“Your server will be along in just a moment. The song choices are listed in the display on your table. Have a great evening.”
“Song choices?” She looked at the little carousel of titles and then turned to stare at Ian. He looked back, eyes twinkling, and a smile trying to free itself.
“Annie?” he said, hopefully.
“Karaoke! Ian, for goodness sake!” She laughed.
“Can you sing?”
“Of course I can sing. At home. At church. In my garden. But never, ever in front of a room full of strangers.”
“Um-hmm.” He merely gaze at her and waited as if he expected her to change her mind.
“Ian, I am not going to get up in front of people and make a fool of myself. No!”
His gaze never wavered from hers, but the smile came, filling his face with merriment.
“OK, then. But will it bother you if I do?”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Really? You want to?”
“Sure. Why not? If you look around you’ll see that these people in here are our friends and neighbors. I’ll enjoy it, and they’ll get a kick out of hearing Stony Point’s mayor get down and funky.”
She nearly choked on her water.
“‘Down and funky?’ Who are you, anyway? Rick James?”
He laughed so hard that the couple at the next table looked at them.
A bit later, after they’d studied the menu, the waiter—who’d said his name was Steve—took their order without writing down a word of it. He slipped off almost as quickly as he had arrived.
Annie glanced at the other diners. Nearly everyone wore jeans, khakis, or other comfort wear, and she was pretty sure her pumps were the only pair in the entire building.
She told herself feeling awkward or conspicuous was silly, and certainly pointless. After all, the looks cast her way had all been friendly, and for the most part, admiring. At one point, a youngish red-haired woman approached their table.
“Excuse me for interrupting,” she said with an apologetic smile, “but I’ve been admiring your shawl since you came in. I’d love to have one like that. Where did you buy it, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I don’t mind you asking, but I didn’t buy it. I made it.”
The woman’s eyes rounded.
“No! Really? Are you sure?”
Annie laughed. “I’m positive. I remember crocheting every stitch.”
The redhead looked at it and sighed. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. She handed it to Annie.
“If you ever make more, I want to buy one. Please. Call me. Or e-mail. I’d just love to have one so much. Maybe someday you’ll want to get rid of this one.” She touched it wistfully.
Annie took the card, smiled, and said, “I’ll surely give you a call if I make any more.”
“See?” Ian said, after the woman went back to her own table. “If you hadn’t worn that gorgeous shawl, that lady would not have anything to sigh over tonight.”
She tucked the card into her wallet with the intention of passing it on to Kate. Annie followed patterns, and she did it well, but Kate was a true crochet craftsman.
“I suppose you’re right. A lot of people seem to have noticed it.”
She was glad she had made something so lovely that others enjoyed looking at it. But all the same, when their salads arrived, she was relieved to have her mind on food instead of her appearance.
“My goodness,” she said as she watched Ian heap Thousand Island dressing onto his fresh greens. “I haven’t had Thousand Island dressing since I was a teenager.”
“Why’s that?” he asked, ripping open a hot roll from the bread basket between them.
“Calories, of course.” She grinned.
“Did you like it?”
“The dressing? Oh, yes. Thick and creamy, kind of sweet with just a hint of tartness. It used to make all that lettuce go down a little easier.”
She reached for the vinaigrette. Ian caught her hand.
“You don’t need to always watch calories. Tonight, Annie, have the Thousand Island. And hot rolls. With butter.”
Tempted by the suggestion, she bit her lower lip and thought about it. She had always tried to be careful with her diet, though she indulged herself from time to time. Ian was right. Tonight was a night to relax and have fun. That was the whole purpose of this date, wasn’t it? To have fun?
“OK. Pass it over! And the butter too.”
She dolloped the dressing with a generous hand, spread the soft roll with pure butter, and when her meal came, she ate every morsel of baked potato, T-bone steak, and cheesy broccoli casserole. The change of fare from seafood to beef suited her that night. She was a Texas girl, after all.
“Dessert?” Ian asked her just as Steve the Waiter approached again.
“I’m stuffed,” she admitted, “but…” She looked at Steve. “Do you have chocolate cake?”
“House specialty. Nell’s Death by Chocolate Cake.”
“Ooo! Sounds marvelous. I’ll have some of that.”
“Make it two pieces,” Ian told him. To Annie, he said, “I’m proud of you!”
“I may have to waddle out of here, but I have enjoyed every single one of those calories.”
“I’ll be waddling with you.”
They shared a laugh, and then she said, “I have a question, Ian.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Who is Sweet Nell?”
“I’m not positive, but I think Nell was the name of the owner’s tabby cat when he was a boy.”
“I see. Well, that’s sweet. A little odd, but sweet.”
While they’d been enjoying dinner, the music had continued almost nonstop. A few good singers had performed, but mostly nerves or lack of talent had kept the performances less than stellar. At long last a lull in music from the small stage gave the entire restaurant a new ambiance. Best of all, no one had to speak loudly to be heard.
Ian finished his cake and sipped half a cup of coffee; then he got to his feet.
“Annie, I’m about to go on. Are you sure?”
