The Package Page 10

  After a quick shower, Annie went into the kitchen to prepare a box dinner to eat in town. She wouldn’t have time to come back to the house, and she’d been eating a lot of meals out. Though she tried to focus on the get-together at Seaside, her stomach clenched when she thought about the phone call and everything else that had happened.

  As she tidied up the kitchen, The New England Needlecraft Arts magazine caught her eye where it sat on the corner of the counter. She flipped it to the page that listed the staff members. Her finger trailed down the page until she landed on the name Shelley Holms.

  It wouldn’t hurt to try to find some of these people. She called information, asking for Keene, New Hampshire, and then requested Shelley’s number, bracing herself to hear that there was no listing. The line transferred her to an electronic voice that read the number. Annie grabbed a pen.

  After hanging up, she inhaled and dialed the number.

  A male voice greeted her.

  “Hello, I’m looking for Shelley Holms.”

  “I’ll go get her.”

  Annie’s heart hammered as she tapped the pen on the counter.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, I’m trying to track down someone who used to work at the New England Needlecraft Arts magazine.”

  “Wow, that was years ago. I was fresh out of college. My first editorial job.”

  Hope fluttered through Annie. Finally, a lead that wasn’t a dead end. “Do you remember a Joan Whitlock?”

  “Sure, I remember Joan.”

  “I know the magazine isn’t being published anymore, but do you know what happened to Joan? Are you in touch with her by any chance?”

  “After the magazine folded, I really didn’t keep in contact with people.”

  “Do you have any idea how I might get hold of Joan?”

  There was a long pause on the line. “Why do you want to find her?” Suspicion had crept into Shelley’s voice.

  Why would Shelley feel protective of Joan? Annie explained about the stock certificates, and her assumption that Joan Whitlock was the Joan she was looking for.

  “Oh.” The tension had left Shelley’s voice. “Joan and I weren’t really close or anything. She never shared personal stuff with me. I can tell you one thing that happened that was kind of weird.”

  “Yes?” Annie felt the familiar prickling at the back of her neck as she anticipated the answer.

  “I was an intern, so I handled reception and correspondence quite a bit.” The voice paused on the other end of the line. “I don’t know if I should say this. Really, these were just my observations.”

  “Please, it’s important that I find her.” Annie tensed. She was so close to getting something solid. She didn’t want it to slip out of her fingers. “Any information you have might be helpful.”

  “OK, I’ll tell you. It really looked to me like Joan was trying to wipe out her identity. She got rid of her credit cards and closed out a bank account. She didn’t have a home phone number, just a cell. She was paying for almost everything in cash.” Shelley blurted out the information without stopping to take a breath.

  The chill Annie had felt earlier returned. “Thank you, Shelley.”

  “Like I said, it was just what I observed.”

  Annie hung up the phone as thoughts buzzed through her head. What was Joan planning to do if she was getting rid of the paper trail that could identify her? Was she running from something, or had she done something that made her feel she needed to disappear?

  Annie grabbed a light floral-print jacket and got in her car. Her head was still in a fog as she drove downtown. She had planned on spending the day in town getting things together for the first meeting between the teens and the seniors tonight. She needed to pick up pattern books and yarn samples from Mary Beth and then help Katrina get the dining room ready, as well as talk about some ice-breaker games to help everyone feel comfortable.

  She found a parking place a block from A Stitch in Time. As she made her way up the sidewalk, Annie wondered if her theory that Joan had been involved in something illegal was true. It would explain why she hadn’t come back for the stock certificates. What if it had been Joan who had made the cryptic phone call? But what kind of illegal activity would an editor of a needlecraft magazine be involved in? Her grandmother had always been a perceptive person and a good judge of character. She just couldn’t picture Gram agreeing to take the stock certificates for safekeeping if Joan was up to something.

  Or maybe Joan was a victim. What if she was so afraid of something or someone that she felt she had to disappear?

