Letters in the Attic (8 page)

9

A masculine chuckle came through the line. “Well, you know how it is, Ms. Dawson. When you’re in a position like mine, it’s hard to accomplish anything if you don’t have someone to weed out some of the calls. Lisa does an excellent job.”

“I know you must be very busy, Mr. Prescott, but—”

“Call me Arch. If you were a friend of Susan’s, it’s only right.”

“In that case, it’s only right that you call me Annie.”

“Fair enough, Annie. Now what can I do for you? Lisa said you have been looking into some things about Susan.”

“It’s gotten to be a lot more complicated than I thought it was when I started out.”

She told him about the letters she had found in the attic, about how she and Susan had met and lost touch, and about what she found out about the drowning.

“That must have been terrible for you.”

“It was.” Some of the life went out of his voice. “I couldn’t believe she was gone.”

“The article said you were going to look for her after the accident. Did you find out anything?”

“No. We never did. I had teams of people searching for weeks afterward, but she was gone. It’s been more than twenty years now, and I still think of her every day. I wonder if I hadn’t left her on deck that night, maybe she …” His voice trailed off, and for a moment he was silent. Then he cleared his throat. “Maybe things would have been different. Maybe I didn’t deserve someone like her anyway. I don’t know.”

“I’m so sorry.” Annie bit her lip. “I didn’t want to stir up any painful memories for you, but I haven’t been able to find out much about Susan. I mean, yes, I found out what happened to her, but that doesn’t tell me much about how things were for her before she died. Was she happy? Did she ever get to dance on Broadway? She dreamed about that when we were girls.”

“That’s how I met her.” His voice seemed to brighten at the memory. “She was in a show my brother was backing. Just in the chorus line, but I could tell she was special right away. We dated for a while, and I knew she was the girl, you know? I told her right off the bat that we should get married. She thought I was kidding, and maybe I was a little, but if she had said yes, we would have headed straight for the courthouse, no questions asked. Then, when her aunt passed away, I said we should go ahead and take the plunge. No use her trying to get a place of her own and all that when I could take care of her, but she wanted to go home. I guess that’s understandable. Her folks were pretty cut up about her Aunt Kim, too, and she wanted to be with them.”

“And then they died.”

“Yeah.” He was silent for another long moment. “Yeah.”

“I wish I’d known.”

“Poor kid. She didn’t have anybody in the world anymore. That’s when she decided maybe we ought to get married after all.”

“So she lived in Stony Point until that last sailing trip.”

“Yeah. Everything happened kind of fast after her parents were killed. I wanted us to have a big wedding, something her folks would have wanted for her, but I didn’t want to wait very long either. I had a wedding planner arrange everything down in Vero Beach. That’s where my Florida house is. All we had to do was sail down the coast and walk into happily-ever-after. Instead we got the third act of a tragedy.”

“I’m really sorry to have brought this all up again.”

“No, don’t be sorry. It’s good to know someone cared enough about Susan to try to find her. And you said you never found out anything else about her? None of your friends knew anything about what happened?”

“No. They all assumed she had married you and moved away somewhere.”

“I wish she had. I wish …” He laughed softly. “It’ll sound funny, I know, but I’ve always wondered if she’s alive out there somewhere. Maybe she hit her head and lost her memory or something. If you ever find out something that makes you suspect that kind of thing, Annie, you have to let me know. Promise?”

“The Coast Guard seemed pretty certain—”

“I know. Stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s been a long, long time too. I mean, I have a wife now and kids and all that, anyway. It’s not like Susan and I could get back together or anything. It’s just that, if she were out there somewhere, I’d like to know she was taken care of. I guess it’s just wishful thinking on my part, but I’d do anything in the world to help her.”

“I’m sure you would.”

There was silence on the other end of the line again. Then he cleared his throat.

“Listen, let me give you my cell number. You can call me direct anytime. If there’s something I can help you with, or you just want to talk about Susan again, you call me up.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of bothering you, Mr. Prescott.”

“Arch, OK?”

Annie smiled to herself. “Arch.”

“And I mean it. If you find out something, or if you want to know anything else about her, even something small, let me know. Susan deserves to be remembered by the people who loved her.”

Annie jotted down the telephone number he gave her and soon they said goodbye. Poor man. It was bad enough that he lost the woman he loved, but to carry that guilt all these years had to be terrible for him.

But at least Susan hadn’t been entirely alone after her parents died. She had had someone who loved her and who wanted the best for her. Just knowing that made Annie feel so much better. Now if she only knew who wanted her to leave Susan’s past buried and forgotten.

