Gunns & Roses Read Online Free Page B

when running a hardware store in a state full of committed do-it-yourselfers. Annie opened the bag and drew out the sporran.
    “Ah, a sporran,” Mike leaned closer to it. “Sealskin.”
    “Yes, that’s what Alice thought it was,” said Annie. She opened the clasp. “The items inside are what brought me here.” She reached in to pull out the bands, setting them on the counter in a row. “Do you know what these are?”
    Mike picked up one of the bands and examined it for a moment, silent. “Ayuh. These are ferrules, connector pieces for a bagpipe.” Before he could say more, the front door of the store swung open and Reed Edwards, Stony Point’s chief of police, filled the doorway. “Oh, excuse me, Annie,” Mike said.
    “Of course, Mike.” Annie turned around to face Reed, looking up a fair distance to reach his face. “Good morning, Chief Edwards.”
    The chief was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, a far cry from his work uniform. Annie thought he looked even more like a lumberjack than usual.
    “Morning, Annie. Everything quiet at Grey Gables these days?”
    “Yes, except when Boots wants her food, or Alice plays a practical joke.” Annie had had to call on Stony Point’s small police department for assistance so many times she was almost embarrassed. Thankfully, Reed and his police officers had always kept her safe while maintaining general good humor.
    “What can I get for you, Chief?” Mike asked.
    Reed waved him off. “Just some things for softball field maintenance, Mike.” The police chief came by his dark tan honestly. When he wasn’t vigilantly watching over the citizens and property of Stony Point, he coached softball and spent time on the water. “Nothing I can’t get for myself.” He disappeared between two rows of shelves.
    Mike and Annie focused their attention back on the ferrules. “Can you tell me anything about the engraving, Mike? Any idea what the significance of it might be?”
    Mike’s mustache quirked up on one side as he considered the symbol. “Bagpipe owners can have their ferrules engraved with anything that will fit on it, according to the skill level of the engraver.” He set one of the ferrules on its side and gave it a little spin. “Whoever engraved these is a master. Sometimes a clan badge or symbol is used, or a military insignia or something significant to the pipe owner.”
    “Have you ever seen this bird and rose symbol before?” asked Annie.
    Mike stopped the spin of the ferrule, picked it up and squinted at it. “No, I haven’t. Wish I could be more help.”
    “Well, you gave me a place to start, Mike.” Annie scooped the ferrules into the sporran. “This is a long shot, but have you ever seen the design on the sporran clasp?” She closed the sporran and handed it to him.
    Mike stared at the clasp. Before he could say anything, the back door of the store opened with a bang, forcing everyone’s attention to the source of the noise. Trace Malone, his hair—a shade lighter than his sister’s—almost covering his hazel eyes, grabbed the door as it bounced off the wall and shut it more gently than he’d opened it. “Sorry, Dad.”
    Mike set his lips into a straight thin line. “Clock battery needs replacing? Aisle 4. Back room needs work.”
    Trace glanced out the front window at his sister, his shoulders dropping. “OK, Dad.” He knew better than to mumble. “Bye, Mrs. Dawson. Sorry I interrupted.”
    “Apology accepted, Trace.” Annie smiled gently at the young man before she turned back to speak to his father. “So, have you seen anything like this?” She ran an index finger over the clasp.
    Clearing his throat, Mike paused until his son had closed the door of the back room behind him and then smiled. “Believe it or not, that’s one of the worst disciplines I could give that boy. He hates the back room, small with no windows and no way out except past me.”
    “Kailyn told me Trace stays outdoors as much as possible.”
    “Ayuh.