by Jan Fields
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Dedication
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
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
About the Author
Rag Doll in the Attic
Copyright © 2011 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
Rag Doll in the Attic / by Jan Fields
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-59635-339-8
I. Title
2010916180
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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
Dedication
For my mother, who taught me my love of needlework and mysteries.
1
The calendar claims it’s still summer in Maine, but a cold wind blows up from the water and tosses the hair of the three young girls hurrying along the dirt road. The tallest of the three pushes strands of her dark bob behind her ears and laughs. The girl beside her is fair and wears her longer hair in a high ponytail that defies the tugging of the wind. She’s so much shorter than her long-legged friend that she has to skip to keep up.
A younger girl with long, dark braids lags behind, gripping a doll in her arms, though many would think her too old for dolls. She glances to the left, where the woods form a wall of black that eventually falls away onto the beach. She shivers from cold tinged with fear. Anything could lurk in the woods. “I’m cold,” she shouts.
The girls’ skirts flap around their legs as the rough road grows steeper. The lead girl turns and calls out, “Come on, slowpoke. This was your idea.”
The other girl grips the doll still tighter and mutters, “Was not.” Her words are snatched away by the wind almost as soon as they leave her mouth.
“Don’t tease,” the blonde scolds, giving her friend a gentle shove. She turns a sunny smile to the frightened girl. “Come up here. I’ll hold your hand.”
“I’m fine,” the third says with a scowl. “I’m not a baby.”
The three reach a narrowing in the road where the cliff side to their right is deeply eroded from the wind and water. The wind slips between the rocks of the cliff with an eerie howl. “Sounds like the ghosts are calling you, Jenny,” the leader says, laughing again.
The girl in the rear stomps forward then, pushing between them. “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she says. “There’s no point trying to scare me, Jo.”
“No point,” Jo agrees. “You’re doing well enough on your own.”
The younger girl sniffs. “I just don’t like being out when a storm is coming.” She looks up into the dark night. “We’re going to get soaked. Mother won’t like seeing your new dress get ruined. You were supposed to save it for school.”
Jo shrugs. “I didn’t want to save it for school; that’s boring. What fun is something new if you can’t wear it?” She skips ahead and spins to make her skirt swirl. “Besides, a little water won’t hurt it.”
“Don’t fight. We’re almost there,” the blond girl says, pointing ahead as they crest the next hill. A dark hulk looms. When they crane their necks back to try and see the top, they spot the wide, white light sweeping the sky from the top of the building. They have almost reached the lighthouse.
Just then, lightning splits the sky into jagged shards, showing off the weathered clapboards of the lighthouse keeper’s cottage. An old dog with a huge, square head staggers to his feet on the porch and stares at them in that instant before darkness swoops back in.
The girl with the doll backs up a bit. “If the dog barks, that’ll bring the old man out. He’ll call the sheriff.”
“Only if he sees us,” Jo says. “We just touch the lighthouse tower and run. No one’s going to catch us. Tell me, little sister, are you a Wild Jay or a chicken?”
Another crack of lightning strikes, and it seems to split open the skies. Rain pounds down on the three girls, soaking them in an instant. The torrent weighs them down and turns the road into a muddy mess that catches at their feet. The very air is so full of water, it’s hard to breathe. It presses down on their chests making them gasp …
Annie Dawson struggled to wake up, as the weight on her chest seemed to grow heavier. She blinked in the morning sunshine and reached up to her chest, alarmed. Her hands brushed soft fur. “Boots,” she gasped, pushing the cat off onto the other side of the bed.
She frowned at the cat. Boots looked back at her and blinked in innocent reproof. Annie could almost imagine the chubby cat asking, “Why did you push me?”
“Don’t bother looking innocent,” Annie said, though a laugh bubbled up as the cat began licking her small white paw. “I know that was some trick to get breakfast sooner.”
“Me-rrrow?” Boots inquired, and Annie laughed again. She secretly suspected Boots understood all English words related to food.
Annie slipped her feet into the pale blue slippers that lay neatly beside the bed. She tried to remember what she’d been dreaming about, but only the last horrible feeling of near suffocation stayed with her. Somehow she didn’t think it was a very pleasant dream.
“Indecision is giving me nightmares,” she said aloud as she stood and reached for the soft floral-print flannel robe that lay over the beautiful oak rocker near the foot of the bed. Annie held it against her cheek for just a moment, remembering the smile on Wayne’s face when she’d opened the shiny white gift box that held it.
Even after LeeAnn was grown and moved out, Wayne had insisted on giving her a Mother’s Day gift each year. “For being the best mother our daughter could have,” he always said.
Annie blinked away tears and slipped into the robe. She wondered if she’d ever be able to visit those sweet memories of Wayne without crying. She looked around the bedroom at the mix of her things and the beautiful things her grandmother, Betsy Holden, had left behind. The room reminded her of her own situation—they were both in transition.