****

“You just called him up? In California?”

Annie nodded. “I did.”

Kate looked back down at her crochet. “I could never do that. Just call up somebody like that, somebody I don’t know. What did he say?”

The ladies of the Hook and Needle Club all paused over their projects. All, that is, except Stella. She did not slow the swift, almost-mechanical
click-click-click
of her knitting needles.

“I met young Prescott when I lived in New York.” She pressed her withered lips together. “I didn’t like him.”

Annie had to hold back a smile. Stella wasn’t really as crusty as she seemed sometimes, but it could be difficult to get past her prickliness.

“He was very nice when I talked to him,” Annie assured them all. “He still feels bad about not being on deck with Susan that night, even after all these years. And he told me to call him anytime. That’s pretty accommodating of someone who owns a big company like that, don’t you think?”

“All I remember about Archer Prescott is that he treated Susan like a queen.” Mary Beth shook her head. “Jewelry and expensive clothes all the time. I hardly recognized quiet little Susan anymore. She looked more like a runway model or something. The few times she was in town, of course.”

“What a life. A handsome rich guy to cater to your every whim. And that on top of being a beautiful blonde.” Gwen sighed. “What a life.”

Mary Beth sighed too. “I could have used someone like that in my life twenty or thirty years ago.”

“It’s not too late,” Alice insisted. “Mr. Kendall at the bank always seems to perk up when you’re in there.”

Peggy and Alice exchanged grins, and Mary Beth rolled her eyes.

“Spare me. Mr. Kendall is eighty if he’s a day.”

Stella stopped knitting and looked up. “Anything wrong with eighty?” She narrowed her eyes at Mary Beth and then the tiniest hint of a smile crept into her expression. “Besides, I happen to know Aaron Kendall is just a young pup of seventy-six.”

Annie laughed. “Maybe he’s holding off courting you until after you get the shop all spruced up, Mary Beth. Did you ever get things set up for Tom Maxwell to put your cabinets in for you?”

“Ugh. You know, every time I think that company has it right, they find something else to mess up. I looked inside one of the boxes, and the units they sent don’t have the dividers I wanted. They have promised me they’ll have the right ones in by the end of this week. Absolutely.” Mary Beth shrugged. “But they gave me free shipping to make up for some of the hassle, so I guess it’s not all bad.”

Peggy knotted her dark olive thread and began appliquéing another leaf on her quilt block. “I gave you Tom’s number, didn’t I? Of course, Wally will be glad to do it for you sometime after Christmas.”

“I don’t think I can wait quite that long, as much as I’d like to. But, yes, you did give me the number. If I ever get the right cabinets in here with all the right accessories, I’ll definitely call him.”

The mention of Tom Maxwell reminded Annie of her desire to see Susan’s old house again, which reminded her about checking into Susan’s will. It was a pretty afternoon, cold but sunny. Maybe this would be a good day to head up to the courthouse in Wiscasset. It was only about thirty miles away.

****

The Last Will and Testament of Susan Alexandria Morris was, for a legal document, relatively short and straightforward. It stated her place of residence as Lincoln County, Maine, and named Archer Lee Prescott as her executor. The crux of the whole document was contained in Article II, Section 1:

I give, devise and bequeath all of my property which I may own at the time of my death, real, personal and mixed, tangible and intangible, of whatsoever nature and wheresoever situated, including all property which I may acquire or be entitled to after execution of this Will, to Archer Lee Prescott, to be his absolutely, if he survives me.

The property bequeathed to Archer Lee Prescott was listed on the inventory filed with the court. It consisted of cash, doubtless from the sale of the Morris home a month before Susan’s death, and a few personal effects. All in all, her estate was nothing that would entice a wealthy man like Prescott to do anything underhanded. Everything Annie had seen in the court records indicated that he had fulfilled his duties as executor promptly and faithfully. Following the money had led to another dead end.

So what was it that made someone so determined to keep Annie from finding out what happened to Susan?

She thought about it during the drive home from Wiscasset. When she reached Stony Point, she turned onto Main Street and pulled up in front of the town hall. Thank goodness Chief Edwards was on duty at the front desk today. She didn’t want to have to go through Roy to get to him, and she didn’t want to have to ask Roy any favors, either.

“Mrs. Dawson, good to see you.” Edwards offered her a chair. “What can I do for you today?”

“I think just about everybody in town has heard by now that Susan Morris, the woman I was looking for, is dead.”

Edwards nodded. “I did hear that. I’m sorry.”

