Part 8 (2/2)

”By all means, do come by,” he said. ”I've been working all day and would welcome the respite.”

I almost expected to be greeted by Goldilocks when I knocked on the door of the rustic cabin, but I was met by one of the bears instead-or that was the appearance he gave. Gordon Carstairs was a stocky, heavyset man with a head full of iron-gray curls and a beard to match. Bifocals slid halfway down his large nose, and an unlit cigar protruded from a corner of his mouth. It jiggled as he spoke. ”Trying to quit- rotten habit,” he said, removing the gnawed brown stub. ”You must be Vesta's granddaughter-you have the Maxwell look, all right. Come on in and excuse all this hodgepodge. If I ever get through with this project, maybe I'll be able to clear a path through here....”He winked. ”But I doubt it.”

Mr. Carstairs had told me when I called earlier that he was working on a history of the county, and from the look of things, he must have started with Adam and Eve. ”Here, have a seat,” he said, removing a sheaf of papers from an orange plaid sofa, and for the first time I noticed the sleeping dog at my feet. ”Scoot over now, Colonel,” he said, scratching the animal between the ears. ”Make a little room for our guest.

”Looks just like an officer I served under back in my army days,” he explained with an affectionate glance at his pet. ”We've been together a long time, haven't we, old friend?”

The dog, who looked to be a mixture of hound and German shepherd, replied with a yawn and a thump of his tail before resuming his nap. I didn't blame him. The room was close and much too warm, with a wood fire blazing in the big stone fireplace, but the heat didn't appear to bother my two companions.

I declined my host's offer of coffee but was glad to let him relieve me of my coat. If Gordon Carstairs knew enough about Angel Heights to compile a history of the area, he was the very one I wanted to talk with, and if I had to melt into a puddle to accomplish this, then so be it.

I thanked him for seeing me on such short notice and told him about finding the nondescript recipe in the Daisy Delights Daisy Delights cookbook. Gordon Carstairs nodded his head and smiled. ”There were a number of clubs like that for the ladies here in Angel Heights. Daisy was just one of them. Another organization called themselves the Teaset, I believe, and then there were the Pathfinders-a more adventurous bunch- who went on hikes and such.” cookbook. Gordon Carstairs nodded his head and smiled. ”There were a number of clubs like that for the ladies here in Angel Heights. Daisy was just one of them. Another organization called themselves the Teaset, I believe, and then there were the Pathfinders-a more adventurous bunch- who went on hikes and such.”

”I wonder if you've heard of a group called the Mystic Six? My great-grandmother belonged, and I think one of your relatives might have been a member.”

”Oh? And who might that be?”

”I'm not sure if this is the right person or not, and I'm hoping you can help me.” I told him about finding the minutes of the meeting and noting the refreshments they served. ”There were six of them, and Vesta tells me they even had a pin-a daisy like flower with a star in the middle-the same design that's on the alma mater Lucy st.i.tched that's on the wall at the academy.”

”Well, of course! I've noticed that many times-read it, too, but I guess I never thought much about the emblem.” Gordon Carstairs frowned. ”And I've seen it somewhere else, too.... Wish I could remember where.”

”Maybe your mother had a pin like that?” She would have been about the right age if I guessed right.

But he shook his head. ”My mother was from Virginia- lived there until she married, but my father was born and raised here.”

I tried to remember the names on the stones in the cemetery. ”Was Dennis Carstairs your father?”

He laughed. ”Good heavens, no! Dennis was my first cousin, although he was about ten years older than I was. His papa, Robert Carstairs, was my uncle.... Now wait a minute! You must be talking about my cousin Flora. I seem to remember her wearing a pin like that, and she would've been about the right age, too. I think she left here soon after her parents died.”

”Do you know what happened to her?” I asked. ”Her mother was the one who contributed that recipe for nondescripts.”

”Can't remember her coming here much, but her boy Chester was about my age, and he used to visit a lot. Stayed with Aunt Susan and Uncle Robert. Dennis-he was their son-didn't have much to do with him because he was so much older, so the two of us-Chester and I-we palled around together. Crazy about baseball, Chester was. I've often wondered if he might've made it in the big leagues....”Gordon reached down to rubColonel's tummy.

”Might have?”

”Chester was killed in the war-World War Two, and his young wife died of polio soon after. Cousin Flora and her husband raised their little girl; Peggy, her name was. They used to send me pictures.”

”Oh,” I said. I was running out of fingers to keep track. ”Your cousin Flora-where did she live?”

Mr. Carstairs frowned. ”Some little town in Georgia; I haven't been there in ages.” He rose to put another log on the fire, and I wondered if I could remove any more clothing and still keep within the bounds of decency. I slid the scarf from around my neck and stuffed it into my pocket.

