The Map in the Attic

by Jolyn Sharp

  Annie stared at the receiver in her hand, trembling with the anger.

  15

  “And the voice was not at all familiar?” Chief Edwards asked again. Annie wearily shook her head.

  After the call, Alice had grabbed Annie’s suitcase and hustled her out, as if the intruder might have phoned from just outside the house and was ready to break in again. They had immediately crossed to the parked police cruiser and reported the incident. Officer Peters had radioed in the report, walked them to Alice’s house, and then, at Alice’s insistence, gone into Annie’s house to check on things.

  After about an hour, Chief Edwards had arrived to hear about the call. Annie had recounted it in as much detail as she could remember, assisted by Alice, who had at least heard Annie’s side of the conversation. “But like I said,” she continued, “his voice sounded funny, strained. Like maybe he was trying to disguise it.”

  “Which would suggest it’s a voice you might recognize,” Alice said.

  The chief didn’t respond to this, but he looked thoughtful. After a moment, he said, “Since we know the time the call arrived, the phone company should be able to tell us what number it was made from. That was the only call you received, right?”

  Annie’s expression became alarmed. “Yes, but that raises the question, how did he know to call when he did? Is he watching me?” Both she and Alice involuntarily turned their heads toward the window.

  Chief Edwards shook his head. “I think it’s much more likely that he tried several times until he got you. The phone records will tell us. But in the meantime, as you know, I’ve got Peters out here,” he nodded in the direction of the cruiser parked down the street, “and he knows to keep an eye on both these houses.”

  After the chief had left, Alice began to prepare the lasagna while Annie called her daughter in Texas.

  “A break-in!” LeeAnn exclaimed in alarm, and Annie could hear her son-in-law’s voice in the background calling, “What? What’s happened?”

  “Mother, what is going on up there?”

  Trying to keep her voice calm and her tone light, Annie updated LeeAnn on the embroidered map, the efforts to research its history, the Historical Society exhibit, and the consultation with the expert from Boston. She tried to minimize the break-ins at the Cultural Center and at her own house, and she emphasized the allure of the map. LeeAnn was having none of it.

  “I knew something was wrong as soon as the phone rang,” she said, “and the caller ID showed it was coming from Alice’s phone and not yours. I was so relieved to hear your voice when I picked up. But I never dreamed you’d be telling me something like this. Mother, what are you going to do? Do you want us to come up there and stay with you?”

  “Well, of course I always like to have you visit,” Annie faltered, “but no, you don’t need to come rushing up to protect me.” If there was any danger, the last thing Annie wanted was to have her daughter or grandchildren mixed up in it. “The police are handling everything,” she continued more confidently. “They’ve got an officer stationed outside the house right now.”

  “You’re under guard?” exclaimed LeeAnn.

  “And besides,” Annie continued hastily, “Alice has offered to put me up at her house. Just for a couple of nights, you know, while I get over the … surprise.”

  LeeAnn was silent for a few moments. “So you’re staying with Alice?” she finally asked.

  “Yes, and she’s fixing a lovely supper right now that’s intended to help us forget all about this.”

  “And the police think that’s a good idea? Maybe you should go check into a motel or something. Or come down here.”

  “Chief Edwards thought it was a fine idea.” That might be stretching it some, Annie considered, but he certainly hadn’t objected.

  LeeAnn gave a soft, doubtful grunt. “Well, OK. But I hope the both of you will be very careful. And I want you to call me immediately if anything else happens.” She sighed. “Mother, promise you’ll call me every day until this gets resolved.”

  ****

  The lasagna didn’t exactly make Annie forget everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, but the soothing food and some chewy Italian bread they’d picked up helped calm her mind and shake off the persistent worry. Alice tried valiantly to make conversation on other topics, but they both found themselves reverting irresistibly to the mystery of the embroidered map and the break-ins.

  “If they really are connected,” Alice commented more than once. “That’s still just a supposition.”

