by Jolyn Sharp
17
Despite her protests, Chief Edwards asked Annie to plan to visit the police station the next day. “But I’ve told you everything I know about the map,” Annie said.
Edwards nodded sympathetically. “I know we’ve been over it, Annie,” he said, “but now that the map has actually been stolen, it casts a new light on things. Besides, you don’t always know what you know, if you follow me; sometimes more details will come to mind on a second or third telling that may seem trivial but in fact offer some insight into what’s happened.” He shrugged. “If nothing else, I have a responsibility to the investigation to go over it with you again.”
Though she still wished to protest, Annie felt it would be ungracious not to offer whatever help she could. Still, she couldn’t help muttering, “Second or third telling? Try twentieth or thirtieth.” She gave him a wry smile. “What time would be convenient?”
“Morning would be best. Well, but not too early, because I’ve got …” His voice trailed off as he thought. Finally, he said, “Could you come at eleven?”
Annie promised to be there, and the chief excused himself and walked on to the Cultural Center to continue his investigation. Annie and Alice turned to walk back down Main Street, where they saw Mary Beth Brock watching them intently from the door of A Stitch in Time. As soon as they saw her, she began to hurry toward them.
“Isn’t there some psychological thing,” said Annie, “where if you keep telling a story over and over you start to unconsciously pad it with details that might just be your imagination?”
Alice considered this. “Everyone loves a good story,” she said. “I guess that’s why they ask for ‘Just the facts, ma’am.’ But I don’t think you need to worry, Annie. You’ve been very careful in your recounting of the events.”
“What’s happened?” cried Mary Beth as she came bustling up. “Annie, is it true that somebody broke into your house? And what’s going on down there?” She nodded her head in the direction of the police gathered in front of the Cultural Center.
“Someone finally succeeded in stealing the map,” Alice said, though she knew Annie was doomed to tell her story yet again. “And yes, it’s true about Annie’s house. Someone broke into Grey Gables. The same someone, if you ask me.”
Mary Beth grasped Annie’s forearm in consternation and sympathy, and Annie said, “I’m fine. I ran to Alice’s house, and really there was no harm done.”
“No harm to you,” Alice said, “but the house sure was a mess.”
Mary Beth shook her head, muttering, “My word. My word.” Then she looked up and continued, “Would you like some tea? Do you have time to come into the shop for a few minutes?”
She looked from one to the other, but Alice decided to let Annie respond.
“Tea would be lovely,” Annie said.
****
Inside the shop, they found Megan Coyne, who had been knitting socks with Mary Beth when they caught wind of the commotion outside. Unsure what to do, Megan had simply sat and continued to knit when Mary Beth had jumped up and ran out the door to see what was happening.
“Oh, Megan, I’m so sorry,” Mary Beth said when she caught sight of the girl. “I just ran off and left you, didn’t I? Well, you could have come yourself, you know.”
“That’s OK,” Megan said, shyly peering up. “I just kept going. But I need your help with this.” She held up her sock. “I’ve done the heel flap, but I don’t understand the directions on turning the heel.”
“Ah. No one understands those directions.” Mary Beth immediately plopped back down in the chair beside Megan. “You have to do one to learn how to do it. Let’s see … sock heels require close attention, and I don’t know if I can concentrate now.”
As Alice moved off to put the water on to boil for the tea, Mary Beth took the needles from Megan and peered at the work. “Very good, but you’ve gone a little too far. You’ll need to unknit a couple of stitches, here, and then we’ll be at a good stopping place.” She handed the sock back to Megan and bit her lip while Megan slowly, cautiously, made her correction. “You can always undo your mistakes—that’s the wonderful thing about knitting. Now then, dear, you know Annie, of course.” Annie nodded and smiled at the girl. “And do you know Mrs. MacFarlane?”
“Please, call me Alice.” Alice held out her hand. Flustered, Megan dropped her knitting into her lap so she could shake it. “Would you like some tea? Mary Beth seems to only have chamomile at the moment. That’s lovely yarn for socks.” Alice stretched out her hands to look at Megan’s project more closely.
