Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
T he next morning, Caitlin hurried down the village street, eager to reach the shelter of the shops in the blocks ahead. The estate’s housekeeper and cook, Mrs. Smith, had suggested having a look at the nearby village as a way to combat Caitlin’s lingering jet lag. She planned to get some shopping done for Hogmanay, which, rather than Christmas, was the holiday when most Scots exchanged gifts.
She also thought some time away from the estate would make a great diversion from her annoyance with Holt Ridley. He hadn’t appeared before she left— still sleeping on California time, she supposed.
It was never a good idea to lash out at the person paying you. He clearly thought she’d overstepped last night. And, truth be told, she had. Normally, she might think that if she had to meddle to save the estate, she’d gladly do it again, but not if it meant losing this job. A good reference from Ridley would have too great an impact on the future she hoped to have. Getting out of his way for a few hours this morning seemed a brilliant idea.
But Caitlin hadn’t counted on the weather changing as fast as it did in Scotland. She’d left her coat at the estate, and the lightweight wool jumper she had on wasn’t quite up to the task. This morning, the wind blowing down the Long Island Sound from the north was as damp and chill as the wind howling across a Highland loch in winter. It didn’t make her homesick— quite. She preferred lovely spring days, warm blue skies, and the scent of bluebells in the woods, but she could get through the rest of this month knowing by spring, she’d be home and perhaps even in the job she wanted.
All the holiday decorations missing from the mansion must have been loaned to the village, she thought as she neared her objective. Shop windows were festooned with red and green garlands, bows, and wreaths. Pillar candles, mostly lit by tea lights, lent a warm glow to the shady side of the street. A large fir tree in the central square ahead was covered in lights she expected would be festive after dark, along with more ornaments than she could count, garland and more bows.
She spotted her first destination in the next block and picked up her pace, eager to get out of the wind. She wanted to find something from America her cousin’s twins would enjoy. She should have chosen a closer parking space on the street, but Farrell had warned she couldn’t count on those being available and had set the village car park a block behind the shops into the car’s GPS.
She passed a cluster of people who smiled, acknowledging her, then a few who ignored her except as an obstacle to be avoided. She supposed they were on their way to work. The sidewalk emptied after she passed them, and the scent of cinnamon and baking bread reached her. Tea and a scone suddenly sounded enticing. Did they have scones here?
Before she knew what was happening, a sharp tug on her shoulder strap spun her around. She held on as a young man tried to wrestle her purse away from her. “What do ye think ye’re doing? Let go of that,” she barked.
Despite using her elbows to defend herself, she was losing ground. Her attacker grabbed her wrist, trying to break her hold. He had almost gotten the strap away from her when a tall, dark-haired man yanked the would-be thief aside. Her attacker let go of her purse strap and fell back, swearing as the man spun him about, shoved him face-first against the bricks of a shop wall, and held him there with a solid grip on his neck and a well-muscled arm across his shoulders.
“Are you all right, miss?” the stranger asked, glancing with steel-blue eyes from Caitlin’s attacker to her and back again.
She took a quick inventory. She’d have a few bruises tomorrow along with a scrape on her hand from the buckle of the purse strap, but other than that, she was fine. “No permanent harm done,” she reported. “What are ye going to do with him?”
“Nothing.” The man tipped his head to indicate the police car rolling down the street in their direction. “I knew someone would call the cops. Your friend here obviously thought the street was empty.” He shifted his grip as the thief tried to break his hold. “Stand still. You seem to have forgotten in a small town like this, someone is always watching.”
After a few more minutes of standing in the cold while the deputy locked the thief in the back of his car then took their brief statements, Caitlin finally had the chance to thank her rescuer. “I’m Caitlin Paterson. That deputy called you Doc,” she continued as the car pulled away. “Are you a medical doctor?” He had a few glints of silver at his temples to go with his confident manner, making her guess he was in his late forties or early fifties.
“Veterinarian,” he reported. “Jim Coates at your service. From your accent, I’d say you’re not from around here.”
She gave a rueful laugh. “I’m from Scotland. I arrived three days ago.” With a glance toward the retreating car, she added, “No’ the welcome I expected.”
