Road Trip (15 page)

“You’ll do fine,” Mary Beth said. “Just let your heart guide you. That’s what Betsy would do.”

Annie smiled, and then she remembered something. “You said there was more news from Kate besides the magazine article. What was it?”

“They want Kate to do a regular column for
Hook and Needle Artistry
,” Mary Beth said. “And I totally think she should do it.”

“But I’m no writer,” Kate said, shaking her head.

“You do a wonderful job writing bits for my newsletter,” Mary Beth said, speaking of the small newsletter she put out irregularly for the shop. “You know that no one would ever get a copy if you didn’t write half of it.”

“That’s totally different,” Kate said. “That’s just for our customer list.”

“Which I am part of,” Annie said. “And I’ve always thought the things in the newsletter were very well written.”

“I concur,” Stella said. “I believe you should seize this opportunity, Kate. Who knows where it might lead?”

“I know where it might lead,” Kate said. “Embarrassment and scathing reviews from readers.”

“You really need to give yourself more credit,” Mary Beth said, “and venture out. Risk taking is an important part of success.”

“I’ll think about it,” Kate said, sipping from her water glass.

“Don’t think, Kate,” Stella said tapping the table with her finger. “Do! Take the position.”

Kate looked at each of their encouraging faces. “OK, I will.”

“Good—so call Mr. Munderlay right now!” Mary Beth exclaimed.

“At dinner?” Kate yelped.

“I think we’ll survive the breech of manners this once,” Stella said dryly. “And we don’t want you to change your mind.”

Kate rooted through her purse for her phone, and then held it up. “No signal. I’ll call after supper.”

“You can take the phone outside like we did yesterday,” Annie said. “I’ll go out with you. I owe you.”

Kate sighed. “OK, but not until after supper. Assuming I can eat thinking about it.”

“You’ve made the right decision,” Mary Beth said, patting her hand. “They’ll be delighted to have you.”

16

When they finished dinner, Annie followed Kate out to the walk in front of the hotel. Though the light was fading, the Texas heat still slammed them as soon as they stepped out of the door. Practically in unison, they slipped out of the sweaters they’d been wearing to avoid freezing in the air conditioning inside.

Kate stared down at the phone in her hand, then she looked at Annie. “Do I really want to do this?”

“You’ll be fantastic,” Annie said.

Kate smiled. “I wish I had the confidence in myself that the rest of you seem to have.”

“That’s why you have us!” Annie gave her friend a quick hug. “I’m going to walk over there and give you some privacy. Be brave!”

“I’ll try,” Kate agreed.

Annie walked down the wide walk to a spot where two pink dogwoods flanked a bench. She leaned close to sniff the flowers, breathing in memories along with the scent. Wayne had loved dogwoods, and they had several in their yard in Brookfield, along with a whole row of ornamental crab apple trees. In the late spring, the trees rained blossom petals onto the lawn. LeeAnn had called them “flower snow” when she was little.

The memory of her piping voice and Wayne’s deep laugh was so sharp and clear that Annie gasped softly. How could that time seem both so far away and so close at the same moment?

Annie sat down on the bench and looked out into the gathering shadows as evening continued to slip in on them. The tall lights that lined the walk came on in response to twilight, and Annie was surprised to see a familiar stocky figure appear in the pool of light under the farthest lamp. It was Mr. Harvester, hurrying up the walk toward her.

Annie assumed the man would march right by her, but instead he stopped and looked down on her. “Mrs. Dawson,” he said, “I cannot believe you sent that detective after me!”

Annie refused to rise to the accusation and responded calmly. “I do not control Detective Matthews. He is conducting this investigation on his own.”

“But you
were
the source of his suspicions!”

“I believe his suspicions grew from your situation,” she said. “Boss of the victim, and definitely interested in my grandmother’s things.”

“I was her friend,” he insisted.

“You never even
met
her,” she said.

He waved that away. “You don’t have to meet someone to know them. I told you, we exchanged communications many times. I would never harm Elizabeth’s things.”

Annie stood up so that Mr. Harvester could no longer tower over her. He took a step back to make room for her, but continued to scowl. “I believe you wouldn’t
harm
Gram’s things,” she said. “But I’m not at all convinced you wouldn’t
steal
them—especially her portrait of Stella. And who would be better to enlist in the theft than an employee with a history of stealing?”

Mr. Harvester’s glare darkened, and Annie glared right back. She was not going to be intimidated by this man, not when she was only a few yards away from a witness who could call 911 in a second.

Finally Mr. Harvester deflated. “I did not kill that young man,” he said.

“But you did hire him,” Annie responded.

