It wasn’t a total lie, she rationalized. She really did want to talk to someone who knew her mother; but the other part—the plan to steal valuable artwork—was Jem’s idea. Maybe she could get him to change his mind or just be happy with one canvas. Then they could both get away from here and start over somewhere.
A shadow flashed across her peripheral vision, and suddenly a figure rounded the porch and came up the steps. “Jem! What on earth are you doing here!” She dropped the vacuum hose. “Someone will see you!”
“No one will be coming by right now,” he said, panting with the effort of the climb. “But just to be sure, let’s step inside.”
“Jem, please! Annie could come back any minute. If she finds you here …”
He pushed her forward into the entry hall of Grey Gables. “They won’t be back any minute. They just left. And no one is around except that neighbor of Mrs. Dawson’s, and she drove off with the boss lady. So you see, we’re completely alone!”
Tara closed the door and leaned against it, her heart beating a frightened rhythm. “It was you!” she gasped. “The other day when the flowerpot fell off the rail. You’ve been watching! Spying on us!”
“Blasted cat nearly scared me to death. When I jumped out of its way, my elbow knocked the pot over. Good thing the woods were so close.”
“Oh, Jem. I hate this! I hate what we’re doing …”
“Tara, sweet Tara,” he said, coming close to her, “I’ve been watching, and you were terrific. The way you made the lady of the house fall all over herself to help you. You did just fine; you’re a real actress.” He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her head against his chest.
The familiar scent of him, all fresh and piney, and the warm breath of his mouth next to her ear made her dizzy. Why did everything just fly out of her head whenever he was around? “I missed you, Jem,” she murmured.
“And J.C. missed you too, baby,” he said. “So tell me, what have you seen inside that attic?” His eyes gleamed with hope and too familiar avarice.
“Nothing! I’ve only had a few days here. I can’t just up and ask to look through her attic!” She caught her lip between her teeth and struggled to explain. “Besides, she’s been … so good to me. Can’t we just forget about doing that? We could leave today …”
She felt his body stiffen. He gave her a little push backward. He planted both hands against the door on either side of her and looked into her eyes. A strand of black hair fell lower on his forehead. He was quiet for a few seconds, but she could see a muscle working in his jaw, which meant he was angry. Then the little boy angst took over, that plaintive needing in him that always cut through her defenses.
“I need you to help me—to help us!” he whined. “I thought we were a team. You know how tough things have been for me. I need you, baby.”
When he began stroking her hair, her arms and shoulders, she let her breath out in a long stream. “Jem …” He silenced her with a kiss, and then drew back with a smile that made her wilt.
“That’s my girl. Take all the time you need. I won’t hurry you ” He paused and added, “too much!” He rolled his eyes around the foyer and the view of Grey Gables’s living room. “This is some place, and that picture!” He stepped toward the large cross-stitch hanging over the sofa in its gold filigreed frame.
The vibrant red-orange poppies seemed alive in the room, the verdant greenery giving the flowers sharp dimension. An intricate border design around the work drew all the elements together in splendid artistry. A work of love, Annie had said with such tenderness in her eyes.
“She’s got stacks of pictures like that hidden away in that attic, I’ll bet.”
“Jem, you have to get out of here! What if she comes back and finds you here? Besides, I’m supposed to be cleaning the wicker on the porch.”
“She’s got you doing her dirty work already? Those rich ones are all alike. They don’t want to get their hands dirty.”
Annie didn’t put on airs. And Grey Gables was no mansion—it was beautiful but modest. Why couldn’t Jem understand? “That’s not fair!” Tara retorted. “She’s not like that.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said wearily. He paused and raised his eyebrows as though a new thought had come to him. “She’s got my brother, Wally, working for her too.” He rubbed his jaw in that way Tara knew so well. “I must say, Wally’s got himself a nice little wife, though. That Peggy, she’s a real looker, rounded in all the right places.”
Tara cringed. She hated it when Jem teased her about other girls. They weren’t married, but they had an understanding, didn’t they? She supposed he fooled around like many men did, but he always came back to her, didn’t he? She was glad that Peggy—whoever she was—was married and hoped she wouldn’t be bowled over by his charm.
