“Nothing more than that?” Annie asked.
“That’s it,” Mary Beth said. “Odd, isn’t it?”
“Looks like Santa exists in Stony Point, even if you can’t find him anywhere else,” Sara murmured.
Annie glanced at her, wondering what unhappy events in this woman’s past caused her to say that.
“What fun it must be to receive an anonymous gift!” dark-haired Kate Stevens said as she joined the group. “And how great for Norma and Mrs. Hitchens. I wonder if anyone else in town got money or had a bill paid.”
“We’ll hear about it, if it’s so,” Mary Beth said.
“Well, I think it’s a grand thing to help others, but it’s foolish to do so anonymously. It makes poor business sense!” This comment came from the stern, elderly, well-to-do Stella Brickson, who, until one got to know her, often seemed to have either no heart or a very cold one. By now, however, Annie realized that the white-haired woman’s gruffness was nothing more than a rough exterior to shield her from hurt. Annie was glad she’d finally broken through that barrier to discover the good woman beneath Stella’s hard polish.
“Oh, but you can’t always measure the worth of things by how much sense they make or how well they benefit business,” Kate said.
“That’s right,” said Gwendolyn Palmer as she settled into her chair. If anyone would know the flash and benefit of business, it would be the classically beautiful and perfectly groomed Gwen. She and her banker husband, John, lived on the same hill as Annie’s Grey Gables in a lovely colonial home called Wedgewood. Pillars of the community, she and John were well-liked by everyone. Gwen extracted knitting needles and tawny-colored yarn from her sleek bag. “I say God bless this person, whoever he or she is!”
“Well, of course!” Stella sniffed. “I didn’t mean to imply that one should not give unless it’s a tax write-off.”
“Of course you didn’t, Stella,” Annie said. “We know that, don’t we, ladies?”
A chorus of agreement passed through the group.
“It’s a generous and beautiful thing for someone to do,” Alice said, “but altruism aside, I want to know who it is!”
“Well, don’t we all?” Peggy said. She met Annie’s eyes and added, “Annie! You’re our sleuth-in-residence. Why don’t you investigate? You lead; we’ll follow!”
Annie’s mouth dropped open for a second time.
“Now, Peggy, I—”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Alice said.
Kate smiled and said, “Me too.”
The other women nodded, and a general “Yes-do-it!” air hung in the room.
Annie put down the silvery-gray crocodile-stitch shawl she had started two days earlier. She’d thought all her Christmas gifts had been made, but since her family would not be coming to Maine for the holiday, she wanted to add a few more gifts to the ones she was sending. She had made John and Joanna each a pair of colorful toe-socks, crocheted Herb a pair of house slippers, and this shawl would be elegant enough that LeeAnn could wear it when she and Herb went out on the town.
Annie now looked around the room, passing a glance across each smiling, eager face that turned toward her.
“Ladies, I hate to throw cold water on your idea, but if whoever gave Norma money or paid off Mrs. Hitchens’s hospital bill wanted you to know his or her identity, you would already know it.”
A dead silence fell, and then Alice finally broke it. “Just because you don’t have the Christmas spirit yet, Annie Dawson, there’s no reason to sour it for everyone else.”
“This has nothing whatsoever to do with Christmas spirit,” Annie protested. “But y’all seem to want me to try to discover who this … this … secret Santa is, and I’m not going to do it!”
“And you shouldn’t!” Mary Beth said. She gave a little laugh. “Ladies, we’ve spent nearly half our meeting time chattering about Grace Hitchens and Norma. Let’s turn our attention to other matters. If you want to bring any Christmas goodies to the meetings to share, be aware that my old refrigerator is on the blink. In fact, it died a few days ago, and so did my egg salad. So bring nonperishable snacks. And now, we need to discuss this year’s Christmas project.”
The Hook and Needle Club members had been asked to create a quilt of squares depicting the town’s landmarks. It was to be displayed at a New Year’s Day celebration at the Town Hall.
