at her, took her hand, and led her inside.
The smell assaulted her first.
Somewhere in the crammed shop there had to be a shelf of perfume oils. Maggie could smell patchouli, lavender, vanilla, and some musky scent. The combination was not appealing.
“What is that stench?” Spencer whispered, his nostrils flaring. “It’s horrid.”
“Patchouli.”
“It smells like underarm.”
Maggie choked back a laugh, and halted when a tall, thin woman appeared in front of them.
“Welcome to The Emporium!” She stuck out her hand, waiting until Spencer took it. “So glad to have you. Take a look around—there are baskets for you to fill up, so don’t be shy.”
“Thanks,” Spencer said, inching past her. “We’re just—looking right now. First time in.”
“So much to see.” The woman let out a high-pitched laugh. “I couldn’t decide, so I brought a little of all my favorites. Look around. I’ll be up front if you need anything.”
Spencer let out a sigh after she left. “You’re not at all like that, Mags.”
“Like what?”
“Exhausting.”
She shook her head, and poked him with her elbow. “Be nice. She’s a fellow Yank.”
They wandered through the shop, and Maggie was overwhelmed by the variety crammed on the shelves, without any rhyme or reason. At the back of the shop she found what they had smelled since they walked in.
An entire set of shelves was dedicated to perfume oils, essential oils, incense, and highly scented body oils. Patchouli seemed to be the star, one shelf filled with every possible patchouli scented product—and a couple Maggie had never seen before.
“Let’s get out of here,” Spencer said, waving his hand in front of his nose. “I don’t know how much more of this I can—”
A figure darted out of the aisle next to them, running smack into Spencer.
He fought to keep his balance, and Maggie reached for him, letting out a gasp when he lost the battle and fell sideways.
Right into the shelf of oils.
Amber bottles tumbled and fell to the floor, breaking on impact. Patchouli burst through the air, strong and stifling.
“Bloody—hell!” Spencer straightened, holding his nose. “Let’s get out of here—”
“Thief! Stop them!” The owner’s shrill scream had them running to the front of the shop, in time to see the same figure who knocked into Spencer sprint outside.
“We’ll get them,” Spencer said, and shoved the door open.
Maggie let out a sigh and followed him.
She spotted them heading up the high street, Spencer gaining on the smaller figure. Thankful that she’d worn flats, she ran up the street, catching Spencer when he stopped, grabbing a decorative lamp post as he doubled over, coughing.
“Spence? Are you okay?”
“Patch—” A cough interrupted him, but he didn’t have to finish.
As soon as she got close, she knew why. He reeked of patchouli. The oil must have splashed him when the bottles broke.
“Let’s get you home, so you can change.”
“No.” He cleared his throat and pushed off the post. “I want to choke the fool who knocked me into the bloody shelf.”
“It could have been an accident.”
“Was shoplifting an accident as well?” He headed for St Mary’s Church, and down the side path that led to the small graveyard. “There he is.”
Maggie grabbed his arm. “Wait.” From her angle she could see what Spencer didn’t; the teenage boy gently setting a small item in front of a gravestone. “Let’s go talk to him.”
The boy jumped to his feet as they approached, ready to bolt. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t leave,” Maggie said, holding up her free hand. “Please.” Now that she was closer, she saw what he had put on the grave. A small, white statue, of a mother holding her child. “Your mum?”
He swallowed, staring at his feet. “She died just before Christmas.”
“I’m so sorry.” Maggie let go of Spencer and moved forward. “Why did you take the statue?”
“Couldn’t afford it.” He wiped at his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Today’s Mum’s birthday. I couldn’t—I didn’t want it to pass without giving her something.”
“You have good taste.” Maggie gestured to the statue. “You chose the one nice item in the shop.”
He peeked up at her, the amusement and grief in his brown eyes threatening to steal her heart. He was younger than she thought, probably not more than thirteen.
“Not easy,” he said. “That place is crammed with junk.”
Spencer laughed, and the boy jerked, backing away.
“It’s okay.” Maggie held out her hand. “We’re not going to turn you in.”
“Even if you did douse me in the most disgusting stench.”