Annie hesitated for a moment. “Do you think you could look into something for me? I’ve been checking some of the newspapers and public records, trying to get information about Susan. I found out she drowned at a place called Folly Beach in South Carolina in August 1989. Is there any chance you could find out what’s in the records there about Susan? I know you’re busy and everything, but I was just thinking …”

She ended with a hopeful lift of her eyebrows.

“It’s not technically police business since we’d have no reason to reopen the case, but let me see what I can find out for you. You said Folly Beach, South Carolina, in August of 1989?”

Annie nodded, and Chief Edwards wrote the information down on the yellow legal pad on his desk.

“Something that long ago may take a little while to hear back on, but I’ll give it a try.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“I’m not making any guarantees, you realize.”

“I know that, but if you can find out something, anything at all.” Annie exhaled. “I can’t help thinking there must be more to know. Why else would someone want to warn me to stay out of Susan’s business?”

The chief’s face was grave. “There is that. And I’m sorry we don’t have an answer to that particular question yet.”

Annie smiled. “There’s not much to go on, is there?”

“No, but we’ll keep our eyes open, don’t you worry. And on this Charleston matter, I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”

10

When Annie got home, she got out her recipe book and the ingredients for chocolate-chip cookies. Baking was such a soothingly ordinary task, and the twins would definitely enjoy a special surprise from Grammy. While she was in the middle of making the dough, her telephone rang.

“Sorry it’s taken me a while to get back to you about Tom Maxwell working on the cabinets,” Mary Beth said. “With one thing and another, I’ve been really busy. Today I marked down the embroidery floss, and it’s flying off the shelves.”

“You’re not putting your wool yarns on sale anytime soon, are you?”

“I’ll make sure you’re the first to know. Now, do you want the good news or the bad news?”

Annie wedged the phone between her shoulder and the side of her head and went back to mixing cookie dough. “Hmm, if there’s bad news, you’d better sweeten it with the good stuff first.”

“I finally got the right cabinets in. I made the delivery guy stand there while I opened every one of the boxes and made sure they had sent what I ordered.”

Annie chuckled.

“And I talked to Tom Maxwell. He can do my cabinets, and his rates aren’t bad at all.”

“Great. I want to find out if his wife is all right and then drop the whole thing.”

“OK,” Mary Beth said, “but you’ll have to be patient until next week.”

“Next week?”

“That’s the bad news. Tom won’t be able to come until Monday. But it will probably take a day or two for him to get everything assembled and installed, so that’ll give you plenty of time to talk to his wife while he’s occupied.”

“OK, I guess that’ll have to do. Hang on. I need to put in some chocolate chips.” Annie put down the phone, added the semisweet morsels she had measured out, and then put the phone back to her ear. “Anyway, I guess if Sandy Maxwell’s been OK for this long, a few more days won’t make a big difference.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t have better news about Susan,” Mary Beth said, “but I see that hasn’t discouraged your sleuthing tendencies.”

“Ah, well, I guess we don’t always get happy endings, but at least I know what happened. And this thing with Sandy Maxwell isn’t a real mystery or anything. Just a neighbor checking on a neighbor. That can’t be a bad thing, can it?”

“Annie, you’re a sweetheart. And I bet you’re baking something to give to somebody else.”

Annie laughed and started stirring again. “Just some chocolate-chip cookies to send down to the grandkids. My daughter’s been hinting pretty hard that I need to come back home. I figured a special delivery of some of my homemade cookies should appease the little ones at least for a while. I’m sending some more of Gram’s fancy work down to LeeAnn too.”

“I’d be pretty homesick for them if it was me,” Mary Beth admitted. “All I have is my niece, Amy, and I really miss her between visits. Well, there’s my sister, of course, but, um, we’re working on that particular relationship.”

“Have you talked to her much since your mother passed away?”

“A couple of times.” There was regret in Mary Beth’s voice. “She stays pretty busy.”

“How’s Amy?”

“She’s doing fine. She and this young man she works with seem to have hit it off.”

“Is that Elliot? Umm, Evan?”

“Everett.”

“That’s right. The one with the little boy. Just think, soon you could be a step-great-aunt.”

Mary Beth chuckled. “I’ll leave that to Amy for now, but his son Peter is a sweet little fellow. And at least I’d have something to show when all you grandmas whip out the photos.”

A maidenly little
ding
from the oven timer brought Annie back to matters at hand.

“Listen, Mary Beth, my oven’s hot now. I have to put these cookies in. We’ll plan on Monday unless I hear from you.”

“Sure thing. Happy baking.”

Annie hung up the phone and started spooning out dough. Soon she had two dozen cookies plumping up in the oven, and two dozen more ready to go in next.

