The Stolen Canvas (11 page)

“And where is home?” Annie asked, mildly unsettled.

“Portland right now,” he said matter-of-factly.

“That’s not so far. Do you get over to see Wally and Peggy often?”

Wally, lips pursed, was about to say something, but Jem quickly took over. “I keep pretty busy—lots of travel—but it’s something I’m planning to change. I’d forgotten what a first-rate town you’ve got …” he paused, “and what charming citizens live here,” he added, giving both Annie and Tara a meaningful smile.

“Well, I hope you enjoy your visit.” Annie nodded to Wally who had said little. He wasn’t much of a talker on any occasion, but he was unusually quiet next to his gregarious brother. Annie felt somehow protective of him and a little sorry to see him lost in this man’s larger shadow. “Wally’s a regular around here. I couldn’t get on without him,” she said. “His work is in great demand these days. Maybe he’s shown you the model boats he builds?”

As though he hadn’t heard, Jem leaned forward in a decisive gesture. “Well, I should be off and let Wally get his work done.” He laid a hand on the table just a hair’s breadth from Annie’s hand. “Thanks for the coffee and for letting me have a look at the old place. You’ve really fixed it up great.”

“Thanks to Wally,” Annie amended, unnerved by his intrusive manner and by the blush she felt rising in her cheeks. She sometimes offered her guests a tour of the house, but in J.C.’s case, she decided against it, for no reason that she could name. She rose, and the men did too. “It’s been a pleasure,” she said. “I’m sure you and Wally will get some fishing in while you’re here. And I bet you’ll fall in love with that delightful Emily. You won’t want to be such a stranger.” She led them to the door.

When she turned around, Tara had already started upstairs. “I’ll get back to work on the cross-stitch pieces,” she called over her shoulder.

Annie cleared away the coffee and cookies, wondering about Wally’s smooth-talking brother. Mostly, she wondered about Tara’s reaction to the two men. Jem could certainly be a bit overwhelming, but why did she act as though the two were about to swallow her up? What was it that troubled Tara so?

11

“The wood’s right solid on these pantry shelves,” Wally said, running his hand over the even planes of light oak. “It doesn’t make good sense to replace them. We could sand the gouges and such, and then repaint them to match your kitchen cabinets. Besides, your granddaddy built these, didn’t he?” He turned to Annie who stood with hands on hips studying the pantry’s interior, her fine brows drawn together in concentration.

This was one lady he liked. She’d been the one who gave him a boost when he really needed it. She was no pushover and demanded good work, but she was quick to praise his efforts. It made him want to do even better. When he’d broken his arm and couldn’t work at carpentry or repair, she’d gotten Todd to hire him on with his crew. Recently, she’d suggested he try his hand at crafting toy boats. He loved making them, and people were buying them. He owed her a lot.

“I trust your eye for wood, Wally. Let’s go for it, and I love the idea of keeping the integrity of Grandpa’s work.”

“Good oak’s not cheap,” Wally said, “but I can get unfinished boards and finish the shelves myself. It’ll save some money.” He whipped his tape measure from his belt and began to take the measurements. “The door will have to stay off for a few days while I’m working on the shelves.”

He looked up to see Annie’s houseguest in the doorway. Annie set a canister down on the table and motioned for Tara to join them. “I guess we can put up with exposed food for a while!” she said laughing. “Can’t we, Tara?”

Tara looked very young in her jeans and T-shirt with her hair drawn back in a ponytail. A few dark curls escaped the rubber band and coiled around her face. She held a tray of something in both hands. “I came down to get some fresh water for the cross-stitch canvases,” she said, addressing Annie. Then catching his glance she said shyly, “Hello.”

He nodded to her. “Ayuh.”

Wally knew Tara Frasier had been staying at Grey Gables. He guessed she was all right, but Annie was sometimes just too kind for her own good. From the corner of his eye, he admired Annie’s soft wheat-color hair and the way she moved gracefully as she carried plates from the cupboard to the kitchen counter. He felt a strong need to protect her—like when he’d beaten the stuffing out of that guy who had pretended to be some fancy antiques dealer but was nothing but a two-bit crook.

“Anybody home in there?” Ian Butler peered through the back screen door. “I brought the catalogs you wanted from the Cultural Center.”

“Ian!” Annie opened the door, quickly pressing her hand over her hair. “I didn’t expect you until this afternoon.”

“Have a two o’clock meeting at the town center—some urgent business the board can’t seem to put off. So I thought I’d better bring these over now as promised.” He stepped in and placed a stack of books and magazines on Annie’s counter. “Morning, Wally,” he greeted him. “Hard at work, I see.”

“Ayuh,” he acknowledged.

“There’s coffee left,” Annie said a little breathlessly. “I can bring it out onto the porch. Things are a bit messy in here.”