  “Penny for your thoughts.” Ian had just stepped out of The Cup & Saucer. Really, the restaurant seemed like Ian’s second home. He offered Annie a bright smile.

  Annie explained about the threatening phone call and everything that had been spinning through her head. Ian listened sympathetically. Annie’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t even noticed what a sunny, beautiful day it was. Although it was late in the day, the temperature had to be in the 50s. Standing close to Ian with the sun warming her face was a nice reality check. So much in her life was good and right. All of the trouble with the stock certificates tended to block that out.

  “This is becoming very serious.” Ian squeezed Annie’s arm above the elbow. “You be careful, Annie.”

  “I will be. I’m just a little spooked.”

  Just having Ian close made her feel safer. Nothing was going to happen in broad daylight, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was keeping tabs on her.

  “I’ve got to get back to the office,” Ian said.

  “Thank you, Ian, for getting me over a bumpy spot.” Annie shaded her eyes from the afternoon sun.

  Ian tipped his imaginary hat to her and turned, hands in his pockets. She watched as he ambled down the lamppost-lined street with that easy stride of his. The sun shone on his hair, bringing out the soft highlights. When he turned back around and waved at her, his smile warmed her even more than the sun.

  Annie swung by A Stitch in Time to get the supplies from Mary Beth. “I’m so sorry I can’t be there tonight,” said Mary Beth as she opened a box of yarn that had just been shipped. “This really is your baby, Annie. You have done a great job of making it come together.”

  “I couldn’t have done it alone.” Annie offered her friend a tight smile. Her mind was still on the phone call.

  Mary Beth leaned toward her friend. “Are you doing OK? You seem preoccupied.”

  Annie filled her friend in on everything that had happened, knowing full well that the entire Hook and Needle Club would know before the day was over. Some people said Mary Beth was nosy and gossipy, but Annie always thought that Mary Beth passed news around not to gossip, but to share and build support.

  Mary Beth helped Annie load the supplies into her Malibu. Annie drove to the park and sat at a table, eating the tuna sandwich she had prepared. In the distance, waves broke on the rocks. Even with the sun going down, the air had cooled only slightly. Spring weather in Maine was sort of a whiplash experience, cold and rainy one day, and warm with clear skies another. The season when summer fought its way free of winter was called spring.

  Annie took a bite of her sandwich and enjoyed the smell of brine in the air. This was going to be a good evening.

  Her cell phone rang. “Yes?”

  “Hi, Annie, Katrina here. Are we all set?”

  “I think so. I’ll be up there in just a little bit.”

  “The ladies are so excited.” There was a pause while Katrina murmured something to a person presumably passing by. Annie heard Katrina’s soft, easy laugh, and then she came back on the line. “I was going to suggest that since the dining room is at the back of the facility, it might be easier for you to unload if you come into the employee parking lot.”

  “Thanks, Katrina.” Annie hung up.

  After running a few more last-minute errands, Annie turned onto Elm Street with a strong sense of excitement building in her. The air had j
ust begun to cool as she drove up to Seaside Hills. The employee parking lot was not as well lit as the main parking lot. At this hour, after dinner, it held only five cars.

  After parking, Annie grabbed one of the bigger boxes from the back of the car and shut the door by slamming it with her foot. Through the wide glass doors of the dining room, she could see that Katrina had laid out piles of pattern books and yarns and fabrics that the older women must have had on hand. Katrina had even set up a welcome sign and balloons. A table with refreshments and a punch bowl was also prepared. A sense of lightness and anticipation filled her as she looked at the trouble Katrina had gone to. Through the glass of the door, everything looked ready, but there was no Katrina in sight. When she tried the door, it was locked from the inside.

  No problem. Katrina had probably just stepped out for a minute. She set down the box and turned to get another load. Annie stopped abruptly. A shadowy figure stood by her car, peering into her windows.