“Sorry.” The boy bit his lip, obviously on the verge of laughing.
Maggie shook her head at Spencer, and turned back to the boy. “What’s your name?”
“Peter.”
“Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Maggie, and this is Spencer.”
“Maggie Mulgrew?” His eyes widened, and he started to back away. “Your aunt’ll sack my dad if she finds out!”
“Whoa.” Maggie sprinted forward and caught Peter’s arm. “Who’s your dad?”
“He delivers furniture for Ms. Mulgrew.”
“Hamish? Hamish McCain?” The burly Scot always made Maggie smile.
“He don’t know I’m here, or that I was planning to—” Peter cut himself off, and tried to jerk free.
Maggie tightened her grip, and he gave up, hunching his shoulders. “He won’t know, I promise. Neither will my aunt.”
“How? The owner’s going to report it.”
“No, she won’t.” Maggie had decided as soon as she heard Peter’s story. “Because once the statue is paid for, it won’t be stolen.”
“I can’t.” He shook his head. “And you can’t, Maggie. We don’t take charity.”
“Oh, it won’t be charity. You’re going to work for the money, Peter.”
“You’d—you’d do that?”
“Your mum shouldn’t go without a birthday gift, and you’ll feel better, knowing you earned the money for it.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Maggie wrapped her arm around him and turned away from Spencer, who was staring at her like she’d lost her mind.
“I know how important family is. You meet me at The Ash Leaf tomorrow morning, at nine, and we’ll figure out a payment plan.”
“I will. You got my word on it.”
“Good. Why don’t you go home? Your dad will be worried about you, and I’m sure he’d be happy to have you with him, since he’s probably missing your mum, too.”
She rubbed his arm before she let him go.
“See you tomorrow.” Peter took off, heading through the park behind the church.
“What are you thinking, Maggie? He stole that—”
“To give to his mother. He doesn’t deserve to be punished for that, Spencer.” She turned back to him and crossed her arms. “Besides, he’s going to pay me back, with good, honest work. Let’s go and settle his bill, before the owner calls the police.”
They ran to the shop, where the owner was busy cleaning up the mess in the back. No sign of a constable, yet.
“Hello?” Maggie made sure the woman heard them.
“Oh!” She stood, wiping her hands on a cloth that reeked of patchouli. “Did you catch the little thief? I was going to call the police as soon as I finished here.”
“I think there was a misunderstanding,” Maggie said. “He thought I’d already paid for the statue. He was in a hurry to take it to his mother.” Not a lie, if not the complete truth. “This,” she waved to the half empty shelf, “was an accident. I’ll be happy to pay for any damage that was caused.”
“No need. I’m afraid I was a little too optimistic about how much I could fit in this space.” She smiled, and held out her hand. “Leann. It’s good to meet another Yank.”
“Maggie. My aunt owns the consignment shop up the street.”
“The Ash Leaf?” Leann sighed. “I aspire to such a classy place. I think I need to rethink. I figured a place like Holmestead, in the middle of nowhere, would like a store with variety.”
“Maybe a little less variety, and more useful items for every day.” Maggie took out her wallet. “How much do I owe you for the statue?”
“Twenty-five pounds.”
Maggie handed over the notes, managing not to flinch at the ridiculous price. “Here you go.”
“And I know you’re covering for the boy, Maggie. I’ll take the money, and let it go, as long as he never comes in here again.”
“I’ll make sure he knows. Thank you.”
“We nip his life of crime in the bud, maybe he’ll turn out fine.”
“I know he will. Thank you, again.”
“You’re welcome. Do me a favor—come back in two weeks, and give me your honest opinion of the place.”
“Deal.” They shook hands. “I look forward to it.”
After waving, Maggie led Spencer out of the shop, breathing in the cool, fresh night air.
“Sorry, Spence, but you stink.”
“You’re telling me. I need to get out of these clothes, and probably burn them.” He smiled, keeping at least a foot between them as they headed up the street to his flat. “Nice job back there. I didn’t know you could lie like a pro.”