“Had my fill of caffeine for the morning, but I wouldn’t mind a glass of something cold.” Ian rested an arm on the counter and smiled at Annie.

“No problem. I can mix up some lemonade, Annie said. “Tara, will you get the red tin from that cupboard? Wally, you come on out too, and have some refreshment.”

“I want to get this door off first and finish these measurements. I’ll come out in a few minutes.” Wally smiled to himself. Annie always tried to include him. She never made him feel like the hired helper he was. But he didn’t want to intrude on her conversation with Ian. Besides, he had a sneaking hunch the two had a particular liking for each other.

Ian was a good man. Wally liked his down-home attitude; no fancy airs for him. His dress was casual too, though he kept his gray hair neatly trimmed and his pants pressed—except when he took off in one of Todd’s boats on a Saturday morning to haul lobsters.
A real man’s man,
Wally thought. He’d been alone a long time after Arianna’s death. It had hit him hard. He deserved someone as nice as Annie Dawson. Wally was sure of that. He moved the pantry door aside and propped it up against the counter.

“You go on. I’ll get the lemonade,” Tara said to Annie. “I think I can find the pitcher.”

“Even I could find a pitcher,” Ian said drily, looking around the gathering chaos of the kitchen. “The whole world will know what’s in your pantry, Annie. Nice to see you too, Tara.” He nodded in her direction. “How are things going at Carla’s?”

“OK,” she said quietly.

“The old girl’s not browbeating you, is she?”

Tara often looked like she carried the weight of the world on those thin shoulders.
She’s one of Annie’s strays, no doubt,
Wally thought.
Well, at least she’s doing some work for her keep.
At Ian’s comment, a hint of a smile touched the girl’s usually serious face. “No. In fact, she’s been really nice to me, and I appreciate the work.”

Ian’s eyebrows went up a notch. “Nice? Are we talking about Carla?” He gave Tara a penetrating look. “I believe you’ve worked a miracle.”

“See,” Annie said, giving Ian a mock punch on the arm. “Carla’s not nearly as callous as you think. Come on.” She grabbed the tray of oatmeal cookies left from their earlier coffee break and led the way out to the porch.

Wally continued his work, while at the other end of the kitchen Tara emptied ice cubes into a pitcher and searched out napkins. From the open screen door behind him he could hear Ian’s and Annie’s voices rising and falling on the morning air. The sounds were warm and friendly, and Wally felt good just being there.

He’d come to love the people of Stony Point. In spite of his faults and all the wild oats he’d sowed as a kid growing up here, they didn’t look down on him. When times were hard, they stood by him. When Emily had broken her leg they’d made anonymous payments on the enormous hospital bill. Now they were buying up his handcrafted boats and saying how gifted he was! Wally hummed a little to himself and only half-listened.

His ears perked up, though, when he heard Ian talking about some money missing from the Gas N Go.

“I stopped in for gas on my way here this morning. Scooter Hatch looked like he’d lost his best friend.” Ian’s tone was somber.

Everybody liked Scooter. Wally knew him as polite, friendly and eager to go the extra mile. In a day when nobody got service at “service” stations, Scooter would even offer to wash your windshield. Wally straightened, made a pretense of jotting some figures down on a piece of paper. He took a step closer to the door.

“The Gas N Go came up short when they checked receipts at the end of the day last Friday,” Ian was saying. “A hundred-dollar bill that had been placed under the drawer in the cash register was missing. Scooter’s being blamed for it. He thinks he’s going to get fired.”

“Oh!” Annie protested, her voice rising. “Scooter’s no thief. He wouldn’t do that. He’s a really good kid!”

Wally looked up to see Ian massaging his temple, like he always did when he had a problem to solve. “I’m partial to him too, but it happened on his watch. He was alone at the store. They’ve got one of those old-fashioned registers that don’t automatically lock. Scooter likely got busy. You know how things can be on a Friday afternoon when everyone is heading out of town for the weekend and stopping for gas.”

Annie’s brows furrowed as she leaned in across the wicker table toward Ian. “So anyone could have gone inside and taken the money while Scooter was outside helping customers. Doesn’t Stuart realize that?”

“Scooter says the bill was there when he came in after school, but by the end of the day it was gone. Stuart is furious,” Ian said. “You know how unreasonable he can be about money. You’d think a hundred dollars was a fortune.”

“Well, it would be to Scooter if he has to replace it,” Annie was saying. “Almost every penny he makes goes to help his family. With his dad out of work and his mother so sick, he’s scraping to help keep food on their table.”

Wally felt his knees grow weak. He turned away, dropping to the floor to measure the lower shelves. Last Friday—he had been to the Gas N Go that day—along with Jem, who’d met him in town. They were going home to one of Peggy’s fried-fish dinners. Wally felt his stomach turn over as he recalled the afternoon. He had an hour after finishing a woodworking job to take his peapod out for a turn on the bay.