Annie walked down the stairs and into the front room. She opened the door, breathing the sweet scent of lilacs wafting in from the two shrubs in the front yard. Spring had settled in, and it was well past time for her to decide what to do about Grey Gables. It seemed she’d been making the firm decision to make the decision ever since she’d gotten here.
The snows of winter had made her almost certain that the right answer was to rush back to the Texas warmth. But then New England threw her a new surprise, and she fell in love with Maine in springtime. Early in the spring, she’d watched the soil eagerly to see what spring bulbs Gram had in the beds, like a kid waiting for Christmas. T
he burst of yellow daffodil trumpets had long ago given way to irises and shy lily of the valley. It was so beautiful here, but should she stay?
Annie tried to imagine what her grandmother would suggest if she were still here in her beautiful old house. Then Annie sighed, Betsy Holden had not had a wishy-washy bone in her whole body. She would give Annie a gentle shake and tell her to follow her heart and do it soon!
“I did make one decision,” she said as Boots twined through her legs. “I decided to go back for the twins’ birthday party.” Annie paused a moment, hoping that talking to herself didn’t really mean she was turning into a crazy, old cat lady. Then she sighed and turned to walk to the kitchen, keeping a careful eye on Boots, who often seemed to consider tripping Annie to be the ultimate kitty game.
She fetched the carafe from the coffeemaker and filled it at the sink. At least the grandchildren’s birthday party gave her a deadline. If she hadn’t made a decision by the time she went home to Texas for the party, she’d never get away. Her daughter, LeeAnn, had made it plain as paint that she wanted her mother back in Texas, immediately if not sooner. Annie had to admit, there was a certain temptation to simply let the decision be taken out of her hands.
Boots meowed at Annie’s feet to remind her that the cat was near starvation.
“You forget,” Annie said, pointing. “I’m the one who woke up in the middle of suffocation by cat. I know exactly how fat you are.”
Boots stalked over to her bowl and flopped down with a muted thump, giving Annie a rude glance every now and then.
Just as Annie finished pouring food in the cat’s bowl, she heard a knock at the door. She looked down at her softly faded robe, and then peeked around the corner of the kitchen entry. Her dear friend Alice MacFarlane stood at the front screen door carrying something wrapped in embroidered tea towels. Annie’s stomach growled at the thought of tasting some more of Alice’s wonderful baking.
“Did we have breakfast plans?” Annie asked as she hurried over and pulled open the door.
“No, but I tried out a new coffee-cake recipe, and I want to test it on you before I decide to make one for my next Divine Décor party.”
Alice was constantly trying out new baking recipes, both to enchant her clients and as a way to work off some of her nervous energy. Alice slipped by Annie and headed for the kitchen.
“So I’m your lab rat again?” Annie asked, laughing.
Alice grinned back over her shoulder. “Will it help if I promise you’ll be a very happy lab rat?”
“That does help.” Annie poured coffee into thick green mugs for the two of them as Alice collected two of Gram’s Aster Blue plates. They settled down at the kitchen table, and Annie smiled, thinking of how much she’d grown to enjoy reconnecting with Alice after so many years apart. Even though so much had happened to them, the years just seemed to fall away when they got together.
Alice cut generous squares of the coffee cake she’d brought. “This is cranberry-pecan upside-down coffee cake,” she said. “It’s full of brown sugar and butter and other things we shouldn’t even consider eating.”
“Sounds like another Alice MacFarlane baking success story,” Annie said, breathing in the sweet scent as she set coffee mugs on the table.
“So, why are you still in your jammies?” Alice asked. “You’re usually such an early bird.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Annie said. “Nightmares.” She slipped into her chair and picked a candied pecan from the top of her slice of cake and popped it into her mouth. “And I woke up under a subtle attack from Boots.”
“A cat attack could give anyone nightmares,” Alice said, smiling at the gray cat who sat with her back to them, washing up after her breakfast with the single-minded focus that only a cat can manage. “What was the dream about?”
Annie frowned and peered into her mug, trying to remember. “I don’t remember much. It was dark. I think there were children in it.” She shook her head. “I’m wondering if maybe the children in my dream represent my grandchildren. Their birthday is coming up, and I’m probably nervous about going back to Brookfield for the party. All this indecision about the future is probably giving me nightmares.”
“Well, we can solve that,” Alice said with a mischievous grin. “You just decide once and for all to call Stony Point your home. How easy was that?”
Annie shook her head. “I wish it were so simple.”
“It’s only as hard as you make it,” Alice said, echoing something Betsy Holden had told each of them many times when they were young girls.
“Right, Gram,” Annie said wryly as she stood to clear the small kitchen table. Annie and Alice chatted a bit longer before Alice left to let Annie get dressed.