“Yes, please,” Megan said meekly. “Thank you.”
“I love this variegated mix of midnight blue and teal. It looks like the ocean at night when it’s knitted up. Mary Beth is right, you do have a natural talent for knitting.”
“I must stock up on tea before the next Hook and Needle Club meeting,” Mary Beth said, accepting her cup. “Thank you, Alice. Now, Annie, are you quite sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine, yes. I’m staying with Alice for a few days.” Continuing right on, she said, “We missed you when we lunched with your mother the other day, Megan. Did you have a good trip to Boston?” She knew that Mary Beth wouldn’t let her leave without telling the story of the break-in, but she thought they first ought to try to put the young Coyne girl more at ease. “You visited your mom’s cousin, I think?”
“We call her our Aunt Eileen, but she’s really Mom’s cousin. Oh yes, we had an awesome time,” Megan said with enthusiasm. “We went to the Museum of Science and the Mapparium, and we walked the Freedom Trail, and we went on one of the Duck Boats.”
“Mapparium?” Annie asked. “Duck Boat?”
“The Mapparium is way cool,” Megan said. “It’s like you’re standing at the center of the earth! And it’s beautiful.”
“It’s a giant globe made of glass,” Alice explained, “with the countries painted on. You walk inside and look out at the surface. It’s like being inside a stained-glass window that’s painted as a map.”
“I guess there are all kinds of ways of rendering maps,” Annie said, thinking of the embroidery.
“But it’s not up to date,” Megan said earnestly. “It hasn’t been updated since it was first made.” Annie asked her when that was, but Megan couldn’t remember.
“Pre-World War II anyway,” said Alice.
“And the Duck Boats? I’ve heard of duck boots,” Annie said with a smile.
“The official footwear of Maine,” Alice muttered, but the rest ignored her.
“They’re trucks that go in the water,” Megan said, laughing at the memory. “They leave from the Museum of Science.”
“Amphibious vehicles,” said Alice. “They give tours of the city from both land and sea. And they’re painted bright yellow. Surely you’ve seen them driving around Boston?”
“But I’ve never been to Boston,” said Annie, whose experience of New England was largely confined to Maine. “At least, not to do more than pass through on my way up here. I’ve changed planes at the airport. But when I drove up, I took a wide detour around the city. I’ve heard the traffic is terrible.”
“Oh, you should go,” said Megan excitedly. “It’s so interesting. There’s so much to see and do. I’m going to go back by myself sometime, and Aunt Eileen is going to take me to the things that Martin didn’t want to do, like the art museum and the symphony.” Her young face glowed with excitement, and Mary Beth smiled at her benevolently.
“You really should go, Annie,” Alice said, “just for the history.”
“Faneuil Hall, the Old North Church,” Mary Beth added.
“OK, OK,” Annie said, laughing. “I’ll go someday. I forget sometimes how obsessed you New Englanders can be with your history.” But the mention of history reminded her of the stolen map and the break-in at Grey Gables, and her laughter died away.
In her enthusiasm describing her trip, Megan had again allowed her knitting to drop into her lap, but now, afte
r Annie had been silent a moment, Mary Beth leaned over, picked it up, and put it back in her hands. “Here, dear,” she said, “start picking up the stitches along here with this needle, like I showed you.” She tapped one of Megan’s needles with one of her own.
Megan looked abashed, and Annie instantly felt guilty for bringing the high spirits down. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that this whole thing with the embroidered map gets to be too much sometimes. I mean, yes, it’s interesting and beautiful. And for all I know it may even be valuable, though neither Hank Page nor Gus St. Pierre seem to think that it’s especially so.” She sighed. “So why would anyone be so interested in it? Why run the risk of all these break-ins?”
“And is that what happened at Grey Gables?” Mary Beth asked. “Someone broke in looking for the embroidery?”
Annie turned her palms up in a questioning gesture, but Alice said, “The police seem to think it’s the most likely explanation. The map wasn’t actually in the house, but it’s likely the thief didn’t know that. And nothing else was taken, though it looks like the thief fled when Annie woke up and ran out of the house.”
