A Man of His Word

by Karen Kelly

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  A Man of His Word

  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.

  _______________________________________

  Library of Congress-in-Publication Data

  A Man of His Word / by Karen Kelly

  p. cm.

  I. Title

  2012931584

  ________________________________________

  AnniesMysteries.com

  800-282-6643

  Annie’s Attic Mysteries

  Series Creator: Stenhouse & Associates, Ridgefield, Connecticut

  Series Editors: Ken and Janice Tate

  1

  “Wow! Can Mainiacs ever cook!” John Sorensen ran his gaze along the line of tables brimming with desserts, his eyes widening by degrees at each table.

  Annie Dawson nudged her six-year-old grandson on the shoulder. “Why do you think I warned you not to eat that third helping of dressing? I told you about the wonders of the Thanksgiving Dessert Social.” She turned to her good friend, Alice MacFarlane. “But I’m not sure my words did this spread justice. It’s Texas sized!”

  “Some things you just have to experience,” Alice said, her eyes crinkling from her wide smile. “There’s a table with enough seats for all of us.” She pointed to a large round table close to the desserts. A lone man sat surveying the stream of families and singles as they came through the door. He waved Annie and Alice over to the table, standing as they drew closer.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!” Ian Butler, the mayor of Stony Point, greeted them. “I like to give our town’s visitors prime seating for our events.”

  Alice pursed her lips. “Does this mean Annie and I have to sit in the back and leave the Sorensens by themselves?”

  “We want Grandma to sit with us!” Joanna’s bright pigtails bobbed up and down as she punctuated her statement with nods.

  “Yeah,” John backed his twin sister, “besides, Grandma’s only part Mainiac. She’s still mostly Texan, isn’t she?”

  Ian pulled out the chairs on either side of his. “As Stony Point’s mayor, I appoint Miss Alice and your grandmother ambassadors of our fair town.” He leaned close to the twins and lowered his voice. “Ambassadors are allowed to sit wherever they think best.”

  Joanna grabbed Annie’s hand. “Come on, Grandma. ’Bass-doors can sit next to me.”

  “You may regret your kindness, Mayor Butler, when you see how much our children love dessert, especially after a day of outdoor play!” said LeeAnn, Annie’s daughter. “Giving them such easy access may work against you.” She and her husband Herb sat down on the other side of Joanna.

  Ian gave his stomach a brief pat. “On the contrary, it might work for me if I want to continue to fit into my clothes after the feast at my brother Todd’s house earlier.” The four adults nodded their agreement, although Ian’s slim waist looked none the worse for his earlier indulgence. They settled into their sets to await the traditional greeting and blessing by Reverend Wallace. Ian and Herb struck up a conversation and were soon defending their favorite professional basketball teams.

  Joanna looked around at the twinkling lights and the festive decorations adorning the large community hall. “It’s almost as pretty as Christmas tonight!”

  “Mrs. Palmer and Mrs. Brickson put a troop of ladies and teens to work,” said Alice. “They did all this while you were at the Maritime Museum on Tuesday.”

  Joanna twisted in another direction, but this time she wasn’t looking at the decorations. “I hope Emily’s here. Do you see her, Mama?”

  Pointing toward the door, LeeAnn said, “They just came in, Joanna.” Wally and Peggy Carson paused just inside the door, scanning the tables for three empty seats.

  Annie checked the table behind Joanna’s chair. “It looks like they could sit there. Excuse me, are these seats saved?” She directed the question to the family sitting on the opposite side of the table.

  A woman smiled and answered, “No, they’re open for anyone.”

  “Oh, awesome!” Joanna jumped up. “I’ll go tell Emily!” She scampered around tables to the Carsons. “Emily, here! We found seats for you! Right behind us!”

  Emily tugged at her parents’ hands. “Hurry, Mom and Dad! Someone else might take our seats!”

  Wally looked down at his young dancing princess. “Well, you two better go grab ’em.”