“Years of practice with my parents. Especially about my time here.” She shrugged when he stared at her. “If they knew the truth, they’d never let me come back.”
“I can’t even imagine. I mean, I lie; little things like I cleaned my room when I didn’t. But about a whole summer, for years?”
“I’ve never been caught in a lie.” Yet. “They honestly don’t believe I can lie to them. I’m not the Maggie you know, not with them, Spence. She’s quiet, obedient, and spends most of her time with her nose in a book. Okay,” she said, when he started laughing. “You know that part of me.”
“Just hold out until you graduate. Then you can be the real you all the time.”
“At UCLA? I can be closer to the real me, but my parents have friends there. It will be a challenge.”
“You’re still planning on coming here, when you’re finished with school?”
“I’m saving money for it, Spence. Every dollar I can put aside.”
“Good. I may be selfish, but I want you here all the time, Maggie.”
“I want me here all the time. Whatever it takes, I’ll make it happen.”
“I’d hug you right now, but,” he waved at himself, sending off another plume of patchouli. “I’m going to have nightmares about this. Patchouli nightmares.”
She laughed, and took his hand, ignoring the cloud of scent.
“You’ll get past it, I promise.”
“Never.” He pressed one hand against his forehead. “I will be traumatized for the rest of my life.”
“Drama queen.”
He grinned at her. “Yank.”
She grinned back, and walked with him, hand in hand.
This was her real life, and she’d treasure every second, until the day she came back for good.
***
Peter showed up, just before nine.
Maggie waited for him outside the shop, waving when he ran toward her.
“Let’s go over to The Tea Spot, and we can talk about how you’re going to work off your debt.”
He hunched his shoulders. “Yeah.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Peter. As long as you don’t steal again.”
“Never,” he said, lifting his chin. “Never again.”
“Sounds good. Tea and scones are on me.”
They headed to the tea room just down from Aunt Irene’s shop, and settled in with a pot of Earl Grey and a plate of fruit scones.
“Okay,” Maggie said, leaning back in her chair. “What are your skills?”
“Skills?” Peter looked a little panicked.
“What can you do?”
“Oh.” He stared at the table, tearing apart a scone. “I can clean.”
“What about talents?”
He shrugged, and just when Maggie was about to give up and assign him some cleaning duties at the house, he dug into his jacket and set a small figurine on the table.
Her breath caught when she took a closer look. It was exquisite, and incredibly detailed.
“Is that a fairy?” she whispered.
He nodded. “Mum always loved them. I wanted to leave this on her birthday, but it wouldn’t hold up, in the weather. I tried carving something like the statue, but I couldn’t get it right.”
“You would have, with time.” She gestured to the fairy. “May I?”
He nodded, and she picked up the figurine. A closer look revealed even more detail.
“Peter—this is beautiful. Have you ever thought of selling these?”
“Dad thinks they’re silly. Mum always liked them. I made them for her.”
“They would sell, and easily. You’re talented, Peter.”
He glanced at her, his cheeks pink. “You think so?”
“I’ve spent years hunting for antiques, and yes, I think so. How many do you have, that you’d be willing to give to me?”
“I don’t know. Twenty, maybe?”
Maggie’s heart sped up. “Okay. I want you to give me ten, and I’ll sell them in my aunt’s shop. After her cut, we’ll split the rest, fifty-fifty.”
“But—my dad will find out.”
“Will it be so bad if he does? You’ll be bringing in money, Peter, with a talent that can take you beyond this village, if you want it to.”
He blinked at her. “It might not be so bad, telling him that. But you should take all of it, so I can pay you back faster.”
“It will only take a few sales for that to happen. I want you to be paid for your work, Peter.”
“I—don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.” She wanted to show off his work, be the one who introduced his talent. Now she understood why Aunt Irene got so excited when she found a rare piece, or a treasure hidden under years of grime. “Just say yes.”
“Okay. Yes,” he said, smiling.
“It’s a deal.” She held out her hand.
“A deal.” Peter shook her hand, then let go and started devouring the scone he had just been tearing apart.
Maggie picked up her scone, taking a sip of her cooled tea. If the idea forming in her mind worked, Peter McCain’s life was about to change.