His gaze followed hers toward the police car as it pulled away. “Hell of an introduction to the village. Sorry about that.” He shook his head, then turned back to her. “I’ve been to Scotland. A few years ago. Beautiful place.”
“Thank you. Look, I owe you for today. Can I at least buy you a cup of coffee?”
“I’ll have to take a rain check. I’m late for my first appointment. But I’d enjoy talking to you about Scotland sometime.” His gaze dropped to her hand, and he frowned. “Still, you might want to get that cut looked at.”
“Nay, ’tis just a scratch. But I’d love to hear about your trip. Of course, another time will do. I’m so sorry to have made ye late.”
Dr. Coates nodded what she took for his agreement. As she watched him turn at the first side street and disappear, a woman joined her on the sidewalk.
“Hello, I’m Alice Nash. I saw the constable’s car leaving from my shop.” She gestured to the bakery Caitlin had scented just before she’d been accosted. “You must be shaken up. Why don’t you come with me? I’ll make you something hot to drink.”
Caitlin nodded, overwhelmed by the woman’s sympathetic tone. After the last half hour, Caitlin needed to sit and unwind. She’d thaw out for a few minutes, let her hands stop shaking, then return to her car and head back to the estate. Shopping could wait for another day.
A cheerful jingle from the brass doorbell announced their entry. Caitlin paused just inside the door for a moment to take a breath and let her face warm. Delightful scents of bread, sugar, and spices filled the air.
Alice kept going, then paused and turned around to face her. “Have a seat and get off your feet for a few minutes. What would you like? On the house.”
Caitlin judged Alice to be in her mid-forties, but she had a timeless motherly air, reinforced by her generous offer. “On the…oh, thank you. That’s no’ necessary.”
“Nonsense. My treat,” Alice insisted.
Caitlin relented. “Tea would be wonderful. Milk and sugar. And do ye have any scones?”
Alice grinned. “Probably not like you’re used to, but try one and tell me what you think.” She waved, indicating the bakery’s interior. “Sit anywhere. I’ll bring everything to you.” She leaned a hand on the counter and waited for Caitlin to make up her mind.
Caitlin sank into a chair at the nearest cafe table and let herself breathe. Last evening’s argument with Holt Ridley and this morning’s events were not an auspicious start to her trip. She watched Alice bustle around behind the counter while telling herself to stop the nonsense. She sounded like her granny. The guy had only tried to grab her purse. She wasn’t hurt, not seriously. She still had her belongings, and she’d met a knight in shining armor who might, with his recollections of his time in Scotland, ease her homesickness a wee bit, and a friendly baker who offered her the comfort of a warm cup of tea and a scone. On balance, the morning was turning out more positive than negative. Jet lag had to be what was making her shaky.
In moments, Alice brought a tray with a proper teapot and all the trimmings, three small, triangular scones, jam, and whipped cream.
“I made an assumption from your accent,” she said with a nod toward the small bowl of cream. “I don’t have any clotted cream, so I hope this will do. With the strawberry jam, right? It’s all local, from nearby farms.”
“It’s lovely. You’re too generous.”
“Nonsense. You’ve had a rough morning. Are you hurt anywhere?”
Caitlin stirred sugar into her tea, then added a splash of milk, keeping her scratched hand in her lap. “Nay.” She took a sip and let the warmth thaw her all the way down and steady her nerves. Then, while she loaded one of the scones with cream and jam, she gave Alice the full story of the drama she’d just missed.
“Oh, no! How could something like that happen, right here on the square, and in broad daylight? I’m so sorry.” Alice glanced down at Caitlin’s hand. “And you are hurt!”
“Not much. A scratch.”
“Let me get my first-aid kit, and we’ll take care of it.”
Caitlin suspected she’d waste her breath if she tried to argue. Instead, while Alice fetched her supplies from behind her counter, she sampled the scone she’d prepared and groaned at the buttery goodness and the bright, sweet strawberry jam. “These are brilliant!” After another bite, she asked, “What do you know about the veterinarian who helped me? He said his name is Jim Coates.”
