by Jolyn Sharp
“I know, but you have to understand that many of these artifacts have been displayed before, or they’re things people just grew up with,” Alice explained. “The map is truly new, so it’s a sensation.”
Just then a small bell sounded, drawing the guests’ attention and silencing the chatter. Stella Brickson, as the driving force for getting the Cultural Center opened, now had the honor of presiding at events like this. And she did it well: She had a commanding, regal presence, and when she spoke, Annie could almost imagine she was descended from royalty. Stella wore a soft pink-and-gray dress with a matching coat and large gray pearl beads and earrings that seemed to be backlit by her beautifully coiffed gray hair.
Stella greeted the crowd and praised Liz Booth and Hank Page for their efforts in organizing the exhibit. She then told the story of how Annie’s map had been found. Annie gave a rueful smile and raised her plastic cup of white wine to acknowledge the crowd’s applause. Stella concluded by turning over the podium (such as it was) to Hank, the curator of the featured exhibit.
Hank had the air of a scholar in thrall to his subject, as he stepped to the front of the crowd and began to speak. His eyes were intense, and his hair was as wild as ever. He’d dressed up for the event in an old sport coat with frayed leather elbow patches over a plaid shirt and tie, jeans, and shoes badly in need of resoling. To Annie he was the very embodiment of New England frugality.
As frumpish as he looked, though, he had a mesmerizing command of the audience as he peppered his speech with understated Yankee humor and dazzled everyone with an array of historical tidbits pertaining to the area. When he turned his attention to the centerpiece of the exhibit, though, he became a little more vague, his flow of words interrupted by small stammers. He talked about maps generally as indicators of how people viewed the world, and he pointed to the icons in the corner of the map as examples of coastal Maine industry: fishing and tourism. Hank said that after some consultation by phone with a Boston curator of historical textiles, he felt certain that this piece was created to be sold; close examination of the stitch work revealed that at least two and possibly three hands had worked on the map, which “contraindicated” his first assumption that it was a piece created by a young woman as a sampler or a memento of home to be sent off with a sailor beau. He started to talk about the numbered notations on the back and the letters YSP that were embedded in the design, but he didn’t say much except that possibilities were still being explored.
Hank did mention that his curator friend would be visiting soon to look at the thread count of the muslin fabric, the material of the embroidery threads, and other such clues that would give a clearer picture of the age of the piece and perhaps its purpose.
The audience clapped politely, and Hank stepped back into the crowd, shaking hands with a few people. Annie herself was besieged with people asking her all sorts of questions. At one point she caught a fleeting expression of alarm cross Hank’s face as he looked up—but in a second it was gone as another person pressed forward to shake his hand or to share some anecdote about Maine history.
In time, Hank made his way over to Annie, bearing a satisfied expression on his face.
“Ah. The turnout tonight does us proud, I think,” he exclaimed.
“More than you had expected, I take it,” Annie said.
“Well, yes, but I shouldn’t be surprised. History has a lot to teach us, Annie, about ourselves. Our past clues us to what lies ahead, if you take the time to study the past, but it’s things like the embroidery piece that remind us that we have a shared past and a kinship among neighbors. Ah, me …” Hank patted his chest, which Annie thought might be a tad thrust out.
“Ah, me …” he said again and then he smiled as an attendee stopped to shake his hand. “Between you and me,” he leaned over to speak to Annie from the side of his mouth, “the piece does dovetail in an interesting way with some research I’ve been doing. I’m hoping to get an article out of it in the long run. It was awkward trying to keep from alluding to the new direction of my research before I have my facts checked and rechecked.”
Annie looked at him sharply with raised eyebrows, to which Hank replied, “Well, why don’t you drop by tomorrow afternoon so I can clue you in?”
“Yes—I think that is in order now,” she said chuckling, just as another attendee swept in to buttonhole Hank with more historical minutia.