“Well, sweet Cinderella, I’m going now. You can get back to your chores, but don’t wait too long. I’ll be watching.” He slipped out the door and scuttled around the porch to retreat from Grey Gables the back way.
Tara knew she’d lost valuable time, but she managed to completely clean and dry one chair before flying up to the guest bedroom to change into something presentable for the club meeting. She imagined it was some kind of quilting bee attended by a bunch of dried-up old women with time on their hands. But Annie Dawson was nothing like that; nor was Alice MacFarlane with her shining hair and glittering rings.
She had barely changed out of her work clothes when Annie and Alice returned to pick her up. She tucked in her blouse with nervous fingers and smoothed her hair. She could choke Jem for waltzing in on her, getting her all upset and nervous. She forced a cheerful smile as she got into Alice’s Mustang. Then they were off for the quilting bee.
Actually, only one quilt was in evidence when Tara arrived at A Stitch in Time, and the women of varying ages and dress were anything but dried up. Glancing around the tidy shop with its colorful banks of yarn, fabric, and threads lifted her spirits. The cheerful ambience in the room took the edge off her newcomer anxiety.
“This is Tara Frasier, a friend who’s staying at Grey Gables for a while,” Annie said, introducing her. “She’s come especially to visit with us and to meet people who might have known her mother.”
A sturdy woman of sixty or so, wearing a maroon smock and a gentle smile, took both of Tara’s hands in hers. “I’m Mary Beth Brock, the owner of A Stitch in Time. Welcome to the Hook and Needle Club.” Her eyes were kind but shrewd; no doubt the owner of a thriving needlecraft shop had to be astute in business, Tara thought. She’d have to watch her step around this one.
She was introduced to Kate Stevens, a woman in her late thirties. When Mary Beth referred to her as “my right-hand and left-hand girl, without whom I’d be handless,” Kate’s laugh was quick and light. “Her daughter Vanessa is still in high school,” Mary Beth continued. “Vanessa won’t be here today; she’s volunteering at the animal shelter, and the boss wouldn’t release her today.”
At the sound of a disapproving “Hmmph! Her boss is right!” Mary Beth turned to a tall octogenarian with upswept gray hair whose knitting needles fairly sparked with friction. “And this is Stella Brickson. Mind you, Mrs. Brickson’s a charter member and a walking encyclopedia on Stony Point lore!”
Tara shivered at the sight of the straight-laced elderly woman with eyes that seemed to bore right through her. But she relaxed a little when the hint of a smile appeared and the white head bent slightly in her direction. A walking encyclopedia. Had she known her mother?
“And I’m Gwendolyn Palmer. But you may call me Gwen like everyone else.” The lady wore a gorgeous silk blouse and a purple paisley scarf caught at her regal neck with a glittering brooch. She was knitting something fluffy and lavender. Definitely a woman of style. Suddenly Tara felt dumpy in her jeans and peasant blouse.
A tinkling bell announced an arrival, and Tara glanced up to see a young woman with short dark hair whip off a pink apron. “I’m sorry I’m late. Every tourist in Stony Point has visited Th
e Cup & Saucer today.” She flashed a wave to everyone around the circle, and Tara could see that her nails were painted purple. They’d go well with Gwen Palmer’s scarf!
“Don’t worry about it, Peggy. As long as you get here, we’re all happy,” Annie said. “And how is Wally, my favorite handyman? I can’t wait to get him back to have a go at my pantry shelves.”
Tara flinched. So this was Peggy. And she was part of this group! Tara tried not to stare at the glossy hair and the well-endowed figure. Someone was introducing her, but she couldn’t focus on what was said as she watched the energetic waitress mould herself into an easy chair and kick off her shoes.
“Nice to meet you, Tara,” Peggy said as she pulled a partially completed quilt of pink and green squares from her tote bag.
Mary Beth linked an arm through Tara’s and said to the gathered women, “I’m going to show our guest where the coffee supplies are. Carry on. We won’t be long. Then we have some business to discuss.”
