The Map in the Attic

by Jolyn Sharp

  Contrite, Annie said again, “I’m sorry.” She’d given Alice a considerable fright when she burst into the house. Annie had remembered that Alice usually kept her back door unlocked, and when the intruder had spotted her fleeing the house, Annie had been sure she’d be pursued. So rather than ring Alice’s doorbell as she’d intended, she’d come rushing in the back door yelling for Alice to call the police. In fact, Annie had called them herself by the time Alice got over her own shock and fright enough to understand what was happening.

  Alice gave a tired smile. “It’s certainly a change of pace,” she said, sipping her tea. “How are you feeling?”

  Once the police had been called, and it seemed clear that the intruder had not followed her to Alice’s house, Annie had trembled uncontrollably for some time. That had now passed, and she felt very tired. But she’d promised to stay up and talk with the police some more so there was no going to bed yet. Alice had already made it clear that Annie would spend the rest of the night with her.

  “There’s no need for you to stay up, though,” Annie said, repeating an earlier remark, but Alice declined to give the same response this time, and merely shrugged.

  After a few moments, Alice began asking Annie about her grandchildren. She didn’t elicit any information that she hadn’t already heard, but she knew it was a topic that could divert Annie’s thoughts from the night’s events. Soon, however, Reed Edwards knocked at the door.

  “Chief Edwards,” said Annie with concern, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize they would get you out of bed for this.”

  “Not to worry,” the chief said, shaking his head. “I was already up.” He lifted his travel mug of coffee toward Alice to decline her offer of something to drink. “I know you’ve been through it all with Officer Peters, but I’d appreciate it if you could just tell it to me again.” Annie resumed her seat at the table while the chief pulled out his notebook.

  When she had finished, the chief said, “So you saw the intruder?”

  “Just a glimpse. I was more concerned about him seeing me.”

  “But you’re sure it was a man? Can you tell me anything else about him?”

  “Yes, it was definitely a man, but I saw him more as a shadow than anything.” Annie closed her eyes and tried to recall what she’d seen. What came to her most vividly was the figure’s posture—frozen, alert, in a predatory hunch. But this didn’t seem useful for police purposes.

  After a moment, she tried, “Not too tall, I would say. Average build? He didn’t seem to be either fat or extraordinarily skinny. I guess he seemed pretty … solid. His clothes may have been dark, but that could have been, you know,” she opened her eyes and gave him a wry look, “the absence of light.”

  “Hair color?” the chief prompted. “Skin color? Facial hair? Age?”

  But Annie shook her head. “Too dark.”

  Chief Edwards made some further notes, and then narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you think they were after?”

  Annie shrugged. “What are burglars ever after? Cash? Jewelry? Electronic equipment? I don’t have much like that in the house.” She looked at Alice as if seeking her opinion. “I’ve got some antiques that are probably worth some money, things of my grandmother’s. But would a burglar go for something like that? I’d think you’d have to have time and expertise to steal that kind of stuff.” Alice nodded in agreement. “Did he … make much of a mess upstairs? Did he go into the attic?”

  The chief shook his head. “We found drawers pulled out and things messed about downstairs, especially in the back rooms, but nothing appears to be disturbed upstairs. We think the burglar may have fled when he saw you.”

  “Chasing me?” Annie asked with alarm.

  “We think he both entered and left by the back door; you came out the front. There seem to be tracks, but we’ll know better in daylight. No, we think you spooked him as much as he spooked you, so he ran when he saw you. Amateurs will usually take off at the first sign of trouble. And even if he didn’t panic outright, he probably figured you’d be calling the police.”

  “You’re sure it was an amateur?” Alice asked.

  “Annie never would have heard him, otherwise,” said the chief. “Besides,” he added, “Stony Point isn’t the kind of place to attract professionals. But Annie, are you sure you can’t think of anything specific that the thief might have been after?”

  Annie gave him a sharp look. “What are you getting at, Chief? What’s going on?”