Annie turned around and scanned the room. There were so many people inside that it was hard to see, and it was getting very warm. She had started to edge her way to the door when Gus St. Pierre sidled up alongside her. With his dark blue suit of rich material and his red bow tie and pocket handkerchief, Gus was stylish elegance to Hank’s threadbare academic.
Gus smiled warmly and said, “I must congratulate you on the exhibit. The other items create a cozy context for it, I think.” His voice wrapped lovingly around the word it, as if the map were really the only object in the room worth speaking of. He made it sound as if the two of them shared some special appreciation of its value, not open to the philistines who surrounded them.
“Thank you,” said Annie. “There are so many fascinating things here. I’m hardly the only one to donate something; though, of course, I’m happy to help.”
She saw his eyes narrow. “Donate?” He said sharply and then paused. “Do you mean you’ve given the map to the Historical Society?”
“Sorry, I guess I should have said ‘loan.’ ”
Gus seemed to relax slightly. “Of course. But it is the map, you know, that’s brought everyone out.” He smiled that conspiratorial smile again. “That’s the thing everyone’s eager to see.” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “I’m still researching it, you know. I promised to help, and I’m keeping my word. Alas, I’ve not yet found anything tangible. But I still have hopes.”
“Thank you, Mr. St. Pierre.”
“Please, please,” he chided, “call me Gus.” But when Annie smiled and sipped her drink without responding, he seemed at a loss for how to continue. Finally, he said, “Well, congratulations again, Annie.” And with a last ingratiating smile, he turned away.
As Annie pondered this encounter, Alice returned to her side and began to guide her about the room, introducing her to some of the residents of Stony Point she did not yet know. As she circulated and conversed, Annie noticed that Hank had held court pretty much continuously by the display case with the map, showing it off to each new person who came up to have a look. Taking a brief break from socializing, she watched from a corner with interest as Gus St. Pierre stepped up to the display case.
Sensing a presence, Hank turned from another conversation. His beaming expression turned frosty in an instant. The two stood rigid with mutual dislike, and for a moment, Annie feared there might be a scene. But then they nodded stiffly to each other, and Gus bent over the case. Hank scowled for a moment at the back of his neck, but then turned and moved off to another part of the room.
As Gus leaned over the case, his nose almost touched the glass. Annie could see him methodically examining every inch of the embroidery, occasionally shifting his stance to better view a new section of the piece. This examination lasted so long that he began to monopolize access to the display case. Annie watched several people turn away after waiting for a turn. Off to one side, Liz Booth was now the one doing the scowling, and Annie wondered if Liz was going to ask Gus to step aside and give someone else a chance. Just as Liz seemed ready to speak up, however, Gus straightened abruptly and strode from the room without a glance to the right or left. Annie found herself releasing a pent-up breath.
Annie barely had time to register Gus’s odd fascination with the embroidered map when Gwendolyn Palmer and her husband John breezily stepped up on either side of her and a flash exploded in her eyes. It was just a photographer for The Point taking some candid shots of the event. As president of the Stony Point Savings Bank, which had a role in underwriting many of the Historical Society’s exhibits, John Palmer made
a regular appearance in the local paper and in some of the regional papers as well.
“What an extraordinary find, Annie,” John said. “You’re the person of the moment tonight.”
“Well,” Annie said, still trying to blink away the stars in her eyes, “it’s just that, a find. I hadn’t much luck in researching it. That’s all Hank’s doing.”
“And Hank knows the right people doing research in other museums—I can’t wait to hear what the textile conservator will have to say about this piece. Funny all the little details that say so much about something,” Gwendolyn added.
The Palmers drifted off toward the door, followed by the receding sound of the camera clicking away.
****
The next morning, a Saturday, Annie was surprised to find how slow she was to get moving. The exhibit opening hadn’t been especially taxing, she chided herself, though perhaps the excitement had drained her more than she realized. And the fact was, she was more likely to spend evenings at home reading or crocheting than she was to spend them out. Still, she was dismayed to discover what she considered a lack of stamina.
