Chapter 25
Paislee woke up early Saturday for a hot, muscle-loosening shower. Last night before bed she’d soaked in the dried comfrey leaves from Flora and had a cup of comfrey tea. It had taken a lot of honey to make that palatable, but she’d drunk it down.
She had just enough of the dried herbs left for a mug this morning. Paislee went downstairs to start breakfast, mindful of being at the shop by eight, but Grandpa had beaten her to it.
“Scrambled eggs,” he said, lifting the spatula. “Lorne sausage frying in the pan. Toast, with orange marmalade. Brody picked that out at the grocery store the other night.”
“It’s his favorite.”
He peered closely at her face. “Yer cheek looks better,” he said. “How’s your neck?”
“It’s all right.” She touched the sore muscles where the seat belt had wrenched. “I willnae need the brace today.”
“Mibbe take it with you? Just in case. Ye can keep it in the shop.”
“That’s a good idea.” She patted his shoulder and told him about Gerald having an alibi—he’d gone to bed as soon as she’d come home last night, so this was her first chance to share the news. “I was wrong.”
“It happens.” Grandpa’s brown eyes flashed with humor. “Even tae the best of us.”
She smiled. “Let me go wake Brody and Wallace.”
But dog and boy were already descending the stairs, lured by the scent of cooking sausage.
She let Wallace out to the back garden to do his business. “It’s gorgeous today!”
Blue sky, a slight chill, but a sweater should suffice.
She turned to Grandpa Angus, who was stirring eggs in a pan. “One year it rained so hard that we moved everything into the shop and watched the parade from under the awning. You used tae live around here?”
“I used tae live in this house,” he said.
“Oh!”
They each backed away from the subject like it was a sore tooth not to be prodded.
She’d forgotten that.
Luckily, Brody hadn’t heard the conversation, as he’d run out back after Wallace. He returned to the kitchen, his cheeks flushed, the smell of spring on his heels. Wallace’s nearly black eyes shone brightly as he lapped up some fresh water from his bowl.
Brody sat at the table. “Yum! Grandpa let me get orange marmalade; did ye see that, Mum?”
“I did. It’s your lucky day. That and sausage.”
He licked his lips and rubbed his tummy, his auburn hair up like feathers in a tuft. “Dinnae forget we’re going tae the comic booth, right, Grandpa?”
“Right.” He brought the pan of eggs and sausage to the table and dished out food. “Sit, Paislee, and eat. We’ll be there in plenty of time.”
“We just need tae assemble the canopy. They have workers who set up the tables and each business is assigned a number. The paperwork’s at Cashmere Crush.”
“Can we bring Wallace, Mum?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, but then she shrugged. “So long as you agree tae walk him and take care of him, then, aye.”
“Yes!” He pumped his fist into the air.
Brody managed eggs, sausage, and three pieces of toast before Paislee shooed him from the table. “I can make you more, but why don’t ye get cleaned up so we can go.”
“I’m full.” He licked his lips. “It just tastes so good.”
“That’s like me and Theadora’s raspberry scones.” She gathered his plate as Wallace watched her with interest from his spot on the floor. Brody ran up the stairs.
“Nothing for you, pup,” she said.
She caught Grandpa slipping a bit of sausage to the dog but bit her tongue to keep the peace. He never fed the dog from the table, her eye. Plugging her nose, she drained the comfrey tea and hoped it worked its magic.
Traffic was heavier than usual on this Saturday morning as people headed out to the Spring Festival. All the businesses on the parade route had numbers, booths, canopies, and free gifts to entice customers to buy.
Grandpa parked the white Sentra behind the shop. They were there by half past eight and said hello to James, who was just arriving as well.
Brody gave the wizened old man a high five, chatting about the comic book booth he couldn’t wait to see.
“I remember when I liked comics,” James said, exchanging a glance with her grandfather. “And then I discovered the ladies.”
The two men chuckled. Paislee ushered Brody into Cashmere Crush with a roll of her eyes. It would be some time before she had to worry about that, praise heaven.
Right?
Wallace, on a red plaid leash, stayed at Brody’s heels. They’d brought his gray flannel bed to tuck beneath the register and out of the way. She bumped the box of silver charms she’d ordered and groaned. They were so adorable, how could she have forgotten them?