“Oh, goodness gracious!” Annie muttered in aggravation as she searched in vain in her tote. “I meant to work on mine while I was here, but I left it at home. ”
“I have my squares finished!” Stella said, putting aside the dark blue glove she was knitting.
“Good, Stella,” Mary Beth said. “I finished mine just last night.” She held up a square with the embroidered image of A Stitch in Time in winter.
“That’s lovely!” Gwen said.
“Mary Beth, it looks like a picture!” said Peggy.
“Thank you. Now, ladies, I realize the holiday rush is upon us,” Mary Beth said somewhat breathlessly, as if the very idea of getting the quilt finished pressured her, “but if you can get your squares to me as soon as possible …” She gave them an encouraging smile that seemed to have an edge of panic in it. “I realize most of us would rather have an old-fashioned quilting bee to put it together like we had a few years go, and I agree it would be fun, but in the interest of time I’ve contacted Barb Westinghouse. Her quilting machine is the absolute best, and she promises to get our project fully quilted in good time, if we can get all the blocks to her no later than a week from Wednesday.” She paused. “You will do that, won’t you?”
“I wish I could participate,” Sara whispered to Annie, “but I haven’t been here long enough to know a landmark when I see one.”
Annie’s heart warmed as she and the shy Sara shared a smile.
“That’s OK,” she whispered back. “There are plenty of Hook and Needle Club projects coming up.”
“Good! I’d love to help.” She ducked her head and busily worked on her bit of lace.
“My squares don’t look so good, but I’m nearly finished,” Kate said. She gazed at Stella and sighed. “I wish I had your quilting experience. Your squares are so lovely.”
“Do you have your squares with you, Stella?” Annie asked.
“I have both of them.” She reached into her basket and drew out a lovely square that depicted the new Historical Society building, complete with the sign in the front that read “Stony Point Historical Society.” The other square she had made pictured the new Cultural Center. The ladies expressed their approval and examined Stella’s precise workmanship as she passed the squares around to each member.
“What is yours?” Sara asked as Annie passed the squares to Alice on the other side of her.
“Grey Gables, of course,” she replied with a smile and then realized Sara wouldn’t know about Grey Gables. “It’s the home I inherited from my grandmother—an old Victorian house on Ocean Drive. It has a great big porch and lots of windows, and in the summer there are so many flowers!”
“Sounds lovely!” Sara sighed. She glanced at her watch, sliding her crocheting into a battered oversized black purse. “I promised to be back at work by noon. Excuse me, please.” She stood and then passed a quick gaze around to everyone. “It was lovely to meet all of you.”
She left so quickly and quietly, it was almost as if she hadn’t been there at all.
“What an odd little woman,” Stella said. Her knitting needles clicked swiftly as she resumed work on the glove. “I don’t believe she said two words until the moment she took her leave.” She shot a sharp glance at Peggy. “She came with you, didn’t she, Peggy? Where on earth did you find her? She’s not a relative—is she?”
Several of the women shifted restlessly as Stella spoke. Annie wondered if they were as uncomfortable as she was with Stella’s somewhat haughty tone.
“She started working at The Cup & Saucer a few days ago,” Peggy said, preparing to return to the diner herself. “She just seeme
d so … oh, I don’t know … sort of … well, in need of friends, I guess.” She looked at each woman. “I thought the Hook and Needle Club would be a good place for her to meet some nice people.”
There was the briefest silence then Mary Beth said, “Of course it is! I hope she comes back.”
“Me too,” Annie said, stoutly.
“So do I,” said Gwen. “Don’t you Stella?”
Stella knitted with renewed industry, blushing just a bit. “Of course.”
****
The uproar caused by Grace Hitchens’s and Norma’s gifts had so consumed thoughts and conversation at the meeting that it wasn’t until after she went home that Annie remembered her encounter with the strange old man on the beach. She had meant to mention him to her friends to find out if any of them had seen him or knew who he was.
She stood at her front door, key in hand, staring toward the restless ocean. Had he found her gifts? Did he make use of them? Should she see if he needed anything else? She pondered the wisdom of going to check on him. A little nudge from her brain encouraged her to leave him alone, but her soft heart could not dismiss him so easily.
