The Stolen Canvas (8 page)

“Sure,” Tara said, warming to this woman who seemed to understand her awkwardness.

“And you’ll gradually feel free to talk. Believe me, they may appear daunting, but they’re pussy cats. All of them.”

Mary Beth placed her near Annie, Alice and Kate. Tara began reading the information Mary Beth had given her.

“Did you see the kittens?” Kate asked, eyes gleaming.

“Yes. They’re so cute. Especially the tiny black one,” Tara agreed.

“If the mother cat could see them, I bet she’d be sorry she’d abandoned them, don’t you think?” asked Kate.

Annie cleared her throat, and frowning at Kate, said, “The mother could very easily have been injured or caught by some predator. Maybe she
couldn’t
care for her young. It happens, you know.” She glanced across the circle. “Stella knows that Stony Point has its share of wild animals. She was raised here and knows this part of Maine forward and backward.”

“I believe what she means is that I’m old as dirt,” the venerable aged woman said, but without bitterness. A smile leaked from her eyes. “What Annie says is true, but it’s useless to speculate. We all know Mary Beth will turn over every rock in Stony Point to find homes for those kittens.”

“Stella and my grandmother were good friends when they were young,” Annie explained to Tara, giving Stella a fond look.

“I wonder if you might have known my mother at some point,” Tara began shyly. “Her name was Claire Andrews. I don’t think she lived here exactly; she might have just come for a summer.”

Stella’s eyebrows inched up. She pursed her lips and resumed knitting. Tara wondered what had offended her.

Kate whispered in her ear, “Stella’s a little hard on the summer people, especially the ones who aren’t respectful of our traditions and sacred cows.”

“It might have been a long time ago,” Tara continued. “My—my mother was only fifty when she died, but she knew Annie’s grandmother. I found some letters she wrote to her. I came to thank her for being kind to my mother, but I didn’t know she had passed away.”

Stella cleared her throat. “The name doesn’t ring any bells. Do you have a picture?”

Of course. Anyone pretending to be looking for information about someone would show a picture around. Every daughter had a photo of her mother, didn’t she? Tara felt her chin tremble. An unexpected lump rose in her throat. She had only a picture in her mind and the awareness that she was no longer acting. She really did want to know about her mother.

“You can bring a picture next week, Tara,” Annie said quietly.

A chorus of voices assured the eagerness of the women to uncover the history of Claire Andrews.

“You said you could stay a while,” Annie added. “It will give us time.”

Tara swallowed hard. She’d been in Stony Point exactly one week. It had been a surprising ride so far with people who seemed to care about her. What would the passing time bring? Days of pretending, snooping, scheming? If only she could get Jem to forget about the canvases. If she could find work, make some money, maybe he would be satisfied, and they could go away. It was hard to stay focused on Jem’s plan when these people around her were being so kind. She hadn’t expected to like them so much.

8

Ian rounded the corner past Dress to Impress and realized he wasn’t—dressed to impress, that is. But it was Saturday, and even a mayor should be allowed a day to relax in his most comfortable clothes, hence his ten-year-old Dockers and faded blue polo shirt. He dropped a hand into a cozy pocket.

Should a man who’d never played polo in his entire life wear a polo shirt? He grinned at his trivial turn of mind. He’d never even known a polo player. He had, however, played a round of golf at 5 a.m., and managed to beat Ira Heath and Mike Malone. They were notoriously poor golfers, a fact he chose to ignore today—Arianna’s birthday.

He had determined not to dwell on the death of his beloved wife this year.
Stay busy, stay around the good people of Stony Point
, he had warned himself. But how many years did it take before you got over missing someone who had all but made the sun rise for you each morning?

He allowed himself to recall the way she used to adjust his tie, finishing off the task with a kiss on his chin. The brain aneurysm had taken her swiftly and cruelly, but she’d left her touch on Stony Point with her love of theater and art. Ah, they’d had such plans—plans they made as they walked along the rocky shore, watching the mist rise in slow-moving splendor over Butler’s Lighthouse.

