by Jan Fields
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
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
Emeralds 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
Emeralds in the Attic / by Jan Fields
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-59635-388-6
I. Title
2011905660
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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
Annie Dawson stood on the flagstone walk and stared at the porch of Grey Gables, the Victorian-style home she’d inherited from her much-loved grandmother Betsy Holden. As Betsy grew older, the big house became too much for her to keep up, and Annie had found it a bit tired and faded when she moved to Stony Point, Maine, to take care of her grandmother’s estate. She’d worked hard for more than a year to bring Grey Gables back to the beauty the house had held during her childhood summer visits. She was proud of what she’d done to restore the house.
Until now.
Brightly colored mums in green plastic pots filled up most of the space around the porch’s well-worn wicker chairs and table. More pots completely blocked the front door. “Well, they’re certainly pretty,” she muttered as she looked across sea of gold, burnt orange and deep burgundy flowers. On the upside, she decided, no one could possibly get to her door now to tempt her with the next school fund-raiser.
She turned as she heard the crunch of wheels on the gravel drive. Ian Butler’s blue pickup rolled up the drive, showing that this must be an off-duty day for Stony Point’s mayor. When the door opened, Ian’s miniature schnauzer leaped out and raced for Annie, barking joyfully.
“Tartan!” Ian stepped out of the truck and shouted to the little dog. But Tartan excitedly ignored him, wagging his stubby tail with his whole body as Annie scratched his soft ears. Ian caught up and snagged the end of the leash. “I should have named him ‘Greased Lightning.’”
As Tartan began snuffling through the leaves around Ian, Annie tried to dust off her favorite ratty yard-work jeans without drawing too much attention to their threadbare knees.
“Thinking of going into the flower-selling business?” Ian asked, looking quizzically at the crowded front porch.
“No, I’m the victim of the high school fund-raiser. First, I bought three from Kate Steven’s daughter, Vanessa. Then the other girls from the teen needlecraft group came by with their fund-raiser forms. I didn’t want to look like I was playing favorites.”
A slight smile crooked the corner of Ian’s mouth. “I didn’t know there were so many girls in that crafting group.”
Annie sighed. “I suspect my name has somehow gotten on the ‘soft touch’ list at the high school. I bought one from everyone who came by. The flowers weren’t very expensive, so I thought they’d be smaller.”
Ian lost the struggle to keep a straight face and burst into laughter. Tartan looked up at his master and barked. “Annie Dawson,” Ian said, trying to regain control. “You are a breath of fresh air around here.”
“I’m not certain it’s good politics to laugh at your constituents,” Annie said, smiling. “I’ll make you help me figure out what to do with all of these.”
Ian pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “Now that I might be able to do. How many would you really like to keep?”
Annie looked over the forest of flowers. “Maybe six?”
Ian put the phone to his ear while he made a quick count. “Hello, Ms. Booth?” he said. “This is Ian Butler. I was wondering if you might like some mums to help decorate for the ball?”
Annie squatted down and picked leaves out of Tartan’s beard as Ian chatted with Liz Booth, president of the Stony Point Historical Society. She hoped he wasn’t going to mention how silly she’d been to buy so many flowers. Liz always seemed like the kind of woman who’d never had a silly moment in her life. Annie smiled with relief when he only told her the flowers would be a donation from Annie Dawson.
“She’s sending someone over with a truck to pick them up,” he said as he looped Tartan’s leash over a stout branch on one of the yew shrubs flanking the porch steps. The little dog immediately dove under the bush to sniff. “Let me help you move the ones you don’t want to donate.”
“Thank you,” Annie said, handing him two pots of gold flowers. She grabbed two of the orange ones and headed over to the side yard where a small circle of cement covered her well access. “I really only wanted a few to hide this. I still haven’t decided on what I want to get as a more permanent camouflage.”
“At least it’s fairly small,” he said, “and not very noticeable.”
Annie laughed. “Actually, I notice it every time I walk on this side of the house. It’s probably one of those things a homeowner just assumes everyone is appalled by.”
“So are you finally feeling really at home?” he asked.
Annie set her mums down and turned to take the ones Ian carried. She glanced back at the stately house. “Yes, I really am,” she said. “I mean, I always felt at home here. Gram made Grey Gables such a warm, homey place every time I visited. But when I first came back after she passed—well, the house felt so empty. For a long time, I wasn’t sure I could ever recapture that comfortable feeling I had here. But I’m starting to feel like it’s mine now as much as it was Gram’s.”
“You’ve certainly put a lot of work into this place,” Ian said. “It needed some TLC.”
Annie frowned a little as she nodded. She still felt a pang of guilt every time she thought of how worn the house had grown in her grandmother’s last few years. She knew she should have paid more attention, visited more, and not let things get that way. Even as the guilt seeped in, she heard Gram’s voice in her head. “Don’t waste time on the things that could have been,” Gram always said. “Pay attention to the way things are and what you can do to make it better.”