She looked up at him, eyes wide. “About not singing, you mean? I’m positive. And especially after that big meal … no, I’ll stay put, thanks. But, please. You just go right ahead.”
She watched him walk confidently toward the stage, admired his trim physique, and how the light shone on his silvery hair. Ian was an attractive man, and that was putting it mildly. Resting her chin on her hands, she sighed and smiled dreamily.
He stepped up onto the stage, tinkered a bit with the electronics, picked up the microphone and waited for the music to start.
The diners stopped speaking as soon as he barreled into a song Annie had never heard before. It was lively, engaging … and on key. She loved it.
“Woo-hoo!” shouted a table full of young people, their expressions surprised, their faces beaming. Annie assumed the song must be a hot one. No wonder she hadn’t heard it. She listened to classic rock or jazz.
Ian stayed on the stage when the song ended. When the cheering died, his beautiful baritone voice filled the room with an oldie from the fifties, Young at Heart. Finally, looking at Annie, he sweetly sang You’ve Got a Friend.
Tears stung her eyes. Before Ian had finished the song, those tears had spilled over and slid down her cheeks, tracking through her makeup. She didn’t care. She had needed to hear it: the tender comfort from a message of loyalty and friendship, in the genuine, simple way he delivered it to her. She no longer cared that others looked at her in curiosity. Prolonged and loud applause followed him, along with every eye in the place as he returned to their table. The diverted attention allowed Annie the time to gather herself and wipe away the tears—and what was left of her mascara.
“Great!” said a man a few tables away. Ian paused to shake his hand.
A woman called, “You can really sing, Mr. Mayor!”
“You rock, Mayor Butler!” This came from the teenagers across the room.<
br />
A fine sheet of sweat covered his face as he sat down, and he mopped it away with his napkin.
“A little warm under those lights,” he muttered.
“My goodness, Ian!” Annie said, gaping at him. “I had no idea you could sing like that. No wonder you wanted to come tonight. You’ve missed your calling.”
He laughed. “What? You don’t think I’m a good mayor?”
“You’re a wonderful mayor, but you’re a great singer too. Wow!” She shook her head. “I loved the song choices.”
“Well, I chose them because of their messages, not to show off my ability.”
“They touched me. I needed to hear all of them. Thank you.”
He pressed her hand briefly. “You are more than welcome, Annie. And maybe next time, you’ll sing …?”
“That’s not going to happen, Ian. So, tell me, I’d never heard that first song choice before.”
“That was Home, by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. It was the official summer song of a Boston area ‘young person’ radio station last year. I heard it, liked it and wanted to sing it.”
“No wonder those kids went crazy over it.”
“Yeah. Kids.”
Several constituents from Stony Point collected around the table to commend him and shake his hand.
“Annie!” a white-haired woman she barely knew said. “You’ve certainly made a fine catch for yourself. A mayor and singing star, all wrapped up into one nifty package. Not to mention he’s the most handsome single fellow in Stony Point, Maine!”
Annie flushed from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Did people really think she had “caught” Ian? She was almost too embarrassed to look at him, but he laughed lightly.
“Now, Clara,” he said, “I’m thinking you’ve cast a pretty straight line for Calvin, haven’t you?”
It was Clara’s turn to blush.
“Why, Ian Butler! Calvin is just a friend, and you know it.” She cleared her throat and patted her hair. “I was just teasing Annie, of course. She looks so lovely tonight. Well, see you later.” She was gone in a flash.
“I hope she didn’t embarrass you too much, Annie,” he said. “She’s always going on about things like that.”
“I know.” Annie nodded. But she was embarrassed all the same, and she hoped no one else in town thought she had been chasing after Ian. Or any other man for that matter.
The drive home was quiet. The awkwardness Clara had introduced seemed to linger, right up to the time Ian walked Annie to her front door.
She held out her right hand, and said, “Thank you, Ian, for a lovely evening.”
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. One could hardly call it a handshake.
Afraid he might try to kiss her, she took a step back, drew out her key and fumbled for the lock.
“I had a good time, Annie,” he said. “Maybe we can do this again?”
She heard the optimism in his voice and saw the warm light in his eyes. She shoved down her own swell of hope and refused to acknowledge she felt it. She turned the key and opened the door.
“Thanks again, Ian. Have a good night.”
Before he could say another word, she slipped inside like the coward she was and fled upstairs.
That evening was the first one in quite some time that she hadn’t given Fairview a moment’s thought, and the old house was not what was on her mind the rest of the night.
The sound of Ian’s singing lingered in her head as she drifted into sleep.
15
“Hello, ladies,” Annie said as she entered A Stitch in Time Tuesday morning.
“Well, I see you survived,” Stella greeted cryptically, already clicking away on a multicolored slipper. “And look!” She stopped knitting, reached into her tote and pulled out a completed slipper, which she held up proudly. “Like falling off a bicycle!”
“That’s ‘like riding a bicycle,’ Stella,” Alice said, laughing.
The older woman waved off the comment, chuckling. “You know what I mean.”
“It’s adorable,” Annie said. “Cable-stitched, right? I love it. We all knew you could make slippers.”