He liked being under the great blue sky with the water swirling around him, whispering its secrets, calming him. The gulls’ keening was like strange other-worldly music. Sometimes he felt closer to God in his peapod than anywhere else on earth. But he still came to listen to Reverend Wallace on Sundays. Peggy would have his hide if he didn’t. But Friday, Jem at the Gas N Go … Wally’s pleasant thoughts of drifting in the sun cooled as he thought about that day.

When he’d gotten to the end of the wharf around five o’clock, Jem was waiting, hands in the pockets of his trousers, the wind ruffling his hair. He needed a haircut, Wally realized, and he was still wearing those beat-up old shoes that looked like rejects from a thrift store.

“Hey, bro. Thought I’d take you up on that invitation to dinner.” He slapped Wally on the back, and the two headed for Wally’s truck.

“Sure,” Wally said, recognizing the sour smell of liquor on Jem’s breath. He couldn’t get the hang of calling him J.C. and had stopped trying. For a man who apparently had lots of business contacts to make along the coast, he was showing up a lot in Stony Point. He was dropping in at The Cup & Saucer too. He frowned. Peggy was always going on about J.C. this and J.C. that. “How are things going?” he asked quietly.

“Swimmingly,” he answered. “And with the prospect of one of sweet Peggy’s fine meals, I’m a happy man.”

“Happy” was not a word Wally had ever connected with Jem. He seriously doubted it was true now. When they were kids, Wally had idolized his older brother; he’d been deeply hurt when he drove away, but relieved too. He didn’t have to keep up anymore or make excuses for him.

“Say, I don’t suppose you’d like to stop in at the Shark’s Head before dinner?” Jem said.

“I don’t have time for that anymore, and no taste for it either,” Wally said. “I told you; I’m a family man now. And you should lay off that stuff too. It’ll kill you.”

“You lecturing me, little brother?” Jem’s smile remained, but his eyes had turned dark.

“I’m talking to you like a brother,” Wally said, surprised at the heat he felt creeping up to his neck. “God gave me a second chance at life,” he heard himself say, “and I’m not going to mess it up.” A lump stuck in his throat. He was glad they’d reached his truck. He swung the door open. “Come on.”

“God?” Jem echoed when he’d climbed in the passenger side. “You’re not lecturing; you’re preaching!” he said. He didn’t seem angry, though, just amused. Wally had always been the go-along-with-whatever guy, Jem’s meek, little shadow.

Jem was quiet for a while and then muttered, more to himself than to Wally, “God never had much time for me.”

Wally wanted to ask how much time he’d had for God, but he let the comment rest between them. They were almost up to the Gas N Go, and Wally turned in. The gauge had been hovering close to the “E” mark.

The place was a hotbed of activity. There were lines at the pumps, and Scooter was doing his best to help drivers get on their way. It was Friday, and folks were filling up for the weekend. He pulled up to a pump when the path cleared and got out to help himself. Scooter was busier than a one-armed paper hanger.

“Think I’ll go in and grab a bag of chips,” Jem said. “Missed lunch, and I’m starving.”

He’d gone inside the station and returned with a bag of Twizzlers. Wally slapped a twenty in Scooter’s hand as the boy whizzed past, and then they left the Gas N Go.

Friday afternoon.

Now, as the conversation on the porch continued, Wally felt a gnawing in his stomach. Was it possible that Jem had … ? He didn’t want to finish the question even to himself, and he certainly didn’t want to hear the dreaded answer his mind was supplying. In the old days, Jem had thought nothing of swiping a soda here, a candy bar there.

But Jem was a grown-up successful businessman now. Surely he didn’t need to swipe money from a cash register. Wally caught the inside of his cheek between his teeth. Those days of penny-ante thefts—larks on a summer day—were over, weren’t they? But what did he really know about this brother who had left home so many years ago?

Wally packed up his tools and walked out onto the porch.

“Ready for some lemonade?” Annie asked, rising. “Ian didn’t eat
all
the oatmeal cookies. Here, sit down.”

“I—I think I’d better take a rain check. I forgot … there’s something I have to do.” Jem had dropped him off earlier, so he’d have to walk to town or see if Peggy had time to swing by. Either way, he needed time to consider what he’d heard.

“Oh.” Annie seemed genuinely disappointed. Her eyes narrowed briefly. “Is everything all right? You look a little …”

“I’m fine,” Wally managed. Annie had a way of seeing into a person, and Wally didn’t want her to look just now. “I’ll be back in the morning to work on the pantry. Is nine o’clock OK?” He reached for his toolbox and made a show of straightening the bill of his ball cap.

“Sure,” Annie said. “And thanks for all you’re doing. I can’t wait to see the new and improved pantry.”

“See you, Mr. Mayor,” Wally said. He could do with a little time to think. But the direction his thoughts were taking filled him with dread.