Table of Contents
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
The Unfinished Sonata
Copyright © 2012 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
The Unfinished Sonata / by K.D. McCrite
p. cm.
I. Title
2011917827
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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
1
By the time Annie Dawson ran through her front doorway, the telephone had stopped ringing. The answering machine didn’t catch a message before the caller hung up.
Annie had been on her knees most of that June morning, weeding and mulching the flower beds that dotted the Grey Gables landscape. With all the windows of the old Victorian home wide open, the shrill summons of the telephone had announced itself, loud and clear, to the outside world.
One thing Annie had developed in her adult life was a weakness for a ringing telephone.
Maybe the urge to answer the phone as soon as possible came from the years she and her late husband, Wayne, had owned the Chevrolet dealership down in Texas. Back then, a missed call could very well mean lost business. Or maybe it was just a leftover instinct from her teenage years when friends called day and night. Whatever the reason, she always hated it when she failed to reach the telephone before a caller hung up. She reminded herself that she should take the handset with her when she went outside.
A plaintive but soft meow at her feet caught her attention.
“Oh, Boots,” she said to the gray, white-pawed cat, “did I forget to feed you this morning? Surely not!”
Boots mewed again; she wasn’t argumentative, not even reproachful, but she was definitely beseeching. Annie smiled, reached down, scooped up the fuzzy warm body, and then she picked up the handset and squinted at the miniscule screen.
“Cooper City, Arkansas,” she read aloud. No name was listed to tell her who owned that unfamiliar number. “I don’t know anyone in Arkansas,” she told Boots, who merely blinked at her. “I didn’t know there was such a place as Cooper City. But, if it’s important, I suppose whoever called will call again.”
Boots purred, but she failed to offer Annie any practical advice.
Annie sighed. Who in the world would be calling her from Arkansas? More than likely it was someone selling something. She grimaced. She got a lot of calls like that, selling everything from siding to candles to burial insurance. She refused to return the call. Why listen to a spiel if she didn’t have to?
Toting Boots in both arms like the cat was a floppy rag doll, Annie was halfway to the kitchen when the phone rang again.
“Ah ha!” she said in triumph. “Boots, I knew they’d call back! Maybe it’s not a sales representative. Maybe I won something.”
She put the cat on the floor and hurried to answer the phone.
“Hey, Annie!” said a familiar voice.
“Alice!” she greeted her good friend from next door. “You didn’t happen to make an unexpected trip to Arkansas in the last few hours and not tell me about it, did you?”
There was a brief silence, and then Alice said, “Annie? Are you all right? What in the world are you talking about?”
Annie laughed. “I’m perfectly fine, and believe it or not, I have control of all my wits. It’s just that someone in a place called Cooper City, Arkansas, called me a little bit ago, and I was outside. I hate missing phone calls, you know.”
Alice chuckled. “I see. Well, I haven’t taken any trips lately, unexpected or otherwise. In fact, I’m at home right this minute, and I wish you’d come over here as quickly as you can. I need help!”
A bit of alarm prickled along the hairs of Annie’s arms. “Are you ill? Did you get hurt? Do you need me to call 9-1-1?”
“Oh, Annie!” Alice said, chortling. “You worry too much. What I need is for you to help me with this crochet pattern you suggested I do so I could learn to crochet. Specifically, I need you to show me how to crochet double treble stitches for this sampler afghan. You owe it to me; you really do. You talked me into making this thing. What is a double treble stitch? Will you please come over and demonstrate?”
“No need to whine or beg, my friend,” Annie replied, smiling. “I’d be happy to give you a little assistance. I need a break from weeding that flower bed, anyway. What a back-breaking job gardening becomes as we get older! Or is it just me?”
“I wouldn’t know anything about getting older. I plan to stay forty-something for the next forty or fifty years,” Alice insisted.
“Sure—whatever you say, you young thing. Listen, I’ll run upstairs and get cleaned up, and I’ll be over. By the way, I still think it’s great that you are broadening your skills by relearning how to crochet. Remember when Gram taught us the basics?”
She heard Alice snort in derision. “Skills, my foot! And you said it would be easy.”
“It is!” Annie said stoutly. “Once you learn how to do it.”
“Harrumph! So is building a house once you learn how to do it. All I can say is you better get over here and show me what to do before I put this whole thing aside and learn something simpler, like how to play the violin.”
Annie laughed. “I’ll clean up, change clothes, and be there in a few minutes. And I expect cookies.”
“You might expect cookies, but you’re going to get cream puffs.”
“Oh. Well, whatever,” Annie said.
Annie was halfway across her front lawn, walking the well-worn path from Grey Gables to the converted carriage house that Alice called home, when she heard the shrill sound of the telephone pour out of the open windows. She paused, torn between going on to Alice’s or returning home. This time, however, the phone only rang twice, and then it fell silent. Annie frowned. It must have been a wrong number. She shrugged and continued on her way to the carriage house.