Upstairs, she changed into warmer clothes once again and hesitated only a moment at the edge of the veranda before retracing her steps down the path and along the beach to his campfire. By the time she reached the site, nothing remained but a bit of charred wood, now cold and damp from dousing. The moist sand and dirt around the campfire showed signs of having been disturbed, but she saw no footprints leading away in any direction except her own.
Annie breathed in the pungent aroma of damp ash and seaside. She sighed heavily, staring along the rocky shore in one direction and then the other as far as she could see. She turned and allowed her eyes to scour every nook, tree, or hillock, and saw nothing. At last, sighing again, she trudged back to Grey Gables.
At least the food, the coat, and the blankets were gone. She took some comfort in that.
2
Annie knocked on Ian Butler’s door promptly at seven o’clock Friday evening. A few moments later the mayor of Stony Point opened his front door.
“Hi, Annie!” he exclaimed, greeting her with a huge smile. “Come in out of the cold.”
Handsome and refined, with graying hair, Ian wore jeans and a dark green flannel shirt. She entered his warm house and admired the spotless simplicity of it. Cream-color walls and white trim contrasted nicely with the polished dark-walnut floors.
“I brought popcorn!” she said, holding up a large bag of unpopped buttered kernels for the microwave.
“And I have cider and a movie!” he replied, taking her coat. He eyed her black slacks and pearl-gray sweater appreciatively. “You look lovely, Annie. I like your hair fixed like that. Come into the den and have a seat. Would you like a mug of hot cider?”
“I’d love it,” she said, handing him the popcorn and touching her hair with tentative fingers. Did he really like the style, or was he just saying that because he was nice?
He looked at box and laughed. “Ah! Double butter! My favorite.”
“Mine too.”
He led her into the den with his schnauzer, Tartan, trailing them.
“Have a seat, Annie; I’ll be right back.”
Rather than follow Ian out of the room, Tartan chose to reacquaint himself with Annie. He sniffed her shoes and her slacks, leaving a trail of silver dog hair where he touched her clothing. He seemed especially interested in the right sleeve of her sweater, and no wonder. Annie had picked up Boots right before she left Grey Gables to tell her, “Be a good kitty while I’m gone.”
Finally, Tartan raised his brown eyes to Annie’s face, cocked his head to one side, and wagged his stumpy tail.
“Ah—so now you’ve decided you approve of me, do you?” she asked with a laugh, rubbing the dog’s soft ears. Tartan seemed to smile at her and settled on the floor near her feet.
The den was a lovely, cozy place to enjoy an evening. A fire burned in the fireplace and lent a soft glow to old-fashioned, golden knotty-pine walls and the soft, brown carpet. The overstuffed furniture with dark brown chenille upholstery and wide arms fit the comfortable atmosphere. The polished surfaces of the pine coffee table and matching end tables gleamed in the soft lamplight and glow of the fireplace. On either side of the fireplace, bookshelves nearly overflowed with books that were both lined up on end and stacked on their sides. On the mantel, Ian displayed several framed photographs, mostly of him and his late wife, Arianna. A couple of the photos were of Tartan looking every inch the beloved dog he was. The walls boasted mostly prints or photographs of various lighthouses and clipper ships. All in all, the room exuded comfort and masculinity.
From his place on the floor, Tartan rested his chin on his paw and sighed with contentment. Annie reached down and patted him.
“You’re a special fellow, aren’t you, boy?” she asked.
“That pooch loves attention!” Ian said as he returned. He handed Annie a cup of hot cider embellished with a cinnamon stick and settled near her on the sofa.
“He’s a sweet dog,” she said, continuing to rub Tartan’s head. “Some days I think Boots would be content to sit in my lap all day long. Of course, when I’m sitting, I’m usually crocheting, and Boots wreaks havoc with that.”