***
It only took three days for the carved figurines to sell. Maggie started out by buying the fairy. It would have to stay here, but like everything else, it would be another reason to find her way back.
Peter’s debt was paid after the first day.
When Maggie found him at the end of the week, and handed over his cut of the sales, he stared at the pile of notes and coin.
“How?”
“They sold, Peter. All of them.”
“They—you—all of them?”
She smiled. “Yep. All of them. You’re a hit, Peter McCain.”
He surprised Maggie by hugging her.
“Wait until I show Dad. He won’t call it a foolish waste of time after this!”
“No, he won’t. Congratulations, Peter.” She took his hand. “My aunt wanted me to tell you that she’ll be happy to sell any pieces you’re willing to give her.”
“I can start working on more today.”
She watched him sprint down the high street, thrilled that she could be part of a talented artist’s journey. Peter was no longer just a boy who could carve; he had stepped into the role of professional artist.
“You’re going to be brilliant,” she whispered.
“Who’s going to be brilliant?” Spencer appeared next to her. “Ah, young Peter, the artist. How did he take the news?”
“That he sold out? He’s off to start carving more. Aunt Irene will be the only one in the village selling his work, until he’s older, and can start really planning his career.”
“Then she will introduce him to the right people.”
“Exactly.”
“You did a good thing with him, Mags. Even if I still can’t get the stench of patchouli out of my nose.”
“Sorry.” She smiled, taking his hand as they headed for her aunt’s shop. “I know it’s not the best smell in the world.”
“My bedroom window has been open since that horrible night, and I can still smell the bloody armpit stench.”
“We can ask my aunt if she has a secret for getting rid of smells.”
“I’ll do anything. Well, almost anything.”
Maggie laughed, and let him go to open the door of The Ash Leaf.
“Good morning.” Aunt Irene stood behind the tall mahogany counter she used to ring up sales. “Did you find young Peter?”
“Yeah.” Maggie headed to the counter, dragging Spencer with her. “He was so excited. It felt good.”
“It’s a fine thing you’ve done for him, Maggie.” Aunt Irene reached over the counter and cradled Maggie’s cheek. “I am so proud of you.”
Heat rushed to Maggie’s cheeks, but she smiled, not caring, not with them. “Thanks, Aunt Irene.”
“Something came for you this morning.” Aunt Irene freed her, and pulled a letter out from under the counter. “It is from Tiffany & Co.”
“The bracelet.”
Maggie’s hands shook as she opened the letter. After having it appraised by a jeweler in London, she had put it away, in her aunt’s safe. The pretty blue stones had turned out to be rare diamonds, worth more than Aunt Irene’s Victorian.
It would stay there, brought out only for special occasions. There was no way Maggie would be able to take it home, not without papers. Not that she would, since explaining how she paid for a bracelet like that would open a can of worms, and probably lead to her secret bank account.
She finally managed to pull the single sheet of paper out, and unfolded it, reading out loud.
“Dear Ms. Mulgrew, at this time we are unable to establish provenance for your bracelet, beyond acknowledging that it was indeed made by Tiffany & Co. All records from the period the bracelet would have been commissioned were lost in a fire, long before our current technology was available. This event does narrow down the possible time of creation, which would put the bracelet in the late Victorian period. We would be happy to recommend a researcher, if you would like to continue your search for the original owner.”
“A fire?” Spencer sounded as disappointed as she felt. “I guess that’s it, then.”
“Not quite,” Aunt Irene said. “We have a better idea of when it was made. We can keep looking, if you like, Maggie.”
“No. Thank you for the offer, but I’ll just enjoy it.”
“Wait.” Spencer clutched his chest. “A mystery, and Maggie Mulgrew isn’t going to pursue it?”
“No, smarty, I’m not. And if you drape yourself over the counter like a fainting woman, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“I wasn’t—” He cleared his throat and stepped away from the counter. “I’m going to go—do something.”
“See you later?”
“Always, Mags.” He bowed, with an elaborate flourish, his composure clearly back. “I am off, to rid my world of the unkillable patchouli.”