He stared at her without answering for a moment, and then he nodded. “But when we were almost caught breaking into your car, I realized how crazy I was acting. I’m no thief. I knew then that I was completely out of control. I thought about it for the rest of the trip—each time he passed your vehicle, hoping for another opportunity to break in, my own absurd behavior hammered at me. I knew my darling wife would be so ashamed. So before we got here, I told him the deal was off.”

“Then why was he in the exhibit room when he died?” Annie asked.

Mr. Harvester shook his head. “I honestly do not know. But he wasn’t there on order from me. I’d already told him that I changed my mind. I had been very clear about it.”

“How did he take it when you called it off?”

“Not as well as I expected,” Mr. Harvester said. “I thought he’d be glad. He didn’t want to be involved in the first place. I … .” The man looked down at the sidewalk, clearly distressed by what he was about to say. “I had to threaten his job to get him to take part in the theft. I told him that if he didn’t help me get the portrait, I’d fire him and tell everyone that I’d caught him stealing. He’d had a difficult time finding work after his prison release. He didn’t want to face that again.”

“And would you have fired him?” Annie asked. “Would you have lied about him?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Harvester said. “Maybe. He was an excellent salesman. But all I could think about was getting that portrait—it looked so much like my wife. I was out of my head with grief.”

Annie knew how grief could twist you up, but she couldn’t believe what it had driven this man to attempt. She shook her head sadly. “But when you called it off, he didn’t want to stop?”

Mr. Harvester shrugged. “He wanted the money I’d offered him. I told him I would pay him a part for the time he’d already spent, but not the whole thing. After all, I didn’t have the portrait. Part wasn’t enough. And he’d done some research. He knew the kinds of prices some of your grandmother’s work drew in recent auctions.”

“So you think he was acting on his own when he went to the display room?” Annie asked.

“I can’t think of any other reason,” the old man said. “He was caught up with dreams of wealth, I expect. Maybe he just found the whole thing exciting. I suppose that kind of excitement can be addictive. He knew that I couldn’t exactly point the finger at him if something was stolen considering I’d been the one who turned his attention toward your grandmother’s art in the first place.”

“You know you’ll have to tell this to the detective.”

“He won’t believe me,” Mr. Harvester objected. “He’ll think I killed Max.”

“I suspect he thinks that now,” she said.

“But he’ll have more reason to think it—possibly enough to arrest me!” Mr. Harvester’s thick brows rose high at the thought. “And I did not kill that man.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said. “But what if you set him on the path that got him killed?”

The man’s walrus mustache drooped. “That is something I very much fear.” Then he raised his eyes to Annie’s. “Please, tell me. Do you believe I killed him?”

Annie answered honestly. “I don’t know, but I don’t really think so … no. But you’ll need to call the detective—or I will.”

Just then Kate walked up to them, a quizzical look on her face. “Annie?” she said. Then she nodded toward the old man. “Mr. Harvester, good evening.”

“Not really,” he said. Then he pulled out his phone and looked again into Annie’s eyes. “I’ll make the call.”

“
That’s
something your wife would be proud of,” Annie said.

His mustache lifted slightly as he smiled. “I’ve given her little enough to be proud of lately.” Annie watched as he pulled out the detective’s card from his pocket and punched in the numbers. Soon she heard him speaking to Detective Matthews.

Annie took Kate’s arm gently and moved her a bit away to give some sense of privacy.

“Why is he calling the detective?” Kate whispered.

“He hired Max Lessing to steal Gram’s portrait of Stella.”

Kate’s eyes grew round with surprise. “Did he kill him?”

“I don’t think so,” Annie said. “He says he called off the theft. He thinks Max Lessing was operating on his own when he broke into the display room.”

“Well, if Mr. Harvester didn’t kill Max Lessing,” Kate said. “Who did?”

Annie shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“I told the detective all I know,” Mr. Harvester said. “He’s on his way back here. I expect I’ll be telling my story over and over this evening. I really should call my lawyer.” He looked at Annie and smiled again. “I should thank you. I don’t know what’s going to happen now, but I can’t imagine that it will be good. Still, I do feel an amazing sense of relief.”

Annie smiled gently at him. “You did the right thing. You know, Mr. Harvester, I would never part with the portrait of Stella, but I do have some small framed landscapes that Gram stitched. I would be willing to let you have one.”

Mr. Harvester looked surprised. “I would pay a fair amount,” he said.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Annie said. “You’ve done some really bad things, but I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love. I would give a lot to get back even a few moments with my husband. I think that’s what you’ve been trying to buy, and no one can give you that. But you’re doing the right thing now, and that’s all any of us can do.”

“You’re a great deal like your grandmother, young lady,” Mr. Harvester said.

“I’ll take that as the highest possible compliment,” Annie answered.

“You should.” Mr. Harvester looked back down at his cellphone. “Well, I should call my lawyer. He won’t be happy with me.”