Enough
, he told himself. Be grateful for what is past, but prove its power in a significant present. And life in Stony Point was more than significant. He waved to Scooter who was rushing toward the Gas N Go and tucking his uniform shirt inside his jeans as he ran. His thatch of pale hair flew in the wind. The kid frequently turned up late for work, but his cheerful grin and enthusiasm made for good job security.

“Hey, Mr. Mayor!” he shouted.

That was a teenager’s way of saying hello. He liked it. “Hey, yourself!”

He ducked into The Cup & Saucer, eager for the diner’s bright ambience and comforting smells. He’d have the works, which meant egg-and-potato scramble with ham. During the week he watched his cholesterol, but it was Saturday.

He greeted the locals and noted several tourists as well. The number seemed to grow each year. And why not? Stony Point was a prosperous little town set in some of the best vacation country in the world. More than that, its citizens were resilient, generous, and proud. And he was honored to be their mayor.

Peggy spotted him and came tripping toward him, coffeepot in hand. Her nails were pink but bore no further embellishment today. Matching pink streaks in her short dark hair revealed that Mitzy, her beautician sister, had been at it again. In her zest for life, Peggy leaned toward whatever was new and off-the-wall, but she charmed everyone and could fill an order in no time flat.

“Morning, Mr. Mayor. You’re looking fine!” she chirped. She filled his cup. “The Saturday special?” she queried. “Better get it now. We may run out.” Barely taking a breath she rambled on, “Where is everyone coming from? Is the whole world vacationing in Stony Point? Even Wally’s—” She broke off, her eyes going suddenly wide.

Ian glanced up. Peggy rarely interrupted her own string of speech.

“I mean …” She put a pink-tipped finger to her temple. “I mean Wally’s had to drop me off early to refill everything—the sugars and creamers, the napkin holders, salt and pepper. Everything!” She spun off to get his Saturday special.

Ian grabbed for his coffee, feeling as though a tornado had just ripped through the building. But he felt himself smiling. Peggy could charm the rings off a raccoon. In the booth across from him, Commander Neil Bruce, decorated war veteran and Stony Point’s official VFW representative, raised one bushy eyebrow knowingly and gave a half salute. Martha, his diminutive wife, mouthed a “Good morning, Mayor” and daubed her lips with her napkin.

Peggy returned, dropped the Saturday special on his place mat, and slid in beside him. “Speaking of summer people, I suppose you’ve heard about Annie’s surprise tourist,” she said in a hushed aside.

When she seemed ready to fly off again, Ian stayed her hand. “Surprise tourist?”

“A girl whose mother recently died. She’s kind of lost, and she just turned up at Grey Gables. She practically fainted on Annie’s doorstep. Annie brought her to A Stitch in Time for the Hook and Needle Club meeting on Tuesday. She’s really sweet looking, but skinny as a knitting needle. Disgusting is what it is. Bet she never gains an ounce!” She recaptured her hand and gave him a little wave. “Gotta run, but hey, there’s Annie. You can ask her all about it.”

Annie breezed in, wearing something pink and stunning. She gave the crowded diner a roaming glance with those incredible green eyes and caught his glance. He suppressed the urge to smooth his hair as she came toward him.

She’d had that effect on him the minute he’d met her, when she’d first come to Stony Point to make arrangements for her grandmother’s estate. He couldn’t be happier that she’d decided to stay. He was glad they were friends, but was it disloyal to Arianna—especially on her birthday—to feel his heart beat a bit faster at the sight of Annie Dawson?

Annie too had lost someone special to her. She’d talked often enough about Wayne and her life in Texas. She was alone like him, but at least she had a daughter and grandchildren, though looking at her, one would never suspect she was old enough to be a grandmother.

And Ian succumbed. Standing, he pressed a hand across the crown of his head. Not the time for a stubborn cowlick. “Annie, would you join me?”