Annie settled down and pulled out the deep red yarn she chose for the pair she was going to make. She planned to trim them with a scalloped border of pure white.
“Did you finish the table runner?” Alice asked.
“I did.”
“Did you bring it?”
“No. Just the yarn and slipper pattern.”
Alice made a pouty face.
“Then I’ll just have to pop over to your house to see it, won’t I? Why on earth would you tease us with that beautiful set all this time and not bring in the finished project?”
The others shared secretive smiles. Orange cloud punch and orange coconut butter cake sat in the refrigerator of the store’s back room, waiting to be served at Alice’s surprise party when the meeting ended. Bright gift bags and cheerfully wrapped presents lay on the table, covered by a dust sheet, in case Alice needed to make a visit to the “facilities.” Best of all, Alice remained clueless about the whole event.
“So, you three ladies,” Mary Beth said, looking from Annie to Alice to Peggy, “we’re all curious as barn cats about your adventure out to Fairview. We know you survived—for which we’re very thankful, by the way—but now that all four of you hardy explorers are here, we want to hear all about your foray into the world of the paranormal.” She smiled at Kate, who was dusting off a display carousel of novelty buttons. “Kate told me she went along, and you had a lot of fun, but she flatly refused to give me any details.”
“Kate went to Fairview?” Stella and Gwendolyn chimed together. They fastened twin astonished gazes on the younger woman.
“Yes,” Kate said, smiling at the entire group. “It was … an experience.”
The quartet of “adventurers” shared glances and expressions. None of them wanted to let the others know exactly how a certain duo reacted that night, and yet the tale would be incomplete without it.
“We had a blast!” Alice said.
“But if it hadn’t been for Kate, we’d have left much too soon,” Peggy blurted.
Stella’s gaze sharpened. “What do you mean?”
Before anyone else could say a word, Peggy launched into an accurate account of the evening. She hid nothing and concluded with, “And Wally is out at Fairview right now, looking for whatever has nested in the walls or attic or wherever it has nested.”
“My goodness!” Gwen said. “I’m torn between relief of missing all that ‘merriment,’ and jealousy that you had such an adventure while I languished at home, trying to recover from a root canal.”
Alice pinned a look on Kate.
“I want to know about your previous ghost experience.”
“What?” Stella and Gwen said.
Mary Beth sniffed. “Kate is too level-headed for that kind of nonsense.”
“That’s not what she told us the other night,” Peggy said. “Go on, Kate. Tell us. You said you would.”
Kate looked uncomfortable, and Annie saw no reason to force her into talking about something she wanted to keep to herself.
“Why don’t we leave her alone, ladies? This is obviously something she would rather not discuss.”
“But she promised!” Alice said.
“Ummm … I don’t remember any promise.”
Peggy folded her arms, and Alice pooched out her lower lip in a pout. Both she and Alice stared at Kate.
“Would you look at the two of you?” Annie said. “Both of you scared spitless by some whistling wind, and yet here you are, begging to hear about more ‘ghostly encounters.’”
They shifted their mutinous glares from Kate to Annie.
Kate said, “Thanks for sticking up for me, Annie. I’ll tell the story sometime, when I’m in the mood.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! I’ve heard enough.” Stella picked up her needles once more. “Your excursion to Fairview was an entert
aining story, and as Mary Beth said, we’re glad none of you were hurt. But I’ve heard enough about wind through cracks disguised as spooks and ghouls. What I want to know is what Annie found out about the place since last week.”
“Me too,” said Mary Beth.
“Yes, tell us,” Peggy said, forgetting her grudge. “Details. We’re dying for details.”
Annie sighed audibly.
“I know you want to know more. I want to know more, but it seems I just keep running into dead ends. I went into Wiscasset the other day, and all I found out was that Gram owned the place—”
“Didn’t you already know that?” Kate asked.
“Well, I thought so. But then, Ian told me that possession of a deed did not necessarily prove ownership. You know, I almost hoped she didn’t own it.”
“I certainly understand that.” Stella’s needles clicked and flashed in the light. She never looked up. “Who wants such an old eyesore, anyway?”
“But Gram did own it. There it was, in black and white. The property was given to her by Joseph and Alta Harper, but the only address for them was Fairview. And of course, there was the original owner of the place, David Ralston.”
Stella looked up with a frown. “You have never mentioned David Ralston before.”
Annie gave them a shame-faced smile.
“I feel embarrassed to admit this, but actually, once I saw the Harpers’ names and then read that Gram got the place from them, I just stopped examining that deed.”
Stella pinned a steely gaze on her.
“Annie Dawson! And you’re a businesswoman.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I have no excuse. But now I know, and it still doesn’t help.”
“Who owned it before this Ralston fellow?” Gwen asked.
“The county, apparently. David Ralston bought the land from the county. Do any of you know anything about him?”
“Never heard of him,” Stella said crisply.
“No,” said Mary Beth and Gwen, and the others just shook their heads.
Annie sighed again, crocheted furiously for a bit, and then added, emphatically, “Well, I’m not giving up.”
“And you shouldn’t give up!” Stella said this rather loudly, Annie thought.
The Deed in the Attic Page 13