  12

  Annie froze in place. Waning light and distance made it hard to discern any features on the man who contin- ued to look into her car. He wore a deep-billed baseball cap. Had this man followed her? She was far enough away and hidden in the shadows of the roof overhang that he might have assumed she had gone inside.

  Annie summoned her courage. This was her chance to get to the bottom of this whole thing. A chill came over her even as her hands grew clammy.

  Despite the fear, Annie strode across the lot. “Hey, that is my car.”

  “Is it really?”

  She curled her hands into fists. Her heart beat at an intense tempo.

  The man strode toward her. He was tall with hunched shoulders. When he came within a few feet and loomed over her, Annie almost turned to run.

  The man angled sideways back toward the car. “This is a Chevy Malibu, isn’t it?”

  Annie nodded, unable to speak.

  “Years ago, I had an older model. That baby purred like a kitten. I loved driving that thing out on the coastal roads. Sweet.”

  Annie relaxed. This could not be the culprit who had been watching her. This man had a Jimmy Stewart quality to him in both voice and demeanor. “My husband got it for me when we owned a dealership. For sentimental reasons, I just can’t bring myself to get rid of it.”

  “I understand about that. I regret selling my Malibu.” He held out a gnarled hand. “I’m Ambrose Stillwater, by the way.”

  Ambrose offered Annie a strong handshake. “Do you live here?”

  “Yup, just out for my evening constitutional.” He pointed toward the edge of the parking lot; she inferred there was a walking trail that led into the forest. “So are you here for the big yarn and fabric to-do?”

  Yarn and fabric to-do? Only a man would come up with that description. “You’ve heard about us?”

  “My wife Frieda can’t stop talking about it.”

  The door opened and Katrina shouted. “Annie, I’m here. I just had some last-minute details to deal with.”

  “You are welcome to join us, Mr. Stillwater.”

  “Delighted to be invited, but this really is a ladies’ thing. I appreciate your giving my wife such an opportunity.” After tipping his baseball cap to her, Ambrose ambled through the parking lot and around the corner.

  Katrina hustled toward Annie’s car. “Let me help you with those. Sorry, I wasn’t here. The Wii fitness group meets in the rec room tonight. I had to make sure everything was set up for them.”

  Annie placed a box in Katrina’s hands.

  Katrina lifted a crochet pattern book off the top of the box. “Looks like we are going to have more than enough sources of inspiration.”

  “And Mary Beth said she could offer a 20 percent discount for any materials they purchase from A Stitch in Time.” Annie grabbed a canvas bag filled with yarn.

  They walked across the parking lot. Annie held the door for Katrina. The butterflies fluttered wildly in Annie’s stomach as she stepped into the well-lit dining room. Frieda stood close to a table with fabric spread out on it. The older woman had dressed in a stylish denim jacket studded with rhinestones. Her dangling earrings and matching necklace sparkled beneath the lights.

  “Are we ready to get started?” Frieda clapped her hands together.

  Viola whirled in with a silver tray containing some finger foods.

  Frieda put a hand on her hip and scooted her glasses up her nose. “Viola, did you make your famous canapés?”

  Viola was dressed in head-to-toe blue plaid with a shining dragonfly barrette in her blond-white hair. “You know I did, sister. And Estelle has made her to-die-for fudge.”

  A moment later, Joan came in from the main entrance dressed in a yellow frock with matching shoes and earrings. Annie was sure she had seen that outfit in the Dress to Impress window only a few days ago.

  Annie’s heart swelled to see the trouble the older women had gone to. How special would it make the girls feel to know that such a fuss was being made over them.

  Alice and Peggy came into the room. Emily skipped behind her mother. Lily came in a moment later. For a millisecond the teen’s eyes grew wide before she put her sourpuss face back on.

  Annie helped Katrina spread out the pattern books. She moved to a second table to set up the yarn samples.

  Alice sidled up to her friend. “Let me give you a hand with that.” She leaned close and whispered, “They really made a big deal out of this.”

