Lorie Langdon - Doon

“Adelaide Dell.” Using my best Mary Poppins accent to loosen her up, I added, “Ally said her mum would ‘pop round’ today to see how we were getting on.”

Still clutching the journal and humming, I stepped in time to the door and wrestled briefly with the deadbolt before opening it. The woman on the other side was … surprisingly modern. With a name like Adelaide, I’d pictured a matronly, middle-aged woman with wisps of graying hair escaping from her bun and spectacles hanging from a chain across her bosom. This woman was reminiscent of an aging runway model. Her pale blonde hair brushed her chin in an asymmetric style. And her designer ensemble—wedged pumps, pinstripe suit, and flared navy blue raincoat—reminded me of something I’d seen recently in a Saks Fifth Avenue window. Despite the overcast skies, she didn’t carry an umbrella.

“Good mornin’ girls.” The woman stepped into the foyer and waited for me to close the door before extending her hand. “You must be Mackenna. I’m Addie Dell. Well now, you’ve grown into a lovely young woman.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t remember meeting her during my previous visits, but it had been seven years since the last time I’d been to Alloway. When I shook her hand, I complimented her on the renovations. “Everything is even more amazing than in the pictures.”

“I’m ever so pleased the upgrades are to your liking.” Addie’s regal smile faltered slightly as her sharp green eyes slid past me. “And you, of course, are the friend.”

Following Addie’s gaze, I noticed Vee was still in her candy-striped sleep shorts and pink tank that read EAT SLEEP DANCE REPEAT. Of course, I was no better in my sweat pants and oversized Les Mis T-shirt. Feeling fifty shades of awkward, I hastily introduced my bestie to the woman who’d taken such meticulous care of my late aunt’s legacy.

Addie clasped Vee’s hand in both of hers and gave it a shake. Rather than let go, she lingered, staring with narrow, speculative eyes. “Allyson didn’t tell me you were so … passionate .”

The way she said it—almost like another word had been on the tip of her tongue—made me wonder what she meant. She finally let go of Vee’s hand and focused on her shirt. “You’re a dancer, I see.”

Vee nodded but crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously as I stepped between them. “Sorry, you caught us in our pajamas.”

Addie nodded politely, as if wearing pajamas instead of real clothes was a valid life choice. She pulled a sleek black binder from her designer bag and extended it to me. “Then I’ll just leave this paperwork with you and scoot to my next appointment.”

The “paperwork” was to transfer Dunbrae Cottage into my name. As Addie handed me the documents, her eyes widened. “Is that your aunt’s journal?” When I nodded, she covered my hand, and the book, with her own perfectly manicured fingers. Her touch, cold but gentle, zapped me with a shock of static electricity. “I could’ve sworn that it was boxed up in the attic with the rest of your aunt’s personal effects. How ever did you come across it?”

Vee stepped forward. “I found it in the library. With the books on Scotland.”

Addie arched a thin, perfectly sculpted brow. “Did you now? How very peculiar. I must say, that is a most fortuitous discovery.”

Since we were on the subject of my aunt’s belongs, there was another item I needed to locate. I cleared my throat and Addie turned to me, unleashing a bright smile the exact replica of her daughter’s. “Yes, dear?”

“Uh, my aunt had a green vase that she kept in the library. Do you know what happened to it?”

“I expect you’ll find it in the attic with the rest of Mrs. Lockhart’s personal effects.” She cast a quick glance in Vee’s direction before continuing. “However, if you don’t, I’d consult wee Veronica here. She seems to be particularly clever in the area of finding hidden things.”

With a friendly wave, Addie strode away on her stylish shoes. The minute her candy apple red Mini Cooper roared down the lane, the skies opened up. Cold droplets of rain pelted the earth in an angry staccato, making me anxious to get back to the sanctuary of the library.

As I closed the door, Vee asked, “Do you still want to go down to the Brig o’ Doon today?”

“In this monsoon?” I shook my head. “We’ve got two whole months to play tourist. What I really want is to find Gracie’s vase before we meet Ally tonight.”

“What a coincidence.” Her eyes flicked away and back, but not before I noticed her tracking the journal. “Because I was just thinking you might want to go through your aunt’s things sooner rather than later.”

Although Vee’s words made sense, and my aunt’s belongings did need to get back in their proper place, I worried her suggestion was some kind of ploy to separate me from the journal. I wouldn’t keep it from her forever, just long enough to read it myself and determine if the contents would help or hurt her obsession with Kilt Boy. But in the meantime, I needed her out of the way so I could hide the book. “While I’m doing that, maybe you should take a shower?”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking again to the book in my hand. “I think I might try to take a nap first … I feel like I’m still suffering from jetlag.”

A nap would work as well, but I wasn’t kidding about her needing to bathe. Tucking the journal into my waistband, I replied, “Get some rest then. I’ll wake you up in plenty of time to get clean and pretty for our first evening out in Alloway. Unless you want to show up at the tavern smelling like Stinking Beauty. But if you do, I can guarantee no kilt-wearing hottie is going to come within fifty feet, let alone kiss you.”

Ye all ought ta be verra careful as ye traverse these hallowed roads this eve … or risk goin’ the way o’ Old Meg and lose yer own tail!”

With a flourish of his blue-veined hand, the old man finished his recitation of the Tam o’Shanter to raucous cheers and applause from the crowd. His shriveled face, covered in brown spots, reminded me of the dried-up crabapples that littered our backyard in Indiana. Strike that—Janet and Bob’s yard in Indiana. Grasping my mug of ale, I took a huge swallow, the bitter liquid coating my tongue and flowing in a warm path down to my stomach. With the back of my hand, I swiped the foam from my upper lip and glanced across the table at Kenna. Her auburn hair caught glints of light in the otherwise dim tavern as she bounced in her chair applauding the old actor’s performance. I envied her ability to live in the moment, enjoying every experience without the encumbrance of her past or any worry for her future.

Earlier, when she’d woken me from a three-hour nap, I’d felt like somebody’d roofied my tea. My brain spun with the local legends and folklore I’d read the night before, desperately trying to make some connection to my waking visions. Even now, as I sat shoulder to shoulder with Kenna and Ally at the old Tam O’Shanter Inn, Jamie clung to my thoughts like Spanish moss. I couldn’t help but wonder when he would show up again.

I let my gaze wander to the low beamed ceiling and the walls darkened with three centuries of smoke and grime. This place was straight off the pages of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow . A perfect backdrop for an ethereal visitation. Then again, on closer inspection, the eighteenth-century pretense didn’t quite hold under the harsh flicker of electric torches and our server’s neon-pink gym shoes peeking out from under her peasant skirt.

Returning my attention to the occupants of our cozy corner table, I watched Ally lean back in her seat, eyes half closed, soaking in the atmosphere. Kenna, on the other hand, craned her neck, her back hunched at an odd angle as if she were searching for something she’d dropped. “Hey, Ken, did you lose something?”