The Deed in the Attic

by K. D. McCrite

  Annie took an empty seat at their table, feeling cozy beneath their friendly regard.

  “Thank you. And I won’t stay long, but I was hoping you could answer something for me.”

  “What’s that?” Max said. He picked up his cup, took a drink and met her eyes over the rim.

  “What do you know about an old place outside of town called Fairview?”

  Mabel looked thoughtful and stared off at nothing. Max screwed up his face and scratched his chin.

  “Well, I don’t know much,” Mabel said after a bit. “I know it was once a lovely place, but no one has ever lived in it for long.”

  “I seem to remember someone living there for a short time, oh, about ten, twenty, maybe thirty years ago. Don’t think anyone lives there now, though.” Max looked at her. “Why do you ask?”

  In light of their open regard and harmless interest, Annie had to remind herself not to spill more information than she should by getting caught up in her own need for information.

  “Right now, I’m just curious more than anything else. Do you know anything about the owners?”

  Max playfully wagged a finger at her. “I hear tell you like to solve curiosities and mysteries. That old place is sure ripe for that.”

  “Yes, it is. But, about the owners … ?”

  “My dear,” said Mabel, “I can’t tell you for sure, but I think the owner of Fairview lives somewhere else. In fact, I don’t think he ever did live here, did he, Max?”

  The old man shook his head. “I really don’t know. Tell you the truth, I just never gave that place much thought or interest one way or the other.”

  “Was the owner’s name Harper?”

  “If I ever knew the name, I don’t know it now.” Mabel looked at her husband. “How about you, dear? You’ve always had a better memory than me.”

  But Max shook his head. “No, don’t know what the name was.”

  Annie listened to the exchange with dismay, realizing this was simply one more dead end in her quest. If anyone in Stony Point would have had firsthand knowledge of Fairview and its owner or owners, she thought this aged couple would be the ones. She hid her disappointment behind a bright smile.

  “Well, as I said, I was just curious,” she said. “If you think of anything, please call me, will you?”

  To wipe away the Clines’s curiosity, Annie changed the subject, and they chatted a few more minutes about weather and hopes for a lovely garden when the weather cooperated. After leaving The Cup & Saucer, she strolled to Malone’s Hardware where she searched the shelves for penetrating oil.

  “Hello there, Annie,” Mike Malone said, striding up to her. She could never look at Mike with his lithe, wiry build without thinking of an energetic athlete, a runner perhaps. “May I help you find something?”

  “Hi, Mike. Yes, I think you can. I have an old cedar chest that is just lovely—one of Gram’s old treasures, of course—but the hinges are rusted and stiff. I don’t want to damage that beautiful wood, so what’s the best oil to use on those hinges?”

  “Well, now.” He surveyed the selection, squinting a little, and then pulled out a pair of readers from his shirt pocket and settled them on his nose. “Gettin’ old, Annie. Can’t see a thing up close anymore.”

  She laughed. “I’m sure I’ll be at that point soon enough. It seems I have more gray hair every day.”

  He grinned, running the flat of his hand over his head. “Well, mine is still as brown as it ever was, but I’m losing more of it every day, seems like.” He picked up a small can with a thin, pointed applicator from the shelf. “Right here. This is what you need. Won’t hurt the wood, and it’ll work good on all hinges—doors, cabinets, what have you.”

  “Will work on old locks too?” she asked, thinking of the creaky old lock on Fairview’s front door.

  “Yup. Locks too.”

  “Thanks. And it’s small enough that it won’t take up a lot of space.”

  “As if you have to worry about space at Grey Gables.”

  Mike was known to be a fount of local history, so as she walked to the cash register with him, Annie said, in what she hoped was on offhand manner, “Say, Mike, did you ever meet anyone named Joseph and Alta Harper?”

  He went around to the other side of the counter.

  “No,” he said, slowly furrowing his brow as he thought about it. “Can’t say that I ever did. They aren’t from around here, are they?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. I was hoping you could tell me.”

