by Tara Randel
“So I heard.”
“Musta been in the forties sometime. But don’t quote me on that. My memory can get fuzzy at times.”
“That’s more information than I had a few minutes ago. Thanks so much.” Annie beamed at the woman as she jotted her name and number on a piece of paper from a notepad she carried in her purse. “If you think of who it might be, give me a call.”
“Will do,” Norma replied, already busy with another task.
From the less-than-warm responses Annie had received all morning, she considered Norma’s revelation a rousing success. A smile still on her face and a positive feeling inside, she strolled out the door, heading for her last stop of the morning, an appointment at the bank.
Once inside the Stony Point Savings Bank, she located the sign-in sheet. With a letter from the attorney, Annie hoped to get a look at her grandmother’s assets.
“I’m John Palmer, president of the bank,” a tall, somber, man said as he held out his hand in greeting. So this was Gwendolyn’s husband. How vastly different from Gwendolyn’s sunny and comfortable personality.
“Annie Dawson. I’m hoping we can get my grandmother’s banking affairs in order.”
“Certainly. Come into my office.” He angled a chair in front of his desk and motioned for her to sit. “Gordon Procter said he’d taken care of the legal matters of Mrs. Holden’s estate.”
“He’s the one who advised me to transfer her accounts into my name.”
John pulled a file from one side of his incredibly tidy desk. “Since he called ahead, I’ve already started the paperwork.”
The perks of small-town life, Annie mused. She spent the next half hour reading and signing. At least this was another task she could put behind her.
“Thanks for all your help,” she said as she signed the last page.
“My pleasure.” John closed the file and smiled at her. The smile actually changed his whole countenance, transforming him from dour to friendly. “We’re going to be neighbors now. My wife and I are on the same hill as Grey Gables. I’m sure you’ve seen our house.”
She thought about it a moment. “The Wedgwood-blue, two-story colonial with white shutters?”
His chest puffed out with pride. “That’s the one.”
Ah. The well-maintained property. It was almost as if each blade of grass was cut to a meticulous height and trimmed so that not one blade was out of place. A far cry from Grey Gables in its current shabby state. The lawn. She and Wally had put it on the list, hadn’t they?
“So I heard. I met Gwendolyn at the Hook and Needle Club. I’m glad we’re neighbors,” she said--and meant it.
“Gwendolyn mentioned the mystery going on with the needlecraft club, something about a woman in a cross-stitch piece? I haven’t seen her this excited in a long time.”
Annie pulled out the photo. “Does this young lady look familiar to you?”
John scanned the picture for so long, Annie thought he might have forgotten she was there. “There is something, the curve of the cheekbone maybe, but I can’t say for sure I know her.”
Annie took back the photo he handed to her. “Thanks, anyway.”
“If you need anything, please call.” He took a business card and jotted a number on the back. “Our home phone.”
She gathered up her things and left the office, her mind on the matter of the cross-stitch. Whom could she ask next? Lost in thought, she stepped out the main entrance, only to collide with a man coming in.
“Whoa, there,” he said, grabbing her bag before it spilled to the ground.
Annie looked up to see Ian Butler smiling at her. “Sorry.”
“Not a problem.”
“I should have been watching where I was going.”
“An honest mistake,” he said, more than gracious about her bumping into him. “Tell you what, you can make it up to me by joining me for a cup of coffee.”
Coffee? With Ian? It was on the tip of her tongue to decline when she remembered the picture of the cross-stitch in her purse. Maybe he could supply some answers. After all, he was the mayor. And he’d offered to help her. “When did you have in mind?”
“How about now? I have to take care of some business first, but I’m headed to The Cup & Saucer in a few minutes.”
She nodded, looking forward to talking to him. “I’ll go get us a table.”
Before going to the diner, Annie dropped her bag at the car, then backtracked down the sidewalk, thinking about her morning. She’d had very few results by showing the photo, but maybe Ian could be a key to unlock more answers. He seemed to keep his finger on the pulse of the town, and he might have insight about the history. Bumping into him might prove to be the best lead she had yet.
As she entered the diner, the bell jingled over head. Since it wasn’t quite noon, the restaurant wasn’t full yet, so Annie found an empty window table. Peggy was her waitress--again.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
“Can’t seem to stay away.” Annie turned over her mug, indicating she wanted coffee.
“We aim to please,” Peggy said as she tapped her pen on the order pad before asking, “Did you take a picture of the cross-stitch?”
“Yes, just like I said I would.”
“Any chance I can see it before Tuesday’s meeting?” The devilish gleam in Peggy’s eye was hard to miss.
Annie laughed out loud. Obviously, Peggy wanted first dibs. “Do you think that’s fair to the others?” she teased.
“Well, I just--” Peggy glanced across the room and whispered, “another time, my boss is watching.”
Annie looked around Peggy to see a large man, with his arms crossed over his chest, standing just outside the door to the kitchen, staring in their direction.
“What can I get you?” she said loud enough to carry to the far side of the diner.
Okay, so much for small talk. “A coffee to start. I’m meeting someone.”
“One coffee coming up.”
