Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
T wo mornings later, Caitlin had gotten nowhere researching the curse, and Holt had made himself scarce. Working, he told her and waved her away if she happened to catch him on his laptop in the office.
This morning, Caitlin was happy for the diversion of a trip into the village on an errand for Mrs. Smith. Before going to the market, she dropped by the bakery to get pastries and two coffees. As Alice boxed up two luscious chocolate croissants, she told the baker where she was headed. “I still haven’t paid my debt, but I have a good feeling that today is the day to catch Doc Coates for a few minutes.”
“Good luck. I hope he enjoys these. If he does, tell him to come by sometime for more. My treat.” She winked.
Caitlin laughed and promised to deliver the message.
When she arrived at the vet’s office, the reception area was full of anxious pet parents waiting for an appointment or dropping off their fur-babies. Caitlin explained her errand to the receptionist, Rachel, who took her back to the Doc’s office without delay.
He stood when she entered, but she waved him back to his seat. He looked knackered.
“Ye are a hard man to catch sitting still,” she told him after Rachel left them. “But I always pay my debts. I promised ye coffee, and since there’s been a delay, I’ve added interest in the form of a treat from Alice’s shop around the corner. I hope ye like chocolate.”
He gave her a tired smile. “Who doesn’t? This wasn’t necessary, but thank you. The coffee is welcome. I’ve was up half the night with a horse…well, I doubt you want to hear the details.”
Caitlin held up a hand. “I won’t take up any more of your time, then. Your waiting area is full.”
“No rush,” Doc said. “My techs will let me know when they need me. I appreciate you giving me an excuse to take a few minutes to revive.” He pulled a croissant out of the bag, bit into it, and smiled. “You’re a lifesaver. This is great. The bakery is around the corner?”
“Alice Nash’s place, yes. It’s so close, I don’t know how you’ve missed it.”
He shrugged. “Work.” He gestured for her to take a seat in one of the two chairs opposite his desk and leaned back into his.
“How does your wife like the crazy hours you keep?”
Doc shook his head. “Not married. Never have been.” He stared into his coffee cup. “Missed my chance years ago.”
Caitlin found it hard to believe a good-looking man, and a veterinarian, too, had not been deluged with offers from attractive women. “It sounds like there’s a story there.”
He nodded. “A sad one.”
“I’m sorry.” She needed to change the subject. She came here to pay a debt, not make him miserable. “Tell me, then, how did you find yourself in Scotland?”
“It was a few years ago.” He took a gulp of coffee and leaned back in his chair. “I was still in the Army.” He glanced from Caitlin to the second coffee.
His meaning was clear. He wasn’t in a hurry. Caitlin picked it up and settled in to listen.
“You take the other croissant, too.” He favored her with a grin then continued, “I did some training with mountain rescue teams in your Munros.”
“So ye ken what we call our higher hills.” Caitlin bit into the second croissant and let the chocolate flow happily over her tongue.
“Over three thousand feet, yes. You have more than two hundred of them, so there’s ample opportunity for people intent on bagging another Munro to get into trouble, especially as fast as the weather can change up there.”
When she finished chewing, she asked, “How many did you bag?”
“Only a dozen or so. We spent most of the time on Ben Lomond and Ben Nevis, working with dogs to track lost hikers.”
“That sounds exciting. Do you miss it?”
“Not the word I’d use. Gratifying. Sometimes tragic. Deceptively dangerous. But yes, I miss it. You know, I’m still doing some search-and-rescue training here. Someday I hope to open a full-scale canine training center.”
“So you weren’t there to train with them…”
He nodded and finished chewing the last bit of his croissant. “I trained them to work with dogs I also trained. Their dogs.”
“Which were easier to train? The men or the dogs?”
He burst into laughter just as the receptionist, Rachel, leaned in the door.
“Sorry to interrupt, but you’re needed in Treatment Two.”
Caitlin dropped her unfinished croissant into the bakery bag and tucked it in her purse. “Thanks for taking a few minutes with me. I’d love to hear more, but I’ll get out of your way.”
