The Deed in the Attic

by K. D. McCrite

  Ian watched her busy fingers for a bit.

  “I tend to eat cake when I feel stressed out,” he said finally, with a rueful smile.

  She slid a sideways glance at his trim physique.

  “You must not feel under pressure very often, then.”

  He chuckled. “The secret is in the size of those pieces of cake. They must be very small. But, I must admit, I like your idea of being productive much better.”

  Once again, he watched her silently for a minute or so, and then asked, “So what’s stressing you out, Annie?”

  She glanced at him, startled. “What? Why do you say that? Has someone said something to you?”

  “No one has said a word. But I can tell you have been—well—distracted. You didn’t even wave at me yesterday when I saw you coming out of Malone’s Hardware.”

  Her hands stilled their work. “Really? I didn’t see you, Ian. Honest!”

  “Even though you looked right at me, you didn’t see me. That was quite clear.”

  His eyes twinkled, and she shook her head, smiling.

  “I apologize for that. And you’re right. I’m distracted. Very distracted.”

  “You have more repair problems here in the house? Maybe I can help.” His voice trailed as she shook her head again.

  “No,” she said. “I mean, of course, I have repair problems. Don’t I always? Thank God for Wally Carson. But Grey Gables’s upkeep is not what has been on my mind lately.”

  Ian’s expression turned from one that was slightly flirtatious to one of obvious concern. He leaned forward slightly.

  “Nothing is wrong with your daughter, I hope?”

  “Oh, no. LeeAnn is just fine, and so are Herb and the twins. In fact, I don’t think I’ve talked to you since LeeAnn sent me that huge box of yarn.”

  “You didn’t say a word about that. A box of yarn, eh? She couldn’t have sent you anything that you would enjoy more, I think. Am I right?”

  “You’re right, Ian. But you should have seen that box! You should have been here that morning. Oh, my goodness, what an experience!” She told him the entire story, leaving out nothing from the time the delivery truck and its sullen driver arrived until she and Alice opened the box to find all those glorious contents. She concluded with, “But it was the search for something in which to keep all that yarn that has led me to this ‘distraction’ you mentioned.”

  “Ah. And that is … ?”

  “Why don’t I just show you? I’ll be right back.”

  For the second time she set aside her crochet and went into the house. When she returned a minute later, Ian held her unfinished project in his hands, examining it closely as if he were trying to learn the pattern.

  “I do not see how you do this,” he said as she sat down. “It looks like a lot of hard work to me.”

  “That’s exactly what Grandpa used to say to Gram and me. He would say, ‘Why don’t you two put that away for a while and rest?’” She smiled at the memory. “But nothing is hard work when you love what you do. Of course crocheting something as intricate as these place mats and table runner can be difficult. You have to take your time, and read the directions completely at least once before you plunge into it. And you surely can’t be afraid to rip out stitches. I rip out stitches at a high rate every time I start a project.” She laughed and shook her head. “Probably because I haven’t mastered complete patience yet. I just get so excited to see it finished!”

  Ian gave the piece one last perusal then handed it back to her.

  “My Arianna would have loved that.” The wistfulness in his voice stabbed Annie with its familiar lonely note. “She loved beautiful things.”

  She touched his hand with her fingertips, enough to convey a connection to that pain.

  “It’s tougher some days than others, isn’t it?”

  He hesitated, and then nodded. “Just about the time I think I am getting a handle on her being gone and me being alone … well, something happens, and it is all fresh in my mind again. The unexpectedness of the aneurysm, the last time I saw her. All of it.” He met her eyes. “You feel it too? About your husband, I mean?”

  “Oh, yes! There are some days, especially lately … .” She let her voice trail for a moment, and then said, “You know, I think the gloomy weather makes the lonesomeness worse, don’t you?”

  Ian’s face crinkled around his eyes as he smiled.

  “Now there’s a word you don’t hear every day in Stony Point. ‘Lonesomeness.’ And Annie, I surely agree that dreary days tend to bring out the most melancholy parts of me.”

  This is one reason Ian and I have such a good connection, Annie thought. We have been through the same valley not so long ago.

  They sat in silence for a bit, looking out at the ocean and the sky, the vast blueness that almost surrounded them together, but each one lost in their separate bittersweet memories.

  “So what have you there?” Ian said after a while, fixing his gaze on the document in her hand.

  She passed it to him.

  “This was tucked in amongst a lot of other things Gram had packed away in that cedar chest Alice and I dragged out of the attic. Mike Malone promised to dig out some information for me, but his wife called last night to tell me he’s laid up with a sinus infection for a few days. Poor guy. That can be so miserable.”

  Ian absently agreed as he scanned the first page. His eyes widened and he looked at the second page.

  “Fairview!” he said.

  “Yes. And I had never even heard of the place until I found that deed.”

  “Betsy never said anything about it to you?”

  “Not a single word.”

  He read the first page again. “Who are Joseph and Alta Harper?”

  “I was hoping you might know. I take it you don’t.”

  Ian shook his head. “Never heard of them, and this was drawn up … .” He squinted at the date. “Why, nearly thirty years ago! I was in college back then. Maybe that’s why I don’t remember them.”