  Watching Emily and her new friend dart away, Peggy slid the hood of her coat back and checked the state of her short brown hair with her fingertips. “I’m so glad LeeAnn’s family came for the week. Emily sure has loved having Joanna to play with over the school break.”

  “Em asked me last night if we could videotape her Christmas recital and send it to Joanna,” Wally said, unzipping his jacket. “Told her we could do that.” His voice hesitated. “Do you think she’ll be OK if Joanna goes home and forgets to keep in touch?”

  Peggy wound her arm around her husband’s, giving him a light squeeze. “I don’t think that will happen. Those two have been as thick as thieves the whole week.”

  “They sure have,” Wally said. He saw Reverend Wallace heading to the front of the room. “Better hurry, don’t want to get caught standing during the blessing.” The couple wove through the crowded room and slid into their chairs just as the minister called everyone to attention for a prayer of thanksgiving.

  At “Amen” heads raised, waiting to hear the order in which the tables would be given access to the dessert line. June Wallace handed a basket to her husband.

  “The ladies have devised a fun way to control traffic this year,” Reverend Wallace began. “Each table has been adorned with a lovely centerpiece. You’ll notice each one is built around a squash or pumpkin.” He lifted up a small white pumpkin for everyone to see. “This is a Baby Boo pumpkin. Raise your hand if your centerpiece has Baby Boos.”

  Joanna squealed. “We have Baby Boos! They’re so cute!” She thrust her hand into the air.

  “What a silly name for a pumpkin,” muttered John, lifting his hand about five inches off the table.

  “Everyone at the Baby Boos tables will go first to pick their desserts and drinks.”

  Joanna leaned over to peer at the center of Emily’s table. “Yay! You go with me.”

  “Baby Boos rule!” Emily and Joanna high-fived each other.

  Reverend Wallace exchanged the white pumpkin for a larger dark green squash. “Every table with an Autumn Cup squash will go second, and next, those with the Blue Hubbards.” He paused to lift up the large blue-gray squash. “And if the first three sets of tables have left anything behind, those tables with the turban squash will devour what’s left.” He exchanged the Blue Hubbard for a medium-siz
ed squash with a topknot of green, orange, and white.

  Herb clapped a hand on the back of John’s neck and gave it a good-natured shake. “You think you can put up with having those silly Baby Boos at your table, Son?”

  “I’ll stack my plate so high, I won’t see ‘em.” John pushed his chair back and stood.

  “Oh no, you won’t.” LeeAnn lowered her chin to give her son a motherly look. “I want the turban squash tables to have something left to enjoy.” She positioned John between herself and Herb, while Joanna moved over next to Emily.

  “John and Joanna, you don’t want to miss one of Miss Alice’s whoopie pies,” said Ian. “Unless, you hate chocolate, that is.”

  Emily clapped her hands and went up on her toes to do a pirouette. “Miss Alice makes the best whoopie pies! Even Mom says so.”

  “They’ll do ’til a better recipe comes along,” Alice brushed off the compliment like lint. “Leave room on your plate for Miss Annie’s contributions. Her kitchen was smelling heavenly yesterday.”

  “Don’t give me all the credit,” said Annie, picking up two plates and handing one to Alice. “LeeAnn was my sous-chef. I couldn’t have made so much without her.”

  Ian looked along the line of desserts. “And which of these beauties came from the Grey Gables kitchen?”

  “The Tres Leches cake, the pralines, and the buttermilk pie.”

  “The buttermilk pie isn’t as gross as it sounds,” John reassured the mayor.

  “It’s yummy,” agreed Joanna. She daintily lifted a whoopie pie from a towering pile.

  Annie cut a slice of pecan pie in half and slid a half onto her plate. “I’m leaving a little room on my plate for your roasted chestnuts,” she said to Ian.

  “I’m honored.” Ian grinned as he wavered between the Tres Leches cake and buttermilk pie.

