Boxed In(23)
“Hello, Annie!” Gwen’s hair, slacks, and sweater set were impeccable. Annie knew the interior of her sedan was also. “Are you coming for the volunteer training? I’m helping Nora with the training session today.”
“They picked the perfect assistant with all your experience, Gwen,” said Annie, “but to answer your question, no; I’m here to visit a resident.” The two friends followed the wide flagstone walkway to the front doors.
“Oh, who are you visiting?”
“Cecil Lewey.” Annie pulled the right side of the large double door open, noticing that the colorful summer wreath that had hung there had been replaced with an artistic arrangement of dried maize. “When I told Ian about what we learned from the Abbe Museum curator about the box and collar, he asked Cecil to visit with me. I brought the photos to show him.”
“I never thought of Cecil!” exclaimed Gwen. “Leave it to our mayor to know the best local resource for you.” Inside, to the immediate left of the door, a small but gracious sitting room gave residents a more formal place to meet various professional people or wait for taxi pickups close to the door.
Annie saw that the room was empty and was pleased that Cecil apparently had chosen a less formal place for them to become acquainted. “So do you know Cecil? What’s he like?”
“I don’t know him very well. He’s been here about five years; he’s very quiet for the most part.” Gwen paused, glanced around, and continued with a lower voice. “John calls him ‘a strange old bird,’ but he’s always been pleasant to me.”
A petite woman with jet-black hair hurried up to Gwen. “I’m so glad you’re here early. Can you help me finish up the packets? The copier gave me fits this morning.”
“Of course I can, Nora.” Gwen turned to Annie. “The receptionist should be able to tell you where to find Cecil. I hope he can give you insight into the mystery. See you soon!” Gwen followed Nora down the main hall. “Nora, are the name tags and markers set out yet?” Annie heard Gwen ask as they hurried along, turning left to enter another wing of the building.
At the reception desk Annie was told Cecil was outside on the observation landing. The receptionist pointed her to a side door, leading to a narrow stone path. Annie followed it, thanking herself for wearing sensible shoes. On a foggy or rainy day the path would have been slippery, but on a bright, almost autumn morning it gave her a small thrill of adventure. When she reached about halfway to the observation deck, Annie could see a man sitting on a bench, a walking stick held lightly between his hands. As she came closer she noticed the man’s posture, straight with shoulders back, with no hint of stiffness. Annie could picture him as the star of a chiropractor’s demonstration video on proper posture. A couple more steps down and Annie could see glimpses of dark shapes dotting a wide ledge close to the water. Harbor seals.
When Annie reached the deck, the man turned his head toward her. “You must be Annie.” His Maine accent mixed with a melodious quality. He stood to greet her. Looking up into his dark, peaceful eyes, Annie smiled back.
“And you must be Mr. Lewey. Thank you for sharing your time with me.” Annie sat down on the bench.
“Please call me Cecil.” The aged man gestured at the harbor seals. “I don’t believe they will be offended, and my family generally only visits on evenings and weekends.”
“Have you seen any white-furred holluschickie this year?” As soon as it popped out of her mouth, Annie inwardly winced at how silly she must have sounded. But Cecil chuckled in recognition.
“Not this season. Kotick would have a difficult time finding Sea Cow around here. You are a reader of Kipling?”
“When I was a girl visiting here in the summer, my grandfather would read The Jungle Book stories to me. I was particularly fond of the voice Grandpa used for Sea Catch. ‘Empty clamshells and dry seaweed!’” Almost four decades later, the joy of the shared stories warmed Annie.
“I have lived in Stony Point for over thirty years. I wonder if I know your grandfather.”
“His name was Charles Holden. He passed away several years ago.”
“Charlie!” Cecil exclaimed. “Yes, he would be one to read Kipling to his grandchild.” He squinted into the bright sunlight as though he was looking back across the years. “I used to help your grandfather sometimes in his veterinary practice. He understood animals better than most.”
“I was convinced he knew everything there was to know. My fourth-grade teacher was quite impressed when I informed her what a pinniped was during the first week of school. We didn’t have many of those in Brookfield, Texas. Except at the zoo, of course.” As a child, Annie had been fascinated with the animals her grandfather had introduced her to on the Maine coast, and the harbor seals with their sweet faces were one of her favorites.