Chapter 5
By three fifteen, Paislee had stacked enough of Granny’s things to the side for Grandpa to reach the bed. Gran had been a high school English teacher in Nairn for thirty years and most of the boxes were books. Paislee gave him the vacuum, clean sheets, and a comforter. “I willnae be gone long,” she told him. Her black Scottish terrier growled at the old man. Wallace had been a gift to Brody after Granny had died, and the pup didn’t let Grandpa out of his sight.
“This is only temporary,” groused the old man.
Raising her palm to keep the peace, she didn’t argue or bother saying good-bye. She climbed into the Juke and called her best friend, Lydia, on the way to Brody’s school. “Lydia!” The skies had changed from the blue earlier to gray and stormy, which was somehow appropriate.
“Paislee—what’s up?”
Her dearest friend was the best estate agent in all of the Highlands. If anybody could help her find a new space, it would be Lydia. She sniffed back tears, her throat thick and scratchy. She rarely cried, but Isla’s death was tragic.
“What’s wrong, love?”
She found a tissue in the console and dabbed her nose. “Isla’s dead, I got an eviction notice, and my long-lost grandfather was dumped off at my shop after being picked up for sleeping in the park.”
Lydia started laughing. “Ye have tae be kidding.”
“I’m not.” She tossed the tissue to the empty cupholder.
“Wait—your Isla?”
“Aye. I told you she’d emailed me about wanting her job back?” Tension bit behind her eyes.
“She was supposed tae be there today, I thought.”
“She didnae show . . . so, I went tae her flat . . . and found her . . . dead.Well, me and Grandpa Angus.” She tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
The call went silent. “Sairy for laughing. I cannae believe it. What will ye do?”
“About which part?”
“Ah, Paislee,” Lydia said. “Only you.”
She supposed her grandfather was the most immediate need. “Grandpa showed up at the shop this morning, escorted by a new detective in Nairn. Busted for snoozing on a park bench. His plan was tae buy a tent and camp. Can ye believe it? Completely mental.”
She heard a swift intake of air and then, “Paislee Ann Shaw, do not tell me that ye’ve invited him tae live with you? You dinnae know him! What if he murders ye in yer bed?”
“Where else is he supposed tae go?” She slowed to round a traffic circle near the primary school. Because Fordythe was in a family neighborhood, controlling speeders mattered more than the annoyance, or so she reminded herself on a daily basis.
“Yer granny didnae care for the man,” Lydia reminded her.
As if Paislee didn’t know that? Her nerves shot up into a raging headache. “I don’t think he’s dangerous. Cantankerous, aye.”
She neared the school and the queue of cars waiting to enter Fordythe. She was the last of the line, but at least she wasn’t late.
“I dinnae think it’s a good idea.”
“She also preached compassion, Lyd.” Paislee opened her purse to search for ibuprofen, but there was none. “Aren’t I living proof ?”
Lydia clicked her tongue, which sounded like nails on a computer keyboard. “But moving in? Let me poke around and see what I can find.... Where are old people supposed tae go? My grands are passed already, so I dinnae ken.”
Paislee inched forward in the line of cars. “Dinnae forget, that’s not my only problem. I need you tae find Cashmere Crush a new home—something in as good of a location as Market Street, and at a better than cheap price.”
Lydia groaned. “I’d rather take on Social Services. You know ye got a good deal on that old place. What happened?”
“Shawn Marcus sold it right out from under us.”
“Too bad—that probably voids the lease.”
“That’s what he said, the spray-tanned prig.”
Brody waited on the curb as she pulled forward. “I have tae go, Lyd. Call me tomorrow if you find anything?”
She wasn’t looking forward to telling Brody about Isla, or their new “temporary” roommate.
“Love ya!” Lydia said before ending the call.
Brody climbed in the front passenger side of their SUV with a hangdog expression that could give Wallace a run for his whiskers. “Hey, Mum.”
She pulled out of the queue and onto the street. “How was school?”
“The teacher sent home a note, sayin’ if I’m late one more time, I get detention.” He kicked his backpack. “When it’s your fault.”
She winced. “I’m sairy, hon.”
“I told Mrs. Martin about what happened with you getting kicked out and that mean old guy sayin’ he was me great-grandpa, sleepin’ in the park. She didnae believe me.”
“It does sound like a whopper,” she said softly. “But I was there.” She touched his elbow, but he yanked it out of reach. “I’ll email her tomorrow.”
“Mrs. Martin seemed mad, Mum.”
“I’ll take care of it.” She’d set the alarm a half hour earlier.
Instead of home, she drove to the beach and parked. She lowered the visor against the gray afternoon sky, which was still too bright for her headache.
“What?” Brody asked suspiciously. The oppressive air in the Juke reminded her of when they’d come here after Granny died, and then gone to the pet shop to make them both feel better.
She couldn’t afford another dog. “How about an ice cream?”
“Mum.” He crossed his arms and stared at her, his auburn bangs brushing his eyebrows. His skin was as pale as hers, only he had freckles. “Just tell me.”
She blinked tears back. “Isla is dead, love. She won’t be coming tae work for me after all.”