  Annie sighed.

  “Well, that is one of the problems. A big problem, in fact. No one remembers them. I’m beginning to think the Harpers never even lived here in Stony Point, even though Fairview is listed as their address.”

  “Well, that’s a thought. But maybe they came into ownership of the property through family.” He flipped through the pages, “Did you see this name? David Ralston. The property was his from the 1920s until ownership transferred to Joseph and Alta in the 1950s. Before that, it was owned by Lincoln County.”

  She leaned near him to read the names he indicated. How had she missed that? Of course! Many deeds have previous owners listed!

  “I feel utterly foolish,” Annie said. “I saw Gram’s name, and the Harpers’ names, and that is where I stopped. I have just been … well, feeling so low this spring and then there was that wonderful gift from LeeAnn. Then the car broke down, and then there was that ghost hunt … . To tell you the truth, my thinking just has not been as keen as it should be lately.”

  Ian reached out and squeezed her fingers briefly.

  “It’s understandable, Annie. It really is. We all have the right to indulge in a little lapse from time to time. Why, last month I totally forgot—” He stopped short. “Wait a minute! Did you say ‘ghost hunt?’ What ghost hunt?”

  Annie laughed and settled back, picked up the runner and worked a few stitches swiftly.

  “Oh, Ian, you don’t want to know about that, do you?”

  “Are you serious?” he asked. “Of course I want to know.”

  She grimaced. “Well, just promise me that you will not think we are all a bunch of crazy ladies.”

  He gave her a peculiar look. “I’ll do my best, Annie, but the more you dangle these bits and pieces in front of me, the more intrigued I am.”

  She leveled a gaze at him. “Well, just remember: You asked for it!”

  He grinned. “OK. I’ll remember.”

  “Some of the Hook and Needle Club
women have vowed and declared that Fairview is haunted.”

  He nodded. “That’s been the prevailing notion around Stony Point for as long as I can remember.”

  “So we were finding out! The women at the Hook and Needle Club said that no one will want to buy a haunted house. Peggy Carson—that fount of ideas and wild notions—came up with this bright idea of us going out to Fairview so we can chase away all the ghosties and ghoulies. That way, according to her, I will be able sell the place, phantom-free.”

  Ian’s eyebrows shot up.

  “And you—level-headed, down-to-earth Annie Dawson—went along with that notion?”

  She met his gaze and refused to be embarrassed, though it took great effort.

  “Yep.”

  He stared at her a few moments longer, as though searching for remnants of her good sense, and then leaned back in his chair and laughed. Loud. And for a long time.

  “Oh, Annie!”

  “Umm hmm. You might say that.”

  “Well, don’t just sit there. Tell me about this … caper.”

  “‘Caper.’ Now, that is the perfect word for it, Ian. I want you to know that, right in the middle of the Hook and Needle Club, Alice MacFarlane and Peggy Carson put their two little heads together and organized that whole ‘caper.’” And she went on to tell him the details of their crazy jaunt to Fairview.

  “You have never heard such squealing and screaming and faint-hearted pleadings. In all my life, if I had to make a bet on two women who would never run from dragons or monsters or anything else, Alice and Peggy would be those two women. Oh, Ian. They were a mess!”

  They shared a hearty laugh, but eventually the laughter died.

  “So,” Ian said, after a bit, “I take it there are no ghouls or goblins out there.”

  “Nary a one,” she assured him. “I can honestly tell any house shopper who might ask me about hauntings and suchlike, that as far as I know, Fairview does not have any ghosts. In fact, I’m about half tempted to have Mike publish it in the paper. But I have to admit, as crazy as that caper was, I am glad we did the investigation. We found out that something has set up housekeeping out there. Something of the four-legged nature that does not belong inside the house. Wally Carson is going to look into that for me.”

  “That’s good. Wally will take care of it, I’m sure. I have to say, Annie, that I am glad none of you bold ladies got hurt out there.”

  “I think the house, as a structure, is pretty solid.”

  Ian nodded, but looked thoughtful and unconvinced.

  “That’s all well and good, but you never know. And don’t forget, Annie, that Fairview is isolated enough to shelter … well, anyone looking for a place to hide.”

  His words raised prickles along her skin.

  “You’re right, of course. And please don’t think I haven’t thought about all that. But ‘all’s well that ends well,’ I suppose. Thank you for being so concerned.”

  “Of course, I’m concerned. I like you, Annie. Just take care of yourself, all right?”

  His words drew warmth to her heart, and she really needed that warmth.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Ian finished off his hot chocolate, and tapped the deed with his fingertip as he sat the cup aside. His expression was still sober and thoughtful.

  “Something else concerns me, Annie,” he said. The earnestness in his voice drew her attention and gave her pause.

  “What’s that?”

  “Did you say you were going to sell Fairview?”

  “Oh, yes. I don’t want another old place to look after. Grey Gables is almost more than enough at times.”

  “I understand that. But, Annie.” He waited until she looked up from her crochet to meet his eyes. He cleared his throat. “You might not own that property.”