“Can you help me affix the charms with the Cashmere Crush logo?” she asked Brody, who had dropped Wallace’s leash to let it drag on the ground. “I only ordered a hundred, so just give those out tae your favorite people.”
“I can bring one tae Edwyn’s mum—if she’s at the booth.” He sat cross-legged on the floor by Wallace’s bed and opened the box.
She gave him the crocheted flowers to attach to the silver key rings. “Brilliant.”
Paislee gathered flyers and postcards with her business information on them. Each advertised a 25 percent discount off a special-order sweater on the website.
“Looks guid, lass,” Grandpa said. “How can I help?”
“Let’s get the canopy raised over the booth out front, and then we can bring out our goodies. The streets are blocked off for setup right now, but security will allow foot traffic starting at nine. The parade is at two, and the day is over at five.”
“Ye sound like ye’ve done this a time or two,” he said with a laugh.
“Eight years, since I first opened.” She rubbed her hands together. “One person needs tae always be at the booth, ready with a keychain or a flyer. Someone needs tae be inside manning the register. Lydia should be here any minute. Between all of us, we’ll have time for breaks and to walk the festival.”
“Sweaters make the most money!” Brody said. This was not his first festival, either.
She centered the bouquet of flowers from Fordythe Primary on the high-top table to be seen through her frosted picture window. She brought the red geranium out to decorate the table in front of the shop. Its bright petals tied in nicely with her pretty flower boxes.
She scanned the blocked-off street where each participating business along the parade route had a booth and was now preparing for a busy, and hopefully lucrative, day. Paislee waved to Ritchie, all in black, from the flower shop, who waved back. There was no sign of Tabitha.
To Paislee’s right, Flora was setting up her booth, too. Her white Volvo was parked in the dirt lot of the pub behind her table as she unloaded supplies. Donnan sat on a crate as Flora did all the heavy lifting.
Paislee poked her head inside the shop to send assistance. “Brody, Grandpa?”
But her two helpers were inundated already with affixing charms, and when she looked next, Mary Beth and her husband, Arran, were helping Flora with her boxes and canopy.
Thank heavens for friends.
Paislee arranged a fine-knit multicolored cloth over the table—it was her fourth year with this cloth, and it was still just as nice as when she’d made it. Quality wool lasted a lifetime. There were two folding chairs behind the table and two in front, facing Market Street.
Folks began to trickle by the closer it got to nine.
Mary Beth brought her twin girls and husband to Paislee’s table after they’d finishing helping Flora and Donnan. Arran was filled out around the middle, due in part to Mary Beth’s cooking, and her two daughters were plump-cheeked, blue-eyed cherubs. They each held a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie.
“Morning!” Paislee gave her friend a hug. “You’re here early!”
“Arran and I offered tae help Flora set up and take down. We’re going tae check in with Margot at the lab. I think Arran’s cold has turned into a sinus infection.”
Paislee noticed his eyes were still red rimmed, his nose chapped—not looking much better than he had at the doctor.
Arran nodded his greeting and then waved good-bye as Mary Beth tugged him by the hand. Paislee’d never seen him so complacent.
“Margot will fix him up—why suffer? I say.” Mary Beth said in a lower voice to Paislee, “Doc Whyte can call something in, and he will be right as rain before the parade starts.”
Mary Beth, holding tight to Arran’s hand, urged her daughters before her to the lab a few doors down. Paislee hoped so, for Arran’s sake. Bagpipes were no comfort for an aching head.
Lydia burst out the front door of Cashmere Crush preceded by her expensive perfume. “Paislee, morning, lass—ach, you look a bit better today. How are ye feeling?”
Without waiting for an answer, Lydia sat down next to Paislee at the long table and admired the array of keychains, flyers, and postcards displayed on the table. She caressed the petal of the red geranium. “I parked next tae ye in the back. It’s already crowded and just nine! Appears a beautiful day for a festival.”
“I think so, too. I’m torn on what tae display—I willnae do Flora’s since she’s here selling her own. Look.” Paislee pointed to the right and down, to Flora’s booth, where she could see her greens and yellows. “You can see her yarn from here.”
Donnan had been tucked in the corner in the shade, made cozy on a wide camping chair with a cupholder. Flora had a yellow gerbera in her hair today and a floral tunic with short sleeves over yellow leggings.