“I’m lucky I had Wally Carson,” Annie said. “He’s really helped make this place as beautiful as I could hope for.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Ian said, turning back toward the porch. “What color for the last two? The burgundy?”
“Yes.” Then before she said anything else, Ian had covered the distance back to the porch in a few long-legged strides and scooped up two beautiful burgundy mums.
“Are these good?” he asked, holding them up.
“Perfect.”
As Ian brought them back, Annie took a moment to admire how nice he looked in a softly faded, blue flannel shirt over a gray T-shirt and worn jeans. She shook her hea
d with a smile, thinking of how grungy she felt in a very similar outfit while he just looked rugged. How did men manage to do that?
Ian set the flowers down and dusted off his hands. “That looks great,” he said.
“So, I’m sure you didn’t just come by to rescue me from buyer’s remorse,” she said. “Can I do something for you?”
“You can,” he said. “And it’s actually related to your mums in a way, since they’re going to end up decorating the Harvest Ball. Have you heard about the ball?”
Annie nodded. “Mary Beth mentioned it the last time I was in A Stitch in Time. She said the Historical Society was having a charity ball at Maplehurst Inn. It’s a little more than two weeks from now, right?”
“Right, on Saturday night,” Ian said. “It’s a masquerade. As mayor, I really have to make an appearance. It wouldn’t be right if the mayor didn’t come. I was hoping you would come with me.” Before she could speak, he held up a hand. “Just friends, I promise. I’m just hoping my friend, Annie, will save me from an evening of looking woefully alone.”
Annie laughed. “I doubt you could ever look woeful, Mr. Mayor. But a masquerade ball sounds like fun. I have no idea what I would wear though.”
“It’s a vintage ball,” he said, “so everyone will be wearing something from the past. I imagine you have the best costume shop in the world for that.” He pointed toward the attic window of the house. “Betsy Holden seems to have held on to everything else; surely you have something in the attic that would fit the theme.”
“That’s a great idea,” Annie said. “I’ve seen some nice things as I’ve been trying to put the attic in order, and I know there are several trunks I haven’t even gotten into yet. I may just find the perfect costume. What are you going to wear?”
“I have a tuxedo that belonged to my great-grandfather,” Ian said. “It even has tails.”
“How dapper!” she said with a grin, and then she gestured toward the house. “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”
“Can we get in?”
“Well, we’ll have to use the back door. Did Liz happen to mention when someone would be by for the flowers?”
“As soon as the poor guy is done making some sort of trellis for photographs at the ball, apparently.”
Ian retrieved Tartan from foraging in the shrubs and followed Annie through the side yard and around to the back. Annie fetched a dish of water for Tartan, and they closed him in the mudroom. “Somehow, I don’t think Boots would take kindly to a dog in her domain,” Annie said. “And I’m not sure the house could take it if Tartan decided to chase Boots around for a while.”
“I suspect Tartan wouldn’t stand a chance,” Ian said as they walked into the tidy kitchen. Light streamed through a window near the table and turned the warm, cream-colored walls almost white. Annie smiled at the effect. She loved autumn for the cooler temperatures without the gloom that would come with winter.
“Would you like an apple muffin with your coffee?” she asked. “I made them this morning. I was feeling in the mood.”
“Sounds like a good mood to me,” Ian responded.
Just then Boots padded into the kitchen. She sniffed Ian’s pant leg delicately, and then backed away. “Sorry,” Ian said. “You probably smell Tartan.” As Boots continued to glare at him reproachfully, the mayor laughed. “He’s a nice dog, really.”
The chubby cat sneezed as if dismissing the whole idea.
“I thought I was the only one who talked to cats,” Annie said.
“I think Boots would bring it out in anyone. Though, I must admit, I talk to Tartan too.”
Annie handed Ian the basket of muffins while she carried two tall mugs of coffee. They sat down and gazed out the window for a moment. The maples along one edge of the property seemed to have burst into flame practically overnight. The leaves glowed with orange, red, and gold.
She turned back to Ian. “So, what’s been keeping the mayor busy?” she asked.
“Mostly this ball,” he said. “The Historical Society is running it, of course, but they still seem to call me a couple times a day for one thing or another. This is a pretty big deal for Stony Point, I guess. Apparently the Historical Society is planning on some wealthy out-of-town patrons, so Liz Booth and her group are adamant that everything be exactly perfect. We’re usually more of a potluck dinner sort of town. I’m not sure what to expect.”
“I hadn’t heard that much about it,” Annie admitted. “I’ve been staying pretty close to home lately, getting the gardens ready for winter. I don’t even know what charity the ball is going to support.”