“Stay here and finish yours.” He moved around the desk and paused by the door. “Thanks for the coffee and chocolate. I appreciated the break.”
She’d have to tell Alice he wasn’t unsocial at all, just busy, and he had some interesting stories to tell. Maybe Alice should waylay him the next time she saw him. Caitlin smiled at the thought of playing matchmaker for the two of them. Alice might be just the woman the never-married, chocolate-loving Doc needed.
She sipped her coffee and fished her croissant out of the bag, then took a bite while she looked around the office. As much as she liked Holt Ridley, as much as she wanted to end his family’s curse and see him happy, if she was going to make it home for Hogmanay, she was leaving here in another week. Not a lot of time to play Santa’s helper. Not and finish the job she’d been hired to do.
Rachel popped back into the office. “Want to see some new puppies?”
“Aye, of course.” Caitlin swallowed the last of her coffee.
“We’ve got five, and they’re beyond adorable. Come on.” With a wave, Rachel led her to the back where animals were boarded while their owners were away. Off in a quiet corner, a box guarded by the mother dog held squealing pups.
“She’s been out,” a vet tech told Rachel before he led another leashed dog out the back door.
Caitlin couldn’t resist the puppies. “Oh, how cute!” She bent down to pet the mother while telling her softly that she wouldn’t bother her babies, just look at them. She glanced around at her friend. “How do you not pick them all up and squeeze them?”
Rachel grinned. “I have to admit sometimes I do. When Mama, there, is outside taking a break. She’s just back from one, or she’d be in the box with them. Oh look! She’s going to feed them.” Sure enough, while Caitlin’s attention was on Rachel, the mother dog had hopped into the box and stretched out by her pups. One by one, squealing, noses twitching, they made their way to her and suckled.
Caitlin squatted and stared to her heart’s content at little pink noses, tips of tongues that peeked out, then disappeared, tightly closed eyes, and big round puppy bellies. “I could watch them for hours. I wish I could take them all back to Scotland with me, but they wouldn’t be old enough by the time I leave in a fortnight— and then there’s that pesky long quarantine.”
“A fortnight?”
“Ah, sorry. Two weeks, give or take.”
Rachel’s dismay was plain in her tone and furrowed brow. “So soon?”
She pushed to her feet. “I might have gone sooner, but Holt talked me into staying to see an American Christmas. But after that, I want to get home in time for Hogmanay— New Year’s to you.” And since she’d convinced Holt to fly the cabinet to her cousin Ian, she was eager to see it in its home. Not that there would be any way to tell if it lifted the curse. Only time would reveal that.
“Are you going to miss Christmas with your family?”
Caitlin pictured Ian’s new family and smiled. “They’ll manage quite well without me. Besides, Hogmanay is a bigger party in Scotland, and I’ll be home for that.”
“We’ll miss you, you know.”
“I’ll miss all of you, too. At least we can stay in touch online. You can send me pictures of these wee bairns.”
“I thought I heard voices back here,” Doc Coates said as he entered the room. “Ah, the puppies. Cute, aren’t they?” He leaned over the box, giving the mother a quick inspection, then each of the puppies.
“You know they are.”
The bell over the front door chimed, and Rachel left them to take care of their next customer.
“Can I ask you a question?” She didn’t know what he would say, but if she was delicate, he might answer. Her conversation with Mrs. Smith about Holt’s missing father gave her an idea she would pass on to Holt. Surely some of the other older residents in the area might remember him and recall his mother’s boyfriend’s name. If Holt found more of his old friends, he might learn something. Caitlin was about to exhaust her supply of acquaintances in town. Alice was no help. She’d moved to the area only a few years ago. But Doc Coates used to live here and seemed to be the right age to have known Holt’s mother. Maybe he could tell her something.
“You just asked one.” He grinned.