  Annie shrugged. Her own instinct was that the two matters were very much connected, and she was sure that Alice felt the same, deep down. Alice was just trying to spare Annie further worry.

  They’d drifted into a long silence, each musing on the mystery, when Annie suddenly said, “But why Gus St. Pierre?”

  Alice immediately understood that she was referring to Hank Page’s suspicions. She gave a small laugh. “Oh, those two. They’ve been at it for years. I think maybe Hank just wishes it were Gus.”

  “But why?”

  Alice shook her head. “I’ve heard that there’s a long history between the families, the Pages and the St. Pierres, but I don’t know the story of that. But even if there isn’t, Hank and Gus have plenty of history of their own.” She thought for a moment. “And I guess ‘history’ is the operative word. I think it’s mostly a matter of professional jealousy, or rivalry.

  “Hank’s always been pretty active as an amateur historian, even when he was teaching. He developed a reputation as the go-to guy on questions of local history, any time there was an article in the paper or something like that. Everyone in town respected his knowledge.

  “Then Gus came along, a younger guy. He didn’t have the standing among the locals, but somehow he had the funding for things like his Maine Folk Arts Center, and because he had that sort of institutional base, he started to get a reputation as the local expert among people who weren’t from around here. And that’s kind of where they’ve stood for a while: Hank has seniority and the respect of Stony Point residents, but people from away don’t know who he is. I won’t say Gus isn’t respected by the locals, but they generally don’t think he’s as knowledgeable as Hank; plus there’s a lingering prejudice against his family. However, he’s had much better luck attracting funding and establishing himself with outsiders. Though, of course, that just works against him even more with the locals.”

  “But you’d think, with their common interests, they’d like each other,” Annie protested.

  “What’s that they say about academics? The feelings run so high because the stakes are so small?” Alice said. “I don’t know if they’ve ever spent enough time together to find out if they’d like each other.”

  “It just seems like kind of a waste,” Annie said, shaking her head. “If they cooperated, they might be able to do even more for the community.”

  “I don’t mean to make it sound like a blood feud. They don’t care for each other, but plenty of people, like Liz, can get along with both of them.”

  After a few moments, Annie said, “What did you mean about a lingering prejudice against Gus’s family?”

  “Ah. Well …” Alice hesitated, but she made it a rule to be as forthcoming with Annie as possible about matters of local information. She wasn’t much of a gossip, but she understood that people who’d lived for a long time in a community picked up attitudes and information that newer arrivals just weren’t privy to. “Gus and his sister have both done pretty well,” she said, “but before their generation, the St. Pierres were generally considered to be ne’er-do-wells, ‘white trash’ as you might say down south.” Annie had long since learned that most people in Maine thought Texas might as well have been the heart of the Confederacy.

  “That’s maybe too harsh,” Alice continued. “They certainly weren’t as despised as their cousins the Burkes. Now there was a family of good-for-nothings. The St. Pierres weren’t that bad, and when they did get in
to real trouble, it usually came from hanging around with their Burke relations. On the other hand, they had the French Canadian thing working against them because of their name, whereas the Burkes had changed their name.”

  “The French Canadian thing?”

  “Oh, Annie, surely you know that French Canadians were despised for years in northern New England? Of course, nowadays everyone’s happy to have the Quebecois come down and spend their money, but there was a time when French Canadian immigrants were really looked down on.”

  “So it was simple discrimination against the St. Pierres and the Burkes?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. The Burkes were definitely bad news, and it had nothing to do with their being French Canadian. But the St. Pierres? They had their problems, but yeah, if their heritage had been different, people probably would have cut them more slack.” She grimaced. “The treatment of French Canadians was not Maine’s finest hour.”

  “So the St. Pierres have come up in the world, then,” Annie said. “What about the Burkes?”

  “The Burkes,” said Alice, “have all left the area. Thank goodness.”