Annie idly watched the foot traffic on the sidewalk outside the window. Once summer officially rolled around, Stony Point was like any New England coastal town, bustling with people venturing out to enjoy a day at the shore--the rocks or the small beach nearby--or to roam around the Town Square or docks. Some visited Butler’s Lighthouse on the jut of land that protected the fishermen’s harbor. Vacationers came in all shapes and sizes, from families dressed casually in T-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops, to those in bathing suits and smelling like coconut suntan lotion, or retirees in big hats, enjoying the shops and restaurants. With Independence Day soon upon them, the population would swell over the weekend. After years away, Annie was happy to see the town still prospered, still lured those looking for a summer getaway.
Peggy returned to fill Annie’s cup, and a few minutes later Ian strode in. He searched the room until Annie waved him down, then he quickly joined her. “This is what,” he said in way of greeting, “the third or fourth time you’ve been here? Looks like you’re becoming a regular.”
She grimaced. “Third. And a regular isn’t the same as a long-time resident.”
He signaled to Peggy, who smiled and headed straight to the coffee maker. “Does that matter?”
Peggy arrived with Ian’s coffee, the coffee she automatically knew to bring him--with one creamer and two packets of sweetener on the side, even though there were plenty of both already on the table. She hovered momentarily. “The usual?”
He nodded.
She scribbled on her ticket and asked, “Annie?”
“Coffee’s fine for now.”
Order taken, Peggy hurried off to another customer.
Annie tilted her head. “And the usual would be?”
“One egg, over easy, smothered in ketchup. Wheat toast, lightly brushed with strawberry jam. A glass of half ice, half water, with a lemon slice.”
“Well, then, clearly it’s evident that you’re a regular. Peggy didn’t even have to ask for your order. She has it memorized.”
&
nbsp; He grinned sheepishly. “I come here a lot.”
Annie wondered why, but didn’t pry. She’d learned her lesson from other townsfolk this morning.
“So that’s why you classified yourself somewhere between a regular and a resident?”
“Apparently, I don’t fall into either category. I’m related to Betsy and spent summers here as a kid, but just recently came back to town after being away for years.”
He chuckled. “The proverbial rock and hard place?”
If only he knew the struggles she’d had since arriving in town. “Exactly.”
“So you spent summers here? I’m surprised we never met.”
“I ran around with Alice mostly. And my grandmother kept me pretty busy at Grey Gables. She always had some kind of project lined up when I came to visit. The summers went by way too fast.”
“Sounds like you enjoyed it.”
She smiled. A warm glow enveloped her as she thought about those priceless summers spent with Gram. “Oh, I did. Alice and I had grand adventures when we were kids, discovering every inch of the property and the woods nearby. When we got older, we hung out at the beach. One summer we even got jobs as waitresses at the Grand Avenue Fish House down by the docks.” She shook her head and laughed. “That was hard work. I remember limping home some nights.”
“When I was a teenager, I worked at the family mill,” Ian said with a reminiscent smile. “My dad believed in learning the business from the ground up. Didn’t leave much time for hanging out at the beach.” He got reflective for a moment then gave Annie a no-nonsense look and asked, “So why does it matter if you’re a resident or not?”
“Honestly? I’m trying to find out some answers about my grandmother’s past and people around here are … not exactly forthcoming.” Jumping at her chance, she pulled the pictures out of her purse and handed him the glossy photos. “I found a cross-stitch in the attic at Grey Gables. I’m positive my grandmother did the work, but the bigger question I have is, who is the young woman featured on the porch? It’s clearly Grey Gables, but I can’t get a sense of who she is.”
Ian studied the photo. “You’re right about the house.” He angled the photo right and left to see it in the best light. “It’s hard to make out the face of the woman. She’s turned away enough that her features are hidden.” He looked up at Annie. “Think your grandmother meant to do that?”
Annie paused. She hadn’t thought about that. Maybe Gram didn’t want anyone to know. And yet she stitched enough of the woman’s face to draw you into her secret world, begging her to reveal more.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. She never stitched people. Always places.” She leaned over and pointed out the small scenes surrounding the woman on the second photo. “This is more her style. So I’m completely stumped. I have no idea where these scenes are located or what they mean.”
“They could be local,” he surmised, squinting to bring the smaller scenes into clearer focus. “I wonder if any of these are original to the town.”
“Don’t ask me. I sure wouldn’t know.”
“Which is why you asked a long-time resident?”
“Exactly.”
He focused on the photo again. “Do you think this woman could have been a friend or relative of Betsy’s?”
“That’s what I intend to find out, but whenever I ask questions, people clam up.”
“People in a small town tend to keep to themselves, but I’m not part of that tight-lipped society.”
“Even though you’re the mayor?”
“Especially so. I want to promote the town, not scare folks away.”
“Good policy.”
“I’ve always thought so. But I’m afraid I’m no help. I can’t place the woman.”
Annie tried to keep her shoulders from slumping. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much hope she’d hinged on Ian’s answer.
“Guess it’s back to the drawing board.” Resigned, she drank the last of her coffee. Time to head back to Grey Gables and figure out her next strategy. It was times like this she wished Wayne were here to help her figure out this problem. Together, they’d made a great team. Alone, Annie still felt like she was floundering.