“I’ll see you at A Stitch in Time,” Alice said, her blue eyes sparkling, as she pushed open the front screen door. “You can tell everyone about your nightmares. We’ll call it the new mystery. You know they’ll love it.”
“No mysteries!” Annie shook a finger at Alice, laughing. “We’ll just have to enjoy the needlework and the chatting. I am completely mystery free.”
“Sure you are,” Alice said as she slipped out the door. “For now.”
Annie shook her head, still smiling as she walked upstairs to her room to slip into something a little less comfortable for the rest of her day.
2
A stiff breeze made the flag snap over Annie’s head as she walked across the Town Square, enjoying the scent of freshly mowed grass and the stubbly feel of it under her feet. The sun was warm on her face, but the breeze made her glad she’d added a cotton sweater over her cheery floral sundress. She’d dressed up, hoping to chase away any lingering effects of her poor sleep.
She paused to watch a redheaded boy in a Stony Point T-shirt chase a little girl with the same flame-colored hair as his. They circled the flagpole as the girl shrieked with laughter. The burst of warmth had brought out a few early tourists, hoping to catch some of the slower life of a small town before the huge summer rush.
Annie smiled as the sound of the children reminded her of her grandchildren. John had the same love of teasing and chasing his sister Joanna. It would be great to see LeeAnn, Herb, and the twins again for the party.
As Annie crossed the street and headed up the sidewalk to A Stitch in Time, the breeze blew a strand of hair across her face. She tucked it behind one ear, and then paused. Something about the gesture felt so familiar. She’d seen someone do it recently, and her mind nudged her, urging her to catch hold of the memory. She stood, trying to relax and let it come to her, but it danced just at the edge of real remembering.
They say the memory is the first thing to go, Annie thought with a slight smile. She looked back toward the Town Square, marveling at how much this felt like her town now. She had come to love the bustle of the tourists and the warm smiles of the locals. Then, when the snow moved in and drove the tourists home again, it had felt even cozier, even more like home. Was it time to declare that Stony Point was where she belonged?
Then she thought of the house she’d shared with Wayne in Texas. In her mind, she counted off the reasons she couldn’t let it go: There was the tree they’d planted the year LeeAnn was born, so they could watch it grow with her. And then there were the shelves Wayne had built for her just before he declared that he would never become a master carpenter. He was a gifted salesman, but not nearly as good at working with his hands.
For a second, Annie’s eyes filled again as she pictured his hands. Nothing had ever felt more right than holding his hand as they walked together. Nothing was ever more beautiful than the sight of his hands holding their baby daughter. She couldn’t just sell the house she’d shared with him for so many years.
Go? Stay? Sometimes she seemed no closer to a decision than the day she’d arrived. Stony Point felt more and more like home, but a piece of her heart would always lay in that house in Texas. The thought of selling it to strangers and never walking down the halls again made her stomach
twist with grief. Could she face never running her fingers along the pencil lines that marked LeeAnn’s growing years on the trim of her closet door? She pictured a new family painting over the marks, feeling nothing about them. She couldn’t just let that happen, could she?
Annie sighed with the sheer impossibility of the decision. “Eternal transition,” she muttered.
“Sounds like a good name for a band,” a deep voice said from slightly behind her. “Or a beach song.”
Annie turned to face the handsome mayor of Stony Point, Ian Butler. Her face grew warm at the realization that he’d caught her talking to herself. Ian peered at her for a moment and said, “Is something wrong, Annie? You seem upset.”
“I’m fine,” she said, smiling sheepishly. “You just caught me woolgathering, as Gram would say.”
“You wouldn’t be working out a new mystery, would you?” he asked.
Annie laughed. “Only the eternal mystery of what I want.”
Ian held up his hands and laughed. “I was never any good at guessing what a woman wants. I’d be no help there.”
“That’s OK. Moral support is good too.”
“You always have that,” he assured her; then he gestured up the street. “Want to grab a coffee with me at The Cup & Saucer?”
“That sounds great, but I’m late for a meeting of the Hook and Needle Club.” Annie held up her bag of wool. “I’m in serious need of help with my latest project.”
“You forget,” he countered. “I’ve seen the baby blankets you’ve made for auctions and such since you came here. I can’t imagine you needing much help. They looked great to me, even if the only baby I have is Tartan.”
“Well, at least you won’t wake up with a schnauzer sitting on your chest,” Annie said. “I think Boots may be out to get me.”
Ian laughed. “I sometimes suspect that about Tartan when he decides he needs an extra walk on those icy days in the middle of January. At least you don’t have to walk a cat in the snow.”
Annie pictured Ian as she’d seen him several times during the colder season, decked out in a parka over a woolly fisherman’s sweater and work boots. The icy chill of Stony Point had certainly been a big change from Texas winters where it was a rare day when you needed more than a light sweater.