The carriage house had been built in the days when horse-drawn carriages were the chief mode of transportation in Stony Point. It looked so similar to the big house, that no one could dispute that the two were once a set. With its steep roofline, the weathervane on the turret, multipaned windows, and detailed gingerbread trim along the gables, the home’s charm was its Victorian character and diminutive size. Annie’s grandparents, Charles and Betsy Holden, had turned the old carriage house into living quarters, adding a porch that mirrored the one at Grey Gables, but scaled it down to match the smaller home’s size. The façade gave a warm, elegant welcome to visitors as they approached. Betsy had sold the corner lot and the carriage house afte
r Charlie’s death. After Alice’s divorce from John MacFarlane, it was with Betsy’s help that she rented the carriage house from the new owner.
Alice greeted her at the front door, and Annie crossed into a small foyer. The high ceiling with its simple chandelier, white marble floor, and white beadboard walls gave a light and airy impression. Alice kept her decor in that entry to a minimum with an oval mirror on the wall and a small mahogany table with a bouquet of seasonal flowers. Today lilacs scented the air. Their beautiful lavender blooms and dark green leaves made such a pleasing contrast against the white walls and deep red mahogany wood that Annie stopped to enjoy the sight and the fragrance.
“I’ve been thinking about your ‘mysterious’ phone call, my friend,” Alice said when Annie finally lifted her eyes from the lilacs. She added dryly, “As if I don’t have anything else to think about, after that disastrous Divine Décor party last night. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that the last time I got an out-of-state phone call was three days ago. They wanted me to change my phone service provider. Thirty minutes later I still had not convinced them that I was uninterested in their offer.”
“Oh my,” Annie said.
“I think you’re lucky you were outside and didn’t have the handset with you. Otherwise, you would have had to listen to a spiel, or a plea, or some such thing.”
“As a matter of fact,” Annie said, “I heard the phone ring again as I was walking over. It only rang twice.”
“Twice? That’s odd.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Annie said, “but maybe it was a wrong number.”
“Yes, maybe. You know, you could do an Internet search on the phone number,” Alice said. “That should tell you who’s been calling.”
“I hadn’t thought about that!”
“Well, that’s why you have me around. To remind you of things you don’t think of,” Alice said.
Annie laughed. “You know it!”
“Now, Annie, come with me.” Alice grabbed her hand and led her to the kitchen table where she had arranged a plate of delectable-looking cream puffs. Also on the table sat her crochet disaster.
“Have some coffee and a cream puff, my dear friend,” she pleaded, “and then tell me why my double treble stitch looks like a fuzzy fish worm. I promised everyone at the Hook and Needle Club I would have something to show them at the meeting tomorrow, and I absolutely refuse to show them that.”
Alice indicated a chair. “Have a seat, and let me pour you some coffee. Or would you prefer tea?”
“Coffee is fine,” Annie said, eyeing the delicate pastries on the table. “Coffee will accentuate the yumminess of those cream puffs. What’s the filling this time?”
“Lemon.”
Annie smiled brightly. “One of my favorites.”
She took a pastry before Alice had finished pouring the coffee and bit into it. The puff, with its sprinkling of powdered sugar, melted on her tongue and underscored the tangy breath of the lemon filling.
“Oh, Alice! You have a gift, my friend. A true gift.”
Alice set a full cup in front of Annie and smiled, but the smile never reached her eyes. Annie put down the treat and tilted her head to study Alice.
“The trouble you’re having with that stitch isn’t enough to make you look that way,” she said. “What’s up?”
Alice sipped her coffee as if she were stalling for time.
“What is it, Alice?” Annie said empathetically. She briefly laid her hand on top of her friend’s.
Alice sighed.
“I think I’m losing my business.”
Annie blinked in surprise. “What makes you think that?”
“In the last several weeks my sales have fallen. Dramatically. Drastically.”
This was bad news, indeed. Alice supported herself by giving Divine Décor and Princessa jewelry parties in customers’ homes, and if she made no sales, she made no income.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Annie said softly. “Do you know why your sales are going down?”
Alice shrugged.
“The overall economy, I guess. Business started dropping a few months ago, little by little, until now I’m not selling very much at all. At first it was the jewelry, and I thought, ‘Well, I can make up that lost income by selling more Divine Décor.’ But then those sales began to drop too. And last night was terrible! Only three people were at the party, and that included the homeowner. None of them bought a single thing. Not even a soap dish. Annie, I lost money on that one because I had the party gifts that I give away, and I always give the hostess a gift. The company doesn’t provide those. The money for those items comes out of my pocket.”