“Oh!” Tara breathed when they reached the back of the shop. “They’re adorable!” A basket of kittens was tucked into an alcove. A palette of variable color and design, they squirmed and mewled in a fluffy tangle. A tiny black kitten lay rather still but gave her an inquisitive glance before dropping its head like a dark stone. She dearly loved animals. As a child she’d always wanted a pet, but her mother had staunchly refused.
“Their mother gave birth to them in our window well,” Mary Beth said. “Vanessa and I have been taking care of them since their mother abandoned them. And they’re doing pretty well. Even poor little Blackie there.”
Tara longed to pick it up and cuddle it, but it was so fragile. Suppose she dropped it? She felt a pang in her chest like a long-forgotten memory suddenly sharpened. How often had she sat on the faded plaid couch waiting for her mother to wake up? It was a loneliness that continued into adulthood. Yes, she knew what abandonment was.
“It’s all right. You can touch them. They’re too small to bite.” Mary Beth had taken her momentary pause as fear.
And perhaps it was, but it wasn’t fear of the kittens. Instead, it fear of abandonment, of loneliness, of life. And she was frozen on the spot until she heard the sound of coffee being poured into a ceramic mug.
“It’s ironic, really, since we had just decided to run a benefit show for the local animal shelter,” Mary Beth said. “It’s not an official shelter or anything, at least not yet. Carla is just a citizen who takes in animals. Some of these little guys might end up there if we can’t find good homes for them.” Mary Beth handed her the mug.
She took a sip, finding it mellow and sweet with an almond flavor. “Thank you. This is nice—very nice.” She clutched the coffee self-consciously.
“Annie tells me that you used to work for a sign company.” Mary Beth cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, it was mostly signs and such, and I do enjoy drawing.” Tara felt herself relaxing a little. She was glad for this short reprieve. One stranger at a time was better than a whole cadre of them at once.
As though she had read her mind, Mary Beth said gently, “Now, Tara, when we go back out there, everyone will be working on a project of some kind. Maybe you could sketch out a few ideas for our animal shelter benefit. I’ll give you all the pertinent information, and your hands can be just as busy as all those hands out there. What do you think?”
“Sure,” Tara said, warming to this woman who seemed to understand her awkwardness.
“And you’ll gradually feel free to talk. Believe me, they may appear daunting, but they’re pussy cats. All of them.”
Mary Beth placed her near Annie, Alice and Kate. Tara began reading the information Mary Beth had given her.
“Did you see the kittens?” Kate asked, eyes gleaming.
“Yes. They’re so cute. Especially the tiny black one,” Tara agreed.
“If the mother cat could see them, I bet she’d be sorry she’d abandoned them, don’t you think?” asked Kate.
Annie cleared her throat, and frowning at Kate, said, “The mother could very easily have been injured or caught by some predator. Maybe she couldn’t care for her young. It happens, you know.” She glanced across the circle. “Stella knows that Stony Point has its share of wild animals. She was raised here and knows this part of Maine forward and backward.”
“I believe what she means is that I’m old as dirt,” the venerable aged woman said, but without bitterness. A smile leaked from her eyes. “What Annie says is true, but it’s useless to speculate. We all know Mary Beth will turn over every rock in Stony Point to find homes for those kittens.”
“Stella and my grandmother were good friends when they were young,” Annie explained to Tara, giving Stella a fond look.
“I wonder if you might have known my mother at some point,” Tara began shyly. “Her name was Claire Andrews. I don’t think she lived here exactly; she might have just come for a summer.”
Stella’s eyebrows inched up. She pursed her lips and resumed knitting. Tara wondered what had offended her.
Kate whispered in her ear, “Stella’s a little hard on the summer people, especially the ones who aren’t respectful of our traditions and sacred cows.”
“It might have been a long time ago,” Tara continued. “My—my mother was only fifty when she died, but she knew Annie’s grandmother. I found some letters she wrote to her. I came to thank her for being kind to my mother, but I didn’t know she had passed away.”