Lydia and Flora exchanged waves.
Paislee’s bestie was dressed “casually” as in no business attire, but the cost of her designer jeans could keep Brody in cheese sandwiches for a month. Black boots and a lightweight black cashmere mock turtleneck Paislee had made for her, tucked in to show off her waist, with a black leather belt and silver buckle, made her look like a fashion model.
“Thanks for spending your day off with me,” Paislee said.
“My pleasure. I heard the two Shaw boys bickering over comics when I passed through the shop.”
Paislee grinned. “Brody has a friend who has a dad with a comic booth this year—Grandpa is walking him down right on the dot, tae get a poster before they’re all gone.”
Lydia fanned the postcards. “Did ye ever think tae have him in your life?”
“No. I imagine Granny spitting nails. I don’t know why I didnae think of it, but he used tae live in my house. With Gran.”
Lydia’s gray eyes widened. She hadn’t used so much black liner today, or smoky shadow, and the color of her eyes was like a river pebble.
Paislee had more than a touch of envy—not for the difference in their looks, as that couldn’t be helped, but for Lydia’s ability with makeup. Lydia had tried time and again to show Paislee how to create contour and make her eyes pop—but when ye didn’t sleep more than six hours a night, calling attention to the circles under her light blue eyes wasn’t the best choice.
Practical, that was her, she thought with a shrug. Let Lydia be the glamorous one.
“I didnae ask details, but he says she was the love of his life. I think Gran couldnae forgive Craigh’s birth.”
“Proof of infidelity.” Lydia shrugged. “I dinnae blame her. I didn’t stick around for it, either. I would rather be single and confident in myself than constantly wondering what’s happening behind my back.”
“I’m glad you came home tae Nairn.”
“Me too. Oh—who is that?” Lydia perked up as two muscular men in khakis and polos passed from the direction of Flora’s booth and the pub toward the water.
The brown-haired man held a clipboard and Paislee made sure the number on her booth was visible. “He looks official.”
“I like the blond. Do we have a problem they could solve?”
Paislee shook her head, laughing. “You are incorrigible.”
Lydia stood as the men passed by. The man with the clipboard did a double take. She fluttered her fingers, but he didn’t come back.
Paislee tugged on Lydia’s elbow. “Will you handle the register while Grandpa and Brody go in search of his free poster?”
“Sure thing. Any specials this year?”
“Twenty percent off merchandise today only.” Her breath caught. “Oh, Lyd, what if this is the last time we get tae do this?”
“Stop that. I have three properties I printed out and left in the car—I’ll get them. We’ll find ye something brilliant.”
Lydia disappeared into Cashmere Crush and Brody, with Wallace on the leash, exited with Grandpa.
Brody raced toward her. “Can we go now?”
“Aye. Take your time and mind yer manners. Stay with Grandpa.”
“I will.” He pulled the flower keychain and charm from his pocket. “I found a good one, Mum.”
She shook her head and kissed his cheek, ruffling his hair, which he hated. “Good luck getting one ye like.”
The pair strode off with Wallace’s short furry legs keeping pace, black tail sweeping down the crooked sidewalk.
Gran had told her time and again not to fear change. But this had been her life as a business owner, these people on this row her friends and family.
James had an array of leather goods on his table. She ambled over to give it a closer inspection. “What’s your giveaway this year?”
“Money clip.” He showed her a handcrafted strip of leather the size of her finger that closed by using magnets. “Let me use up me scraps.”
“Clever!” Inside the shop behind him, his fifty-year-old daughter stacked squares of leather. “Nora’s helping today?”
“Aye. Promised her dinner out afterward.”
“And not just the pub!” Nora shouted.
Paislee studied the Lion’s Mane behind Flora’s booth. The single-story pub was made of dark gray stone, had a blue tin roof, and the owners made a decent shepherd’s pie.
He scowled. “Nothing wrong with the pub. But it’ll be packed because of the festival. I heard on the news that this will be the biggest turnout yet.”
She glanced back at her table. “I only made four hundred keychains.”
“You better get to making more then,” James teased. “They find who ran ye off the road?”
“Not yet.” She gave a half shrug. The reminder that Isla’s killer was still out on the loose cast a pall over the blue-skied morning. “Detective Inspector Zeffer promised he would.”
She wasn’t sure if she believed him.