He grinned at her before he swept out the door.
Maggie laughed, shaking her head. “He’s the most dramatic person I know. It makes him kind of lovable.”
“You are good for each other. I wish—” Aunt Irene cut herself off and turned away.
“Aunt Irene?” Maggie moved around the counter, touching her aunt’s wrist. “What?”
“I wish I could have you here with me, Maggie. Permanently.”
“I want that, so much. But my parents—”
“Would drag you back. My dear, sweet girl.” She framed Maggie’s face with her hands. “I never expected to love you as much as I do. To miss you as much as I do when you’re gone.”
Tears stung Maggie’s eyes. “I love you, Aunt Irene.”
Her aunt pulled her into a tight hug, kissing the top of her head. “Perhaps you can attend university over here.”
Maggie sighed. “I already asked about that. Mother looked like she was going to have heart failure. She’s already mad that I refuse to apply to an Ivy League school. But as soon as I can, I’m coming back to stay.”
“I look forward to that day.”
“Me, too.” She tightened her hug, letting out a sigh. “Thank you for paying to have the bracelet researched. Looks like it was a dead end.”
“We do know it is a Tiffany & Co. bracelet, dear. There is also the possibility of finding the original owner. I will talk to a couple of acquaintances, see what they can find out.”
“I don’t want you spending more money.”
“They owe me a favor, Maggie. Don’t worry about the money, not for this. The bracelet is important, and if the owner is still around, they might want to know what happened to it.”
“I’d like to know, honestly.”
“Then I will keep pursuing it, and update you if I learn anything.”
“Okay.” After a final squeeze, Maggie let her aunt go and wiped her eyes. “Supper tonight?”
“We can eat at the Bonnie Prince Charlie.” Aunt Irene winked at her. “I am in the mood to antagonize Walter.”
Maggie burst out laughing, and gave her aunt another quick hug. “Deal.”
She left the shop and headed down to the harbor, wanting to breathe in the cool, salt-laced air, watch the waves wash over the rock beach. It was a windy day, which kept away the tourists, so she had the boardwalk pretty much to herself.
Sitting on a bench near the gazebo, she took a deep breath, and let the sound of the water soothe her. When the wind started playing havoc with her ponytail, she freed it, and smiled when her wild hair flew around her.
“You look like a nymph.” Spencer appeared, his blonde hair blowing in his eyes.
“I thought you were going to conquer the patchouli.”
“My mum took that over. As we speak, my room is being properly fumigated.” He sighed, and sat next to her. “I stopped by the shop, and your aunt told me she saw you heading this way.”
“I’m disappointed about the bracelet, and already dreading going home.”
“You still have almost two months! You’re not leaving early, are you?” He looked more than a little panicked as he asked.
“Never. I wish I could stay longer.” She leaned against his shoulder, his presence calming her as much as the constant sound of the waves. “We’re going to the pub tonight for supper, if you want to join us.”
“Love to.” He rested his cheek on the top of her head, taking her hand. “What are you going to do about the bracelet?”
“Aunt Irene said she’d contact some people who might be able to find more information. It’ll be staying here. After finding out how much it’s worth, I couldn’t bring it back even if I wanted to.”
“So, you won’t be letting this mystery go.”
She could hear the smile in his voice.
“I might do a little research once I get home.”
“Would that include lists?”
She smacked his arm. “Stop dissing my lists. They keep me—”
“Organized, blah, blah, blah. You’d be lost if you didn’t have a scrap of paper and a pen.”
“Maybe. You’d feel the same if someone took away your surfboard.”
“Don’t even joke about that, Mags.” He shuddered, and she laughed.
“My lists are my surfboard. Get it now?”
“I get it. That doesn’t mean I won’t keep teasing you about them.”
“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”
Maggie tucked her free hand in the crook of his arm, and enjoyed just sitting with her best friend, watching the seagulls dive bomb the water, and fly over the castle on the cliff.
She may go home at the end of every summer, but this place, and the people she loved fiercely, would always be here, waiting for her return.
Until she could call this place home for good, that would be enough.
~ ~ * ~ ~