by Jolyn Sharp
“A radio? We were the only people around, as I recall.”
“Yes, we were. And yet, I remember hearing—faintly—a radio playing top hits, or something like that. It was disturbing in a way, though at the time I thought so because I wanted to pretend that we were castaways from another century.”
Alice smiled. “No. I don’t remember the radio, but frankly, I only had eyes and ears for our instructor.”
The two women paused to watch a seagull scan the rocks, looking for lunch. It was close enough that its haunting cry carried over the sound of the waves.
Annie brought her attention back to that day on the beach. “Something’s made me think of that day again, and how odd it was to hear the radio just then. It’s like it signaled something, but I don’t know what. It just seems that it was out of place.”
“Like a ghost? Or like the real world was closer than you had thought?” Alice probed.
“Oh, the latter, definitely … I mean, of course I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“I wasn’t suggesting—”
“And yet, I feel like something is trying to reach across time and point something out to me—” Annie looked up sharply at Alice and laughed at herself. “OK. That sounds weird. I’m going to put the blame of all this spooky thinking on my empty stomach. How would you feel about going up to The Cup & Saucer? A lobster roll would cure all ailments right now.”
9
The leisurely drive into town was soothing, and soon the break-in was almost forgotten. But as Alice and Annie parked behind the Cultural Center, they could see the ugly plywood boarding up the broken window.
Annie inhaled sharply. Shards of glass were still under the window and a piece of yellow crime tape clung to the side of the building.
“It’s the yellow tape that makes it seem unreal,” Annie said.
“Or too real,” Alice added as she parked. The two women got out of the car to inspect closer. They walked around to the front and peered in the glass door. The museum was dark inside, but light filtered back from one of the inner offices. A sign on the door gave no explanation for the museum’s closure: “Closed this morning. We plan to reopen at 2 p.m.”
Alice looked at her watch. “They don’t have too much time to prepare, do they?”
“But if it was only a little mischief …”
“Right. Let’s go eat and come back. Then we can get Hank to tell us the story. Oh, too late, he’s waving at us from inside.”
“You’ve heard?” he asked as he opened the door and gestured toward the broken window. Annie and Alice nodded as they stepped into the darkened interior of the Cultural Center. “The timing is just too coincidental,” Hank con- tinued, leading them toward the office in the back. “It’s too early in the season for quote-unquote ‘restless youth.’ My grandson is that age, and all he can think about is skateboarding from morning to night. After a day of that, it’s pizza and sleep that he wants.” He turned and caught Annie’s amused expression. She was about to speak, but he anticipated her skepticism. “No, no, no. Edwards is wrong on this one, Annie, I just know it.”
“But why, Hank? Is the embroidery that valuable? You’ve shown that it’s old, but even if it’s some sort of collector’s item, surely anyone who wanted it could have just approached one of us about buying it.”
“Hmpf. And no one did last night, which is telling. Very telling.” Annie failed to find such significance in this, but Hank was gesturing toward the display case holding the embroidered map. “Before we open this afternoon, we’re working on enhancing the security. Annie, I hope you will continue to let us show the piece. I believe there is information out there in the memories of Stony Point citizens, and we should tap it before, ah, before …” Hank’s eyes darted about as if he expected another attempted break-in even as they stood there.
Privately, Annie still thought that Hank was overreacting, but she said, “I understand, Hank, and of course we’ll keep the map on display. I have faith that you and Liz will do everything prudent to protect the exhibit.” She clasped her hands and continued, “You look exhausted. Can’t we entice you into joining us for lunch at The Cup & Saucer?”
“Oh no. Thank you, though. Too much to do here. Liz is out now picking up sandwiches, so …” He slumped a bit as he spoke. Annie wondered if there was really a lot to do, or just a lot to worry about.
“Well, then, we shouldn’t keep you. Do call if I can do anything, won’t you?”
“Thank you, Annie. And I know I owe you an update on my research, which continues. Interesting stuff.”