Megan’s eyes had grown wide. “A thief? Were you scared?”
Annie hesitated a moment, and then said simply, “Yes. Yes, I was.”
“But you don’t know for sure that he was after the map?” Mary Beth asked.
“Well, and then there was the threatening phone call,” Alice said.
“Threatening phone call!” exclaimed Mary Beth, who’d heard nothing of this.
“He didn’t actually make a threat,” Annie said.
“But he did mention the map,” Alice replied.
Mary Beth looked from one to the other with an expression of confusion on her face. Finally, she burst out, “So what has been happening?”
Annie gave a small smile. “I’m sorry, Mary Beth. Here’s the story.” And she told her about the break-in, the phone call, and the most recent—and finally successful—attempt to steal the map.
“So it’s really gone,” Mary Beth said, shaking her head. “And the police still have no leads, despite all these attempts. You’d think he’d have left some traces.”
“Of course, we don’t really know that it’s been the same person each time,” Annie said thoughtfully, but both Alice and Mary Beth frowned at this excess of caution, and she said, “OK, OK. I was just saying.”
“Traces are all well and good,” Alice said, “but we’re not exactly CSI up here. Chief Edwards does a great job, but we just don’t have much call for extensive forensic capabilities.”
“And you didn’t recognize him?”
Annie shook her head. “It was dark. And I was, well, in a hurry.”
They all sat in thoughtful silence for a while. Finally, Megan said, “Is this the map that was on display at the Historical Society?”
Annie looked at her. She’d almost forgotten about the girl’s presence as she’d brooded over the mystery of the map’s disappearance. She smiled at the girl. “Yes, Megan, that’s right. Did you see it?”
Megan nodded. “My dad took us to see it the other day. My teacher had talked about it in class, so Dad said we should go have a look at a piece of history.” She paused, and then asked, “Where did it come from?”
“I found it in my grandmother’s attic,” Annie said. “What did you think of it, Megan? Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Oh, yes,” the girl agreed, but her mind seemed to be on something else. Annie waited while the girl bit her lower lip. Eventually, Megan said, “So, was your grandmother a bootlegger?”
The three women stared at her in amazement. Megan quickly became self-conscious under their gaze. “I’m sorry!” she said quickly, and looked down to begin knitting furiously.
Annie, Alice, and Mary Beth exchanged glances, quickly reaching a tacit agreement. Mary Beth casually took up her knitting again, and said, “That’s OK, dear. But … did you ask Annie if her grandmother had been a bootlegger?”
Rather than answer, Megan just muttered, “I’m sorry,” once again, and concentrated even harder on her knitting.
Mary Beth glanced up at Annie, who said, “It’s OK, Megan. You just took us by surprise. What made you ask that question?”
Megan looked more dejected than ever and began to lose control of her needles. Mary Beth reached out and gently took them from her hands. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Megan,” she said quietly. “There’s no reason to be upset. Just answer Annie’s question: why did you ask that?”
Finally, Megan looked up with a bewildered expression on her face. “But isn’t it a bootlegger’s map?”
****
It took some time to soothe the girl and convince her that they were not angry with her. They talked of other things and helped her to more tea before coming back to the subject.
“Now then, Megan,” Mary Beth said at last, “we’re very sorry we upset you. We were just surprised. As you can see, we’ve heard nothing about it being a bootlegger’s map, but it’s a very interesting idea. Where did you hear it? Is this something your teacher said when she was talking about it?”
Megan shook her head. “My daddy said it. Well, he said it might be a bootlegger’s map. Or he wondered if it was.”
“This was after he brought your family to see it?” Megan nodded. “Dear, can you try to remember exactly what he said? Why he thought it might be that?”
Megan frowned. “It was because of the red Xs.”
The three women exchanged glances once again, but more discreetly. “What about the red Xs, Megan?” Annie asked.