She had settled down with her coffee and newspaper, with Boots trying to hint that a second breakfast for her would be a fine idea, when Alice knocked at the door and walked in without waiting for an answer.
“Have you heard what happened?” she asked, her eyes flashing and her cheeks flushed.
Annie looked up slowly and blinked. “This is Stony Point. I thought the whole idea was that nothing happens.”
But the excitement of the news, whatever it was, carried Alice right past her friend’s disappointingly uninterested response. “Not this time. This time something definitely happened.”
“Well in that case, you’d better have some coffee.” She waved vaguely in the direction of the pot.
Alice had just fixed her cup and settled down to share the news when there was another knock on the door. Casting Alice a questioning glance, Annie got up to answer it and was surprised indeed to find the Stony Point chief of police standing on her doorstep. Before he could speak, Annie turned toward Alice and said, “Well. I guess something really did happen.”
Chief Edwards’s face registered momentary confusion at this remark, but Annie quickly turned back to him and invited him in. He nodded to Alice, and Annie asked if she could get him a cup of coffee, which he accepted. “Is this about the break-in?” Alice asked.
“Attempted break-in,” the chief corrected, but then he waited while Annie fixed him his coffee.
When they were all settled again, Annie said, “Break-in?”
Rather than respond directly, the chief said, “Ms. Dawson, I’m hoping you’ll be willing to help me in an investigation.” When she nodded, he continued, “Yes, there was an attempted break-in last night—at the Cultural Center.”
“The Cultural Center!” Annie exclaimed. “But we were there last night. For the opening of the Historical Society exhibit.”
Chief Edwards nodded. “Yes, ma’am. This was after that. Sometime after midnight. The reception ended about eleven, from what I’m told. But after it was over, Liz Booth and Hank Page locked up the building together. Mr. Page saw Ms. Booth to her car; then he started on home himself. He’d driven halfway home before realizing that he’d left his notes behind, so he decided to go back for them. As he crossed Main to park around behind the Cultural Center, he scared off someone who was trying to break in. He saw someone running away from the back of the building, and when he went ’round, he found that a window had been broken and forced open. So he called us.”
“My word,” said Annie. “Was anything stolen?”
“No, it looks like Mr. Page came by just as they were getting the window open, so they never got inside. We’ve had both Mr. Page and Ms. Booth looking things over to see if anything is missing, and they say nothing is.”
“But, Chief, if this happened after the reception was over, I don’t see how I can help you. I was home and in bed by midnight.”
“Yes, ma’am, but Mr. Page feels—quite strongly feels—that what the thief was after was your … well, he says it’s a map of some sort.”
“Why on earth would he think that?”
“Well, as he says, it’s the only thing that’s different. A lot of the stuff that’s in that Historical Society is there all the time, and the other stuff that’s in the exhibit is all stuff that they’ve had before. And no one’s ever tried to mess with it. Your map is the only thing that’s new, or not new new, I guess, but new to that location. That would explain why someone tried to break in last night when nobody’s ever tried to do so before.”
“But they’ve had it down there for a few days now,” Annie protested, “getting ready for the exhibit.”
Chief Edwards nodded. “Yes, but that’s not been generally known. It wasn’t until the story in the paper on Thursday and then the reception last night that a lot of people really became aware of the map’s existence or knew what it looked like or where exactly to find it.”
Annie glanced at Alice, who shrugged. “Of course, I’ll be happy to help however I can, Chief, but I must say this sounds a little far-fetched to me.”
He gave a crooked smile. “I won’t deny that, though it does have a certain logic to it. But the fact is, I don’t have many leads so far, so I’ve got to take what I can get.” He paused and then continued. “I’d appreciate it if you could tell me everything you can about this map, and especially, who might be interested in possessing it.” He pulled out a small notebook and set it carefully on the table next to his coffee cup.