“Besides that.” Caitlin waved a hand. Her suspicion might be totally unfounded, but now that she thought about his history in town, she had a feeling about Doc Coates. It might be the daftest idea she’d had yet. But was his grin not quite Holt’s, but not completely different? “You said you lived here for a short time before you went into the service and had your career. You must have traveled all over the world. Why did you come back?”
His expression turned pensive. “None of the places I’d been stationed appealed to me after I retired. I was a med tech in the service but spent a lot of time with K9 units, which gave me a head start on vet school. So I did that, then started looking for a place to settle. I liked this area, or maybe just the girlfriend I left behind.”
He looked uncomfortable enough to make Caitlin wonder if he’d left behind the love of his life. “What happened to her?”
“I came back once on leave and tried to see her. Her aunt told me she was gone. When I tried to convince her to tell me where Jenny was, the aunt claimed she’d died, then closed the door in my face without telling me what happened to her.”
Jenny? Her aunt ? Caitlin’s pulse leapt, then slowed as she pictured a younger Jim Coates facing the door that had just been slammed in his face. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. Anyway, none of our school friends knew anything. If something had happened to Jenny Cooper, they should have known. Something bad would have made the papers. She just disappeared, and my leave was up. I left town and never looked back until the village vet retired at the right time for me to step in and take over the practice.”
Jenny’s last name was not Ridley, but there was an aunt, just like Holt’s mother had an aunt in her life. Caitlin didn’t want to seem too eager to find out about his past love life, so she asked, instead, “How did you find out about this job?”
“Online, like everything else these days. I checked the local paper’s web edition every now and again. Always hoped I’d see some mention of what happened to Jenny. I happened to see an article about the vet’s impending retirement and got in touch. Coming back permanently was a tough decision. A lot of memories here, not all good.”
“But you came anyway.”
“I always wondered what would have happened if I’d stayed in town. For a couple of years, even after what the aunt told me, I tried to find Jenny, but couldn’t, and eventually gave up. She was the one that got away.”
Without being obvious, she tried to study Jim Coates with Holt in mind while he talked. She thought there might be a resemblance, but her memory, or her sudden wishful thinking for a Christmas miracle and a joyful father-son reunion, were probably playing tricks on her.
Could it be? She turned to regard the puppies as she smoothed a damp hand over her pants leg. What if at some point Jenny’s name changed from Cooper to her aunt’s, Ridley, perhaps as a shot at the aunt who tossed her out on the street? Or if the aunt, as guardian, had done it before the pregnancy became known. If Jenny did move away, but to a nearby village, as a single mother, she probably would not have stayed in touch with the same circles Jim Coates knew her to frequent from high school. And if she was Holt’s mother, what a shame Doc Coates hadn’t found her— and his son— before she died for real.
Coates moved to the box and squatted next to Caitlin, studying the puppies as they nursed. He reached out to pet the mother before pushing to his feet. “I always hoped her aunt had lied and Jenny married, changed her name, and moved somewhere with someone who made her happy.”
His empathy for the animals in his care was obvious to Caitlin. His wish for his old girlfriend reinforced her good impression of him. But how would he react if he found out what Caitlin hoped was the truth? He’d said Jenny was the one that got away. Would he be open to the possibility that he had a grown son by the woman who was the love of his life? And who could tell him? Caitlin didn’t think it was her place to break news like that, but so far, she was the only one who might know the rest of Jenny’s story.
She needed a good picture of him. Or a DNA sample. Not that she would know what to do with one if she got it. But a paternity test would confirm any relationship with scientific certainty. In the meantime, she’d just have to have faith that it would all work out. And soon.
Rachel came back in before Caitlin came up with a response.
“Did you tell Doc how soon you’re leaving? I can’t believe it.” Then she perked up. “Hey, let me get a picture of the two of you, so you have that to remember us by.”
Caitlin grinned. Just what she needed. “And then the doc can take one of you and me,” she added to be polite, and because Rachel had become a friend. But she really wanted that picture of him.