  A girlish giggle escaped Annie’s lips. She glanced toward the door just in time to see Mackenzie and Vanessa come in with Kate. The teens had their heads bent toward each other, talking and giggling. Erin trailed behind, shoulders hunched, head lowered. Annie was glad that Vanessa and Mackenzie had become friends, but it sort of left Erin out in the cold.

  “I think I’d better go help Erin assimilate,” Annie said.

  Annie paced across the floor, but before she could get to Erin, Frieda had already bolted across the floor and was complimenting Erin on the sparkling pin she wore on her brown jacket. Annie shook her head. Sometimes all you had to have in common was a little sparkle.

  Frieda took Erin’s hand and led her toward the treats table, introducing her to Estelle, who had just laid out a tray of fudge.

  Alice wrapped her arm through Annie’s. “Are you seeing what I am seeing?”

  Annie studied the room. Stella had come in. Gwen and Taylor stood at the entrance, the last two to arrive. “What do you mean?”

  “Five older women. Five girls,” Alice said.

  Annie scanned the room. “But there are only four older women.”

  “Oh please, do you think you are going to be able to pull Stella and Lily apart?”

  “They could pair up, one older with one younger. Each pair could come up with a layette design doing whatever they do best. It would make coordinating things a lot easier.”

  Alice pointed a finger at her friend. “Exactly.”

  “I was so worried about everything coming together. God does have a way of working these things out. Gram used to always say that.”

  Katrina, who had been standing close, draped her hand over the two women’s shoulders. “I think that is a great idea. I’ll announce it right now.” Katrina clapped her hands twice, which caused the murmuring to die down. She welcomed everyone, introduced each older woman by name, and then had Annie introduce each of the teen girls. “So what we want to focus on now is getting to know each other, finding a partner to work with, and coming up with a design plan for the layettes.”

  The other members of the Hook and Needle Club mingled among the circle of chairs, making suggestions. Erin settled in beside Viola, who had sat down to crochet. Annie took a chair opposite the two where she could look through a pattern book that interested her.

  Erin hunched her shoulders and leaned toward the older woman. “What are you working on?”

  “Do you crochet, dear?”

  “We had a lesson on it, but I am not very good.”

  “Oh, I be
t you do just fine.” She patted Erin’s leg before focusing on her hook. “I’m just trying to work out some ideas, some stitch combinations.” Viola winced.

  “Is something wrong?” Sympathy flooded Erin’s voice.

  Viola let her hook and yarn fall into her lap. “It’s this arthritis. I have all these ideas and patterns in my head. I can see how they should come together.” Viola held up her hands, frustration rising in her voice. “I just can’t get these fingers to do what I want.”

  Erin took the older woman’s hand in her own. “You have beautiful hands.”

  The older woman’s features took on fresh light. “Really?”

  “Of course. Your hands know so much.” Erin held the small vein-ribbed hand between her palms. “Your hands have done a thousand different things.”

  Viola held her free hand out at arm’s length. “I have wise hands?”

  “They know way more than my hands. My hands are flexible, but clumsy.”

  Viola tapped her forehead with a finger. “The old noggin still works good.” She curled her fingers toward her palms and let out a heavy sigh. “But the hands leave a little something to be desired.”

  Annie looked up from her pattern book. “Erin has a really good artistic sense. And an adventurous streak when it comes to color.”

  Erin turned to face Viola. “I have an idea. What if I take your hook, and you can talk me through what you want done? We’ll use your brain and my hands.”

  “That just might work.” Viola handed Erin the hook and yarn, and talked Erin through a few stitches.

  “Look, I’m doing it,” Erin said. “This is the best I have ever done.”

  Frieda sat down on the other side of Erin, holding some yarn and needles.

  “Frieda, this young lady will be your hands if you like. She is quite good.”

  Erin held up the crocheting she’d done, so far obviously pleased with her work. “No really, I am not very good. It’s just that it is easier when you talk me through it, and I think of them as your hands.”