Ian nodded. “The money is going to the food pantry. The demand has been high for the last year. The economy hit some families pretty hard.”
Annie nodded, feeling another nudge of relief at how her late husband had taken care that she was well provided for after he died. She still missed Wayne fiercely, but she appreciated that he’d always been the kind who looked ahead and planned. The changing economy didn’t affect her too harshly, though she knew some of her friends in Stony Point were feeling the pinch.
“It’s likely to get worse,” Ian said. “If new regulations curtail the lobstermen any more than they already have, it’s going to be hard for them to feed their families.”
Annie looked up in surprise. “I hadn’t heard about new regulations.”
“That’s because your brother doesn’t have a lobster boat,” he said with a rueful smile. “Apparently we have a pair of researchers visiting the area and running all kinds of tests. They go out with the boats and examine the catch. According to Todd, ‘They get in the way of honest folks making a living.’”
“So new regulations aren’t a sure thing?” Annie asked.
Ian shrugged. “Todd seems to think they are. But he’s not exactly the family optimist.” Ian glanced down at his watch and frowned. “I’m afraid I’ve got to grab Tartan and get going. I was only planning to take the morning off. I really need to get into the office and tackle some of the mayor’s eternal paperwork.”
Annie raised her eyebrows. “What time is it?”
“Nearly one.”
“I have to get going!” Annie yelped. “I have a Hook and Needle Club meeting this afternoon.”
Ian smiled. “I thought those were usually in the late morning. I know I’ve caught you for lunch or coffee at the end of more than one of them.”
Annie raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t realized Ian was paying such close attention to her schedule. “Mary Beth had a yarn shipment coming in this morning, but she didn’t want to cancel the meeting entirely because she has some mysterious project for us.”
“Ah—and I know how you like mysteries.”
“I like them when they don’t get me in trouble,” she said.
“Good luck with that,” Ian said, making Annie laugh. She had found more than a little trouble with the mysteries she’d stumbled into since moving to Stony Point.
2
Annie waved from the front yard as Ian drove away. “I’ll certainly be glad when I get my front porch back,” she murmured as she trotted through the side yard. By the time she reached the back door, she was mentally counting off the things she needed to do: shower, change, collect her needlework bag, grab another muffin. She nearly tripped as Boots darted between her legs in the kitchen.
“OK, OK,” she said. “I’ll add ‘feed the cat.’” Boots rushed between her legs a second time, and Annie mentally pushed “feed the cat” higher on the list. She poured dry food into the small ceramic bowl and the chubby cat dove in. Annie reached down to rub the cat’s head, but Boots backed away, sniffing Annie’s hand suspiciously.
Annie laughed. “Tartan really is nice,” she said. “But I’ll go shower, Your Highness. I promise you won’t have to smell dog any more.”
A half hour later, Annie was dressed in a tailored pair of fawn-color corduroy slacks and a soft sage sweater set. It wasn’t quite time to break out the thick fall sweaters she’d
crocheted last year. She knew that time was coming though; the perfect balance of cool and color lasted only a short time.
She hoped to finish her present project before the weather turned much cooler. She loved the gorgeous forest green yarn she’d picked, but the twisted cable pattern itself had tested her crochet skills fiercely. It’s the Hook and Needle Club’s fault, she reminded herself as she grabbed her needlework bag. They were always encouraging her to push her limits, and they clearly believed in her skills more than she did.
As she once more circled the house to reach her car, Annie had the grateful thought that if she got stuck on the tricky stitches, she could count on Kate Stevens to help her out. Kate made the most gorgeous crocheted clothes that Annie had ever seen, and most of them were original designs. A Stitch in Time often featured Kate’s unique pieces for sale. In fact, Annie had indulged in one of Kate’s woolly jackets and looked forward to wearing it again this year when the temperature dipped a bit more.
She was still musing on clothes and needlework when she pulled into the last parking spot near A Stitch in Time. She hopped out of her car and walked across the sidewalk, peeking in the shop window when she reached it. As she expected, the other ladies were already seated in the circle of comfy chairs that the shop owner, Mary Beth Brock, kept set out for them.
She saw five of her friends had already pulled out their projects, and she smiled at the knitting needles flashing in Stella’s and Gwendolyn’s hands. Annie had never been much of a knitter, but she admired the way those two could turn out perfect rows as if by magic. She also noticed that everyone leaned slightly forward, and she suspected she was missing an interesting conversation.
The tiny bell over the door jingled as Annie rushed in. She heard Kate’s quiet voice. “I’m not planning to go, but Vanessa is desperate for me to buy her a ticket.” Kate pushed a bit of her dark, straight hair behind her ear. “I would suggest she get the money from Harry, but he said they’ve had some small hauls on the boat lately and money’s tight. Still, Vanessa wants to go so much.”
“Wants to go where?” Annie asked as she settled into her chair.
