by Cathy Elliot
“Charlie? He didn’t come into the picture until after the war. By then, Harold and Betsy had broken up.”
Relief flooded Annie’s heart. How could she have doubted her grandfather for one minute? His reputation as an honorable man was engraved in Stony Point history.
“So what happened?” Alice prompted Stella, who had apparently paused to live among her memories again.
“To Harold and Betsy?” Stella lifted her knitting again, her needles poised for purling.
“Yes!” The ladies replied in unison. They were in need-to-know territory now.
“That,” Stella said, pausing for effect, “is a mystery still. Harold broke it off with Betsy even before he came home. Sent her a ‘Dear Jane’ letter. She was devastated, to put it mildly.”
“But you don’t know why?” Annie asked.
“My opinion? Thought himself a lady’s man. Every girl in Stony Point was flirting with him before he left for the war. He did look fine in that uniform.” Then Stella looked disgusted.
“And what happened to Gram?”
“The joy seemed to be gone out of Betsy’s life. ‘Gone to sea with Harold,’ she’d say.” Stella began to knit again. “I thought they’d get back together after the war. But it was impossible.”
“Why?” Annie was glad that Gram had married Grandpa, but she wanted the whole story.
“When Harold came home, he was different.” Stella pursed her lips, disapproving, and knitted faster. “He was like a storm cloud waiting to break open with hurricane force. Drinking. Angry. Sullen. People just left him alone. I think that’s what he wanted all along. I heard later that he married Caroline from Portland and spent most of his time out fishing. Then Charlie came to town and, well, you know the rest.”
Annie sat back. She had learned much, but felt more confused than ever.
If Stella didn’t know who owned the medals, who did? And what was the problem with Harold at the end of the war? Grandpa and Gram, the only ones who might have been able to answer her questions, were no longer here to ask.
The answers lay with the tight-lipped Harold Stevens.
And as Alice might say, good luck with that.
23
Once the rain let up, Annie and Alice headed outside to regroup under clearing skies. The streets glistened, reflecting the afternoon sun streaming through swollen clouds. Sea gulls, wings flapping gracefully, cried out as they coasted overhead.
“What shall we do now?” Alice asked, glancing up and down Main Street as if the next clue might walk out of a shop and introduce itself.
Annie thought a moment and then outlined her plan. “We’ll start at the library. Let’s get Grace Emory to do a search on Harold Stevens. We need to look under every stone if we hope to unearth this secret he has kept so long.”
“Grace Emory. Good. What else?”
“After that, I want to talk to Ian Butler. If Harold was awarded the Medal of Honor, maybe the mayor can help. He was a Navy man, after all,” Annie said.
“Yes, ma’am.” Alice received her orders, laughing.
They trekked past The Cup & Saucer and crossed Oak Lane, sidestepping puddles, hurrying up under the pillared porch of the Stony Point Library. Annie pushed open the door and made her way into the Great Room, slaloming between tables toward circulation. Alice followed close behind. The room was scattered with patrons, some tapping away on laptops, some in comfy chairs.
One look at Valerie Duffy stationed at the circulation desk told Annie that Grace must be at reference. Motioning to Alice, Annie aimed deeper into the building. Soon they waited in line behind an older woman receiving assistance with her genealogy search. Annie’s impatience surged to the surface, frustrating her. She didn’t want to resort to toe-tapping in front of anyone. And what was the big hurry, anyway? She sought a distraction.
“Have you seen Gram’s cross-stitch in the rare book case?” Annie led the way through the reference collection until they stopped in front of the display. She sensed the awe Alice was feeling. She had felt it herself.
“Moving, isn’t it? I remember Gram stitching this very piece one summer when I visited.”
Alice was silent for a time. “I love how the beam from Butler’s Lighthouse provides the way to safe harbor. The guiding light. Betsy really captures that message in this piece.”
They gazed at the picture, each seeing different aspects of its beauty, until a voice behind them interrupted their reverie.