“Just Hank,” Annie said immediately, with a laugh, “or maybe Gus St. Pierre.” But her laughter quickly died when she saw the serious look on the chief’s face.
“St. Pierre?” he said, jotting in his notebook.
“Well, I don’t want to cast suspicion on either man unnecessarily,” Annie said hurriedly. “I only mean that both Gus and Hank wanted to have exclusive access to the embroidery piece to study it. Neither man strikes me as the type to steal.”
The chief cocked an eyebrow at her. “I thought this was a map we were talking about?”
“It is!” Annie said, suddenly nervous, as if she’d been caught in a fib.
“It’s an embroidered map,” added Alice. “It shows the local coastline. It’s quite beautiful.”
“I have a picture of it that Hank took,” said Annie, half rising. “It’s on my computer. Would you like to see it?”
“Perhaps later,” the chief replied. “If you could just tell me about it for now.”
Annie took a sip of coffee, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. “Perhaps I should go back to how I found it in the first place.” So once again she told the story of cleaning out her grandmother’s attic, coming across the old clown cookie jar, and finding the embroidered map stuffed down inside. “Though I didn’t realize it was a map,” she said. “My friend Kate figured that out.”
She described her library researches and her consultations with Liz and Hank, and with Gus St. Pierre, though she avoided saying anything about how uncomfortable Gus had made her feel. She concluded with an account of the opening the night before and of the tension she’d sensed between the two rival historians. Alice threw in some observations about the opening as well.
As Chief Edwards listened, he made only a few further notes. Mostly, he folded his hands under his arms and looked up at the ceiling, as if he were watching a movie of the story Annie was telling. When she stopped talking, he continued to stare at the ceiling for a long moment.
“The thing is,” he said finally, “the summer folk are starting to arrive.”
Annie and Alice exchanged questioning glances at this non sequitur. Seeing their expressions, he smiled apologetically. “What I mean is, a lot of folks are coming up weekends already, bringing their kids, who are antsy from being cooped up all winter. Sometimes the combination of warm weather and new surroundings gets them in the mood to make a little mischief. It could j
ust be a case of vandalism, is what I’m saying. It’s not unheard of this time of year, and the reception last night may have piqued somebody’s interest.”
He paused for thought for another moment; then he sighed and slapped his knees. “Maybe your embroidered map has got something to do with this, and maybe not. But there’s no need to make things more complicated than necessary, and I don’t want to worry you with speculation. Either way, the thing to do is to get my guys out there making some extra rounds in the cruiser.” He stood. “I wouldn’t worry about your embroidery,” he said. “I’m sure it’s safe. But I appreciate your time telling me about it, Ms. Dawson.” He drained his cup and held it up, adding, “And I appreciate the coffee too.”
And with that, Chief Edwards donned his hat and left.
“I don’t know, Annie,” Alice said as they watched the chief depart. “I think he’s overstating the amount of vandalism the summer people bring to Stony Point.”
“But not, I’m afraid, the restless energy of a teenager, and that I can tell you from experience.”
“Or the restless energy of a good rumor,” Alice added. “Perhaps it’s best we don’t say anything more about his visit if we can help it.”
“I agree with you there,” Annie said. “It’s a nice day. How ’bout a walk on the beach?”
They jumped into Alice’s Mustang and drove down Ocean Drive to the little sandy beach. With the tide just slipping out, the waves provided a gentle rumble behind the two women’s conversation. The sun had burned off the morning chill but had not yet brought the full height of the day’s heat. The air felt fresh and warm, and for a time, the two friends just enjoyed the fine weather. After a while, however, Annie grew thoughtful.
“Alice, what do you remember about that day the Pointer Sisters kayaked out to Caleb’s Cove?”
Alice had been gazing out at the sparkling water with her hand shading her eyes. Now she glanced curiously at her friend. “All of it. Why?”
“No reason. It’s just that as I was thinking back on it, I remembered hearing a radio when we were there.”