  He narrowed his eyes in thought, tugged on his left ear for a moment, and finally shook his head. “Nope. Sorry. Those names just do not ring a bell.”

  He punched in the price of the oil on the cash register. “Anything else for you today, Annie?”

  “Just the oil. What about Fairview?” she asked.

  The cash register calculated what she owed.

  “That’ll be five dollars, even. What do you mean, ‘what about Fairview?’”

  She gave him the five dollars, and said, “I mean, what do you know about it?”

  “Well, I know it was built in the twenties as a vacation home for some fellow … I’ve forgotten his name or the details, but I tell you what. I have that information somewhere. I’ll dig it up, and give you a call when I find it.”

  “That’d be great, Mike. Thank you!”

  He put the oil in a small brown sack and handed it to her.

  “Why the interest in that old place?” he asked.

  “Oh, just curious.”

  “Well, don’t let your curiosity lead you into mischief or anything dangerous, Annie. That old place has been deserted for a long time. It’s really run down and best left alone.”

  She started to ask for clarification but a harried-looking, red-faced man rushed up to the counter, interrupting their conversation by saying, “Mike, I got a big leak in the kitchen, and I need some pipe—ASAP!”

  “I’ll be right with you, Howard. You already shut the water off, right? Annie, I’ll give you a call.” He came around the counter and walked with Howard back toward plumbing supplies.

  She wondered what Mike had meant, though, when he had said, with a sense of foreboding, “That place is best left alone.”

  6

  “Annie Dawson! What are you doing here?” Mary Beth called from the back of the store as Annie walked into A Stitch in Time. “Don’t tell me you’ve used up all that yarn already?”

  Annie laughed as Mary Beth approached. “Hardly. I’ve not even put it all away yet.”

  “Hi, Annie,” Kate said from behind the counter as she hung up the phone. “Isn’t it a lovely day?”

  “Oh my, yes! Especially after all the rain.”

  Mary Beth said, “You look a little … um … troubled. What’s wrong?”

  Annie waved one hand dismissively.

  “Not troubled, exactly. But I just got a phone call a minute ago from the mechanic over at Powell’s Auto Service. He said the Malibu’s timing belt has slipped a tooth and he doesn’t have one in stock. Plus, he thinks the fuel injectors are clogged and need to be flushed.”

  Mary Beth made a face. “Tough break. I hate car trouble just about more than anything I can think of.”

  “Who doesn’t!” Kate said, nodding.

  “Well, it is no fun, that’s for sure,” Annie said.

  “I truly wish I knew more about auto mechanics than I do,” Kate said, “but I hardly know anything. They could tell me my car’s bilge pipe needed new socks, and I would probably believe them.”

  Annie laughed at that. “Well, if it’s any comfort, Kate, I know for a certainty that cars do not have bilge pipes or socks. Thank goodness my years at the dealership taught me a little something. But the sad part is, I have to leave the car at the garage until it’s fixed.”

  Mary Beth gave Annie a sympathetic look.

  “So you’re stranded,” she said.

  “Oh, not really,” Annie replied. “Not unless I wa
nt to be stuck, anyway. It will take a few days for the part to come in, then another day or so for the work to be done. But the thing is, Stony Point is so small that nothing is really very far from anything else. I can always walk to where I want to go.”

  “Don’t you just love it?” Mary Beth grinned. “Isn’t this just the best little town ever?”

  “It’s great here. I like it better all the time.”

  “And people here like you, Annie,” Mary Beth said warmly. You’re an asset to this community. Betsy would be so proud of you.”

  “Now, Annie, don’t get all embarrassed,” Kate said, laughing a little. “Mary Beth, you made her blush!”

  “Oh, I’m just being silly,” Annie said, shaking her head. She had been so gloomy and lonely for the last few days that their friendly words touched that spot in her that was still tender. “It’s good to know that Stony Pointers like me.”

  “Stony Pointers?” Mary Beth and Kate echoed at the same time; then they laughed.

  “That’s a good one, Annie,” Kate said.