Stella cleared her throat. “The name doesn’t ring any bells. Do you have a picture?”
Of course. Anyone pretending to be looking for information about someone would show a picture around. Every daughter had a photo of her mother, didn’t she? Tara felt her chin tremble. An unexpected lump rose in her throat. She had only a picture in her mind and the awareness that she was no longer acting. She really did want to know about her mother.
“You can bring a picture next week, Tara,” Annie said quietly.
A chorus of voices assured the eagerness of the women to uncover the history of Claire Andrews.
“You said you could stay a while,” Annie added. “It will give us time.”
Tara swallowed hard. She’d been in Stony Point exactly one week. It had been a surprising ride so far with people who seemed to care about her. What would the passing time bring? Days of pretending, snooping, scheming? If only she could get Jem to forget about the canvases. If she could find work, make some money, maybe he would be satisfied, and they could go away. It was hard to stay focused on Jem’s plan when these people around her were being so kind. She hadn’t expected to like them so much.
8
Ian rounded the corner past Dress to Impress and realized he wasn’t—dressed to impress, that is. But it was Saturday, and even a mayor should be allowed a day to relax in his most comfortable clothes, hence his ten-year-old Dockers and faded blue polo shirt. He dropped a hand into a cozy pocket.
Should a man who’d never played polo in his entire life wear a polo shirt? He grinned at his trivial turn of mind. He’d never even known a polo player. He had, however, played a round of golf at 5 a.m., and managed to beat Ira Heath and Mike Malone. They were notoriously poor golfers, a fact he chose to ignore today—Arianna’s birthday.
He had determined not to dwell on the death of his beloved wife this year. Stay busy, stay around the good people of Stony Point, he had warned himself. But how many years did it take before you got over missing someone who had all but made the sun rise for you each morning?
He allowed himself to recall the way she used to adjust his tie, finishing off the task with a kiss on his chin. The brain aneurysm had taken her swiftly and cruelly, but she’d left her touch on Stony Point with her love of theater and art. Ah, they’d had such plans—plans they made as they walked along the rocky shore, watching the mist rise in slow-moving splendor over Butler’s Lighthouse.
Enough, he told himself. Be grateful for what is past, but prove its power in a s
ignificant present. And life in Stony Point was more than significant. He waved to Scooter who was rushing toward the Gas N Go and tucking his uniform shirt inside his jeans as he ran. His thatch of pale hair flew in the wind. The kid frequently turned up late for work, but his cheerful grin and enthusiasm made for good job security.
“Hey, Mr. Mayor!” he shouted.
That was a teenager’s way of saying hello. He liked it. “Hey, yourself!”
He ducked into The Cup & Saucer, eager for the diner’s bright ambience and comforting smells. He’d have the works, which meant egg-and-potato scramble with ham. During the week he watched his cholesterol, but it was Saturday.
He greeted the locals and noted several tourists as well. The number seemed to grow each year. And why not? Stony Point was a prosperous little town set in some of the best vacation country in the world. More than that, its citizens were resilient, generous, and proud. And he was honored to be their mayor.
Peggy spotted him and came tripping toward him, coffeepot in hand. Her nails were pink but bore no further embellishment today. Matching pink streaks in her short dark hair revealed that Mitzy, her beautician sister, had been at it again. In her zest for life, Peggy leaned toward whatever was new and off-the-wall, but she charmed everyone and could fill an order in no time flat.
“Morning, Mr. Mayor. You’re looking fine!” she chirped. She filled his cup. “The Saturday special?” she queried. “Better get it now. We may run out.” Barely taking a breath she rambled on, “Where is everyone coming from? Is the whole world vacationing in Stony Point? Even Wally’s—” She broke off, her eyes going suddenly wide.
Ian glanced up. Peggy rarely interrupted her own string of speech.
“I mean …” She put a pink-tipped finger to her temple. “I mean Wally’s had to drop me off early to refill everything—the sugars and creamers, the napkin holders, salt and pepper. Everything!” She spun off to get his Saturday special.
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