  16

  Annie awoke the next morning surprised to find that she had slept well and felt refreshed. She’d gone to bed sure that she would lie awake half the night and then suffer nightmares when she finally fell asleep. In fact, she’d fallen asleep immediately and had slept untroubled through the night. “I must be more resilient than I’d thought,” she said to herself. Deep inside she was a little proud of this.

  The police cruiser was still parked by her house. She and Alice took out some coffee, which was accepted gratefully. Annie glanced toward Grey Gables but decided not to enter. She felt again, however, the kindling of that anger—that some hooligan should be keeping her out of her own house!

  After breakfast, Alice gave her a sly look and said, “Since you’re here, I might as well put you to work.” So Annie spent the morning helping Alice prepare centerpieces for the annual fundraising dinner for the Stony Point Songbirds, a local women’s chorus. Now that winter was done and people were creeping out of their homes once again, many community organizations were stepping up their activities. The annual Songbirds’ social was a popular event. The money they raised would help support the chorus as it traveled and performed throughout the Down East area during the summer.

  After they’d worked steadily for a few hours, Alice said, “What do you say? Are you ready to face the public?” And when Annie gave her a questioning look, she said, “How about lunch at The Cup & Saucer?”

  Annie hesitated for a moment, and then nodded with a smile.

  ****

  As soon as they stepped through the door, Peggy Carson rushed up and put her hands on Annie’s shoulders. “Are you all right?” she asked in a low voice.

  Though she had tried to prepare herself for something like this, Annie was still a bit startled. But she managed a warm smile and said in a clear voice, “Yes, Peggy, thank you. I’m fine.” Before Peggy could say anything further, Annie stepped forward toward a booth, gesturing at it and saying, “May we?”

  “Of course, of course,” Peggy said, stepping back. “I’ll, uh, I’ll get you some coffees, OK?”

  As they settled themselves in the booth, Annie could tell that many other eyes were discreetly glancing in her direction, so she tried to appear as cheerful and unconcerned as possible. “Don’t worry,” Alice said with a smile, “they’ll get over it in a moment.”

  Though she’d long since learned the restaurant’s menu, Annie took her time scrutinizing the selections just to give herself something to do. After a few moments, she heard the usual buzz of conversation return to its full level. Though she imagined that some of that talk was now about her, she began to feel more comfortable and relaxed.

  Soon she was enjoying her favorite tuna salad sandwich, and though several people stopped by the table to express sympathy or outrage, according to their nature, at the invasion of her home, they did not linger or press for details. Several people referred to the “crime wave” that had struck the town.

  As they sat enjoying their lunch, Chief Edwards appeared in the doorway and made his way toward them.

  Almost every head in the restaurant turned to watch his progress.

  “Alice. Annie.” The chief nodded his greetings. “I wonder if I might have a word with you, Annie?”

  “Certainly, Chief,” Annie said in surprise. “Would you care to sit down? Or we’re just finishing up, if you need us to go someplace.”

  The chief took in the bill and the cash that had been laid down on the table. “Well, if you wouldn’t mind coming down the street, that might be best.” So they rose and followed him out of the restaurant onto Main Street. He turned to the right, and down beyond the intersection with Maple, Annie could see a police car parked in front of the Cultural Center. Her heart sank.

  “Is this about the break-in at Annie’s?” Alice was asking.

  “Yes and no,” the chief replied, and Annie touched her friend’s arm and pointed down the street. Seeing the gesture, the chief said, “Yes, I’m afraid so. There’s been yet another attempt to steal the map, and this time it was successful.”

  ****

  The Historical Society’s museum in the Cultural Center was staffed by volunteers on rotation. Most had not been told that the map was being locked in the safe when the museum was closed. Either Liz or Hank would simply show up before it was time to open, and by the time volunteers arrived, the map was already on display. As a result, volunteer Bill Witherell had not fully appreciated the precautions in place to safeguard the map.