“He’s fairly new in town,” Alice replied from the counter while sorting through the first-aid kit’s contents. “Quiet and keeps to himself when not at his office. Ah, here we go.” She returned with a tube of ointment and a bandage. “Antibacterial,” she explained as she dabbed some greasy-looking ointment on the gauze, then gestured for Caitlin to hold out her hand. “Maybe two years ago he opened his practice. Pets mostly, and a few farm animals. He trains service dogs. Or rescue dogs. Something like that.”
Scratch duly covered, Caitlin thanked her, then continued, “I promised him a coffee for coming to my rescue today.”
“Good luck making that happen. So far, I hear he hasn’t been the social sort. All work and no play…” Alice got up and returned to the counter to put away her supplies, then asked, “Where are you staying?”
“At Hampton Dales. I’m appraising the estate’s contents.”
“Oh, well, that must be interesting. I haven’t been in town long, myself, but I’ve already heard the place is haunted or unlucky in some way. Everyone is vague. You know how rumors spread.”
Caitlin nodded, intrigued. “In bits and bobs, aye. So that’s all you know?”
Alice shrugged as the bell over the door jangled. The news about Caitlin’s incident had obviously spread. Several people, many of them nearby shopkeepers, stopped by to express their regret for her trouble and ask about her welfare. The attention embarrassed her, but Alice helped her with names and filled her in about each person after they left. Caitlin resolved not to share any of her own secrets with the chatty baker. No telling what she’d pass along.
Full of comfort food and ears ringing from Alice’s tales, Caitlin bid her new friend goodbye. She’d recovered enough to visit a nearby shop Alice recommended. It was a treasure-trove. A wonderland for kids of all ages. When she spotted a section of vintage board games, she knew she’d come to the right place. Ian and Lara’s twins loved word games. She found Scrabble in several languages and bought one in English and one in German. The twins would have fun with all those long, compound German nouns. Satisfied, she headed back to the estate, this time without being accosted.
* * *
A fter returning the car keys to Farrell and telling him about her adventure in the village, Caitlin decided the best way to put the mugging out of her mind was to lose herself in her work. She entered the estate’s beautiful walnut, bookshelf-lined library and looked around, bemused. How could Ridley not see what she saw in this house? She ran a cotton-gloved hand over the smooth wood and traced a bit of wainscoting with one finger. Either it had been well taken care of or lovingly restored. Shelves to the barrel-vaulted ceiling were filled with books. Old leather-bound tomes, encyclopedias, medical books, everything to satisfy a curious mind, including paperback romance, mystery, science fiction novels, and children’s books. Had Ridley lived here as a child and read those? Somehow, their presence added a more human scale to the otherwise important space.
She turned full circle, overwhelmed by the sheer challenge of this room. One more thing for her to-do list. She must find a librarian who could evaluate all these books. Or she could simply include the library as a whole in her catalog and assign it some fantastic value. Certainly, many of these books were costly, though many were clearly not valuable, except, perhaps, to a collector.
Another crystal chandelier sparkled in the center of the ceiling’s vault. There would be a record of its purchase somewhere. At least there weren’t any paintings to evaluate in here— the bookcases took up nearly every bit of wall space. Sconces above wainscoting took the rest.
She continued her inspection, crawling under the library table to determine its pedigree, overturning chairs and finally, approaching a massive globe in its protective stand. It didn’t take an expert to see the globe’s continents and seas were made of semi-precious stone. Old borders and capitals were picked out in precious gems and identified in etched, flowing, hand-inked script. The entire piece was breathtaking, possibly priceless, and belonged in a museum. Judging by some of the country names and borders, it had to be at least two hundred years old. Gently, she turned the globe, eager to see more of it. If she could determine its provenance, she could go online and find out more about it. Were there any more like it in the world? She’d never seen a globe so beautifully made.
And Holt Ridley wanted to discard it and everything else in this estate. She shook her head. The man was barmy . What would it take to get through to him? To make him see what he had here? Was he so much a product of this century that he could not appreciate beautiful things from the past?
Why did he hate this place so much that he couldn’t wait to be rid of it? All of those were questions she’d love to get answers to but were probably none of her business. Still, if she could somehow make him see what she saw, perhaps he wouldn’t be so eager to sell.