  June Wallace, who was supervising the dessert table, leaned over to whisper to him, “It’s Thanksgiving, Mayor. Take a slice of both. Tartan will run it off you in no time.”

  “Just thinking of my constituents, June. Wouldn’t want to deprive anyone of these delicious treats.”

  “There’s plenty for all. We made sure of that!” She slid a piece of the buttermilk pie onto the mayor’s plate in one smooth motion. “Move along now.” She waved the pie server like a culinary traffic controller.

  Ian obeyed, with a meek look on his face.

  Herb concentrated on efficiently filling his plate. “I didn’t expect to find a Texas-sized spread on the coast of Maine.” He placed several chestnuts along the edges of the pile on his plate and turned to make his way to their table.

  “We have to keep our kitchens warm somehow this time of year,” Alice said wryly, as she followed Herb with her crowded plate.

  Their empty table filled again, as others behind them emptied. For a time, silence reigned, except for the clink of silverware. John finished his plate first, down to capturing the last dark chocolate crumb on one of his fingertips before LeeAnn had a chance to remind him of proper manners.

  “Miss Alice, you got anymore of those whoopie pies at home?” he asked.

  “Maybe Miss Alice will give us her recipe,” said Annie.

  “Will ya?” John caught the look his mother shot him. “I mean, Miss Alice, may we please have the recipe?” He added a beatific smile, showing the gap left by the absence of his top middle baby teeth.

  “If your grandmother’s willing, I think we can arrange a trade, my whoopie pie recipe for her buttermilk pie recipe.” Alice and John turned to Annie. “Deal?” they said in unison.

  Annie dug into her purse for a small notebook and pen. “Deal.” She flipped the notebook open, her hand copying the century-old family recipe in smooth strokes. Then Annie tore the page out, and handed it to her friend.

  “You can write the whoopie pie recipe in here.” Annie offered the notebook to Alice, who transferred the recipe from her mind to the page as effortlessly as Annie had hers.

  Ian slowly ran his fork along the bottom of his plate, capturing every last crumb in a more socially acceptable manner. “I must thank Mrs. Wallace for not allowing me to skip one of these desserts. I almost wish I was Tartan so I could lick the plate.” The other people at the table laughed at the mental image.

  A pretty teenage girl approached them with a coffeepot. “Does anyone need refills?”

  “Oh, Vanessa, I do.” Annie slid her cup over to an easier angle for filling. “LeeAnn and Herb, this is Vanessa Stevens. Her mother, Kate, designs the most gorgeous crochet clothes and has helped me with many of my projects.” Vanessa’s lips curved into a shy smile as she filled Annie’s cup and moved over to top off Alice’s extended cup.

  “Did your mother make your tunic?” LeeAnn asked.

  “Yes, she did,” Vanessa answered. “And I made the belt.” The contrasting belt in deep purple accentuated her slender waist.

  “It looks like you inherited your mother’s talent,” said LeeAnn, admiring the intricate pattern of the belt.

  Vanessa smiled her thanks. “It’s fun.” Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a man waving his cup to catch her attention. “Oops, I better go. Enjoy your visit.” Vanessa hurried away, her belt swinging in rhythm with her stride.

  Behind Joanna, Emily leaned over to whisper something to her parents. A moment later she tapped Joanna’s shoulder. “Joanna, my parents say it’s OK for us to visit my friends. Come meet them!”

  Joanna turned to LeeAnn. “Mama, may I go meet Emily’s friends? Please?”

  “For a few minutes,” LeeAnn answered. “No leaving the main room, though.”

  “We won’t!” Joanna jumped up and followed Emily into the maze of tables to track down members of Emily’s dance class and her schoolmates.

  Ian watched the two girls, one dark- and one light-headed, each tilted toward the other. The high energy that usually emanated from him dipped into pensiveness as he was reminded of the joy of parenthood he and his wife, Arianna, had been denied. And then a brain aneurism had taken her from him when she was just in her forties. These days, his life was busy and full, and contentment characterized the majority of his days. But the reminder of what would likely never be occasionally haunted him.