Without waiting to set a date to meet up with Hank again, who seemed too distracted to focus on his schedule anyway, Annie and Alice escaped into the warm sunshine of Main Street.
****
The Cup & Saucer was abuzz with the energy of a lunchtime crowd on a gorgeous Saturday. Sunlight streamed in through the plateglass window, but its glare was softened by hanging baskets of ivy and flowering begonias. Threading their way through to an empty table, Annie and Alice nodded to a few patrons who had been at the exhibit the evening before.
They were shortly met by Peggy, who came over with an order form in her hand, but instead of asking whether they would like coffee, she pulled up an empty chair and exclaimed, “Can you believe it? It was so brazen! Practically in broad—well, OK, not really. But hardly under the cover of darkness, was it? I mean, that streetlight is practically right overhead. The nerve of some people!”
“Yes, well,” Annie said. If she had any hopes of evading prying questions, they were dashed now. “We don’t actually know what happened, though.”
“What do you mean? Someone smashed open the window, and Hank caught them in the act. Or not really caught, like with his bare hands,” Peggy laughed, “but he foiled the attempt! It’s just too bad he didn’t have the presence of mind to take a picture just then.” She stood and returned the chair she had sat in. “You gals want coffee? Do you want to order off the brunch menu?”
“Iced tea for me,” Annie said, while Alice ordered a coffee.
“Coming right up. We have our daily specials on the chalkboard up on the wall. I’ll describe anything to you when I come back with your drinks.”
Annie took a cursory look at the menu, though by now she was famished, and she quickly settled on the lobster roll with coleslaw and baked beans. Alice had been swayed by the special of strawberry pancakes and maple syrup. The breezy chatter of the other patrons of the restaurant, punctuated by the clinks of forks and spoons against plates, reminded Annie of the restorative sounds of the ocean. Alice generously diverted Annie’s attention from the map with questions about Annie’s grandchildren in Texas and the progress of the shawl Annie was making for her daughter LeeAnn with the Two Ewe yarn. When Peggy brought their orders to the table, Annie and Alice were sketching out some ideas for coverlets to make for the next church bazaar.
Despite her best efforts to avoid the subject, however, Annie was regularly reminded of the map and the break-in by a trickle of friends and acquaintances who stopped by the table, eager to discuss the previous evening’s excitement. Many seemed willing to entertain Hank’s theory that the embroidery was the object of an attempted theft. One woman, whom Annie had met for the first time at the opening, expressed her dismay at the “crime wave” that Annie’s discovery had brought to Stony Point. Annie couldn’t quite make out if the woman was exaggerating or trying to be funny, but fortunately she had just taken a bite of lobster roll, and she gestured helplessly at her mouth. The woman seemed to take the hint graciously and moved on.
“Sounds like Hank has been busy,” Alice observed with a smile.
“But what makes them think we would know more than the police at this point?” Annie wondered, shaking her head.
Alice shrugged, and before she could reply, Robert Stevens and his son Harry stopped at their table. Harry was Kate’s estranged husband, and Annie’s friendship with Kate sometimes made Annie feel a little uncomfortable around him. But Rob
ert had a disarming smile that put people at ease in any situation.
“Having a nice repast, I see,” Robert remarked, nodding his head. “It’s been busy days for you, Annie, I hear.”
“You mean the exhibition?” Annie said. “I didn’t do any legwork for that, just loaned them what I found in my grandmother’s attic.”
“Quite a find too,” Robert remarked. “After all these years.”
Annie was startled by Robert’s comment. “What do you mean? Do you know something about the embroidery?”
“Pop doesn’t know anything about embroidery or stitch work, unless it has to do with untangling fishing lines. Come on, old codger,” Harry said, tugging on the sleeve of his dad’s flannel shirt.
Robert flashed his son an odd smile. “Ah me,” he sighed. “Time to go put my feet up on the couch and catch a game on TV.” He tipped his ball cap in their direction and started toward the door.
