by Tara Randel
“Here’s a horrible thought. What if she ran out of storage space here and in the attic, and then stored stuff elsewhere? Have you been to the basement?”
Annie shuddered. “Once, and I have to say, it’s my least favorite place in the entire house. It’s damp and dark and better left to someone who isn’t creeped out by crawly things.”
“Good. I don’t like basements either. Spiders and shadowy corners are not my cup of tea.”
“Me neither. Let’s make a pact. Even if we don’t find any clues up here, the basement is off limits. I’ve seen enough movies to know nothing good ever comes from going down there.”
“I agree wholeheartedly.”
Annie held her index and middle fingers out toward Alice, just like they used to do as kids. “Pact?”
Alice giggled and held up her same fingers and pressed them against Annie’s. “Pact.”
“Let’s get started.” Annie nodded toward the dresser. “Since you’re the guest, you can start there. I’ll take the closet.”
“And we’re looking for what, exactly?”
“Anything that looks like a clue. Maybe another cross-stitch project. A letter hidden in a box. A picture. Who knows?”
“Sheesh. How about a neon sign with an arrow that says ‘woman’s identity hidden here.’ ”
“That would be great.”
“Yeah, well, don’t hold your breath.” Alice opened a drawer and rifled inside. “There’s always the possibility the woman in the piece is just your grandmother’s imagination.”
“I can’t go there. This has become too personal to me. Besides, why else go from the usual style that she was famous for and try a completely different style unless it meant something?”
“And what if she started the piece years ago and decided she didn’t like stitching people?”
Annie tugged at a trunk, pulling it into the room to pry open the top. “I checked the stitching of the woman against one of her earlier works. The type of stitching she did for the Lady in the Attic resembles her most current work. I know everyone thinks you just make x’s on the cloth, but Gram would outline the work in certain colors that were unusual and gave the scene flair, like a 3-D look. Or she’d add some embroidery stitches for substance. I’m not sure how she decided when to use different stitches, I just know that’s what made her work original.”
“That makes sense.” Alice stopped and pulled a crocheted shawl from deep within a drawer. “Annie, look at this. How beautiful.”
And it was, made of fine sea-green yarn with metallic strands running through it; it shimmered in the afternoon sun streaming through the window. The delicate stitches, formed in a pattern in multiples of two, made the shawl as stunning as it was functional.
“I remember my grandmother working on that one summer when I was here.” Taking it from Alice, Annie held the soft piece open to inspect it better. She remembered Gram saying the green reminded her of the ocean in springtime. The design and stitching, so vintage, yet understated, added to the classic inventory of another lovely Betsy creation. She folded it and handed it back to Alice. “Why don’t you keep it?”
“What? No way.”
“I think it will look lovely on you.”
Alice’s eyes grew bright, her voice wobbly. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say, ‘Thank you, Annie,’ and take it home and enjoy it.”
“Thanks, Annie. Really.”
“You’re welcome. Really.”
The next two hours flew by as Annie tore through boxes from the closet and Alice dug through dresser drawers while walking down memory lane. They recalled the summers they’d spent up here, camped out in Gram’s bedroom--even though Annie’s room would have been big enough--playing dress-up with old clothes found in a worn-out chest. Or the teen years when they shared secret crushes, makeup tips, and dreams about the future. As they reminisced, Annie pulled two broad-brimmed straw hats from the far back top shelf.
“Remember when we wore these to have high tea with our dolls?” Annie ran her fingers over a frayed brim lined with a faded pink ribbon. “I don’t remember them being so ratty looking.”
“I’m sure we didn’t notice. Then again, that was a few decades ago.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Alice pulled an old cigar box from deep in the bottom drawer. “Hey, look at this.” She moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Annie joined her. Boots, having deemed herself worthy to grace them with her presence as they worked, jumped up on the bed and circled around before dropping onto the quilted coverlet for a nap.
Alice opened the box. Inside, nestled in a bed of cotton material, lay two dog-eared movie tickets, a candy wrapper, an aged, yellowed hankie with blue flowers stitched into one corner, and a silver frame.
The photo in the frame, an old black and white, featured two young women, their backs to the camera, arms slung across each other’s shoulders.
“This is definitely Gram,” she said, pointing to the girl on the right. “She always had her hair pinned up like that in the back, but her hair was heavy and constantly slipped out, with wisps trailing down her back.”
Alice looked closely. “The other girl has her hair pinned up in the same way, but not a strand out of place.”
“And look at the clothes. Even in black and white, you can tell that Gram’s dress is worn while the other girl’s seems more fashionable and in better shape. But I don’t know who it is.” Annie sighed with frustration. “What do you say we take a break and bring the photo downstairs to get a better look?”
“Sounds good. I could use something to drink.”
Once downstairs, Annie placed the frame on the table. “Coffee or iced tea?”
“Iced tea would be great.” Alice wiped the sheen from her brow. The afternoon heat had definitely crept in.
Annie filled two glasses and delivered them to the table. She crossed the room to retrieve a magnifying glass from a kitchen drawer before sitting down. She handed the magnifier to Alice, who had slipped the thumb-worn photo from the picture frame.