His nose scrunched and he rubbed the rounded end. “What happened?”
“I dinnae ken. The detective said he would be in touch.” Which was quite vague, come to think of it. “It was the same man as from this morning.”
Brody frowned, his brown eyes serious as he processed this information.
Death wasn’t something that happened all the time—his only experience had been with Granny, and Paislee’d done her best to shield the true measure of her grief from him. She’d bought him Wallace for the kind of unconditional love that her grandmother had so generously given them both.
“Does she have family?” he asked after thinking for a minute.
“A mum, in Edinburgh.”
“Oh.”
Paislee would do some digging for her address and send the woman a sympathy card. “And,” she said, “Grandpa Angus will be staying with us for a while.”
At this, Brody scowled. “Where will he stay? I’m not sharing me room. He was mean.”
She recalled how sharply Grandpa had spoken, and how her son had recoiled. “I think he was embarrassed, about not having a place tae live.”
Brody kicked at his backpack again and she prayed he’d eaten all his crisps or there’d be a mess to clean.
She shifted to see him better. “I said he could sleep in Granny’s room, until we figure out a few things.”
“That’s Gran’s!” He pinned her with his gaze. “Not forever?”
Nothing was forever. If she had her way, in eight more years her son would be off to college to live his best life. She hadn’t made it to university—she’d planned on going, but then her da had died, and her mom had remarried and moved to America, and Paislee, acting rashly, had ended up pregnant. The guy was nice enough, but Paislee hadn’t been in love, she hadn’t wanted to steer him from his path as he’d joined the military, so she’d kept her mouth shut.
Brody belonged to her.
He stared at her with wide eyes. Oh yes, he wanted to know if Grandpa would live with them forever.
“No,” she said, ruffling his hair.
He ducked away. “Mum!”
“Sorry.” He hated it when she did that, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“Do we still get Chinese for dinner?” He studied her face to see if things were truly going to be all right. Take-away meals were a treat compared to home cooked, and she’d suggested it this morning.
Paislee pointed to her purse. “Even though Jerry didnae bring the special yarn for Mary Beth, I sold a sweater, so aye.”
“What if Grandpa doesnae like it?”
“I don’t think he’ll be that picky.” She remembered Grandpa’s enjoyment of his bacon butty and coffee earlier and her throat ached with emotion. She had to get herself under control or she’d be a weeping disaster, and she’d no time for that. At the pounding of her temple, she had an awful thought.What if she was coming down with something?
Mums didn’t get sick days. There was laundry to do, and Brody always had a reading assignment, fifteen minutes. She made him read out loud so she could enjoy the story, too, while she did the dishes.
The toe of her son’s runner made contact with the backpack again, and she could tell he was brooding—it didn’t take her maternal senses to notice; his tight mouth and narrowed eyes painted the picture. Because he was an only child, he was mature for his years. Gran said he’d been born with a contemplative nature.
“Brody, Lydia will find another place for Cashmere Crush, so I don’t want ye tae worry. That’s my job.” She patted her chest. “Your job is tae get good grades.”
“My job sucks.”
“Language.”
He rolled his eyes. “You still owe fifty pence.”
“I willnae forget,” she promised. They had a swear jar on the kitchen counter and donated the occasional coins to the church.
After a few moments passed and the abuse to his backpack slowed, he glanced at her and she asked, “So, are ye all right, about Isla?”
The two had only met a few times since Isla had worked for Paislee during Brody’s school hours, part-time, but death was still . . . gone.
“Aye. Can I still have ice cream?”
“That and Chinese?” She gave an exaggerated pout. “Dinnae push it, laddie.”
A smile made a brief appearance and then, “Do you think Grandpa will take me fishing?”
And the subject took a hard-right turn. “Why on earth would he do that?”
“I’ve seen other grandpas on the pier, that’s all.”
Just when she thought it was safe to let down her guard, Brody unintentionally struck her in the heart.
She’d chosen to raise Brody on her own, well, with Granny’s help—she couldn’t have done nearly as well without her grandmother’s support. Nairn had old-fashioned values, mired in the past, and being a single mother wasn’t something to brag on.
Father Dixon had been surprisingly supportive, but the ladies around Nairn muttered about loose behavior and Paislee Shaw being no better than she had to be.
Her grandmother had counseled her to keep her chin high and ignore the gossips, telling Paislee she had nothing to be ashamed of. She’d made her choice and would live by it.
Brody was worth every hardship.
“We can always ask,” she said. And if the old man said no, well, Paislee would take Brody fishing herself. Not her idea of fun, but raising a boy meant getting her hands dirty. Hadn’t she learned to toss the baseball overhand instead of underhand, like a girl?
After adjusting her throw last fall, they’d had a talk about equality of the sexes that had gone right over his young head. She prayed daily that she did right by him.
“Ice cream or dinner, ye can’t have both.”
“Orange chicken!” He smacked his lips.
Paislee started the engine. She’d told him early on that his dad wasn’t around anymore, which was the truth, and so far that answer had been enough.
As she studied his stubborn chin and pert nose, her heart literally thumped. Her head pounded.
What on earth would she do when it no longer was?