Holt laughed, and Caitlin quickly joined in. She’d been teasing. Well, she’d succeeded in lightening the mood, if that had been her intention in changing the subject from his painful past. He was glad she cared enough to try.
“Then we’ll do as you say,” Holt promised, wondering if, behind her teasing, there was a bit of truth. The glint in her eyes said yes.
* * *
The next morning, Caitlin grabbed a small notepad and black marker pen before she went upstairs. Careful to avoid the heavy-duty extension cord running up the stairs, she made the climb to the attic. Holt was already there and had wrestled the apothecary cabinet into the open space closest to where it had been and arranged their lights around it.
Her granny might have had a good Gaelic word for the feeling that filled Caitlin when Holt talked about his family. All Caitlin knew was that Holt’s story felt like a portent. For him, and perhaps, given the ice that had skittered down her spine, for her, too. She knew her decision to tackle the apothecary cabinet had thrown Holt, but though she wasn’t sure why it had seemed so important, in that moment, she had acquired a quest. Even though he’d once told her he didn’t want her meddling in his personal life, they were well beyond that now. She needed to discover what she could about Holt’s family, the curse he’d mentioned and tried to scoff at, and his missing father. She’d told Holt the truth. She had a feeling about the apothecary cabinet.A Scottish feeling. She wouldn’t wait any longer to examine it.
“Good morning,” she greeted him, glad to see him taking an active interest in the attic’s contents. She waved a hand at the cabinet and lights around it. “You were up early.”
“I had to be to get here before you. Eager to reveal its secrets?” He hooked a thumb toward the chest.
After setting her burdens down on a nearby tabletop, Caitlin quirked an eyebrow. “Apparently, I’m not the only one. Did you move that by yourself?”
“I could say yes, but I’d be lying. I didn’t want to risk damaging it, so I recruited Farrell’s help.” Holt shrugged. “You did say you had a feeling about this piece.”
“I did. I still do. Thank you for being careful with it. But you’ll have to be patient a few minutes longer.” She bent over the table and tore off single sheets from her notepad, then numbered each one until she had enough for each drawer. “That cabinet is so old, the drawers may fit only in their current slot, so I want to make sure each goes back where it belongs.”
“Without damaging them,” Holt said, clearly understanding her concern.
She opened the top left drawer far enough to slip the number one inside. “Exactly. You can help by putting the numbers in order in the rest of the drawers while I take a look at the back. Don’t open them any farther than you need to, to slip the number inside.”
“Like you did. But why focus on the back?” Holt took the stack she handed him and turned to the second drawer in the top row. He tugged it gently open and slipped in the number two sheet.
His attention to her concerns impressed her. “I’m going to do this methodically and carefully,” Caitlin told him as he closed that drawer, nodded, and reached for the next. “Because of my feeling, ye ken.” Satisfied he understood, she grabbed the torch and stepped around the cabinet, moving the light over its sides and back, looking for cracks, gouges, and any other damage. Given its apparent age, it appeared to be in remarkably good shape. A squeak and soft oath alerted her. “Problem?”
Holt was pushing on the rightmost drawer in the row above the base row. “I think I jammed this one. Sorry.”
Caitlin joined Holt at the front. “Leave it for now. It’s probably warped. Do the last row, and we’ll get started.”
When Holt finished, Caitlin pulled a few drawers from the top row and set them on the table she’d been using as a workbench. Before she could finish with that row, he asked, “What are you doing? I could have taken them out if I knew that’s what you wanted.”
She glanced at him, then resumed her task. “I didn’t want them out…then. I needed to see how sturdy the outer box was, and to look for problems. Now, I want the drawers out to inspect them, but also to be able to get to the interior.” Holt frowned and muttered something about wasted effort that Caitlin chose to ignore. “If you have something else to do, go ahead. I don’t need help with the rest of this.”
“Okay.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a videoconference with the city in an hour to get ready for.” He turned toward the head of the stairs, then turned back. “Call if you need anything.”
She didn’t bother to look up. “I will.”
“Or scream if you see any spiders.”
Caitlin planted her hands on her hips and answered his grin with the glare she used on her cousin Ian’s adopted twins when they were trying to pull something over on her. “Again, not funny.”
With a smirk, he went down the steps.
Caitlin watched him go, enjoying the way his shoulders moved as he descended, and the wave in his hair, picked out by the light coming up the stairs from the room below. His grin, so rarely displayed, had captivated her, but as Holt disappeared from view, she knew she’d better get back to work. By the time he finished his call, he’d want to know what progress she’d made. Sitting up here thinking about his smile, his shoulders, his— nay, she had to stop. Determined, she turned back to the cabinet and put Holt out of her mind. She finished pulling all the drawers, stacking them on the worktable to study later for variations in construction, materials, size, weight, wear, and so forth. But first, she wanted to know what shining her torch into the interior of the cabinet could tell her.
She didn’t notice anything unusual in its construction. And fortunately, no critters had taken up residence. She smelled old wood and dust, nothing more. Scents of previously stored herbs or spices had long since faded. Each cubbyhole was large enough for her hand, so starting with the top row, she reached in and felt for loose framing, rotting wood, or insect damage. Often, she would find things that way, things that were not easily seen by the naked eye. She risked splinters, but some discoveries were worth a little discomfort. Still, everything seemed remarkably uniform for hand-made furniture, until she reached the space where the drawer stuck when Holt tried to close it.
She might have missed it, but in withdrawing her hand, she scraped the top of the center cubby and felt rough wood, not the smooth plank she’d expected. Crouching down, she shone the bright torch beam at the top of the cubby. She couldn’t quite make out the damage there, but the color of the wood seemed off, and she suspected something kept in this drawer had repeatedly scraped the bottom of the shelf above it.
She reached in and traced the gouges with her fingertips. Not parallel. Some ran perpendicular, some at angles. A thrill ran through her, raising goose flesh as she realized what she might be feeling. Writing! Something had been scratched or carved in what felt like a block set into the wood. But what? And how to see it?
She needed a hand mirror. And she’d seen one, but where? She sat back on her heels and thought for a moment. Aye, the great-aunt’s chamber. One graced her dressing table. It might be too big, but if so, perhaps Mrs. Smith would know where to find another.
As she headed for the steps, she told herself it might only be a maker’s mark in an unusual location, or something on the board from before the cabinet was made. But it might also be more.
Then she smacked her forehead.Eedjit!She didn’t need a mirror. She turned back to the cabinet and opened the camera on her phone, checked that the flash was on, then slid it into the cubby, held her breath, and took the picture.