While the cookies baked, she washed out the mixing bowl and spoon she had used. Then she laid out a generous length of waxed paper, ready for when the cookies came out of the oven. Gram had taught her the little trick of moistening the countertop to make the paper lie flat instead of curling up. It was just a little thing, but it made using the waxed paper so much easier.

There had to be some things, some little things, she could do to make it easier to get to know Sandy Maxwell. Annie still felt foolish when she remembered her so-called conversation with Tom. No wonder he hadn’t been very receptive.

Maybe, once she had made sure things at the Maxwells’ were OK, she and Sandy could become friends. And then maybe that would make it easier to get to know Tom too. Annie knew too well how hard it could be to find a place to fit in a small town like Stony Point where everybody knew everybody else and their business. Maybe nobody had ever reached out to the Maxwells before now. She couldn’t imagine how lonely it must be to live out there away from everybody.

By the time the last of the cookies had cooled, Annie had decided that the Maxwells were much too isolated. A few chocolate-chip cookies and some good, old-fashioned neighborliness might just be the cure.

****

“I’m still not too sure about this.” Alice looked up at Tom and Sandy Maxwell’s house. “I’d feel a lot better if there were some neighbors around.”

“We
are
around.” Annie turned off the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Besides, you were the one who insisted on coming along. I could have done this by myself.”

Alice scurried out of the passenger seat with Annie’s bag of cookies. “No, I told you I was coming, and I meant it. We’re here now, so we’d better make the most of it.” She considered for a moment. “Do you suppose she could use some new costume jewelry or some reasonably priced home decor?”

Annie shook her head, chuckling. “You are
not
going to try to sell her anything.”

“Of course not.” Alice grinned. “Not right away. But if we’re trying to get her to meet people, what could be better than a party? And if there just happens to be jewelry or decorative items available, well …”

She shrugged, and Annie hurried her up to the house. “You know you’re not serious. Just behave.” She used the brass knocker. They waited for several minutes, but no one came to the door. “Well, we know Tom is at A Stitch in Time, but Sandy’s got to be here.”

Alice shook her head. “Waste of a trip, if you ask me.”

Annie knocked again, and the sound seemed loud inside the apparently empty house. “You stay here in case she comes to the door. I’m going to look around a little bit.” She went down the steps and made her way around to the side of the house, answering Alice’s protests with just a smile and a little wave.

Someone here certainly loved the garden. Even though it was all falling asleep in preparation for winter, it was obvious that the grounds were carefully tended. Here in the back, the daylilies, phlox, lupines, bleeding hearts, and all the others must make a perfect riot of glorious color come springtime.

Annie wandered down the flagstone path, admiring the well-maintained trees and shrubs, and the picturesque layout of the garden. It hadn’t been this way when she was here with Susan. At least she didn’t remember it this way. Susan had had a little patch of flowers that she enjoyed looking after. In fact, she had been quite particular about keeping it just so, but her parents had been too busy to do much more than keep their yard presentable. Susan would have liked it the way it was now.

The yard was very large, stretching back to the woods and the creek that lay beyond. Annie drifted toward the farthest part of it, toward the little plot that was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. She remembered that fence, black and rusted in places, each picket with a spike finial on the end of it, discouraging climbing. It wasn’t a high fence, but it was enough. She and Susan hadn’t been brave enough to explore the little family cemetery back when they were girls.

Annie unlatched the gate and opened it, smiling at the protesting shriek it made. There was no doubt that, thirty years ago, the sound would have been enough to send her and Susan both scurrying back to the house with shrieks that were only half in fun.

She scanned the markers, picking out dates, calculating the ages of those who had died.
Eli Morris, 1811.
That was the oldest one she saw. There wasn’t another date to tell her when this Eli Morris had been born, so she didn’t know if he had died old or young, but there were others in both categories among the dozen or so graves. Most of them had been Morrises, but she also saw headstones marked Stanley and Childress and Marquette. It wasn’t a large plot, just enough to be shaded by a pair of large maple trees, but there was something stately and serene about it.

Most of the burials seemed to have been in the nineteenth century or very early in the twentieth, but there was one from 1955, obviously the widow of a man who had passed away in 1908, and who had finally been laid to rest at his side. At the farthest corner of the enclosure, Annie noticed one large stone that was newer than the rest. It was dated 1989.

Ellen Patricia and Jack Lawson Morris.

Susan’s parents were buried here. Too bad there wasn’t a marker for Susan herself. Annie decided that, if she ever called him again, she’d ask Archer Prescott if there was a memorial for Susan somewhere. Maybe he had arranged something. Someone should have.

