The Orange Cat and Other Cainsville Tales (Cainsville 3.5)

The woman continued, gaze fixed on her accounting work. "Lost implies she misplaced the child, Hildy. Maggie was taken. Stolen."

Ricky flashed back to the cry he'd heard in the woods.

"Kidnapped?" Liv said, turning to the older woman.

"If that's what you call it," the old woman grunted, eyes still on her ledger.

"Oh, no, Jeanne," Hildy said. "Don't even say it."

The old woman grunted again.

"Say what?" Liv asked.

Jeanne looked up. "She thinks I'm going to blame the little people." A mock glower at the innkeeper. "Which I was not. Go talking like that and folks figure we're all a bunch of uneducated hicks. Kind of like saying you saw strange lights in the sky the night the baby disappeared."

Hildy flushed. "I said I saw lights. That's all."

"Little people," Liv said. "Do you mean fae?"

Jeanne gave her a searching look. "Fae?"

"Fairies. Sorry. Where I come from, they're called fae."

Which was, technically, true, Ricky thought, if "where she came from" meant Cainsville. The local fae weren't particularly fond of the more common term, namely because it conjured up images of, well, little people. Tiny and adorable winged creatures. Which they were not. At all.

"I've heard them called that," Jeanne said. "My granddaughter studies folklore at the university. You just don't . . ." She shrugged.

"Don't seem like the type to talk about fairies?" Liv said with a laugh. "I don't know if I believe, but I am interested in the folklore. That is what you meant, then? Little people? Fairies?"

Jeanne's eyes stayed hooded, as if not yet convinced she wasn't being mocked. Or, worse, humored. "We call them little people."

"By you, you mean . . ."

Ricky could see Liv struggling to finish that in a way that wouldn't be offensive or presumptuous.

"You mean Cape Bretoners?" Ricky said. "Or Native Canadian? Well, no, that's the same thing, considering the Mi'kmaq were the original Cape Bretoners. Regional versus cultural would be a better way to put it."

Her brows lifted, impressed. Which would have been much more satisfying if he hadn't known people took one look at him and set the bar for intelligence at the bottom rung.

"The Mi'kmaq refer to them as the little people," she said. "Which others have picked up."

"Does it mean the same thing as fairies? Refer to the same beings?" He gave his head a shake. "Sorry. We don't mean to pester you. It's just an area of interest for both of us. The lore. Cool that your granddaughter gets to study it. They didn't offer anything like that where I went."

Jeanne relaxed now. Again, Ricky knew better than to be too pleased by the accomplishment--his Cwn Annwn blood meant he understood how to put people at ease.

"Our stories are different from theirs," Jeanne said. "But the core concept would be similar, as my granddaughter would say. There's an entire world out there in the forests. Experiences that suggest we aren't alone. If we're looking for answers, it makes more sense that they're in the forest rather than up there."

She pointed at the sky, and Hildy sighed. "I never said . . ." She trailed off and looked at Ricky and Liv. "Would you like tea? Or would you prefer to listen to my accountant mock me?"

"I won't mock you about your little people if you don't mock me about mine."

Liv chuckled. "Tea would be wonderful. And, Mrs. . . ." She looked at the old woman.

"Jeanne."

"We don't want to be a bother, but is there any way we could convince you to join us for breakfast? I would love to talk about local folklore. We did have something odd happen out there. A couple miles up the highway, off a trail. There was a swimming hole--"

Liv stopped short as Hildy crossed herself. Jeanne sighed and waved at the innkeeper. "And she calls me superstitious."