  “Y’all are just too sweet,” she told them. Then, before she could get weepy and foolish, she said, “Would you believe that in all my patterns, including the new ones from LeeAnn, I do not have a single slipper pattern?”

  “Well, we can help you.” Kate said. “I have that pattern I mentioned at the meeting the other day. And I’ve already started a design of my own. Plus, Annie, I found the cutest patterns in this book.”

  She picked up a crochet pattern book, opened the page and put her finger on the photograph of some comfy-looking brown slippers with high cuffs.

  “Look! Aren’t these darling? They sorta look like boots, don’t they? And those buttons on the side add a little something.”

  “I love those slippers! They look so snug and warm. Men or women either one could wear them.”

  “There is this pattern also.” Kate turned the page, and showed a pair of striped slippers in white and two shades of pink.

  “Aren’t they the sweetest things you’ve ever seen?” Annie exclaimed. “Oh, I want to make both patterns. What fun! I can’t wait to get started.”

  The three women looked through the rest of the book together, exclaiming over the variety of slipper patterns.

  “Well,” Annie said, when they closed the book, “since I’m walking, I better get going. I want to buy this book. And I’m going to sit down tonight and start a pair of these slippers.”

  “What about the table runner?”

  “What about it? I’ll work on it too. Never let it be said that Annie Dawson let grass grow under her crochet hook!”

  7

  Despite her assurances to Kate and Mary Beth, without access to her car Annie nursed a niggling bit of unease that she might feel trapped and lonely at Grey Gables. But, once she was home, she dismissed the foolish notion and dove headlong into the final organization of her new yarns and threads. In the attic, she located three large, stackable wicker baskets. Of course, more of Gram’s keepsakes filled those spaces.

  By the time Annie had sorted, laundered and given away the clothes and memorabilia that Gram had stored in the baskets, baked three pies for the church pie supper, called LeeAnn twice and crocheted both pairs of slippers, the week had slipped past.

  When she was able to retrieve the Malibu, it ran good as new, and she sent up a little prayer of thanks for her good fortune as she drove to the post office on Tuesday morning in another chilly gray drizzle. She wanted to talk with Norma before going to the Hook and Needle Club meeting.

  She had arisen earlier than usual that morning and made her special recipe of chocolate-chip cookies. She was feeling a touch queasy from eating so much of the raw cookie dough, and then indulging in several cookies fresh from the oven. The ones that remained were still warm inside the eight-by-eight-inch plastic container she carried into the post office.

  A line consisting of three men, two women and a teenaged girl were queued at the counter. Norma stood on the other side, passively and efficiently weighing packages, selling postage, filling out paperwork, adding an extra stamp to an envelope. She hardly spoke, only to answer questions, and she never smiled. The line moved, and when it was Annie’s turn, three more postal customers stood behind her, waiting to be helped.

  “Good morning, Norma,” Annie said warmly as she stepped up to the counter.

  Norma inclined her head once. Annie put the plastic container on the countertop. The fragrance of chocolate wafted up, escaping from the tight lid.

  “You are really busy today,” she said to Norma. “Is it usually this busy in here?”

  Norma briefly glanced behind Annie. The post office door opened and another person joined the queue.

  “Usually,” Norma replied, cutting her gaze away from the newcomer and back to Annie. “How can I help you today?”

  “It’s not what you can do for me today,” Annie told her, “but it’s what I want to do for you.”

  Norma’s expression turned more suspicious than curious.

  “How’s that?” she said.

  “Well, I just want to let you know I appreciate all the time and hard work you have devoted to the post office all these years.” Norma’s expression did not change, so Annie continued. “In fact, I think everyone appreciates you.”

  “I do!” said the man behind Annie. “Where else could I buy stamps in Stony Point?”

  Norma blinked at him.

  “Yes,” Annie said, smiling at the man. “Yes, we need the post office, and we need Norma. Right?” She glanced at the others in the line.

  “Yes!”

  “Right!”

  She turned back to Norma. “Please don’t listen to the foolish comments by tourists who don’t know you or Stony Point, or how much Stony Pointers need this post office. We may use e-mail and Facebook and Twitter, and all the rest of it, but we’ll always need the post office. And if anyone ever tries to take it away from us, we’ll protest. Loud and long.” She looked at the others. “Right?”