They posed using Caitlin’s phone, then Caitlin made her excuses and left, prized photo safely in her possession.
* * *
C aitlin spent the next several hours studying the photo Rachel had taken of Dr. Coates, doodling on her notepad, then writing more names, drawing connecting lines, and getting nowhere. Could he be the father missing from Holt’s life? She just couldn’t be sure. About him, or about the picture of Mrs. Smith’s son in the kitchen. Deciding she wanted another look at it, she clipped her notepad under the photo of the carved curse and tucked them under a pile of paperwork. Then she got up and headed for the kitchen, intent on drowning her frustration with Holt’s family history in something deliciously diverting. “Mrs. Smith, any chance you have any of your special hot chocolate ready? I could use some about now.”
The housekeeper gave her a kind smile. “Sure, dear. Have a seat, and I’ll warm it for you. What’s wrong?”
Caitlin dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Nothing, really. And everything. I’ve found some things that may be important to Holt’s family history but aren’t actually proof of anything.”
Mrs. Smith poured from a pitcher in the fridge into a large mug, popped it in the microwave and tapped a few buttons. Its whir started up, and in moments, a comforting, rich scent of chocolate and spices filled the air.
Caitlin inhaled and felt the tension ooze from her shoulders. “That recipe of yours is pure magic,” she said. “Just the scent makes me feel better.”
“Christmas magic does that, you know.”
“I didn’t, until now. You might send a mug of this to Holt. I suspect he could use some Christmas magic right about now, too. He doesn’t want to believe in the Scottish kind.”
“Perhaps later. I believe he went with Farrell to the garages to inspect the antique autos. His great-aunt kept her husband’s collection, though I’ve no idea why. She never drove them.” Mrs. Smith turned at the beep and took a steaming mug from the microwave. “Now, what do you mean by he doesn’t believe in the Scottish kind ?” She set the chocolate in front of Caitlin. “Let that be for a minute or you’ll scald your tongue.”
Caitlin nodded. “I found evidence in a piece of furniture in the attic that may have something to do with why Holt’s family has such a sad history.”
Mrs. Smith’s eyebrows lifted to her hairline. “What kind of evidence?”
“If I’m right, a curse made by a Scottish healer, a wise woman, who lost her love to the English, either during Culloden, a battle that led to the destruction of the Highland way of life in the mid-1700s, or soon after. That sort of curse can be powerful.”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Smith leaned back against the sink apron and crossed her arms. Her tone didn’t convey incredulity or sympathy. Just…resignation?
Caitlin leaned forward and rested her chin on her fist. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’ve taken care of this family for many years. I knew Holt’s great-aunt’s father, though I was just a young girl. No mother, I’m sorry to say. She died young. The lack soured Amelia as a child, and she grew even more sour the older she got. As did the loss of her husband a few years after they married, before they could be blessed with children. I think she knew something wasn’t right.”
So the curse had followed the great-aunt’s line, not Holt’s great-uncle’s? Then jumped to his brother, Holt’s grandfather, when the great-aunt had no children? And no other direct relations? How many times down through the years had that happened? And how distant from Holt and his mother was the relative who had originally owned— and cursed— the apothecary cabinet? Holt might never agree, but Caitlin would love to hire a genealogist to trace the family connections back to 1746. “You knew Holt’s mother. She lived here for a while.”
“Of course. She and my son were friends.” She glanced around at the picture she kept on the windowsill and studied it for a moment, then turned back to Caitlin. “And I met that boy she was seeing one time before…well, he went off. Joined the military, I heard. Probably killed somewhere far away.”
Caitlin’s heart sank. For Mrs. Smith’s loss, and for Holt’s. She’d been so set on helping Holt reunite with the father he’d never known, she hadn’t considered that he might really be dead. “Do you remember his name?”
“Hmmm. I haven’t thought about him in decades. Johnny? Jimmy. Maybe Gene? Something with a ‘J’ sound.”
“What about his last name?”