* * *
H olt found Caitlin in the estate’s library, notepad on the table in front of her and pen in hand, a camera beside a pair of white cotton gloves nearby. The thoughtful expression on her face as she wrote made her seem worlds away, and, given the way her gaze kept shifting to a globe in a stand near her chair, perhaps she was.
He didn’t want to disturb her work, but he owed her an apology for the way he behaved at dinner last night. He crossed his arms, leaned against the doorframe and then scuffed his shoe on the parquet floor.
Her gaze tracked around the room until it landed on him. “Hiya. I thought I heard something.”
“I didn’t want to startle you.”
She studied him for a moment before she spoke. “Are you checking up on me?”
Holt waved a hand. “No. I came to apologize for last night. I shouldn’t have been such a jerk.”
“A jerk?”
Did they use the word in Scotland? “Yes. My only excuse is jet lag. I took the red-eye to get here yesterday morning.”
“I see.”
Despite her clipped replies, she seemed to be taking this well. She wasn’t frowning at him, at least. Holt decided to try a little charm. “So, am I forgiven?”
Caitlin set aside her writing materials and stood. “Mr. Ridley, you— or your solicitor— hired me to do a job. I’m doing it,” she added with a wave of her hand, then crossed her arms. “What you do with your estate once I finish is up to you.” A quick frown drew a line between her brows, then smoothed away, as if she decided it wasn’t in her best interest to pick a fight with him.
Still, he was clearly not forgiven. “As true as that is, I’d still like us not to be at odds while you’re here. Why don’t we start by using first names? I’m Holt.”
“Do names matter? Either way, I’ll do what I was hired to do.”
Frustrated, Holt cast about for a way to keep his apology from turning into another argument. Appealing to her expertise seemed to be the best way to deflect this uncomfortable conversation. “What are you working on?”
“This globe. I’m making notes, then I’ll use the pictures I’ve taken to do some further research on it.”
“Why? It looks like any other globe to me.”
“Come closer.” She beckoned, then pulled on the gloves.
Holt straightened and went where she directed him. “It’s pretty, I’ll give you that.”
“As well you should. But it’s more than pretty.” She gave it a gentle spin and pointed out the features that made it special, from the quality of the stones and the artistry of its construction to the historical place names and boundaries.
He’d also noted the bandage on her hand and wondered how she’d hurt it. But she didn’t mention it, and since her gloves hid it, he soon forgot to ask. She clearly knew her subject, and her enthusiasm for it succeeded where her proclamations at dinner last night had not. Holt’s interest was piqued. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s an attractive and thought-provoking piece.” He could say the same about her. Attractive and thought-provoking. And irritating.
“And if my suspicion is correct, it’s unique enough to be the perfect cover image for the catalog of the estate’s furnishings that I’ll put together for the auction.”
Holt nodded. She hadn’t liked his comment last night, but it appeared she’d taken it on board. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. I’m just doing what I was hired to do.” She pulled off the gloves. “If that’s all…?”
Dismissing him, was she? “Not entirely. I’d like to get a sense of the age and condition of the estate’s furnishings. Not in detail, just your general impression. What can you tell me so far?”
Caitlin frowned but resumed her seat and gestured him to one on the other side of the table. “Farrell and Mrs. Smith have done an excellent job maintaining the contents of the estate. It has helped, I suppose, that no young children have resided here in a generation.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mrs. Smith, of course. The house is not, as you say, child-proof. I understand from her that your mother was the latest, and she was in high school during her residence.”
Holt’s belly clenched as he pictured his mother living in this house under her aunt’s thumb. Her parents had died in a car crash early in her sophomore year in high school, and with no other relatives, she’d wound up dependent on her widowed aunt’s begrudged charity.
“For a little over three years, yes.” Holt considered telling her how his mother had been forced to work two jobs to support them, but hadn’t he told Caitlin, just last night, that her responsibilities didn’t include meddling in his personal life?
As she filled him in on what she’d gleaned so far, ticking off points on her fingertips, Holt understood how she’d won this job. In her professional element, her intellect and expertise were undeniable. He’d been attracted to her beauty at first, but her smarts made her even more intriguing. And that was a problem. Helen Conroe had taught him not to get too close to someone in a professional relationship, not to trust their motives. He needed to remember that and keep Ms. Paterson at arm’s length.