Page 38 of The Treasure House

“We thought we’d bring you a little something to welcome you to the neighborhood,” Roger said warmly, offering the basket. He peeled back the checkered tea towel to reveal a mountain of golden, powdery rolls. “They’re scones.” He was clearly proud of them. “I got the recipe from an Englishman I romanced in my youth. It was the best thing about him.” Roger laughed. “There are also some homemade preserves in there. We thought you’d need some sustenance on moving day. Especially given… well, you know.” He waved his languid hand at the pile of furniture in the corner.

“Isn’t that kind,” Suni exclaimed as I took the basket.

“Thank you so much,” I said. “I wish I could offer you a coffee or… anything. But… well, you know,” I echoed, also waving a hand at the room.

“We do know,” they said in unison. They seemed delighted to be inside the house, knee-deep in my mess.

“There are some treasures in here, though, aren’t there?” Alan said, peering around with curiosity.

“Oh, look at him.” Roger grinned. “Desperate to go ferreting around for treasures. Loves his antiques, you know, and Jake would never let him go poking around.”

“What do you plan to do with it all?” Alan asked, his gaze settling on the walnut wireless radio.

“Um, sort through it first, I suppose. And then sell anything valuable.”

“Well, do keep me in mind if you’re selling things,” Alan said, his bright blue eyes darting back to me.

“Oh stop,” Roger scolded him. “She’ll think we’re here with ulterior motives, and we only came to welcome her.”

Alan’s apple cheeks flushed even redder. “Of course. Welcome. But if you do need any assistance sorting the wheat from the chaff, or a place to start looking for buyers, I’d be only too happy to help.”

“Thank you.” I sighed. “I might take you up on that.”

“Mom! I got it!” Flo came bursting in with her arms full of fluffy ginger cat.

“I told you not to touch it!” I didn’t know whether to rip the possibly rabid cat out of her arms or not. What if it bit or scratched her? Wasn’t that how you got rabies? It was probably best not to make any sudden moves.

“Ah, you found Debussy,” Roger clucked. “Naughty boy, we’ve been looking for you!”

“He’s yours?” Flo’s face fell.

“Not exactly,” Alan said, although he reached out to scratch the cat under the chin. The animal was dangling limply from Flo’s grip, its yellow eyes unperturbed. “Debussy belongs to no one. He’s his own man. He pops in for a visit now and then, though, usually after Jake’s been throwing out those stinking lobster scraps. Marly used to feed him regularly, though, so he tends to be here more than anywhere.”

That was the second time today I’d heard the name Marly. I wanted to know more about the woman who’d lived here, but at present I was distracted by getting the cat out of Flo’s arms.

“He doesn’t have rabies, does he? My mom is convinced all cats have rabies.” Flo gave me a pitying look.

“Not as far as I know.”

“There you go, Mom. You can chill.” Flo hiked the cat up as it tried to slide out of her grasp. “I’m Florence,” she told our visitors, and once they’d introduced themselves she began peppering them with questions about their clifftop hotel. “Do you actually have to cook people breakfast in a bed-and-breakfast, or is it just a name?”

“I’ll go put these… somewhere,” Suni said, taking the basket of scones off me. “Maybe I’ll get Alison to go get some takeout coffees…”

From outside there came a loud curse. Alan and Roger turned, concerned. “I think the man with the scythe may have run into trouble?”

Following the noise, I saw that Wayne had discovered that his new toy was nearly useless. Both he and the scythe had ended up tangled in thorny brambles.

“Maybe you should hire someone to do that?” Roger suggested mildly from behind me.

“Oh, I have. Wayne’s just trying to make a start,” I said, as I tried to pull Wayne out of the brambles.

“Is everything okay?” Mr. Coutts from next door appeared.

“We’re just trying to clear a patch so we can empty some of the furniture out onto it,” Wayne grumbled as he regarded his scratches.

“For the love of God, Wayne, just use the power tools from the hardware store,” Suni exclaimed. “I told you that old thing was useless.”

“Do you need extra hands?” Mr. Coutts asked me.