”We weren't really related, you know,” he continued, wiping his hands on green corduroy pants that looked as if they'd been used for that purpose before. ”Her daddy's sister, Susan Dennis, married my uncle Robert, but she was always like family to me. When Chester's daughter Peggy married, I went to the wedding there.”

Where? Where? I wanted to plead; instead, I looked at him expectantly. The house smelled of dog and wood smoke, and something else-old grease, I think. I picked up a magazine and flipped through it, letting its pages fan my face. I wanted to plead; instead, I looked at him expectantly. The house smelled of dog and wood smoke, and something else-old grease, I think. I picked up a magazine and flipped through it, letting its pages fan my face.

He must have gotten my message. ”Place where they lived had this statue of a big red apple right in the center of town ... had a girl's name... Amelia? No. Cornelia! The family lived in Cornelia.”

”Do you think she still lives there?” ”Did the last I knew. Sends me a Christmas card every year.” He looked about and kind of groaned. ”I'm sure I have that address here somewhere.” Gordon went to a big rolltop desk in the corner, pulled out a cardboard box, and then shuffled through its contents. ”Here it is: Peggy and Harold O'Connor. Still live on Garden Avenue-been there long as I can remember.”

My host scribbled the information on a sc.r.a.p of paper and gave it to me as I gathered my wraps and headed for the door. ”May I ask why you're so intent on learning about these six women? After all, they all died years ago. What's the fascination?”

I started to lie and tell him I was working on a family history, but he was too intelligent for that. ”I'm digging for old secrets,” I said, and I could see he understood.

It was dark when I stepped outside, and the cold zapped me in the face. It felt great. I was on my way down the steps when Gordon Carstairs called to me from the doorway. ”I remember now where I've seen that flower-star design you described to me. It was on Cousin Flora's tombstone.”

Chapter Eleven.

Irene Bradshaw stuck her head in the door of Papa's Armchair and squinted over her gla.s.ses. ”Well, Gatlin, I hear you've become an heiress. What do you think you'll do with this place?”

”If we can ever get this inventory straightened out, I guess we'll stumble along from there.” Gatlin filled another carton with age-stained volumes. ”I don't know why Otto bothered with all this stuff. n.o.body reads them, and they just take up s.p.a.ce. There's not enough room in here to swing a cat.”

”Swing a cat. Right.” Irene stepped inside and closed the door behind her, pulling off her red beret. ”Small, yes, but cozy, don't you think?”

”A little too cozy for me. Vesta and I are thinking of opening a tearoom-some place where people can get lunch-in that building next door if we can get Dr. Hank to let go of it.” My cousin climbed a ladder and began handing books down to me. ”And Minda's going to help us, aren't you, Minda?”

I gave her my ”we'll see” expression, which she ignored.

”Of course, Vesta's not interested in making sandwiches and ladling up soup; she'll only be a silent partner,” Gatlin continued, setting aside a book with a peeling binding, which she apparently meant to keep.

I couldn't imagine our grandmother being silent about anything, but I couldn't see her pocketing tips and wiping off tables, either.

”Vesta? No, that wouldn't be her cup of tea at all,” Irene said, running her finger along the stacks.

I edged out of the way in case she got in an arm-grabbing mood.

”I guess I'd forgotten she and Otto were in this together.” Irene pulled out a volume with a torn cover and turned it over in her hands without seeming to be aware of it. ”But is there room next door for a restaurant? Looks like a tight squeeze to me.”

”Not if we knock out that wall.” Gatlin gestured behind her. ”Make this all one big room.”

Still Irene shook her head. ”Hank would never sell that building. Why, where would he store his records?”

”Vesta says he made copies of his active patients' files when he sold the practice,” Gatlin told her. ”The rest of them are so out of date, most of the patients have either died or moved away.”

Irene set the book aside. ”Moved away ... I don't know. Have you discussed this with him yet?”

”I think Otto mentioned it, but no, I haven't had much of a chance to do anything since Otto died. Can't see why he'd object, though. It's not like he really needs the s.p.a.ce.”

Gatlin turned away from our visitor and lifted an eyebrow at me. Irene Bradshaw wasn't usually this nosy. Why was she so curious about my cousin's plans for the shop?

”I'm afraid you'd be in for a lot of expense.” Irene moved toward the door and then stopped, smas.h.i.+ng her beret into a wad. ”Don't know when that old place has ever had any work done on it. Must've been built almost a hundred years ago, and there's no telling what condition the roof's in.”

”What in the world was that all about?” I asked after the door closed behind her.

Gatlin made a face and shrugged. ”Who knows? After what happened to Otto, nothing in this town surprises me anymore.”

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