Annie gazed at her friend’s sad face, and her heart ached. She remembered rough financial patches she and Wayne had weathered, and how frightening it had been when it seemed they might lose their income, their savings—maybe even their home. She and Wayne had had each other to lean on for support and encouragement, but Alice had no partner to shoulder the burden with her.
“One thing I’ve learned,” Annie said, “is that no matter how bad things get, or how bleak the world looks, it won’t stay that way forever.” She reached over and took Alice’s hand. “I suppose that sounds rather trite, doesn’t it? It probably doesn’t give you much comfort right now. It’s just the way of the world. Change is constant.”
Alice smiled, somewhat weakly. “You should know about change,” she said.
“Indeed I do.” Annie let a moment of melancholy sweep over her. “Losing Wayne, and then moving away from all that was familiar to me. Life without Gram as the anchor to keep me steady … yes, I have definitely been through changes.”
Alice hung on hard to Annie’s hand. “You’ve done it with such grace and strength, Annie,” she said. “Your example gives me hope that I can weather this.”
“You can do it, Alice!” Annie blinked back tears. “And thank you. You made my day.”
The two friends looked at each other for a moment, and then Alice reached for the crochet work nearby, saying, “Now, if you can just help me with this thing.”
Annie popped the last bite of her cream puff into her mouth and took the uneven beginning piece from Alice.
“I know it’s a sampler,” Alice huffed at the work Annie held. “I know it’s just a learning piece, but I still want it to look right. Honestly, Annie, with this one it seems every stitch is a different size and shape, and I know they aren’t supposed to be that way.”
“Not to worry,” Annie soothingly assured her friend. “I’ll show you how it’s done. If you’ll just unravel that row, we’ll start over.”
She looked at the other three blocks Alice had lying on the table.
“See?” she said. “You’ve done the blocks of single, double, and treble stitches just fine. Even if they’re a little uneven, they still look good. Once you’re used to working with yarn, you’ll learn to adjust the tension, and the stitches will come out even.” She glanced at Alice’s face. “And don’t worry about it! Everyone who crochets has had this same problem at first with loose stitches and tight stitches. It just takes practice.”
Annie reached into her tote bag, and then pulled out a hook and a new skein of yarn. Quickly she made a slip knot, crocheted a chain of ten stitches, turned, and crocheted a foundation row of eight stitches.
“Pull your chair right over here beside me, and then you can follow along.”
Alice picked up her hook and yarn and watched intently as Annie demonstrated a double treble stitch.
“It’s really no more than just one loop after a treble stitch.”
“Oh!” Alice brightened and nodded. “I see now! I think I got it. Do it again.”
“You do it with me,” said Annie.
Shifting her eyes back and forth as fast as a bank robber casing the joint, Alice watched Annie make the stitch one more time.
“Ah,” she said. “Yarn over three times, and then you insert the hook into the next stitch.”
�
��Yes,” Annie said, nodding enthusiastically, “and it’s the same as the treble stitch, but with one more loop on the hook. You work it just like the other stitches. You’ve been putting your hook into the stitch you just made, and then working it up. That’s why it looks like a fuzzy worm.”
Alice grinned. “I see! Annie, you’re the best teacher in the world,” she announced and whipped up a double treble stitch in her sampler, then did another. “Let’s have another cream puff to celebrate!”
When Annie returned to Grey Gables a little later, richer by five cream puffs in a covered bowl inside her tote, along with the sampler afghan she was making as an encouragement for Alice, she was glad some of the light had returned to her friend’s eyes. Alice’s worry would return, of course, because that’s what worry does, but Annie was going to put her own mind to work and try to come up with a way to help her friend get over this significant economic bump in the road.
She paused on the path to look at the flower bed. She’d made good progress, but if she wanted to put in the new bedding plants tomorrow afternoon, she still had work to do. A glance at the gathering clouds encouraged her to hurry. The forecast promised rain for early evening, but sometimes forecasts were wrong.
Inside, Annie put the pastries in the refrigerator, and then she ran upstairs to shuck off her good jeans and white button-down shirt. She put on scruffy, somewhat ragged jeans; a T-shirt; and old canvas sneakers. A quick peek in the mirror showed a middle-aged woman with blond pulled-back hair; her nose and cheeks revealed the beginnings of a sunburn. Not exactly ready to pose for Vogue, but the woman in the mirror looked perfect for working with single-minded purpose in a garden.
She went downstairs, pulling on her gardening gloves. Halfway to the flower bed, she paused, and then she retraced her steps to retrieve the telephone. No more racing to the house only to be met with a dial tone. She glanced down at the screen and pulled up the log of caller numbers. The number from Cooper City, Arkansas, showed up three times. She stopped on the edge of the porch. No salesman or robocall would call that many times in one morning, so maybe it was an important call. Even so, Annie was reluctant to push the call-back button.
The Unfinished Sonata Page 1