Harry remained behind for a moment. “I saw the picture of it in the paper with the notice of the exhibit opening. Interesting.” And with that cryptic remark he followed his father out onto the street.
10
Sunlight streamed through the windows of the Maine Folk Arts Center as Gus St. Pierre stood behind the display case, reading the latest issue of Maine Antique Digest. He looked up when the door opened, and for a moment he was dazzled by the sunlight and unable to make out the black figure silhouetted in the doorway; nevertheless, he felt a slight shiver travel up his spine.
After a moment, he cried, “Bucky? Is that you?”
The man stepped into the center, grinning. “As ever was. Except, nobody calls me that anymore.” He stepped up to the other side of the display case but did not extend his hand.
Gus, whose expression of pleased recognition was already assuming a skeptical cast, automatically said, “Sorry.” After a moment, he added, “What … brings you to Maine?”
“Aw, you know. Old haunts. Memory lane.” He spread his hands. “Family.”
“I see.” Gus’s skeptical expression was becoming more firmly set. “How’s … Diane, is it?”
The man looked away. “She split,” he said brusquely. “Took the kid.”
“I’m sorry,” Gus said. He started to add, “Are you in touch with them?” but the man spoke over his question.
“So these are Agnes’s, huh?” He nodded in the direction of the artwork on the wall.
“Some of them, yes. This one,” Gus jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the painting on the wall behind him, “and those over there.”
“Nice, nice,” the man said absently. “And have you seen her lately?”
“Not since last summer,” said Gus. “She doesn’t usually come up until after the Fourth of July. Past few summers, she’s been spending less and less time in Maine.”
The man nodded and seemed to come to some decision. “So the thing is,” he said, “she offered to kinda, you know, give me one of these. Or, not the actual painting but the, you know, proceeds. She said I could maybe talk to you about getting an advance? Against the, you know, anticipated sale?” He gave the last two words an odd emphasis.
“Did she?” Gus asked mildly.
“Yeah,” the man insisted, nodding and smiling. “Yeah, she did.”
Gus pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “Maybe we should just give her a call.”
The man was instantly belligerent. “What, you don’t trust me?”
Gus gazed at him levelly. “Trust you,” he echoed. “I seem to recall a car battery that you sold me once. Only it turned out that it wasn’t yours to sell.”
“That was a long time ago,” the man retorted. “We were just kids.”
“You were seventeen,” Gus said. “And I had to pay the rightful owner.” He paused a moment and sighed. “I may not have seen Agnes for some months,” he said, “but I talked to her on the phone just yesterday. She’s had the boat put in, and I said I’d go up and check on it. We had a nice long conversation, and she didn’t say a word about this. So ...” He held up the cell phone and began scrolling through its directory.
“OK, OK,” the man said, gesturing for Gus to put the phone down. “I haven’t … asked her yet. But what’s she gonna say? She’s my sister after all.”
Gus raised his eyebrows. “She may well say no.” They locked eyes for a moment, until the man looked away and started to peer about the shop.
“Thing is …” he said over his shoulder and then stopped as he picked up and examined a handblown glass plate that was on display under some hanging stained-glass window ornaments. “Thing is,” he began again, “I gotta jump through hoops now just to see the kid. She’s just about grown, don’t you know. Diane’s always wantin’ money, saying she’s gonna call her lawyer or her social worker or her mom.” He laughed through gritted teeth. “Now there’s a woman to put the fear of the devil in ya.” He set the plate back down and turned around. Gus exhaled ever so quietly.
“I need money, Gus, for all the obvious reasons, and then some that ain’t so obvious. I hate to bring up the past and bygones and all that, but …” He let his words hang in the air while he stared at Gus.