  Staffing the museum during the hours it was open to the public could be a tedious business, especially early or late in the season when the summer people were not fully in residence. During especially slow times, Bill would sometimes hang a “back in five minutes” sign on the door and walk across the street to the lounge at the Maplehurst Inn or down a block to The Cup & Saucer and get a cup of coffee to go. It had never once caused a problem.

  That morning he’d not had a single visitor, and he’d completed his personal tour of the exhibit twice. About ten thirty, he’d found himself nodding over his John LeCarre novel, so he’d put down the book, stood, stretched, and decided that a stroll down to the diner was just what he needed. “I wasn’t in there for more than ten minutes,” he told Chief Edwards. “And then as I stepped out, I looked down the street and thought I saw someone come out the door here. Well, I knew I’d locked it behind me, and this guy took off walking mighty fast in the other direction. I just had a bad feeling, so I ran back down here and found the door broken open and the case smashed.”

  “And the map was gone,” said the chief.

  “The map was gone,” Bill Witherell confirmed.

  The chief sighed. “What did this man look like? The one you saw coming out the door?”

  “Jeez, Chief,” said Witherell, “I was a block away.” But the chief merely glared at him until he furrowed his brow in concentration. “Well, it was a guy, I’m sure of that. Not very tall, and kinda lean and rangy looking. And he wore a baseball cap—black or dark green, maybe blue … it was hard to tell from that distance.”

  “You said he was slim—like an athlete?”

  “No, no, you know, I couldn’t say that for sure. Umm … dark hair under the cap, dark clothes. A black jacket maybe, and jeans.”

  “Facial hair?” asked Annie, who was standing nearby.

  Both the chief and Bill Witherell seemed startled by the question, but after a moment, the latter shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you. I think he was looking this way when I first stepped out onto the sidewalk, but he turned right away and walked off in the other direction.”

  “Where did he go?” the chief asked.

  Again Witherell shook his head. “I’d lost sight of him even before I got here. I don’t know where he went. And then when I came in and saw the mess, I ran back out, but there was no sign of him.”

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p; Chief Edwards made a few more notes. “OK, Bill, thanks. I’m going to need you to write up a statement and bring it down to the station.” When Bill Witherell had walked away, Chief Edwards turned to Annie. “Facial hair?”

  Annie hesitated and then told him about the goateed man, whom she knew as David Coyne’s cousin Lionel.

  The chief listened carefully and then asked, “But what makes you think he’s got anything to do with this?”

  “Nothing,” Annie admitted, “just, you know, the ‘lean and rangy’ part fit. But mostly, I guess, just because he’s a stranger. And because he did that thing.”

  “Waved at you.”

  “Not waved. It was, I don’t know, more of an ironic salute.”

  The chief sighed, and she knew he was thinking that her house had just been broken into, and she was probably suspicious of anyone unfamiliar right now. “OK,” he said at last. “And you say Mary Beth saw him, too, and David Coyne knows him?”

  “According to Laura Coyne, they’re cousins,” Annie said, adding, “though there has been some tension between them.”

  “So he’s not a stranger to everyone, then. I’ll keep this in mind, but let’s not jump to conclusions. For the time being, we need to focus on what’s happened here.”

  “I guess there’s no question that somebody really has been after the map, eh, Chief?” Alice asked.

  Chief Edwards nodded. “It certainly looks that way.”

  “And at Annie’s house too. Wouldn’t you say?”

  The chief’s face assumed a troubled look, but Annie was suddenly flooded with relief. If the intruder had been after the map, and he now had it, he wouldn’t be making any further calls at Grey Gables. Annie had not been consciously worrying about this, but she was surprised at how the thought lightened her spirits. “Yes,” the chief said reluctantly, “that seems likely. But Annie, please don’t relax your vigilance too much. After all, this guy has gone to a lot of effort and taken a number of risks to get this map, and the fact is, we don’t know why yet.”