  Chief Edwards sighed. “Well, it’s just that this wasn’t the only break-in last night.” Both women looked at him in amazement. “Sometime before this intruder entered your house, Annie, somebody broke into the Cultural Center once again, and this time they made it inside without interruption.” He looked to see how they were taking this news, but both seemed surprised and puzzled. “And this time, it’s clear what they were after: The case that held that embroidered map had been tipped over, but nothing else had been touched. I think the thief may have kicked it over when he saw that the map wasn’t there.”

  “So you think he was after the map after all?” Alice exclaimed in amazement.

  “But it wasn’t there,” Annie quickly protested. “They’ve been locking it up in a safe at night.”

  The chief nodded slowly. “That’s right, and it’s still there, safe and sound. But the point is, not many people knew they were doing that.”

  Alice was quicker to the mark. “So you think whoever it was assumed that Annie had taken the map back to her own house, and that’s what he was after!”

  14

  The next day Annie went through her house with Officer Peters to confirm that nothing was missing.

  Boots the cat met them at the door, complaining loudly about the disruption of the nighttime routine. Annie felt absurdly glad to see her and rather guilty because she’d given the cat no thought in her flight from the house the night before. Alice went to the kitchen to feed her and then caught up with Annie and the police officer as they made a systematic examination of the house.

  Annie found two levels of mess: that made by the thief as he had apparently searched for the map and that made by the police technicians as they had dusted for fingerprints and searched for other clues. Peters gave Annie an apologetic look. “Crime can be a messy business, I’m afraid.”

  But Annie could not find anything missing. “If he was after the map—” she began.

  Peters shrugged. “If he came across cash or jewelry, he might seize his opportunity even if he were here for the map,” he said. “But the fact that nothing seems to be missing strongly suggests that he was after something specific, and our best candidate for that is this … embroidery.” If Peters felt any skepticism about the notion that someone would break into a house just to steal a piece of needlework, his carefully neutral tone did not betray it.

  Annie’s shoulders sagged. “I wish now I’d never found it.”

  Alice, trailing them through the house, put her arm around Annie’s shoulders and squeezed. “Come on then,” she said, “let’s get this cleaned up.”

  Annie looked at Peters. “Is it OK to …” She gestured at the mess in the family room.

  The officer nodded. “We’ve learned all we can from the scene,” he said, but appeared to regret his use of the word when he saw Annie stiffen. In a softer voice, he said, “Are you … planning to stay here tonight? We’ll have a watch on the house, you know. Though it’s very unlikely that he’ll be back.”

  “She’s staying with me,” Alice said decisively. “For a few days, at least,” she added with a meaningful look at Annie. Though she’d previously insisted that one night away would be sufficient, Annie felt defeated by the mess she saw around her, and now she nodded in mute acquiescence. “We’ll clean this up and pack you some clothes,” Alice continued briskly, “and then we’ll go grocery shopping. We’re going to cook something special this evening as a means of putting this behind us. And you,” she added, looking down at Boots, who was t
wining around their ankles, “can stay at whichever house you like.”

  ****

  In fact, they decided to do the shopping first and come back to clean up the house in the afternoon. Alice thought Annie needed a break and some other activity before further reminders of the night’s frightening events. They decided on vegetable lasagna and set out for Magruder’s to lay in supplies.

  Magruder’s Groceries was directly across Main Street from the Cultural Center, and as they pulled into the store’s parking lot, they couldn’t help but notice that the recently repaired back window was now once again covered by a piece of plywood. Annie gazed at it for a long moment, but said nothing.

  Inside the grocery store, they ran into Hank Page, who was shuffling through the aisles with one of the store’s baskets on his arm. “Just trying to get caught up on my marketing,” he said with a tired smile. “I’ve been too busy lately to attend to the household necessities.” His voice grew grave. “Have you heard?” he asked with a gesture of his head toward the Cultural Center.