Gus pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, but after a moment, he sighed and shook his head sadly. He stepped to a small cash register set on a side table and rang it open. He slowly counted out some bills and set them on the counter in front of his visitor. “There’s five hundred dollars. This is a loan, Bucky,” he used the childhood nickname deliberately, “from me to you. Nothing to do with Agnes. And I will not loan you any more until this is paid back. Understood?”
“Sure, sure,” the man was grinning again as he swept the bills off the counter. “From you to me,” he added, leering at the till.
“It was my money to begin with,” Gus said coldly. He glared at the man until the grin left his face.
“Yeah, OK,” he muttered. “Thanks.”
They stood in awkward silence for a moment, until Gus sighed again and said, “Well. Did you hear what happened to poor Davey?”
But this only seemed to make his visitor more agitated. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, glancing toward the door. “Terrible. Just terrible. Listen, I gotta get going. Places to see, things to do, and all that.” He started toward the door. “Thanks again for the … loan.” And he was gone.
Gus stared after him for a long time, a thoughtful expression on his face.
****
The following Tuesday, Annie went, as usual, to the meeting of the Hook and Needle Club. She arrived to find the other members had already gathered.
“It’s the celebrity!” cried out Mary Beth.
Annie stopped in her tracks to strike a glamour pose and then took her seat laughing. “You know, of course, that I didn’t say most of those things,” she said. “Or at least, not in the way they appeared.”
The local newspaper, The Point, had run a feature on the attempted break-in at the Cultural Center and had decided to promote Hank’s theory that the embroidered map was the target. Mike Malone, the publisher of the occasional paper, had called Annie to get her take on this possibility. She’d been happy to express her skepticism, but they’d had a long conversation, and by the time the story appeared in print, the truncated and out-of-context quotes gave the impression that she supported the theory.
“Annie,” said Alice in a mockingly grave voice, “do you think you have acted responsibly in allowing the Historical Society to place this valuable artifact in such danger?”
“It’s not her fault,” said Peggy stoutly. “If she can’t trust the Historical Society to look after such an important object, who can she trust?”
“You’re right,” Alice responded. “Clearly, she should have stuffed the thing back inside the clown and never allowed it to see the light of day.”
Stella shook her head and muttered, “Such foolishness,” which caused Alice and Peggy to laugh again.
“Well, I think Hank Page may be right,” said Mary Beth. “After all, they must have bee
n after something.” She gave a decisive nod, wielding her knitting needles with extra vigor.
“But no, that’s just the point, isn’t it?” said Alice. “They may have just been out to make mischief, cause a little trouble. Like Chief Edwards says.”
“Part of the problem,” said Kate, “is that there’s already a little mystery about the embroidery: Where did it come from? Who made it and why? What do those red Xs mean? If there weren’t so many questions about the map itself, I don’t think people would be so quick to associate it with the break-in.”
“Attempted break-in,” Annie said automatically.
“Yes. Has there been more light shed on that, Annie?” asked Peggy.
Annie shook her head. “You all heard what Hank had to say at the reception. He hinted afterward that he knew a bit more than that. But then this all happened, and he hasn’t told me any more about what he’s learned. Or suspects. I got the impression he still isn’t sure, whatever it is that he thinks.”
“Didn’t he say something about consulting an expert in Boston?”
“Yes, and I gather she’s going to come up and see it, maybe later this week.”
“Oh, you’ll have to tell us what she says,” exclaimed Kate. “I’m sure they’ll have you there.”
“They should consult you, Kate,” said Mary Beth. “You’re the one who figured out it was a map.”
“Oh, but that was just a matter of looking at it. I wouldn’t know anything about the history other than old stories the folks used to tell.”
“I bet there’s more to be learned just by looking,” Alice said. “Like those red Xs. It seems like we ought to be able to figure out what those are or what they represent.”
“Everyone in town is already trying,” said Peggy. “It’s the most popular topic at The Cup & Saucer. Theories range from lobster pots to buried treasure to alien abduction sites, but nobody’s come up with anything that’s totally convincing.”
“Alien abductions!” said Stella.