  Annie’s pleasantly Southern voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hi, Todd. Happy Thanksgiving. Would you like to sit down?” Ian turned his eyes from the young girls and nodded to his brother. Todd sat down in Joanna’s empty chair.

  “Happy Thanksgiving to you too, Annie,” Todd said in return. “Ian tells me you took a trip to the Maritime Museum.”

  John snapped to attention at the mention of the museum. “It was awesome! Saw all kinds of boats and stuff about shipbuilding. We had to walk through some dusty old house with a lady who talked on and on about the china, furniture, and clothes. But then we got to see more cool stuff like part of a sawfish and walrus tusks.” He gulped in a lungful of air.

  During his pause LeeAnn said with a rueful smile, “As you can tell, John thought the museum was OK.”

  “Joanna enjoyed herself too,” Annie added. “I’m so thankful Ian gave me the brochure about the museum. It suited all of us.”

  John had been eyeing his mother and grandmother, ready to open his mouth again as soon as Annie stopped talking. “Yeah, and tomorrow we’re going to a maple sugarhouse and maybe find some forts! They don’t make maple sugar in Texas, ya know.”

  Todd clamped a strong hand on John’s shoulder. “You’ll need to save that for the next time, John. There’s a nor’easter coming in overnight. You won’t be able to see anything in a blow like that.” John slumped down in his chair.

  “How long do you think it will last?” Herb asked. “Our flight is scheduled for early afternoon on Saturday.”

  Todd rubbed his chin. “Maine storms can be right ornery sometimes. Hard to tell. I’d check with the Jetport Saturday morning, early, if I were you.”

  John sat silent as the adults around him talked about the nor’easter. Then his eyes brightened, and he sat
up straight.

  “You feeling better?” his mother asked.

  “Uh huh. I don’t think anyone else in my class has ever seen a nor’easter. I’ll be the first! Mama, can we take pictures so’s I can show everyone at school?”

  LeeAnn nodded, as she began stacking the empty plates around her. “Sure, I’ll recharge the battery when we get back to Grandma’s.”

  “Good thing you came over when you did, Todd,” said Alice. “I was thinking of braving Black Friday all over Lincoln County tomorrow. Sounds like I’ll be cross-stitching and writing my annual Christmas letter instead. Might actually get them mailed on time this year.”

  Ian stood and collected the cups from around the table. “Sometimes having a brother who’s a lobsterman is more handy than a weather radio,” he said. “He tends to be more accurate.”

  2

  The next morning LeeAnn stood with her arms crossed, staring out the back kitchen window of Grey Gables, the home her mother had inherited when her great-grandmother Betsy Holden passed away. A waterfall of rain cascaded off the back porch roof. “Todd wasn’t kidding when he said this would not be a day for seeing anything.”

  “Looks like the whole ocean is pouring on us,” Joanna said before taking a bite of toast spread with orange-pink rose-hip jelly.

  “What are we going to do all day, Grandma?” John asked, chasing the last bit of egg around his plate with a fork. He speared it and popped it into his mouth.

  Annie turned away from the stove to set two more plates of breakfast on the table for herself and LeeAnn. “We could have a game marathon. There’s a stack of them in the family room: Parcheesi, Checkers, Dominos, Uno, Boggle … and that’s just a few of them.” When Annie had first returned to the house where her childhood summers had been spent with her grandparents, mixed emotions had churned within her—the joy of childhood memories and the pain of loss. Not only the loss of her beloved grandmother, but also the sorrow of losing her husband, Wayne, to a heart attack not long before Gram had died. The stack of games had reminded her once again that her partner in work and play was no longer beside her. The churning had mellowed with time, but she doubted her days would ever be completely free from the seasoning of sorrow. Still, joy had been making a comeback.