“I can imagine.” He leaned down to scratch Tartan behind one ear. The little tail wriggled with delight. Ian straightened, laughing. “I’m a sap for that little guy, but don’t tell anyone. So, how was the Hook and Needle Club meeting Tuesday? Are the quilt blocks finished?”
“Most of them. Mary Beth has been doing her best to muscle us into action!”
“Yeah,” he said, eyes twinkling, “she’s such a battle-ax.”
“For shame, Ian Butler!” Annie let her eyes twinkle back, knowing he was just teasing. He and Mary Beth were great friends.
“I’m such a brute.”
“You truly are.”
They laughed. Tartan jumped up on the sofa, wedging himself between them.
“He wants to get in on the fun,” Annie said, shifting her body to make room for the dog.
“Well, on these cold nights, he likes to snuggle up. It’s good to have a warm friend, isn’t it, Tartan?”
For a brief moment, Annie’s thoughts went to the old man on the beach, wondering where he slept, and if he was warm enough. She started to mention him, but an inexplicable something counseled her to say nothing right then.
“What do you think about those anonymous good deeds for Grace Hitchens and Norma?” Ian asked.
“I think giving anonymous gifts is a grand idea!” Annie exclaimed.
He sipped his cider and then set his mug on the coffee table. He had an almost smug smile on his face. Annie narrowed her eyes, studying him as he wiped a drop from the shining table. Maybe in some enigmatic way, he was telling her he knew more than he let on.
“What about you, Ian?” she asked, head cocked to one side.
He sat back and raised one eyebrow. “What about me?”
“What do you think about those ‘mysterious’ gifts?”
“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather see receive help more than those two women.”
“I completely agree,” she said, twisting her mouth in thought, contemplating the possibility of Ian Butler handing out gifts without identifying himself. It was something he would do.
“Annie?” Ian said after a brief pause. “I see an odd look on your face. What’s going on?”
“Odd look?” She straightened her shoulders, smoothed her hair, and brushed any invisible dust or wrinkles from her clothes. “What’s odd?”
“I didn’t say you looked odd. You just have a … an expression on your face, as if you have a secret.”
Her mouth flew open in surprise. “A secret?” she asked. “Me? What secret would I have?”
His sly grin confused her. Then she thought about the old man and wondered if Ian knew about him, but when he spoke again she saw his mind had gone in another direction
entirely.
“You seem to know more about the mysterious Santa than you’re sharing.”
She frowned, and shook her head. “I don’t know anything about it,” Annie said. “But you, Ian Butler, are smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary.”
He lifted both brows and laughed heartily. “That’s a phrase I haven’t heard in a long time,” he said. “But if I’m acting like that cat, I certainly do so without realizing it.”
They stared at each other, suspicion mirrored in their eyes. Ian shook his head and looked away, reaching for his drink.
“It seems like every phone call I get and everyone I see in the office or in town wants to know who gave Norma money and who paid off Grace’s medical bills. It seems I can’t get away from wondering about it. How about you, Annie?”
“I’ve not given it a lot of thought, actually. I’ve been really busy working on Christmas gifts. Plus, I’m putting the finishing touches on my quilt square before Mary Beth has a stroke.”
“That quilt will be great,” Ian said. “She told me what everyone is doing, and it’s going to be so nice. But, seriously, with your penchant for investigating mysteries, you haven’t ferreted out the identity of our secret Santa?”
“No. As I told the others on Tuesday, if the person wants to keep his or her identity a secret, then we shouldn’t go snooping.”
Ian gave her a look of extreme skepticism, but what he said was, “Whatever you say, Annie.”
She had a sudden flash of insight which made her gasp and sit back, nearly spilling her cider. “You don’t think … surely, Ian, you don’t for a minute think the secret Santa is me!”
He shrugged. “It’s something you would do, Annie. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
This time she did spill a little cider, as her muscles went slack from surprise. She fumbled and tightened her grip.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She madly brushed droplets from the sofa. “You mean …?”
He grinned.
“Yep! Stony Point suspects you,” he said.
Pure silence filled the room for a moment before Annie set down her mug.
A Stony Point Christmas Page 2