“I’ll tell you what I can do,” Ian said as he stared at the photo. “Let me hang onto this picture. If I study it longer, or ask around, I might be able to figure out where the scenes are located. From there, maybe I can pinpoint a time frame and help you find out who the woman is from that.”
“Oh, about the time frame.” Annie conveyed her conversation with Norma at the post office.
He whistled low. “I’m afraid that’s before my time, but at least we have an idea.”
“Ian, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the help. There’s nothing better than having the town mayor on your side.”
“That remains to be seen.” He held up the photo. “Can I keep this?”
“By all means. I have another copy that I’m going to show the Hook and Needle Club. They’re pretty thrilled about this discovery, to say the least.”
Ian grinned. “So Mary Beth needled you into becoming a member?”
Annie groaned at his pun, but appreciated his attempt at humor. She could see why he had become mayor. He had what it took. He was outgoing and approachable--bad jokes and all.
“Anyway, I’m glad Mary Beth asked me to join them. I enjoy needlecrafts and time spent with new friends. It’s just taking a while to get a feel for the group.”
“They’ll enjoy getting to know you. Give it time. Contrary to what you might think, we aren’t entirely exclusive.”
“That’s what Alice keeps telling me.”
“So listen to her.” Ian glanced at his watch and pushed back his chair. “Sorry to run, but I need to get back to the office. I’ll give you a call if I discover anything.”
“Thanks again, Ian.”
His eyes held a gleam of fascination. “Trust me, I love this stuff. I’ve lived in Stony Point all my life, thought I knew everything about everyone. This little mystery is right up my alley.”
8
The afternoon got away from Annie as she took pictures of the cross-stitch. From the full view to individual close-up shots of the scenes, as well as different angles, she intended on blowing them up so the women could see the minute details better. She wished she’d thought of that before giving Ian his copy, but he seemed more than confident that he’d figure out the scenes. Even if he had to use a magnifying glass to make out the finer details.
Before Annie knew it, Boots was meowing for dinner, which reminded her to eat as well. She took a short break, and then she got back to it, going to the one-hour kiosk in the pharmacy adjacent to the mall to print out the pictures.
The clock struck ten when Annie returned home. She’d just placed the photos on the table when she heard a loud creak, like the rusty hinges of the wooden back screen door opening.
“Boots, again,” she muttered. The cat had taken to catching her paw under the door and moving it enough that the old, squeaky hinges acted like her own personal doorbell.
“Coming,” Annie yelled as she entered the kitchen to let in the spoiled feline.
She opened the back door, then the screen, expecting a streak of fur to charge by. No such luck. Suppressing her annoyance, Annie leaned out the door. “Okay, I’m here. C’mon in now.” She waited a few moments, and still Boots didn’t make her grand appearance. Annie stepped out onto the porch. “Where are you?” she called out into the night.
Boots didn’t materialize, but in the quiet night, Annie heard a car engine start up and, seconds later, saw headlights brush over the backyard, as if a car had backed down her driveway and turned to continue down the street.
Uneasiness passed over Annie, and she quickly returned to the house, locking the door behind her. She rushed down the hall to the living room, pulled back the drapes at the front window, and caught the sight of red taillights as a car turned onto the cross street. A shudder passed
over her. Rubbing her arms, she hurried to the front door, checking the locks. Once she was sure they were secure, she breathed a marginal breath of relief.
She turned away from the door, taking only two steps when Boots tiptoed down the stairs. Annie stopped short, watching in disbelief as the cat sat on the last step to innocently gaze up at her.
The uneasiness returned. If Boots had been upstairs, who had been at her back door? And what was a car doing in her driveway this late at night? She stared at the cat, trying to make sense of things. Try as she might, nothing clicked.
With no answers to her questions, Annie slowly walked back to the kitchen to make a pot of tea, then to the library to find a book. There was no way she’d be sleeping soundly tonight, no matter how hard she tried.
* * *
The next morning Annie awoke late after only a few hours of sleep. She’d sat on the couch with the lights on, reading and listening for unusual sounds. Finally, at nearly three o’clock in the morning, she’d gone up to bed, not sleeping much better there. Her mind swirled with unwelcome thoughts. Had she really heard the sound? Maybe the wind had blown against the door. Was it all her imagination? But what about the headlights? Was it someone merely turning around after going the wrong way? She didn’t have any more answers than the night before, and even her morning coffee hadn’t kick-started her yet. Still, she got ready for the Hook and Needle Club meeting, trying to put the unsettling events from the night before out of her mind.
Just before she left, she started having second thoughts about sharing the cross-stitch, but guilt stabbed at her. Hadn’t she promised to bring pictures? She’d already placed the photos in her tote but removed them, going back and forth about half a dozen times until she’d made herself crazy by second-guessing herself. Like it or not, she needed help to discover the young woman’s identity. She wanted the women on her team. But honestly, Stella’s less-than-enthusiastic response gave her pause. Why the older woman’s response to the cross-stitch mattered, she couldn’t say. But it did.