Or not to belong to any time. She remembered a boy in art school who’d been completely oblivious to the twentieth century. Walked everywhere, didn’t watch TV, didn’t even have a radio. He’d been amazed by the very idea of acrylic paints. And photocopying. And computers.
Only that wasn’t really it either. Something about the man with the silver flask simply niggled at the back of her mind, the way a familiar face or forgotten name will. Not that she’d ever seen him before. It was just… something.
When she returned from the police cruiser, the stranger had left and there was only Tommy, sitting inside the van, waiting for her. She got in on the passenger’s side and put her gloved hands up to the heat vent. Right now the vaguely warm air felt as strong as the heat put out by a woodstove. Somehow she’d forgotten all about the cold—at least she had until she’d walked from the police cruiser back to the van and the harsh winds made a point of reminding her with a fierceness that almost blew her off her feet again.
“Who was your friend?” Tommy asked.
Ellie shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
Tommy gave her an odd look, then shrugged.
“I haven’t seen him around before,” he said.
“Me, either. I’m not even all that sure he’s a street person.”
Tommy smiled. “Not everybody out at this time of night is.”
“I know. It’s just… he was strange.”
Tommy raised his eyebrows.
“Have you ever heard of metheglin?” Ellie asked.
“Nope. What is it—some new kind of drug?”
Ellie shook her head. “No, it’s more like a liqueur. He said it was Welsh, that it was made from honey and …”
Her voice trailed off as her gaze alit on a small business card lying on the dashboard in front of her. She took off a glove and picked it up. The card read:
“Where did this come from?” she asked, passing it over.
Tommy shook his head. “I’ve no idea.”
“That man—was he in the van?”
“Not while I was here.”
Tommy turned the card over in his hand. There was nothing on the reverse.
“Handfast Road,” he said. “That’s in the Beaches, isn’t it? Up on the hill?”
“I think so.”
“Where all the fat cats live.”
Ellie nodded and took the card back. She pointed at the words “Musgrave Wood.”
“So is that a person or a place?” she asked.
“I’d say person.”
“But what kind of a given name is Musgrave?”
“Good point,” Tommy said. “Maybe it’s a business. Though I’ve got an aunt named Juniper Creek.”
“Really?”
“Would I lie to you?”
“Yes.”
Tommy’s family seemed to include a veritable mob of aunts. They all had unusual names, dispensed folk wisdoms at the drop of a hat, and Ellie had never met a single one of them. Sometimes she suspected Tommy hadn’t either. She looked at the card again.
“What’s that little design?” she asked. “It seems familiar.”
Tommy leaned over to have another look, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Judging from the ribbonwork, I’d say it’s something Celtic. I think I saw something like it on one of those Celtic harp albums Megan’s playing all the time.”
“You’re right. And it’s on more than one. I wonder if it means something.”
“Sure it does. It’s a secret code for ‘Here there be Celtic harp music.’ “
Ellie laughed. “Of course. What else?”
Then something else occurred to her.
“There’s no phone number,” she said. “Isn’t that weird?”
Tommy smiled. “Anything is weird if you think about it long enough. Like why are our noses designed so that they’ll drip right into our mouths?”
“Thank you for sharing that.”
She flicked the edge of the card with a fingernail. The man she’d been talking to couldn’t have put it on the dash, not with the doors and windows of the van closed the way they’d been. All the same, she was sure the card had come from him. He had to have opened the door and dropped it on the dash when Tommy was with the police
Only that wasn’t really it either. Something about the man with the silver flask simply niggled at the back of her mind, the way a familiar face or forgotten name will. Not that she’d ever seen him before. It was just… something.
When she returned from the police cruiser, the stranger had left and there was only Tommy, sitting inside the van, waiting for her. She got in on the passenger’s side and put her gloved hands up to the heat vent. Right now the vaguely warm air felt as strong as the heat put out by a woodstove. Somehow she’d forgotten all about the cold—at least she had until she’d walked from the police cruiser back to the van and the harsh winds made a point of reminding her with a fierceness that almost blew her off her feet again.
“Who was your friend?” Tommy asked.
Ellie shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
Tommy gave her an odd look, then shrugged.
“I haven’t seen him around before,” he said.
“Me, either. I’m not even all that sure he’s a street person.”
Tommy smiled. “Not everybody out at this time of night is.”
“I know. It’s just… he was strange.”
Tommy raised his eyebrows.
“Have you ever heard of metheglin?” Ellie asked.
“Nope. What is it—some new kind of drug?”
Ellie shook her head. “No, it’s more like a liqueur. He said it was Welsh, that it was made from honey and …”
Her voice trailed off as her gaze alit on a small business card lying on the dashboard in front of her. She took off a glove and picked it up. The card read:
“Where did this come from?” she asked, passing it over.
Tommy shook his head. “I’ve no idea.”
“That man—was he in the van?”
“Not while I was here.”
Tommy turned the card over in his hand. There was nothing on the reverse.
“Handfast Road,” he said. “That’s in the Beaches, isn’t it? Up on the hill?”
“I think so.”
“Where all the fat cats live.”
Ellie nodded and took the card back. She pointed at the words “Musgrave Wood.”
“So is that a person or a place?” she asked.
“I’d say person.”
“But what kind of a given name is Musgrave?”
“Good point,” Tommy said. “Maybe it’s a business. Though I’ve got an aunt named Juniper Creek.”
“Really?”
“Would I lie to you?”
“Yes.”
Tommy’s family seemed to include a veritable mob of aunts. They all had unusual names, dispensed folk wisdoms at the drop of a hat, and Ellie had never met a single one of them. Sometimes she suspected Tommy hadn’t either. She looked at the card again.
“What’s that little design?” she asked. “It seems familiar.”
Tommy leaned over to have another look, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Judging from the ribbonwork, I’d say it’s something Celtic. I think I saw something like it on one of those Celtic harp albums Megan’s playing all the time.”
“You’re right. And it’s on more than one. I wonder if it means something.”
“Sure it does. It’s a secret code for ‘Here there be Celtic harp music.’ “
Ellie laughed. “Of course. What else?”
Then something else occurred to her.
“There’s no phone number,” she said. “Isn’t that weird?”
Tommy smiled. “Anything is weird if you think about it long enough. Like why are our noses designed so that they’ll drip right into our mouths?”
“Thank you for sharing that.”
She flicked the edge of the card with a fingernail. The man she’d been talking to couldn’t have put it on the dash, not with the doors and windows of the van closed the way they’d been. All the same, she was sure the card had come from him. He had to have opened the door and dropped it on the dash when Tommy was with the police
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