The Memory Keeper of Cricket Cove
by Kamichi Jackson
Mrs. Malloy’s Tea Set
Dylan Carmichael glanced at the small box in the passenger seat of her car. Inside it was a colorful tea set―a single porcelain cup and saucer that belonged to Mildred Malloy, who, along with her husband of forty seven years, owned the Brambleton Inn, Cricket Cove’s most popular bed and breakfast. Dylan hadn’t been there yet since her move to the small town, but she had talked to a frantic Mrs. Malloy a day earlier when the woman hadn’t been able to get in touch with Kinley Tate and had called Dylan’s apartment as a last resort. “Miss Dorrie is one of my dearest friends and I don’t usually panic when she slips something of mine into her purse,” the woman had begun apologetically, “but this teacup and saucer set is one of my most prized possessions. Please do let me know if you come across it.” With Kinley’s help, Dylan had indeed found the set―wrapped neatly in cellophane, packaged in the same small box that held it now and hidden almost completely behind a potted plant on the back porch of Dorothea Standish’s twenty‐two room Victorian home. Dylan had called Mrs. Malloy back as soon as they made the discovery and was headed there now to return it and put the woman’s mind at ease. Dylan smiled and waved back at the passengers of a sedan that came to a stop beside her at the town’s only four‐way stoplight. They were residents, she discerned, because they called her by name when they greeted her. News had obviously travelled quickly that Kinley had hired her to help return the items the much‐loved Miss Dorrie innocently pilfered from residents and tourists from week to week. From the moment she’d brought the last of her suitcases into the
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The Memory Keeper of Cricket Cove Kamichi Jackson
furnished apartment above Miss Dorrie’s garage―which housed the fire‐red 1965 Chevy pickup Miss Dorrie still drove to town everyday―Dylan had been treated like a local celebrity. She’d even been written about in the town’s weekly newspaper. The people of Cricket Cove were special, she’d come to appreciate quickly. The way they rallied behind Miss Dorrie in spite of her eccentricities was touching, and it made Dylan want to do a great job in protecting the woman’s good name. It was a project, in fact, that she found more and more exciting each time she thought about it. Today―with the return of this teacup and saucer set that obviously meant so much to Mrs. Malloy―marked her official first day on the job. Dylan pulled into the lot of the Brambleton Inn and carefully reached across to pick up the box. She held it with both hands as she exited the car, certain Mrs. Malloy would be watching anxiously from a window or doorway. “Oh dear,” the woman said as Dylan stepped into the lobby of the building. “Oh dear.” She wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but once Mrs. Malloy had taken possession of the box, laid it on the front desk, and carefully opened it to find the set completely intact and undamaged, Dylan watched the woman’s worry turn to joy. “You’re a lifesaver,” Mrs. Malloy gushed, embracing her in a quick hug. “Come. Sit and have a cup of tea with me. My niece Meghan has just sent me the most ambitious homemade blend and I’m anxious to experience it.” Dylan followed her into the small diningroom off the lobby and they settled in a corner at the far end of the room. It was immediately apparent that this particular section was permanently reserved for Mrs. Malloy. The photo of her and her husband on their wedding day; the leather‐bound journal prominently embossed with her initials; and the two ornately detailed antique chairs on either side of a mahogany table already set with a full‐service porcelain tea set the likes of which Dylan had only seen in the old black and white movies she and her mother sometimes watched on rainy Sunday afternoons. This was definitely where Mrs. Malloy held court.
