by Tara Randel
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
The Lady in the Attic
Copyright © 2010 DRG.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means--electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise--without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. For information address DRG, 306 East Parr Road, Berne, Indiana 46711-1138.
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
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Library of Congress-in-Publication Data
Lady in the Attic / by Tara Randel
p. cm.
I. Title
2009908721
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AnniesMysteries.com
800-282-6643
Annie’s Attic Mysteries
Series Creator: Stenhouse & Associates, Ridgefield, Connecticut
Series Editors: Ken and Janice Tate
Prologue
Mom, we’re fine. We don’t need you here any longer. The story of her life, Annie Dawson thought as her daughter’s words replayed over and over in her mind. LeeAnn had recently undergone a minor surgical procedure, and Annie had gladly helped out while her daughter recovered. It hadn’t been serious, but LeeAnn had needed a few days off her feet. Taking care of her five-year-old twin grandchildren--John and Joanna--had required a lot of work, but Annie had loved it. The days had flown by until LeeAnn decided to send Annie on her way, saying she was ready to get back to the task of taking care of her family.
Now at loose ends, Annie glanced down at the yarn twined around her hook. This was the third blanket she’d crocheted for a church baby shower this year. Ever since her husband, Wayne, had passed away last year, she’d been aimless, and with LeeAnn capable of taking care of herself, where did she fit in now?
She sighed deeply, laying the baby blanket on her lap to stare out over her front yard. The late Texas spring had turned the grass to a gentle green. Wildflowers in rich hues of blue, yellow, and pink bloomed in profusion along the fence near the main road. Before long, the temperature would shoot from pleasurable to just darn hot. Another spring would lead to another summer, autumn … and a new year. Another year spent rambling around the big house with only herself for company. Shaking her head, she glanced down at the nearly finished stroller blanket of squares and rectangles with heart motifs in varying shades of pink outlined with white. She picked up the hook and soft yarn, returning to the task at hand. She was just finishing a row when the phone rang.
“Should have brought the handset outside,” she muttered as she hurried indoors to answer before the answering machine clicked on. Breathless, she answered, “Hello.”
“Mrs. Dawson? My name is Gordon Procter. I’m the attorney for your late grandmother, Elizabeth Holden.”
The ache of sadness that had only just started to diminish filled her again. Two weeks ago Gram had passed on, filling Annie with about as much heartache as she could handle. When she first received the news, she couldn’t believe it. Granted, Gram had been in her late eighties and it was probably her time, but Annie’s memories were of a vital, active woman. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that Gram would no longer be there for advice or just to chat.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m calling to inform you that your grandmother left you Grey Gables and all its contents.”
Annie paused, surprised. “She left me the house?” Even though her parents had died--her mother, five years ago from tuberculosis contracted in Africa, her dad, two years later from a stroke--it never crossed Annie’s mind that she would inherit everything.
“Yes. I’ll need to have you sign off on the property and straighten out a few other particulars of her will. Can you take care of these details?”
“If that’s what Gram wanted, of course.”
“Excellent. Then I’ll see you when you arrive in Stony Point.”
“Wait. Say that again?”
“Stony Point. Maine. Where Grey Gables is located.”
“Well, yes, I know where that is. Can’t we do this over the phone?”
“Mrs. Dawson, you’ll need to make some decisions about the house. There is paperwork involved, so coming here makes perfect sense.” He must have sensed her trepidation because he quickly added, “Why don’t you think about this? I can handle it all for you if you wish.”
“Yes, I’ll think about it and get back to you. Thanks.” She returned the phone to its cradle.
Gram had left her Grey Gables?
Annie wandered back out to the porch, her mind spinning just as it had when the doctor had called with the news of Gram passing away in her sleep. Thankfully, she hadn’t suffered. But the call had come on the same day as LeeAnn’s surgery. Torn by the dilemma Annie found herself in, she knew she’d never make it in time for the funeral, so she elected to stay with her grandchildren. She knew that Gram would understand.
How many years had it been since she’d been to Maine? Not since before her daughter, LeeAnn, had been born. With a new baby and the Dawson car dealership to run with Wayne, there hadn’t been time for her summer trips back east, so Annie had always flown Gram to Dallas, picking her up at the airport and driving her home to Brookfield.
Yet after all the years away, she still remembered those childhood trips with pleasure. Her parents sent her to stay with Gram while they went on their first missionary trip. After that first summer, there was no question about her returning. Every year when school ended, Annie wouldpack her bags and spend an idyllic summer with Gram.She’d scoured every inch of Grey Gables, a Victorian house on the edge of the town of Stony Point. She’d also investigated every inch of the property and then some. Those summers had been special, as had been Gram--her confidante and best friend for as long as Annie could remember.
But travel more than two thousand miles to settle her grandmother’s affairs?