“Because of the coves. He said the Xs are right where the calmest coves are. The most secluded. And then he said those are the coves that were used by the bootleggers during … Prohibition. So maybe that’s a bootlegger’s map!” She paused and then turned to Mary Beth to ask, “What’s a bootlegger?”
“Didn’t you ask your daddy?” Mary Beth asked.
She nodded. “He said it was a smuggler,” she said, suggesting by her tone that the answer had left her no wiser than before.
Annie looked at Alice and Mary Beth. “Rum-running? In Maine?”
Alice simply shrugged, but Mary Beth said, “I’ve heard tell of it, but I’ve never given it much thought. But yes, I guess it did happen. I don’t know how much, but I guess Hank or Liz would know more about it.” She looked thoughtfully at Megan. “And David would certainly know the coves,” she added.
“Well, who’d a thunk it?” Alice said.
18
By the time Annie and Alice emerged from A Stitch in Time, the police car was gone from the Cultural Center and the Historical Society museum was locked up.
“Let’s plan to look for Hank in the morning,” Annie said, “before we see Chief Edwards. I’m sure Mary Beth is right: Whatever the local history of rum-running may be, he’ll know what it is. Maybe he’ll have some insights that will help the chief.” Suddenly she shot Alice an apologetic look. “Or I’ll look for him, I mean. Just because I’m staying with you doesn’t mean you have to be dragged around everywhere I go.”
“Are you kidding?” Alice laughed. “I want to hear about the bootleggers too!”
****
As soon as they entered the Cultural Center the next day, Hank Page hurried over with a concerned expression. “Annie, I’m so sorry about this,” he said earnestly. “Liz and I want you to know that the Historical Society takes full responsibility for the loss of the map. I hope you’re not too upset?”
“Thank you, Hank. Liz called me last night at Alice’s, but there’s no question of responsibility. I know that you all took steps to keep the map protected, but it seems that someone was very determined. I’m just glad no one was hurt in the process.”
Hank nodded with a look of relief, and then gestured with a rueful expression toward the smashed glass top of the cabinet. “Even the display case was an antique,” he said, “though it seems to be unharmed but for the glass, and that can be replaced.” Then anot
her thought seemed to strike him. “And of course, you had your own misadventure, thanks to the map. How are you holding up?”
“I’m still staying with Alice for a few days,” Annie said, “but I’m fine. Really.”
There was an awkward pause; then Hank seemed to recall his manners and invited Annie and Alice to the back for some tea.
“I know Liz keeps tea in here somewhere,” he muttered, setting out three mismatched mugs.
“Sit down, Hank,” Alice said, taking over. “I’ll make the tea. Annie has some information for you.”
Hank perked up. “What have you learned?”
“Well, it’s about the red Xs,” Annie began hesitantly. “Someone has suggested that they might mark certain coves. In fact, you said yourself once that one of them was right on the spot for … Pirate’s Cove, was it?” Hank nodded, his face thoughtful. “Well, what if they all mark coves?”
Hank jumped up and began to rummage through the papers piled on the desk in the small back office. As he sifted through an overflowing “out” box, he muttered, “We were so dazzled by the embroidery that we couldn’t see the forest for the trees, so to speak. Ah!” Suddenly, he thrust up one fist triumphantly, while the other hand held a printout of the photo he had taken with his cell phone. “Here it is!”
He peered at the printout closely, tracing a finger from one X to the next. Finally, he looked up with a sigh. “Well, I can’t say, myself. It certainly sounds plausible. All the Xs seem to be placed along the line where the sea meets the land, but I don’t know the coast well enough to say if there’s really a cove at each spot. Your informant must be a fisherman or a lobsterman. Or at least an enthusiastic sailor.”
Annie paused, hesitant to reveal the source of the information. Finally, she said simply, “Yes, that’s right.” David had been a fisherman, even if he no longer was.
Hank nodded, as if to accept Annie’s unwillingness to reveal her source. He gave her an expectant, sidelong glance, but merely observed, “You know, this map could be accurate enough that it would be possible to test your hypothesis.” When Annie looked puzzled, he said, “Take a boat. Go out and try to find these spots. See if there are coves there.”