“I saw you two waiting in line.” Grace seemed almost upbeat today, the sparkle in her eyes at least a tiny reflection of her signature diamond stud earrings. “Did you come to visit your grandmother’s masterpiece?”
“I did. It’s so nice that the public can see it anytime they like. That must have pleased Gram,” Annie said, smiling at the thought.
“Absolutely. We talked about that very thing. Though I always told Betsy I was going to steal that picture right out of the case. I have access to the key, you know.”
Grace seemed to be joking. But Annie couldn’t tell for sure.
“Enough about my life of crime. How may I help?”
Annie explained what they needed. “Anything you can find on Harold Stevens’ military service.”
“Pictures, facts, rumors, lies, whatever.” Alice added her several cents.
“Ladies!” Grace actually laughed a little. “This sounds suspicious. But my job isn’t to evaluate your motives. It’s to investigate and inform. I’ll let you know what I find.”
Back outside and on their way to town hall, Annie said to Alice, “I didn’t know Grace could be so much fun. The last time I was here, she seemed almost morose. What do you think happened?”
“You got me.” Alice apparently had no insights.
They hiked across the lush lawns of the Town Square, the stars and stripes snapping a greeting. Annie stood a little straighter as they passed, her American pride pinging her heart. The area was empty, giving it an almost solemn air--like a cemetery.
As the women climbed the steps to the imposing town hall entrance, Annie wondered if they should be wearing their casual clothes. No, the citizens of Stony Point looked on the inside of a person, not the outside.
She breathed in the fresh salt air and opened the door wide.
“After you,” Annie said to Alice, bowing a little. Both walked into the spacious foyer, Annie heading to the hall where Ian’s office was located.
Alice wandered away, moving across the room and lingering there. “Annie, can you come over here for a minute? I think you’ll be interested in this.” Her voice was quiet, but compelling.
“Sure.” Turning, Annie walked to where Alice stood staring at a large exhibit titled, “Stony Point Celebrates Local Artisans.” Inside the glass case were various examples of art: a pen-and-ink drawing of the pier, a deep-sea adventure novel, a vintage quilt with blocks in a boat pattern, an exquisite necklace made of sea glass, smooth wood sculptures of marine life, and all manner of artistic output. Next to each sat a small card imprinted with the artist’s name and the date the piece was produced. Some were antiques, some recent. Fascinated, Annie took in the rich sample of Stony Point creativity at a glance before her gaze was pulled to one piece in particular.
She caught her breath.
In one corner sat Gram’s cross-stitch pillow. The piece Annie had donated to the auction. The superbly stitched harbor scene spoke to the crux of coastal Maine history. To her, the design tied together all the other examples of life by the sea. A grin spread across Annie’s face, unbidden.
“Look at the card,” Alice said, pointing.
Annie read the tiny text aloud. “Betsy Holden. Safe Harbor Cross-Stitch. From the private collection of Grace Emory.”
She spun around to face Alice. “So that was it! Grace bought Gram’s pillow. That’s why she seemed so pleased. Doesn’t it look wonderful on display here?”
Warmth rushed over Annie as she realized that this treasure had a home with someone who would appreciate
and understand its true value. In truth, maybe the pillow had been a little lost among so many of Gram’s other items at Grey Gables.
“OK, let’s go. I know parting is such sweet sorrow and all that, but you can visit the pillow on our way out,” Alice said, dragging Annie away from the exhibit.
Annie peered backward at the display until they rounded the corner and headed down the hallway. A short walk and they came to Mayor Butler’s office.
Mrs. Nash, the secretary, seemed glad to see them. “Do you want to see the mayor? You’re in luck. I believe he’s available. Let me check just to be sure.”
She jumped up from her chair, showing more athleticism than expected by the look of her silvered curls. Annie saw that the cyborg telephone attachment she’d noticed on the last visit still grew out of the secretary’s ear.