On the other hand, how could she not go if Gram had entrusted the house to her? The thought of strangers disposing of the contents or actually selling the grand old place before seeing it one last time didn’t sit well.
She grabbed the blanket and placed it in the nearby basket, carrying it inside as she hurried into the den to find an atlas. Brookfield to Stony Point would be quite a journey. Yet something she’d missed since Wayne died last year, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, tingled in her. The thought of going back to her childhood haunt enveloped her heart in warmth. She found herself considering the idea, actually looking forward to seeing the place, even though it wouldn’t be the same without Gram there.
Sinking down into the desk chair, she gazed at a picture of Wayne and her, taken a few years ago--so happy and carefree. How handsome he was, his dark brown hair combed neatly, laugh lines radiating from his deep blue eyes, his ready smile. Her blond hair, much longer in the picture and without the new gray, had since been cut shorter. Her green eyes had lost their sparkle, especially after all the trauma of the past year.
She
missed Wayne, plain and simple. They’d talked about traveling more than their usual weekend get-away after LeeAnn married and happily settled into her life, but the demands of the Chevy dealership had kept Wayne busy. Soon the days turned to years, and they rarely left Brookfield for a real vacation. Since Wayne’s death, she’d sold the dealership, unable to face the day-to-day demands of running it without her husband at her side. Now she was free to come and go as she pleased. Yet she hadn’t done a thing. Gone was the excitement and color in her life. She reached for a recent photo of LeeAnn’s family and gazed longingly at the happy faces.
And as much as she loved LeeAnn and the grandchildren and tried to spend plenty of time with them, they couldn’t fill the void that had become her life. She’d raised LeeAnn to be self-sufficient. It had certainly worked; LeeAnn didn’t need her as much as Annie would have liked. With all the changes and loss in the past year, Annie had lost her sense of place--of purpose.
Maybe now she had a chance to do something about it. All because of Gram.
A road trip, that’s what she needed. Wayne had insisted she keep her car, a Malibu, in good shape, even with the high mileage. It was one of the perks of having owned a dealership. She could have traded it in but loved scooting around town in the sporty car. Now, she had a chance to drive cross-country and see a bit of the States before dealing with Grey Gables.
Could she do this?
Did she want to do this?
All by herself?
She rose and crossed to the window, staring up at the vast blue sky. If she decided to go, she’d spend her first summer in nearly thirty years back in Maine.
A bubble of laughter escaped her. She was really going to do this.
Turning, she went back to the desk, snatched up the phone handset, and with shaking fingers punched in her daughter’s telephone number. “LeeAnn, you aren’t going to believe this …”
1
Annie turned off the ignition of her old Malibu and gazed up at the stately white Victorian house. Grey Gables.
She’d made it.
The trip had taken a week. Annie hadn’t rushed, making the drive at a steady clip, but not overdoing it. And now she was here, staring out at her childhood memories.
With a gusty sigh, she exited the car, inhaling the fresh scent of salty air and early summer sunshine. Walking a few feet, she stopped at the raggedy edge of grass spilling onto the walkway.
Everything looked much the same. An amazing open porch traversed the front of the house, allowing a spectacular view of the nearby ocean. Tall pillars supported a wide roof over the porch, featuring a graceful arch over the stairs. A tattered screen door welcomed the weary traveler to come in and rest.
Annie frowned. Tattered? She narrowed her eyes, really seeing the house before her without the shiny patina of her memories coloring her view.
The house paint, blistered and peeling, sported grime on the once-neat trim. The large, long windows wore years of dust. A few weathered floorboards on the wide steps warped upward.
Annie tentatively made her way up the steps onto the porch. The wood flooring had lost its luster to the elements. How long had Grey Gables been in such a sorry state? She remembered brightness. Now everything seemed dull.
Except for the view. White-tipped waves undulating over the deep blue of the ocean. Heavy rocks hugging the shoreline. Breathtaking. Especially seen through the eyes of an adult, not the carefree child who had explored this rugged terrain and taken it for granted. And she was grateful that someone had planted an array of impatiens among the shrubs all across the front.
Digging into her purse, she removed the key she’d picked up at Mr. Procter’s office early that afternoon. She’d been tired from the trip, so she set up an appointment to go over the estate tomorrow morning. With key in hand, she’d stopped by Hansen’s Gas N Go to buy a few staples, and then drove the short distance from town, to her destination.
Only this wasn’t what she expected. Chilled, even though the temperature hovered near a pleasant seventy-five degrees, she unlocked the door, unease washing over her as she stepped over the threshold.
She expected the scent of potpourri to greet her, not the lingering closed-in musty odor. Gram had always made her own potpourri, enlisting Annie’s help whenever she visited. Today, however, Annie only noticed the scent of neglect.