“Good luck,” Annie said.

Then she and Kate walked back up the pavement and into the chill of the hotel lobby.

“All of this is so horrible,” Kate said quietly.

Annie sighed and nodded, and then she locked arms with Kate. “Not everything is horrible,” she said. “Tell me about your phone call.”

“Oh,” Kate said. “It was good. Mr. Munderlay seemed really happy. He said they’ll send me a contract right away next week. And my first column is due in two weeks so I can make it into the first issue.” She lifted her hands to her cheeks. “What have I gotten myself into?”

“You’ll be great,” Annie said. “Did he tell you what the column should be about?”

“He said they want the columnists to tell stories,” Kate said. “Like things that happened in my life that affected my designing. And then I’m supposed to offer a small crochet tip or project in each one.”

“Any ideas for a story to tell in the first one?” Annie asked.

“My first crochet story, I guess,” Kate said. “I made a pair of booties for Vanessa. I was so young and so scared about being a mother. Betsy was sure that nerves were just making my morning sickness and exhaustion worse. Even back then she was mothering just about everyone she met.”

“Gram was always like that,” Annie said.

Kate smiled. “She told me that I needed to do something with my hands to help calm me. So we sat down together at Grey Gables. She didn’t have the cat then, so I could spend time in the house without growing all wheezy.” Kate laughed a little. “Anyway, she thought crochet would be good for me. She told me about you as we worked, and how she’d taught you to crochet.”

Annie nodded. “She helped me make a blanket for my dolls.”

“She told me that too,” Kate said. “She was so full of stories. I got caught up in them—and in all of the emotion of this beautiful baby growing inside me—that I was caught up in crochet. My first booties looked a little rough to me, but Betsy said they were very good for a first project. She was always full of encouragement—you’re just like her that way.”

Annie smiled. Being compared to Betsy Holden twice in the same night was certainly uplifting. “That will be a lovely first column,” she said.

“I hope so,” Kate said. “I hope I can do it justice.”

“You will,” Annie said, squeezing her hand. “And now, I guess I need to go upstairs and change for the mixer. I think the idea is to wear something that
I
made that is one of my favorite things. I love this sweater, but I didn’t make it—you did! Which is probably why it’s one of my favorites.”

“You do lovely work too,” Kate told her. “I don’t think I’ll change. I made this sweater too, and it’ll be fine. I want to track down Mary Beth and Stella, and tell them about my new column.”

“They’ll be eager to hear about it,” Annie said. “I’m sure of that.”

They headed in opposite directions then, as Annie crossed the lobby to reach the elevators. When she reached her room, she looked over at the phone longingly. She probably had time for a quick call to LeeAnn to see how everyone was doing.

She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the cellphone. She stared at LeeAnn’s number on the contact list. Should she really call? If someone was still sick, LeeAnn certainly had her hands full, and she didn’t need Annie making her feel guilty. And if everyone was well, LeeAnn would surely have called to give Annie the good news.

Annie laid the phone on the bed and sat beside it. She said another prayer for the health of her family, and then got briskly up and began digging through the closet. Surely she’d brought something she had crocheted herself. The problem was that Annie knew well what Texas was like in late spring, and it didn’t inspire sweaters.

Then she spotted the crocheted shell she’d thrown into the suitcase at the last minute. It was white cotton with a cheery band of yellow around the neck and armholes. Annie quickly changed into it and added a pair of pale sage slacks that went well with it. Finally she picked the cardigan back up. Most of Texas might be hot, but the hotel was freezing.

Still, the mixer would probably have a lot of people and that meant heat. After debating another moment, Annie dropped the cardigan back onto the bed. She’d just shiver a little on the way downstairs, but this way she wouldn’t end up carrying the cardigan around when it grew too warm to wear it.

Annie hurried across the frosty lobby and into the convention area of the hotel. She quickly found the mixer room. The lights were a little dimmer than she liked. Why did public venues think socializing worked better in the dark?

Annie slipped into the crowd. As she looked around, she was stopped now and then by strangers complimenting her on how well she did in the fashion show. “That dress you wore was lovely,” said one tiny old lady, who wore a lovely cloche hat with a huge knitted rose on the side.

“I agree,” Annie said. “My friend Kate does wonderful work.”

The old lady nodded. “I’d love to have a dress like that.”

Annie took a moment trying to visualize the tiny woman in the long sleeveless lace dress. Then she simply smiled, not quite knowing what to say. She continued on through the crowd. So far, she hadn’t spotted anyone she knew—neither from Stony Point nor Brookfield.

Annie finally found a small bubble of empty space near the outer corner of the room and stepped into it. She had known there would be a good many people at the mixer, but it was packed. She looked back into the crowd but no familiar faces looked back.