Mrs. Smith shook her head. “If I ever knew it, it’s long gone. And what does it matter? Holt has his mother’s name. Her aunt’s inheritance, though that’s small compensation for the way she treated that girl. End of story.”
Caitlin sipped her hot chocolate quietly for several minutes while Mrs. Smith bustled around the kitchen, then excused herself. Caitlin remained, inhaling the comforting scent of the dregs of her cocoa. She needed to talk to Holt. He’d never actually told her his mother’s first name, or whether she’d ever gone by a last name other than the one she’d given to him. Doc Coates’s story ran too closely parallel to the little Holt knew about his origins for her to be wrong in questioning his past. If they weren’t father and son, they were part of the biggest coincidence she’d ever seen.
After Mrs. Smith left, Caitlin considered what the housekeeper thought she knew about Holt’s father and her supposition that he had died in the military. Calling up her picture of Doc Coates on her phone, she held it up so she could see the photo on the windowsill at the same time. She studied both to fix their features in her mind and muttered, “Maybe. Maybe not.” Unable to come up with an answer, she headed for the attic to see what other mysteries she might unearth. She’d talk to Holt later.
* * *
L ooking at antique cars got Holt thinking about what else his family had held onto down through the ages. He’d had been doing some reading about the 18th Century Jacobite rising, not that he’d tell Caitlin her theories had intrigued him. He was appalled by the violence against the Scottish people following Culloden in 1745. What he read lent credence to Caitlin’s assertion that because of a love lost in that epic battle or its aftermath, someone might carve a curse into an apothecary cabinet they expected to be stolen. Whether a curse could be real or have any real effect was debatable. But the more he read and the more he recalled those sad, empty eyes in the photos in the trunk, the more he entertained the possibility his mother had been telling the literal truth.
He decided he wanted another look at Caitlin’s photos of the carving and her notes. She’d gone into town earlier, but he knew she had printed out the composite she’d created. If he could find that, he wouldn’t have to invade her privacy by searching for it on her laptop, something, after working side-by-side with her, he knew he could do with no technical impediment. He grimaced. Who didn’t password-protect their computers? Caitlin must either be very trusting or from an area where crime, especially cybercrime, was non-existent. He went up to the attic first, thinking she’d left all her research with the cabinet where she’d been working. He didn’t find anything there, so he came downstairs to the office.
The table Caitlin used looked a mess. She’d piled papers and print-outs of pictures of items in the house haphazardly at the corners then filled the middle with random lists, scraps of notes, and who knew what.
Holt went around to her chair, surveyed the mess, and realized she had a system. He’d find what he wanted in one of the piles since, based on what he saw on top of each of them, they seemed to be stacks that contained more detailed information about specific items of furniture. He thumbed through the first, careful not to disturb the order in which she’d placed things. He hated when his assistant tried to find something on his desk, or worse, took it into her head to organize the papers on it. He didn’t want to be guilty of doing the same to Caitlin.
Not finding what he wanted, he moved to another corner, but something in the middle of the table caught his eye— the glossy edge of a photo. Mostly covered by another sheet that contained a to-do list, a bit of rough wood and two letters of the carved inscription were visible.
Holt picked up the list, intending to study the photo beneath it, but couldn’t resist the chance to see what Caitlin had left to do before she returned to Scotland. He chuckled at some of the things she listed, including gift ideas for her family in Scotland, then noticed his name on her shopping list.
He sank into the chair behind him. She was going to give him a Christmas present? She didn’t need to do that. Worse, it meant he needed to shop for something for her but had no idea what she’d like. And what about Farrell and Mrs. Smith? He’d been so focused on finishing the work here and returning to California, he had forgotten all about the holiday. As the new owner, he would be expected to provide some sort of holiday bonus or gifts, wouldn’t he?
He should talk to Mrs. Smith and find out what she’d told Caitlin about his family history. That might give him a chance to find out what she and Farrell had received from his great-aunt in the past for the holidays. If not, he’d bet Caitlin already knew. Not that he wanted her to think taking care of the help was an afterthought. But she would understand his focus being on the estate, its contents, and the mystery she’d uncovered rather than on Santa, peppermint sticks, and gaily wrapped packages. Somehow, the two did not go well together.