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The Memory Keeper of Cricket Cove Kamichi Jackson
“I even have crumpets,” Mrs. Malloy said, indicating the round toasted bread arranged on a plate beside the teapot. “The cook’s sister is visiting from England and I couldn’t resist asking her to whip up a batch for you and me.” “I’ve never had crumpets before,” Dylan admitted, breathing in deeply. “They smell wonderful.” “Wait until you taste them,” the woman said, setting the teacup and saucer Dylan had returned to her down on the wide ledge beside them and pushing it away from the edge gently. “I can’t thank you enough for bringing this home to me safely. I apologize again for being so panicky yesterday. I’ve been friends with Dorrie Standish for over thirty‐five years and I’ve sat across the table from her and watched her slip many of my treasures into her purse or basket a dozen times without batting an eye because I know Kinley will see to it that anything she takes will be returned. But I swear I nearly fainted dead away when I saw her come from my office yesterday with that tea set in her basket. I know it doesn’t seem like much. Gordon says it’s downright ugly,” she smiled wistfully, reaching over to run her fingers around the brim of the cup. “But it’s the last two pieces of a set I had for many years and it holds great sentimental value for me.” “I can understand that,” Dylan said gently, setting her purse on the floor as she sat across from the woman. Kinley had said that many of the people Dylan came in contact with while doing this job would almost always share their memories with her. The writer in Dylan was all too willing to hear them. “Do you have any brothers or sisters, dear?” Mrs. Malloy asked as she poured one cup of tea for Dylan and another for herself. “I’m an only child, actually.” “Oh,” Mrs. Malloy replied, her tone almost sympathetic. “Well, I’m a twin. Or at least I was. My sister Eleanor and I were very close growing up. She even moved here to Cricket Cove with me and my husband when he and I were newlyweds. He was a travelling salesman back then and he was gone a lot, so he built Brambleton for me and Ellie and we ran it together for over twenty years. At the end of every day, she and I would sit out on the veranda and have a cup
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The Memory Keeper of Cricket Cove Kamichi Jackson
of tea together using that tea set. We only used it when we had that special time together in the evenings. “When she became ill and wasn’t able to leave her house anymore, I’d go over there at the end of the day and have tea at her bedside. She eventually died,” the woman said with a heavy sigh, her eyes misty. “I was there in the room and I fainted when she passed. The entire tea set crashed to the floor and broke into a hundred pieces. That cup and saucer you brought back to me are the only two pieces that survived. I put them up on a shelf in my office so that they’d be tucked away for safekeeping, but close enough that I can look at them throughout the day and be reminded of Ellie. Not an evening goes by that I don’t miss those moments we shared.” “I’m so glad Kinley and I were able to find them, Mrs. Malloy,” Dylan said sincerely. “So am I, dear. So am I. Of course, I suppose I’ll have to put them somewhere Miss Dorrie can’t get to them,” she mused. “In my bedroom, perhaps.” “That’s probably a good idea,” Dylan agreed. “Dylan,” she said anxiously, “you do know she doesn’t mean to take things. You do understand?” Dylan nodded. She felt she did understand. Kinley had explained that it most likely had to do with something from Miss Dorrie’s past. And Dylan had searched the internet on her own to learn what might cause a person to suddenly and for no apparent reason begin taking random items that didn’t belong to them and hiding them away in odd places. “She and her husband founded this town and built its first few businesses and homes with their own hands and money. Did Kinley tell you that? Back in 1965. If it weren’t for the Standish family, there would be no Cricket Cove. Everyone here loves Miss Dorrie and we don’t want outsiders thinking badly of her or our little town. You’ll keep our secret for us, won’t you, dear?” “I promise,” Dylan said without hesitation. “Good girl! I do believe you’re a blessing, Dylan Carmichael,” the woman said, patting Dylan’s hand affectionately. “Now Kinley said something about handing my lost and found claims over to you. She
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The Memory Keeper of Cricket Cove Kamichi Jackson
thinks there may be dozens of matches against what she discovered in Miss Dorrie’s hidden room. Imagine.” Mrs. Malloy chuckled as she slid a canvas tote containing two thick binders out from beneath the table. Dylan jumped up as the woman struggled to lift the bag. “Let me get that, Miss Mildred,” she insisted. “Please.” “You’ll call me if you need my help with this, won’t you? I know Kinley’s got her hands full, but I have a little more time in my schedule since Gordon insisted on hiring his stepbrother’s daughter to take over some of the day‐to‐day operations here at the inn. Not that I wasn’t doing a perfectly fine job,” she huffed. “I’m sure I’ll have lots of questions,” Dylan promised. Everyone needed to feel needed, her mother had always told her. Dylan sensed that of Mrs. Malloy. The woman looked relieved. “You’re welcome to come by for tea as often as you’d like.” “How about Thursday then? Around two o’clock?” Mrs. Malloy nodded, visibly pleased. “Yes, that would be lovely. I do believe you are a blessing, child,” she repeated. “You mean so much to Cricket Cove.” “Cricket Cove is beginning to mean a lot to me too.” The words came out before Dylan could even think about them, but she suddenly realized that she meant them. Each and every one. Dylan said goodbye with a promise to keep in touch between then and Thursday. Moments later she was back in her car and had no sooner put the key in the ignition before her Blackberry went off and a text message from Kinley popped up on the screen: Dylan, we have a situation! Please meet me over at the Olde Gallivan Giftshop. 9-1-1!
to be continued…
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