With a sigh, she went back to the iron gate. Alice would have search parties out looking for her if she didn’t get back to business pretty soon. Just as she lifted the latch, she caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. Someone was over in the trees between her and the house. She could see a hint of pink and yellow behind the greens and browns.

“Hello?”

There was no reply, and Annie took a few quick steps forward.

“Hello? Mrs. Maxwell?”

For another moment, there was only silent stillness; then a woman stepped out of the trees and onto the flagstone path. Her dark hair was gathered into a short little ponytail, and she wore a gardening smock covered with roses, bright pink and yellow.

“Did you want something?”

She put up her hand, shading her eyes from the sun, not moving any closer.

Annie came up to her. “You
are
Sandy Maxwell, aren’t you?”

She seemed to be about Annie’s age, but she was taller and slimmer. With the sun the way it was, Annie couldn’t really tell what color her eyes were, but there was a certain undeniable anxiousness in them.

“Did you want something?” she asked again. “Tom’s not here right now, but if you need some handyman work done, I can give him the message.”

Annie smiled. “Actually, I came to see you. I was by here the other day and spoke to your husband.”

“Was that you? Yes, he mentioned it to me. I hope he wasn’t too gruff with you. He doesn’t mean to be. We really don’t get into town much, though. I’m sure he told you.”

“He did, but I still thought I’d come out and meet you. I haven’t been in Stony Point long, and I thought I’d just get to know everybody.”

There was something wistful in Mrs. Maxwell’s eyes, but she shook her head. “Tom and I really don’t—”

“Hey, there! Did you forget about me?” Alice hurried up to them. “You must be Mrs. Maxwell.”

Annie took her arm, drawing her closer. “This is Alice McFarlane. I’m sorry, but I never did introduce myself. I’m Annie Dawson.”

“Oh, um, yes. I’m sure that’s the name Tom mentioned to me. I’m sorry he wasn’t very welcoming that day, but we don’t get a lot of visitors, and he’d been napping.” Mrs. Maxwell smiled uncertainly. “He’s a good man. Really.”

“Wally says he does a good job.”

“Wally?”

“Wally Carson,” Annie said. “He does most of the odd jobs around Stony Point, but he said if he was busy that we couldn’t go wrong with Tom Maxwell.”

Mrs. Maxwell ducked her head, but there was a pleased expression on her face. “That’s nice of him. I think Tom’s mentioned him, too, come to think of it.”

“You must be quite a gardener.” Annie glanced around the yard again, imagining what it would be like in the spring. “I bet it’s really pretty come April or May. It’s certainly different than it was when I used to come here.”

Again Mrs. Maxwell looked shyly pleased.

“I’ve made a lot of changes since we moved in. The people who lived here before Tom and me didn’t do anything much at all with the yard.”

“It’s nice. And I’ve always liked the house. I love how solid it is, as if it’s been here forever and always will be.”

Mrs. Maxwell smiled a little, and Annie could see now that her eyes were dark blue.

“I’ve always liked it too. I mean, ever since we’ve been here. It’s a real home, not just a place to live.”

“That’s what my friend used to say about it,” Annie said. “I always loved visiting.”

Mrs. Maxwell’s smile faded, and again she shaded her eyes with one hand. “Tom said you knew someone who used to live here.”

“Susan Morris. Her parents are buried over in your cemetery.”

“Yes.”

“You must take care of their graves, of all the graves, for them to look so neat.”

Mrs. Maxwell turned toward the little fenced-in area. “It just seemed right, you know. I guess most of those people lived in the house at one time or other. Someone should look after them.”

“And the house, too, right?”

“The house too.”

“I wonder how much it’s changed since Susan lived here. She always loved the place.”

Annie waited, but Mrs. Maxwell made no reply. She didn’t even turn to face them again.

“I guess gardening takes up a lot of your time,” Alice ventured. “Annie and I both do a lot of crafts, crochet and cross-stitch, and that kind of thing. Do you have any hobbies?”

Mrs. Maxwell finally turned around, but she kept her eyes on the dormant grass at her feet.

“No, I really don’t do any of that. By the time I’ve done the gardening and the housework, I really don’t—”

“Sandy?”

Mrs. Maxwell’s head jerked up, and her eyes got big. “I—I really have to go now.”

“Sandy?” Tom Maxwell came around the side of the house, his large work boots eating up the ground between them in short order. He glanced at Annie and Alice, and then at his wife. “I didn’t know you had company, honey.”