When Mrs. Nash reappeared, she waved them into the mayor’s office. He stood behind his desk, a massive oak arrangement of thick legs and deep drawers. He indicated that Annie and Alice should sit in a couple of the dark leather chairs placed nearby. Once they seemed comfortable, Ian sat in a matching office chair.
“Welcome, both of you. How goes the investigation?”
“We have so much to tell you!” Annie began to pour out all they had learned from Harold, Commander Bruce, and Stella. The mayor sat quietly, not interrupting as she spun her story.
“A Medal of Honor? I should have known about that, Annie. Stony Point history is my passion.” Ian’s expression filled with regret. “How did that amazing fact slip by me?”
“Well, there is a little twist. Stella says it can’t possibly be Harold’s or we would know about it,” Annie said.
“Isn’t that what you are saying, Mayor?” Alice asked.
“Indeed it is,” the mayor said. “But we have the facts we need to find out for sure. As Commander Bruce said, it’s all right there on the Internet.”
“I have asked Grace Emory to do a search.” Annie leaned forward. “If anyone can learn the truth, she can. I bet we know something before the day is out!”
“If only we’d known we could have just used a computer to find out!” Alice said, exasperated. “That gives me a headache.”
Ian chuckled. “Now you’re being too hard on yourself, Alice. Until we knew that we were looking for a Medal of Honor recipient, we were just trolling for information, hoping facts would jump in the boat. It’s a lucky break for us that we are talking about such a prestigious medal. A lesser one would have been even tougher to track.”
“There’s more,” Annie said, adding the story of her grandmother’s romance with Harold and their breakup. “No one seems to know why.”
Annie went on, filling in with Harold’s weird personality change after the war.
“We think we may know who the medals belong to, but even if I could return them to Harold, he wouldn’t want them. Denies he ever earned them.”
“Did he say that exactly? I thought you said he claimed he didn’t deserve them,” Alice said. “Technically, he didn’t say he never earned them, right?”
Annie gasped. “My goodness, you’re right! He said they weren’t his. And that he didn’t deserve them. Clever man. He fooled me.”
The mayor sat back in his chair, thoughtful now. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to do a little digging, apart from Grace’s efforts. Call some of my contacts from the service. I’m as anxious to find out the truth about this as you are, Annie. Harold has been a lifelong citizen of Stony Point. If he is the recipient, I’d like to see him get the recognition he deserves.”
“Good luck with that,” Alice said.
“There’s one more thing you might need in order to find out the whole truth, Ian,” Annie said. “The story behind a Dorothy Divine. Harold said he got himself in trouble over this woman. But he wouldn’t say more.”
After making a few notes, Ian looked up. “Got it. You two have done well. I might have to put you on the payroll as researchers or something.”
“There’s something else,” Alice said, looking pointedly at Annie, who didn’t respond with more than a “Who, me?” expression.
“Really? I can’t wait to hear this,” Ian said, leaning back in his chair as if ready for a good story.
“Annie, I think you need to tell our mayor what you told me in the car. About the possible attempt on your life?” Alice said.
The mayor sat forward, concern crossing his face. “What’s this all about?”
“Oh, that,” Annie said, flatly. She didn’t really want to play the victim in front of Ian. He had already witnessed her introduction to car theft. What would he think if she suggested that some person had initiated what was probably just an act of nature? Did she really believe a person was behind it?
Yes, she did. But maybe she was wrong. Still, knowing a good deal about Alice’s tenacity told Annie she might as well spill her news now. She’d have to eventually, anyway. “Well, remember I told you I’d made a visit to see Harold?”
The mayor nodded, listening.
After Annie had filled in all the details for Ian, he took very little time to consider the matter. “Annie, it sounds like you have tread upon something here that has put you in real jeopardy. I think you should continue your search with the utmost care. Watch your back, so to speak.”
“And your sides and your front, if you ask me,” Alice said. “I’m going to stay close by Annie. You can be sure of that, Ian.”
“As I said before, I’m going to dig deeper into this and try to speed it to a quick conclusion. The sooner we figure this out, the better. For everyone’s sake,” he said, looking back and forth at his visitors. The mayor’s troubled gaze rested longest on Annie. “You … be careful. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to Betsy’s granddaughter. I consider your safety a trust for the town. So, please, take care.”