  Alice looked at Annie to take her cue. “Oh, we’ve heard,” Annie said. “We’ve more than heard.” Hank’s face showed his confusion, and Annie explained about the break-in at her own house. As she told her story, Hank’s face became suffused with anger.

  “That infernal rat!” he exclaimed. “How dare he?”

  His response startled Annie, and Alice cried, “You know who it was?”

  Hank drew breath to respond but then hesitated. “Well, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” he said angrily. He calmed a bit as he added, “Though Chief Edwards does think I’m jumping to conclusions.”

  They waited a moment for him to continue, until finally Alice couldn’t stand it. “Well, who do you think it is?”

  “Gus St. Pierre,” Hank replied solemnly.

  “But why?” Annie asked at last.

  “Look at the interest he’s shown in that map,” Hank said eagerly. “You yourself said he wanted to borrow it from you when you went to ask him about it. And I saw how he acted the night of the reception. I’ve thought all along it’s him. I think he’s dying to get his hands on it.”

  “But why would he try to steal it when he’s coming to photograph it?” Annie demanded. Hank look startled, and she explained, “Gus called me the other day. He wanted permission to make a set of documentary photographs of the map. I said it was fine with me so long as it didn’t interfere with the Historical Society’s work. I was very clear that the Society had priority,” she emphasized, as Hank started to bristle, “so he called Liz, and they worked out a schedule that accommodates everyone. I believe he’ll be taking them sometime next week.” She paused and watched this sink in. “So why would he take the risk of trying to steal it when he’s already arranged to take these pictures? Won’t they be just as useful to him as the actual embroidery?”

  “Hmm, well, of course pictures aren’t the same as possession,” Hank said, but Annie could hear the conviction leaking out of his voice. “Still, as you say, that does cast a new light on things. Hmm …” He sighed. “Well, if it’s not Gus—and I’m not yet fully persuaded of that, mind you—but if it’s not, then who on earth is it?”

  ****

  Annie and Alice loaded up on pasta, spinach, tomatoes, portabella mushrooms, onions, and fresh mozzarella and ricotta cheeses for the lasagna, plus biscotti and ice cream for after dinner, but when they were done, Annie rejected Alice’s suggestion of lunch at The Cup & Saucer. “It may not have reached Hank yet, but I’m sure the story is traveling all over town,” Annie said. The grapevine was so much more efficient in these small New England towns than it had been back in Brookfield. “I don’t think I’m quite ready yet for the sympathy and interrogations.”

  So they returned to Alice’s house for a quiet lunch of tea and sandwiches, and then they made their way back to Grey Gables to clean up the mess and pack some clothes for Annie. A police car was prominently parked across the street from the house, and Annie looked at it with both relief and puzzlement. “Surely Chief Edwards can’t keep that car there all day,” she said. But the officer who waved to them as they approached the door to the house seemed settled in for his vigil.

  They had stocked up on cleaning supplies at the grocery store, and Alice now drew out the large sponges with which they planned to attack the black fingerprint powder. “Why don’t you go upstairs and pack, and I’ll get a start on the cleanup.”

  Annie hesitated before nodding. She hated to foist this chore off onto Alice, but just the sight of the mess was starting to oppress her spirits once again, and she didn’t think she was quite yet up for the cleaning. Slowly, she climbed the stairs and made her way down the hall to her bedroom door. The sense of oppression continued to grow, and as she stood outside the room, alone for the first time in many hours, she felt an echo of the previous night’s fear.

  She took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

  She’d been in here that morning, of course, with Officer Peters, but then she had been focused on the details, looking for signs of disturbance or things that were missing. Nothing had been out of place, and as Peters had said, it looked like the intruder had never come upstairs. But now, as she stood and took in the room as a whole, it seemed unaccountably strange and unfamiliar, a room in which some life other than hers was lived. She felt a sudden stab of longing for the safety and security of her bedroom at home in Brookfield, though it was so much smaller than this. Then she heard Alice’s voice calling from downstairs.