“Ian, hi!” A pleasant flowery fragrance lingered as she breezed past him into the booth. “I had some errands to run in town this morning, and all of a sudden, a hankering for a cheese danish came over me. I see you’re having the potato scramble. Looks good.”

“A Saturday indulgence,” he said ruefully. “And how are things at Grey Gables?”

“Good. Really good,” she said. “I’m thinking about getting Wally to do something with the pantry shelves. The kitchen cabinets he refinished are beautiful, and I’d like to get everything up to the same standard.”

Lisa, a waitress with a pert blonde ponytail, took Annie’s order in the absence of Peggy who was serving a large party of tourists. Annie ordered tea and the danish without consulting the menu. “Milk please, no lemon,” she told Lisa with a smile.

“It is really great to have you back, Annie.” Ian had worried she might have enjoyed her family so much during the winter that she’d change her mind about coming back to Grey Gables. He’d been relieved when he learned that she’d decided to turn her Texas home into a sort of retreat for returning missionaries. It was like her to do something like that. But sometimes he worried that her enthusiasm to embrace the world made her vulnerable.

“It’s good to be back,” she said. “I’m looking forward to bringing LeeAnn and the kids back to Stony Point. They love it here.” She smiled and glanced away briefly, as though embarrassed by something.

“Well, apparently the word’s getting out about our fair city. I’ve never seen so many tourists.” He paused as Lisa set a pot of tea and the pastry in front of Annie. Ian cleared his throat. “Speaking of tourists, I heard you have a guest at Grey Gables. Are you running a bed and breakfast now?” he asked with a grin.

She raised a delicate eyebrow. “Word gets around.”

“That’s our community. We’re nothing if not close-knit,” he said drily. “I thought you’d like that description, being a member of the Hook and Needle Club.”

“Droll. Very droll. I’m not a knitter, but I guess ‘close-crochet’ doesn’t have the same ring.” She grinned and stirred her tea thoughtfully. “I do have a guest,” she began slowly. She broke off a small piece of danish and considered it before putting it into her mouth. “Her name’s Tara Frasier. She’s a young woman who’s had a pretty rough time and recently lost her mother. When she was going through some things in her mother’s Portland apartment she found some letters. They were from Gram. Tara came to Stony Point to thank her for befriending her mother.” Annie paused and studied the remaining pastry on her plate.

“Well, did you know her mother at all?”

“No. The letters were recent, but I gather that Tara’s mother visited Stony Point as a young woman. She was just fifty when she passed away. Tara’s pretty curious about her mother’s life. I think there’s a bit of guilt there too, for whatever reason. When someone dies, you always think of the things you didn’t do—and the things you did but wished you hadn’t.” She paused, frowning. “Did you know a Claire Andrews, Ian?”

Ian turned the name over in his mind but came up empty. “Claire Andrews,” he repeated thoughtfully. “No. Doesn’t ring any bells.” He searched her face, as though the information might be written there. “How long does your guest plan to stick around?”

“Not sure,” Annie said. “She lost her job. She worked for some sign company in Portland that was downsizing. She said something about staying through the summer.”

“At Grey Gables?” Ian asked, surprised.

“Well, she’s quick to say she won’t impose. She’s looking for a place in town, but she doesn’t have any money, and I have the room.”

He wanted to say she was asking for trouble taking in a stranger, and that he didn’t want her getting hurt. But he knew Annie would balk at that. She’d put herself out on a limb before and nearly fell off. The truth was he’d cut off his own arm before he’d let her get hurt, but he couldn’t tell her that either. “So you think she wants to stick around just to dredge up memories of her mom?” It sounded harsh, he realized. He gave an apologetic shrug. “Doesn’t she have a family or ties somewhere to get back to?”

“She has no family, and as I mentioned, no job. But she’s eager to get work, even part time, here in Stony Point for the summer. She wants to pay her way, Ian. Don’t be so suspicious!” A twinkle in her eye gentled the criticism.