“Nothing written on the back.” She turned it over and peered closely. “They must have been down at the docks. I can make out part of a boat here.”
“I noticed that,” Annie said, barely containing the eagerness in her voice. She pointed to the background. “I think my great-grandfather worked on a boat. Lobster probably, but I don’t remember.”
Alice continued to examine the picture. “Uh, Annie? Is it my imagination or do the clothes on the other woman resemble the ones worn in the cross-stitch?”
Annie took the picture from Alice’s fingers. The first tingles of excitement surged through her as she came to the same conclusion. “They look similar.”
“Could that be our mystery lady?”
“I don’t know. But this is the closest we’ve come to finding anything that resembles her.”
Annie carefully placed the photo back in the frame, hopeful for the first time since they’d found the previous clue.
After a few long moments, Alice tapped her hand on the table. “Okay, with all the clutter in your grandmother’s room, we definitely found something useful.”
“True, but we still don’t know who the woman is.”
“This is not the time to get discouraged,” said Alice, newly energized.
“I’m not discouraged. More frustrated than anything else. Now we have two mystery women!”
“C’mon Annie, you have to be positive. I think she and the Lady in the Attic are one and the same. We have to go with that.”
Annie glanced at her vivacious friend and said dryly, “That’s right. You were a cheerleader in high school.”
“And a darned good one.” Alice’s smile shined one hundred watts. “Now what?”
Annie stared at the photo. “Maybe Gwendolyn would have an idea who it is if we showed her.” She glanced at her watch. “Think it’s too close to dinner to call her?”
Alice jumped up to grab the telephone receiver.
“It never hurts to try. If she’s home, we could walk over.”
Ten minutes later they were knocking on Gwendolyn’s back door. She came out and ushered them to a shaded patio table with glasses of tea all ready for them. Annie handed her the photo, along with the letter she decided to bring along at the last minute.
“I found these at Gram’s. The letter was with the Betsy Original, and the picture frame was hidden in a dresser drawer.”
“This is exciting!” Gwendolyn motioned them to sit as Annie handed her the magnifying glass as well. She studied both very carefully for what felt like an eternity to Annie.
“The letter is intriguing,” Gwendolyn finally said, “but unfortunately I’m not familiar enough with Betsy’s handwriting to tell if it’s hers. Her stitches? Now those were her trademark. I could distinguish them immediately.” She held the photo closer. “I agree that this is probably your grandmother in the picture, but I’m sorry to say I don’t know who the other woman is.” She looked up, the twinkle in her eyes matching the full smile on her lips. “But the clothing matches the cross-stitch. Is she our mystery woman?”
“That’s what we thought.”
“Hmm.”
A commotion sounded in the kitchen, followed by John joining them on the patio. “Good evening, ladies. What are you up to?”
“Do you recognize anything in this picture?” Gwendolyn asked as she handed him the snapshot.
He pulled on his glasses and studied the photo with serious concentration. “I believe this was a lobster boat that was part of a fleet.” He removed his glasses and pointed to the boat. “Years ago a lot of independent fishermen used the docks as their base of operations. But there were also companies that owned two or three vessels. Most of the men in town worked on the boats or at the docks. Like my uncle.”
Hope flared through Annie. “Maybe he could give us some insight.”
John shook his head. “He passed away many years ago.”
“Maybe we could find out who owned the boats,” Alice suggested. “Narrow it down from there.”
“I don’t know where you’d begin to find information like that. Perhaps old town records? Maybe the Historical Society?”
“We can’t ask the Historical Society. Those are Stella’s people,” Alice remarked.
“We could ask Ian. He was helpful before.”
“How will the boat help you find out who the people in the picture are?” John asked. “These women could have been down on the docks one day to visit and someone took a random shot. That boat might not mean anything in your search.”
“Back to square one,” Alice muttered.
“Not really,” Gwendolyn corrected her.
“How’s that?”
“All along we’ve questioned whether your grandmother based the woman in the cross-stitch after a real person or if she simply used her vivid imagination.” She nodded to the photo in her husband’s hand. “If the woman in the snapshot is indeed our mystery woman, then at the very least, I would say that this proves your Lady in the Attic was very real.”
15
On Thursday evening, Alice headed home from an afternoon Princessa party but had to make one last stop before she called it a day. She loved working the parties, but sometimes all the talking and smiling made her weary. Her former husband had accused her of always being the life of the party. Like that was a bad thing. Apparently to him, it was. Don’t go there, she reminded herself. That part of her life was over. She’d moved on and couldn’t afford unpleasant memories to drag her down.
As she steered her convertible onto Old Harbor Road, she slowed down to search for Nancy Roberts’s house. She’d been given the referral at her last party and booked a date, so she needed to drop off literature on the Princessa line and answer any questions the hostess might have. Alice had scribbled down the address in her all-important planner. Squinting to make out the numbers on mailboxes, she finally found her destination and pulled into the driveway of a house set back from the road.
She gathered up the special hot pink Princessa hostess bag filled with party books and order forms. As she walked around the car, she stopped to admire the neat brick sidewalk leading up to the porch where pale pink and white impatiens bloomed wildly along the steps. The white front door created a bold focal point against the cozy clapboard house painted in federal blue with white shutters.