He made a mental note to call the lawyer and see if his great-aunt had left any instructions about holiday gifts and bonuses for the staff or, more importantly, if she had provided for their retirement in the event he sold the estate. He should have questioned that much earlier and suspected some of Caitlin’s glowing comments about them had been intended to make him recall his responsibilities to them. For a change, she’d been too subtle. For the immediate issue of the holiday, if all else failed, he could just ask them what their employer used to do for them, but he disliked putting them on the spot and worse, making them feel they had been overlooked. He was usually better with people than that.
While he castigated himself, he set aside the to-do list and noticed a paperclip on the picture of the carved inscription. He picked up the packet to see what Caitlin had clipped with it. Several scraps of random-looking notes about the family curse, a rough genealogy chart going back to his great-aunt’s parents that listed Mrs. Smith’s name to the side, her son’s underlined below it, and one other name she’d underlined several times along the margin. Both were connected to a notation saying “Holt’s mother” with a plus sign. What the hell? Did the veterinarian have something to do with his family history? His mother? Had Mrs. Smith told her things about his family that Holt was not privy to? About her son and his mother? Caitlin had asked him if he wanted to find his father. Then, he hadn’t been sure if he did, but Caitlin clearly hadn’t dropped the idea.
He slapped the packet down on the desk, shifting the top items in the corner piles with the breeze he created. He stood and straightened them, then checked the floor around the desk to make sure nothing had flown off. While he did that, he thought about why he’d come east. He’d wanted to cut all ties as quickly as possible, so he hadn’t inquired about his mother, her friends, or anything else that would have created more connections to this place. Was he ignoring an opportunity? Though he’d asked her to stay out of his personal life, perhaps Caitlin had been asking the questions he should have been. Not just focusing on his mother’s past but trying harder to find out about his father.
He picked up the packet again and flipped through it. The last page floored him. A list of local labs doing DNA testing. What was she up to? In order to have something to test, she had to have someone in mind to test. Mrs. Smith? Doc Coates? The way Caitlin underlined his name, she must think him important. Holt pictured the veterinarian. Could they be related? Holt didn’t see a strong resemblance, and certainly not one that would imply a father/son relationship. So why had Caitlin connected the vet’s name with a note about Holt’s mother? And underlined his name several times?
At a loss, Holt set the to-do list aside and studied the composite photo. Weren’t curses usually pronounced in Latin? Or had he been watching too many movies? He didn’t speak more than enough French to order a bottle of Beaujolais and ask for directions to the men’s room, so he couldn’t say whether the language in the carving was consistent with what was spoken in the 18th century or a more modern attempt at a hoax. Clearly, he wasn’t going to glean any insights from the photo other than those he and Caitlin had already discussed.
Frustrated, he replaced the photo packet under the to-do list and sat back. He’d come in here to look into one mystery and found another. What did a genealogy chart, a list of DNA testing labs and several notations of names have in common with a photo of a presumed ancient French curse in a piece of 18th century Scottish furniture? Besides being evidence that Caitlin was delving into his family history? He clenched his jaw, uncomfortable despite knowing he’d set her on this path. Still, she was taking it much further than he’d expected. He didn’t know what to do about any of it. There were no hard-and-fast answers to be found in ancient family history. They didn’t have enough information, and historical records from the time period of the carved curse were, as far as Holt’s brief foray into research let him suppose, sketchy at best.
That left his meddling appraiser. The simplest way to an explanation of what Caitlin was up to with her underlined names and list of labs would be to ask her. And then she’d know he’d been snooping on her desk. She’d probably be pissed. Or maybe not. Maybe she’d be pleased that he was taking enough of an interest in his background and family history to look through her research and question what she was doing. He snorted out a laugh. Sure, she would.