“Just looking out for our fair city, Annie … and for you.” He touched her arm lightly, and then drew his hand back. She said nothing to this, but a little pink spot appeared in her cheek. Ian could feel the heat rising in his own. Clearly, she was becoming more important than was comfortable—perhaps for either of them.

“I saw an ad in
The Point
for help at Carla’s,” she said. “Tara likes animals. I was thinking that might be something she could do.” Annie gave Ian an inquiring look.

He let his breath out slowly. The flinty woman had earned the nickname by which she’d come to be known. “I’m afraid Carla
Callous
might be a harder taskmaster than your guest bargains for. This Tara sounds … what’s the word? Fragile?”

“It’s true that she’s not the picture of health, but she may have more stamina than we know. It’s worth a try.” She took a sip of tea and asked, “What do you know about Carla, Ian?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. She came here four years ago and bought the old Bergner place. Paid cash on the barrelhead. She fixed up a couple of the outbuildings, built a raft of pens and fences, and began taking in stray animals. Came with one or two of her own too, I think. Good thing the area is zoned for farming with all that barking and screeching going on. Still, on a quiet day, I’ll bet you can hear the ruckus from your place.”

Ian paused, distracted by the sound of Peggy’s laughter. From the corner of his eye he saw her chatting with a dark-haired man at the coffee bar. He turned back to Annie. “I do know she can’t keep good help. She has a mouth on her that could make a porcupine blush.”

“Hmm,” Annie said, her brows knitting together. “People who act like they hate the world usually have some deep hurt in their lives.”

It was the kind of comment he’d come to expect from her and he recalled his earlier thought about Annie’s tendency to embrace the world. “Everyone deserves a second chance,” she’d said when Harry Stevens had gotten into trouble over his grandfather’s medals. Ian leaned back against the booth. “She’s poured a lot of money into those strays of hers. Someone dumps Fido or Calico on her doorstep in the night, and she takes it in. She’s gathered quite a menagerie.”

“No wonder she needs a bit of help, Ian. You know, the Hook and Needle Club is going to donate proceeds from its next festival for the shelter.”

“Don’t expect a hearty thank-you from Carla
Callous
,” Ian said.

“That’s what Stella said.” Annie pursed her lips; her eyes softened. “But you’ve got to admit, we owe her something for what she’s doing for the community. Even if it’s not the community she really cares about. And of course, we don’t know what’s in her mind, do we? We don’t know what she cares about.”

“We don’t,” Ian admitted. He paused briefly. “I should add she’s not running a full-fledged city shelter. She doesn’t have a license or anything yet, though she’s working on it. I hear, however, that she’s a qualified veterinarian.”

“Have you taken Tartan there?”

“Uh—no,” Ian said flatly. He’d become more than fond of his patient, sweet-tempered schnauzer with his distinctively bearded snout. “No need to terrify the poor old guy!”

He liked the musical sound of her quick and spontaneous laughter. “Seriously, you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,” Annie said. “I think I’ll drive Tara out there to meet Carla. Can’t hurt.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Ian said with mock seriousness. Then with true seriousness, he said, “Good luck with your mystery tourist, but if you need anything—moral support or anything else, call me.”

“I can always depend on you,” she said, still with a touch of humor, and he hoped, warmth.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” she affirmed.

Ian glanced over to see that Peggy was still engaged in conversation with the guy at the bar. He was a tall, well-built man with hair that hedged his shirt collar. A shiny black lock of hair crept over one eyebrow in the rugged, romantic sort of way he imagined women liked. What little he saw of the face revealed the profile of a man in his late thirties. Ian didn’t recognize the man.

As though the stranger had known he was being studied, he abruptly rose, and without turning to reveal his identity, left the diner, but not before placing a generous tip on the counter and exposing a slow-eyed wink in Peggy’s direction.

“So, are you going to say goodbye?”