A sense of memory engulfed her. Had she been here before? Maybe held a Princessa party? She must be tired. Her usually excellent memory was fuzzy right about now, and she couldn’t recall if she’d been here, but that didn’t mean anything. In the past few years, she’d been to enough addresses in Stony Point to rival the mailman.
The door opened and a young woman with a baby on her hip and a toddler at her feet stepped out. A twinge hit Alice’s heart, but she buried the feeling and pasted her saleswoman smile on her face.
“Hi, Mrs. Roberts,” she called out. “I’m Alice MacFarlane. I just wanted to drop off the materials for your Princessa party next week.”
“Thanks,” Nancy answered, taking the older boy by the hand as they met Alice on the pathway. The tow-headed boys, who closely resembled their mother, shyly watched Alice approach.
“I appreciate your stopping by,” Nancy told her. “I’m new in town and haven’t been out and about much yet.”
“All part of my service,” Alice smiled. Confirming the date and time, they chatted a few moments before Alice made her goodbyes. She hurried back to the car, glad to finally go home, but she stopped to watch the threesome disappear into the house.
Sighing, she took one last look, frowned for a second, then did a double take. And a triple take. No way! She’d been right--thinking this house seemed familiar to her. With her breath caught in her throat, she leaned inside the car to grab her purse and pull out her phone. Punching in the numbers she had memorized, she waited impatiently for an answer.
“Annie, I think I might have found the last scene from the Lady in the Attic,” she blurted after her friend said hello.
“Alice?”
“Yes, it’s Alice. Who else would call you in a panic about the Betsy Original?”
“Mary Beth, Peggy, Kate, or Gwendolyn?”
“Okay, you got me, but really, I think I have a lead.”
“Where are you?”
“Just south of town on the Old Harbor Road.” She gave Annie directions. “And bring the picture of the house scene. Along with your camera,” she added as an afterthought. “Your daughter will want to see this.”
“I’ll see you in ten.”
Not wanting to alarm her new hostess, Alice backed her car out of the driveway and parked across the street. Once she spied Annie’s car come around the corner, she got out of her Mustang and waited for Annie to park behind her.
Beaming, Alice rested her hip against the fender, arms crossed over her chest, a canary-eating grin on her lips, still stunned that she’d found a clue.
“Okay, what’s all the fuss?” Annie asked, her face flushed as she joined Alice.
Alice nodded at the house and watched Annie’s face until Annie glanced back with surprise. Then she pulled the picture from her purse and compared it with the real thing.
“So?” Alice pushed away from the car, expectancy written on her face. “What do you think?”
“It does resemble …”
“Do you know how many times I’ve driven by here and never paid attention to that house?”
“What changed today?”
“I came by to drop off a hostess packet before going home. I had this feeling like maybe I’d been here before, so I kept staring at the house. The more I looked, the more something tickled the edges of my memory. After a few minutes, I realized it was the house featured in the cross-stitch.”
“I’m impressed,” Annie teased. “You’re becoming a regular Sherlock Holmes.”
“I know. I’m getting good at this sleuthing thing.”
“Yeah, well, don’t give up your day job ju
st yet.”
“Hey, it’s my day job that led me to the last clue.”
Alice realized she’d really missed the camaraderie of a good friend. Maybe holding herself back and not getting out there again after the divorce hadn’t been such a good plan. But then, who knew what to do after a divorce?
Annie dragged her out of her gloomy thoughts when she asked, “Who lives here?”
“Nancy Roberts.”
“A long-time resident? Any relatives we can link her to?”
“Nope. She’s new in town.”
Annie puffed out a breath. “Any idea who lived here before?”
“No, it’s changed homeowners a few times--at least that I can remember. A long time ago, when I was a kid, I think it was vacant and kind of fell into disrepair. I remember my mom saying it was a shame because the house was so lovely.”
“Do you think your mom would remember who originally owned the place?”
“I could ask. She moved to Florida about ten years ago, but honestly, her memory is shot. My sister took her in last year to keep an eye on her.”
“Maybe Gwendolyn will know.”
Alice rubbed her hands up and down her arms, overcome with a tingly sensation. Because she had found the next clue to the cross-stitch? “I just got the weirdest feeling.”
“That’s how I felt the day on the beach when we turned up with the first scene.”
“Your grandmother keeps reaching out to us, doesn’t she?”
Annie visibly shivered. “I’m sure that wasn’t her intent, but yes, she does.”
Betsy’s friendship had meant a lot to Alice. She’d been there with a ready smile, words of wisdom, or a warm piece of her amazing blueberry pie, just when Alice needed it the most. And now, when she needed a peer the most, her old friend Annie was back, their bond renewed. Wouldn’t it be like Betsy to plan it that way? Along with a mystery to keep the women occupied, just like the old days when she’d found activities to keep two curious girls busy.
Alice took one last long look at the house. A warm blanket of comfort enveloped her, happiness filled her heart. “That makes figuring out the story behind the cross-stitch even better.”