  “Annie? We forgot to pick up garbage bags.”

  And Annie suddenly remembered that she had good friends here in Stony Point. She stepped out into the hall to call, “There should be some under the kitchen sink,” and when she stepped back in, it was into her familiar bedroom in Grey Gables once again.

  After another look around the room, she returned to the stairs and climbed to the attic to retrieve a small blue suitcase. She carried this to her bedroom, placed it open on the bed, and began to fill it with clothes from her closet and bureau. And as she did so, a small spark kindled and grew inside her. The sadness she had felt at her temporary sense of dislocation was replaced by anger at the thought that someone had violated her home, threatened her within the bounds of her own sanctum, and that she could do nothing about it.

  For a while, she flung clothes about, folding them with ferocity and shoving them into the suitcase. But after a while, she calmed down and told herself that this response was no more productive than the sadness. She had turned the matter over to the police, and that was the best—the only—thing she could do. They would do their best with it.

  She closed and lifted the suitcase from the bed, and on her way out, she stopped once again to survey the room. She was glad she wouldn’t be sleeping there tonight, and she admitted to herself that Alice was right: She would probably need several days away. But at least now she could imagine returning to this room, to the normal round of her life there, and she looked forward to it.

  She carried the suitcase downstairs and left it standing in the hall. She found Alice at the back of the house in the family room—the room that had been the most disrupted. Books and magazines were strewn about, the cushions pulled from chairs and sofas, and various knickknacks swept from tables and shelves to the floor. As Alice cleaned the various surfaces, Annie moved about the room, restoring furniture and other items to their rightful positions. The glass in a framed photograph was cracked, but fortunately little seemed to be actually broken.

  Alice watched her friend with concern for a few moments but relaxed when it seemed that Annie was handling it well. “This can be your spring cleaning,” she said. She got a small smile from Annie, but no other response. After a moment, she continued tentatively, “I was thinking, one thing you need to do when we get home, or maybe this evening …” Annie stopped and looked at her as she paused. “You should call LeeAnn.”

  Annie frowned. Telling her daughter about the break-in was going to be upsetting fo
r both of them. And the distance was going to make LeeAnn’s concern and frustration that much more acute.

  “Do you want me to call her?” Alice asked gently.

  Annie shook her head. “No, she’ll really freak out if she thinks I’m too prostrated even to come to the phone. But you’re right,” she sighed. “I should call her.”

  As if on cue, Annie’s phone rang. The women looked at one another in surprise, and Alice said, “Maybe that’s her.”

  Annie didn’t bother saying that LeeAnn never called at this time of the day; she just went to the phone and answered it. But for several moments, no voice responded to her greeting. “Hello?” she said again, somewhat impatiently.

  Finally, a harsh male voice said, “It isn’t yours.”

  Annie blinked in surprise and could think of nothing to say other than “Excuse me?”

  “The map, it isn’t yours,” the voice croaked. It didn’t sound like a normal speaking voice; it sounded like someone trying to disguise his voice.

  But Annie barely registered this thought, because suddenly the anger that she’d felt upstairs came flooding back. Alice watched in astonishment as Annie’s back straightened and her expression hardened.

  “Who is this?” she snapped. “What do you want?”

  “You must return the map,” said the voice.

  “Return it? Return it to whom?” She heard a breath drawn in at the other end of the line, but Annie sensed a hesitation. “Are you saying it’s yours?” she demanded. “Who are you? If the map is yours, why don’t you just come forward and say so? Why all this sneaking about, and breaking and entering?” Annie was all but yelling into the phone now. Alice stood stock still, watching Annie in surprise and distress.

  “You should give it back,” the voice repeated.

  “I don’t see that it’s yours any more than it’s mine,” Annie said. “It’s a historical artifact, and I’ve given it to the Historical Society where it belongs. If you think it belongs to you, you can take it up with them and leave me alone.” She spat out the last words. After a moment, she asked again, “Who is this?” but even as she said it, the call was disconnected.