  They all looked a little confused but backed her up with enthusiastic support.

  “See?”

  “Well, now,” Norma said, gawking at everyone. “Well, now.”

  Annie laughed softly. “You don’t need to say a word, Norma. But just don’t worry about anything.”

  Norma let out a deep breath. “Why, Annie. Thank you for saying so. I guess you heard what that man said.”

  “Yes. But you just ignore it. And here.” She pushed the container of cookies across the counter. “These are for you, just to say thanks for being so trustworthy.” She glanced at her watch. “Goodness. I’m going to be late. See you later, Norma. Bye-bye.”

  “Goodbye,” Norma said, still looking as if she had been poleaxed, but some life seemed to be returning to her eyes at last. “And thank you, Annie. This means a lot.”

  Annie gave her a smile and hurried outside. She truly was going to be late. In fact, the meeting was probably getting under way right then.

  That day was chilly and overcast, with the prediction of snow underscoring the weather forecast, and the store was bright and warm when Annie arrived. She sat in her usual seat.

  “Sometimes,” Kate said, thoughtfully after everyone seemed to be settled and began to pull projects from carry-bags and totes, “I think I’d like to live somewhere in the South. You know, where the weather is warm most of the time, and where the winters are usually quite short.”

  “Maybe Annie will take you on a trip down to Texas some time,” Stella said.

  Kate smiled and said, “I was actually thinking of Florida.” Everyone laughed, and she hurried to add, “Not that I wouldn’t want to see Texas, of course. I mean, cowboys and horses and oil wells and all that, but Vanessa really would like to see Disney World.”

  “Honey,” Annie said, slathering on her accent like butter on a hot biscuit, “if y’all want to go along with me to see cowboys and horses and oil wells and all that, you just come on ahead. We don’t have Disney World
, but we got Six Flags.”

  Kate grinned at her. “That would be uber-awesome.”

  “That would be what?” Mary Beth and Stella said in unison.

  “Oh, that’s something Vanessa uses a lot lately. It means super-duper.”

  “Now that I understand,” Stella said, nodding. “In my day the word was ‘swell’.”

  “And for us, it was ‘groovy,’” Mary Beth said, and Gwen added. “Or ‘cool.’”

  “For us, it was ‘rad’ or ‘radical,’” Kate said. “Or ‘awesome.’”

  “Yeah,” Peggy said, “or ‘gnarly.’”

  “Heaven help us,” Stella muttered, looking at Peggy as if she could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Where do you kids get these words? Whatever happened to words like ‘nice’ or ‘lovely’ or even ‘terrific’?”

  Alice said, “Well, Annie and I used to make up words. Remember, girlfriend? ‘Sarcious’ meant great and ‘grimple’ meant really bad.”

  “I had forgotten all about that!” Annie laughed. “Well, take a look, and see if you think these are sarcious, or if they’re grimple.”

  From her tote, she lifted out the soft gray boot-style slippers and the delicate-looking striped ones with tiny rosettes on the toes that she had completed. The slippers made the circle with each woman examining the style and the stitches.

  “These are wonderful, Annie!” Gwen said. “Sarcious!”

  “Sarcious!” they all agreed, laughing.

  “Well, I hate to admit it, but I’ve not even started on mine yet,” Stella confessed after the group settled down again.

  Mary Beth looked at the other women.

  “Has anyone else made, or started, any slippers for the residents of Seaside Living other than Annie? And of course, Kate.”

  “I’ve got a good start on one,” Gwen said. “Stella and I are getting together later this week to help each other.”

  “I’ve been looking on the Internet for a good pattern,” Alice said. “You will be happy to know that I have narrowed it down to twelve.”

  “Twelve?!” two or three ladies echoed.

  “We all know Alice,” Peggy said. “If anyone can cross-stitch a dozen different pairs of slippers, it’s Alice. She’s got more energy than ten women half her age.”