  13

  Ian’s words hit Annie like a sledgehammer. After all the rodent-infested, ghost-busting time she had spent at Fairview already—not to mention all of the repairs and renovations she was staring down in the not-too-distant future—she hadn’t once considered the possibility that she might not have a clear title to Fairview. That seemed to be as clear as the deed Ian held in his hand.

  “What do you mean? As far as I know, Gram left everything to me.”

  “That’s all well and good.” Ian tapped the deed with his fingertip. “But, Annie, please understand: Possession of a deed does not guarantee ownership.”

  The runner slipped unnoticed from her fingers and lay in a delicate heap on her lap. The steel hook pinged against the porch floor.

  “Do you mean that maybe Gram never did own Fairview?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “My goodness.” She stared at him without seeing while this information penetrated her mind. “Then … but … why … I mean … .”

  She gestured wordlessly at the deed.

  “Why did Betsy have it?” he prompted. “Now that, my dear Annie, is a good mystery.”

  “Yes,” she said faintly. “My goodness. As if there weren’t enough mysteries surrounding the old place already.”

  Ian raised an eyebrow.

  “Oh? There’s more?”

  “Why Gram has this deed, for one thing. And for another, why it was hidden away and never mentioned to me or anyone else? And why did she let Fairview get so run down? Just to name a few.”

  “I see. Well, Fairview was not always the run-down old wreck it seems to be now. It was rental property until, oh, about ten years ago. Not that the renters were great about keeping it up, but at least the grounds had been kept clean, and the house didn’t have that awful look of abandonment about it.”

  “But I still don’t understand … .” She sighed and looked out to the ocean. “I wish I could find the answers in those rolling, changing waves.”

  He followed her gaze.

  “Wouldn’t that be great, to find answers to all our problems and life’s mysteries in the endless ebb and flow of the sea?”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “It would be such a comfort.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, maybe I can help you a little. How about I get in touch with Will Green when I’m in Portland next week? He was a realtor here years ago. Maybe he remembers something.”

  She gave him a warm smile. “That would be great, Ian. Thank you.”

  “In the meantime, I suggest you go to the county recorder’s office in Wiscasset and see if this deed was filed in your grandmother’s name.”

  She took the deed from his hand, and stared down at it.

  “How can such a little stack of papers cause such big problems?” she mused aloud.

  “We’ll get it sorted out, Annie, don’t you worry. In the meantime, I came for a reason this morning.”

  Annie lifted her head, felt the sea breeze paw sweetly at her face. She took a deep breath, thinking she could smell the first greening of grass.

  “What’s that?” she asked him.

  “I was hoping we could have dinner Saturday night.”

  She felt her eyes widen, although she did her best to stay cool and poised. Dinner? Like a date? She and Ian? They’d had casual lunches together on several occasions, but never an actual dinner date. He waited patiently for her answer, but she thought she saw beneath the surface a little uncertainty. Maybe he thought she would turn him down.

  “That would be lovely,” she finally said, gratified her voice did not betray her silly bout of nerves. After all, this was Ian Butler, a friend she had known now for a couple of years since moving to Stony Point. Nothing more. Just friends.

  Her thoughts jumped immediately to most women’s age-old question: What will I wear? On the heels of that query was: I wish I had something new. Maybe I could run into town tomorrow and get something.

  “There’s a new restaurant about halfway between here and Wiscasset that just opened a couple of days ago. Sweet Nell’s. I thought it might be fun to check it out and would love for you to be my companion when I do.”

>   Ian always had the nicest way of saying things. She turned her head for a moment so he would not see her cheeks pink up. Why was she acting like such a love struck puppy? He was her friend. Nothing more!

  “Sure,” she said, turning to him, giving him a smile. “I’d like that. Yes.”

  Oh my, listen to me, Annie thought. And I wonder if he’ll carry my books home from school. Grow up, Annie!

  “Great! I’ll pick you up about seven?”

  She cleared her throat delicately, and said quietly, with great decorum, “That would be just fine, Ian. Thank you.”

  He got to his feet, smiling down at her.

  “See you then.”

  She inclined her head with what she hoped was graciousness.

  “Yes. See you Saturday.” And stopped herself from thanking him again.

  Ian had just driven away when her phone rang.

  “Good morning, Annie,” a strange voice greeted when she picked it up.

  She never liked getting phone calls when she could not identify the caller right away. She wished she had signed up for caller ID.

  “Good morning,” she said with courtesy and caution. “Who’s calling?”

  She heard laughter from the other end that turned into a cough, or maybe it was vice versa—she couldn’t tell.

  “It’s Mike Malone,” he croaked. “Excuse me a moment.” He hacked and coughed again. “Sorry, Annie. This sinus infection has me sounding like my great-grandmother’s favorite bullfrog. Can you hear me well enough?”

  “I can hear you just fine, Mike, but I’m so sorry you aren’t feeling well. Can I do anything for you?”

  Cough. “Nice of you to ask, but no. Just have to wait for the medicine to do its job.” Cough, cough, wheeze. “Wish it would hurry up. Listen, I just wanted to tell you I haven’t found anything regarding the Harpers, but I did find something about David Ralston, the original owner of Fairview.”