‘Hi Roxy,’ Loghlen sang as Roxy pulled up a chair by the coffee bar the next day. ‘What can I get ya?’
‘I think I’ll go for a strawberry frappe and one of your No. 7’s,’ she said. ‘Oh, and a newspaper on the side.’ He pushed his bushy orange eyebrows together, curiously, and she quickly added, ‘Just need to look something up.’
‘No problemo.’ He detoured to grab that day’s Herald, which he dropped in front of her, before placing the order.
Roxy thanked him and then carefully studied the paper from cover to cover. She was hoping to read more about the mutilated body but there wasn’t so much as a mention. Lockie returned to the coffeemaker and began frothing the milk.
‘Checkin’ the Dow Jones?’ he asked as she scrutinized the pages.
‘I wish, Lockie, I wish.’ She tossed the paper aside. ‘So, how are you going?’
‘Good, good! Hey, the artist was back.’
Roxy was surprised. ‘Heather Jackson?’
‘The veddy one!’
‘Don’t tell me she came back for one of your world-famous decaf skinny lattes?’
‘’Fraid not!’ He laughed. ‘She was lookin for somethin’ but i’ wasn’t my coffee that’s for sure. I asked her what, but she wouldn’t say.’
‘Bit odd.’
‘Aye. She obviously left somethin’ here but she wouldn’t tell me what. I reckon it was probably her umbrella. She did have a bit of a rummage in the old keg up the front.’ He placed the frothy brew in front of her just as a small bell rang, and he dashed out the back to fetch her sandwich. After taking a giant bite to quiet her stomach down, Roxy asked, ‘But why come all this way for a crummy umbrella?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said, waving to another patron who had just entered. ‘P’raps she’s just cheap? What did you do with it, anyway?’
‘What?’
‘The umbrella.’
Roxy shrugged. ‘God, I can’t even remember. I think it’s at my house.’
‘Well you’d better ge’ it back to her. She looked frantic enough. And I can’t think wo’ else she woulda left. And here—’ he grabbed a shiny black umbrella from behind the counter. ‘If you can’t find it, give her this one. She seemed desperate for one and I can’t have her thinking we’re a pack of thieves. This one’s brand new, even cost me a bi’, but she’s welcome to it.’
As he wandered off to tend some tables, Roxy sat nibbling her focaccia sandwich and wondering at Heather’s behavior. Why wouldn’t she simply tell Lockie what she was looking for? It seemed very odd, but then, Heather was proving to be stranger and stranger by the day.
‘Enough about her,’ she thought, reaching for her smartphone and scrolling through her contact list. It was several rings before it answered and Beatrice Musgrave’s voice was uncharacteristically high pitched.
‘It’s Roxy Parker, Beattie, are you okay?’
‘Oh! Miss Parker. Yes, dear, I’m fine. No, I’m wonderful. It’s been quite a day!’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, I’ve had the most surprising visitor ... you wouldn’t believe.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes! My long-lost ... oh, hang on a minute.’ The phone was suddenly muffled and Roxy strained to hear what was going on, but only the scratchy sound of palm against phone could be detected. After a good minute or so, Beatrice cleared her throat and spoke again.
‘Look I have to go, Roxanne, I’ve got someone here. I’ll tell you all about it the next time we meet. Are you fine to come in on Monday?’
‘Absolutely. Are you sure everything’s alright?’
Beatrice laughed heartily. ‘Of course, yes! Now everything is perfect. Sorry about the other day, dear, I was a little worried, but now it seems she doesn’t mind.’
‘Who doesn’t mind?’
‘My daughter, dear. Oh, I really have to run. We’ll get it all out, once and for all, when we meet on Monday. 9:30 a.m. still okay?’
‘Fine, yes.’
As Roxy hung up, a mixture of excitement and trepidation ran down her spine. Not only was there something strange in the older woman’s voice, as far as Roxy knew Beatrice Musgrave didn’t have a daughter.