Just inside the door, an artfully framed cross-stitch her grandmother had stitched years ago still hung on the wall. It was Gram’s first originally designed piece that had introduced her to craft circles, the only one she’d never sold or gifted. Friends had urged her to enter her projects in local craft shows. Through the years, her unique designs featuring countryside scenes drew critical acclaim, and Gram’s fame grew. Craft books and magazines featured her original patterns. She founded a cross-stitch society that spread throughout New England. Nowadays, a Betsy Original was a collector’s item. Annie knew this; she had a beautifully stitched meadow scene hanging in her living room back home.
In her mind’s eye, she pictured her grandmother laboring over custom designs--and the pride on her face upon finishing a piece. Annie teased Gram about being a celebrity, but the modest woman blushed and never put on airs.
After gazing at the cross-stitch for a long minute, Annie wandered down the hallway. To the left lay the living room, filled with overstuffed furniture covered in a floral print. To the right, the grand and fancy dining room featured a heavy mahogany table and china cabinet. She continued down the hall, stopping to poke her head into the small library. Volume after volume of books lined the shelves. Annie loved this room, having curled up on the window seat more than once to be swept away in the pages of Little Women or The Black Stallion. Gram would join her, sitting in her comfy chair and working on a project, whether crocheting or cross-stitching. In fact, Gram had given Annie her first crochet hook and a ball of yarn in this very room, teaching a young girl her very first chain stitches.
Finally, at the back of the house, she entered the large, homey kitchen. She and Gram had spent most of their time here, cooking meals, baking fresh fruit pies, or just talking. Annie knew it was wishful thinking on her part, but she could have sworn she smelled Gram’s famous peach cobbler in the air.
After her tour of the first floor, Annie threw the windows open wide, welcoming the fresh, clean sea breeze. In the kitchen, she opened the door, stepping out onto the flagstone patio. Gram had stood here many times, calling Annie home for a meal when she’d been out exploring, most of the time in places Gram warned her against. Yet another lovely view greeted her--a sprawling backyard. Wild azaleas bordered one side, black-eyed Susans and myriad purple, pink, and white wildflowers overtook the other side, opening to the entrance path leading down to the rocky shoreline. Gram had loved her flowers as much as her needlework. “Must have been where I got it,” Annie whispered.
Once the house was open, Annie ventured back out to the car to get her luggage. She’d made her third, and final, trip to the house when she noticed a woman walking up the driveway. Annie stopped, shaded her eyes, and waited for the woman to approach. Could this be the Stony Point welcoming committee?
“Hello, there, Annie,” came the flat-accented greeting. The slim woman, with auburn hair and striking blue eyes, held a gray cat with white feet. Interesting. As she moved closer, Annie determined that they might be about the same age, give or take a wrinkle or two.
Wait. Could it be? “Alice?”
“I’m surprised you remember me,” the woman said, her tone frosty. “We never did see each other after your last summer here. That was decades ago.”
“For which I take full responsibility,” Annie said, trying for a little levity. “You know how life just happens.”
“I suppose,” she said with a humph.
“And here I was, ready to remind you about the time we climbed the tallest apple tree in Smith’s orchard and got stuck. Gram called the fire department to get us down, and it seemed like the whole town, including Tommy Jenkins
, who we both had a crush on, didn’t let us live it down all summer.”
A small smile played over Alice’s lips.
Despite the less-than-stellar greeting, Annie ran over to hug her old friend. “My goodness. Has it really been that long?”
“I hate to admit it, but yes. You never kept in touch. I had to hear about you from your grandmother.” Alice stepped back to view Annie, her expression marginally warmer.“I was sorry to hear about your husband.”
“Thanks.”
Alice paused, her tone wary. “You look great.”
“So do you.” In fact, Alice was stunning. A far cry from the skinny girl Annie remembered. “How did you know I was here?”
“I saw the car pull in the driveway and knew it had to be you. I can’t imagine your grandmother leaving the grand old place to anyone else.”
Annie squinted at the house. “Grand? I’m not so sure.”
“You missed the funeral,” Alice blurted, censure heavy in her words.
“And I’m so sorry I did.” Annie explained about taking care of her grandchildren.
“I helped to take care of the arrangements.”
“I appreciate it.” A knot formed in Annie’s throat.“I wish I could have come.”
An awkward silence fell between them, until the cat meowed and squirmed in earnest. Alice let out a yelp, and the animal flew out of her arms. “That would be Boots,” she pointed out as the cat flew up the steps and disappeared into the house.
“One of Gram’s strays?”
“The last one.”
Annie lifted her brow in question.
“Boots was about all she could handle.”
Annie’s chest grew tight as tears stung her eyes. “I called every Friday. I knew her age slowed her down.” In hindsight, Annie blamed herself for not noticing anything in Gram’s words to indicate she needed her. Wrapped up in her own grief, she completely missed it. “If she needed help, I wish she’d have told me.”