The women rose to leave, Ian rising also. Offering thanks, they gathered their purses and walked to the office door.
Annie paused, almost afraid to ask a last question. “Did you find out if there were any other items stolen during the auction?”
“No, Annie. Yours was the only theft reported. I’m sorry.”
She was sorry too. Now Annie knew she was a target.
24
Tuesday morning, Annie arose earlier than usual. After another sleep-deprived night, she was exhausted and jittery at the same time. As soon as she had settled into her soft sheets, another creak or bump would sound. Each time, Annie jumped up, armed with no more than a crochet hook, and crept through the house. Of course, she found nothing and no one. But by 2:00 a.m., Boots had apparently tired of the interruptions and leaped off the bed, loping downstairs to her corner on the sofa.
All the creepy noises aside, rest had eluded Annie, her brain battered with questions. Parts of the story were still missing. If Harold was a hero, why wouldn’t he want his medals? Why did his and Grandpa’s friendship dissolve? And did the answers have anything to do with the unsettling things that had happened to her lately?
One thing was for sure: Annie was determined to solve this mystery, and soon. If only for a good night’s rest.
“Hello? Annie?” Alice’s cheery voice carried down the hall. “Anybody home?”
“In here,” Annie said, too tired to get up and greet her guest.
Alice entered the kitchen. “Not to be a nag, but your front door was open. I just walked right in.” She pulled a mug off of the exposed cupboard shelf, inspected it, and wiped it with a dish towel. “Dusty.”
“The kitchen stays in its dusty mode. Waiting for Wally … and you, of course.” Annie leaned her elbows on the table for support. “That’s why I unlocked the door.” She half-heartedly pushed a plate of Alice’s pumpkin scones across the table.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked Alice. “Did you just give blood? Run a mile? You look awful.”
“Don’t I wish. Just tired, bushed, drained, worn out. Pick one.” Annie sipped her coffee.
Strange. The cup seemed much heavie
r than usual.
But then, it was a very strong coffee.
Alice filled her mug with steamy water from the kettle. “Bad night?” she asked, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite Annie.
“Very bad. We have to solve this mystery soon or I’ll end up a live zombie.”
“I don’t think you can be a live zombie,” Alice said. “Besides, that ashen look isn’t good on you. Not with your peaches and cream complexion.” She bit into a scone.
Annie attempted a smile. “Crazy lady.”
A loud, insistent knock on the front door caused Annie to push herself away from the table with great effort. “Why doesn’t Wally just come around back if he’s uncomfortable coming in the front door? He does it when I’m gone.” Her voice faded.
“I’ll get it.” Alice was off in a flash to stop the knock.
She returned with Ian Butler in tow. “It wasn’t Wally, after all.” She shrugged, as if she didn’t want to let anyone in, but it was the mayor, for goodness’ sake.
“Morning, Mr. Mayor.” Annie took a deep breath, pasting on her happy face. “I’m surprised to see you, but you are most welcome to one of Alice’s excellent scones. They’re pumpkin.” She indicated he should sit.
“Coffee, Ian?” Alice asked, a mug in one hand.
“Thanks, no. Can’t stay. But I wanted to give you this information personally.” He seemed excited as he opened a folder and drew out some printed pages, handing one to Annie. “Look at this.”
She scanned the information, her brows arching in wonder. “My goodness! This is a Medal of Honor citation. For Harold Stevens.” She passed the paper on to Alice. “Where did you find it?”
“Internet.” Ian offered her another sheet. “That’s not all.”
“What’s this?” Annie frowned as she read.
Ian sat down between the women. “Once I found Harold’s citation, I made some calls. One of my contacts sent me this report.” He handed her another page. “This is why Harold says he doesn’t deserve the medals. He was court-martialed.”
“What? Our Harold Stevens? Why?” Annie asked.