Lisa stepped quietly over to the table with Annie’s Cobb salad and a roll. “Just let me know if you need more dressing or tea.” Annie had no doubt Lisa had heard enough of their conversation to pass it on to Peggy. She could only shake it off and focus on her meal. Maybe that was the source of her unexpected emotional roller coaster—low blood sugar.
“Did you read the lines of the poem I copied?” Annie redirected the conversation before taking a bite of her salad. “Have you ever read anything like it?”
Ian read the lines again. “I’m beginning to feel like a broken record, but no, I haven’t.”
“I spent time at the library looking for any poetry book with that poem in its collection, or any reference to the lines on the Internet. Came up empty. But something surprised me,” Annie said before taking another bite. With each bite she realized just how hungry she was. If she’d been home with only Boots for company, she would have wolfed it down in record time.
“What was that?”
“I had to work hard to find any books on American Indian tribes in Maine. Finally I searched for Maine Indians and still came up with only two pamphlets and one nonfiction book on the Penobscot. That’s it. No poetry or even story collections at all. With Stony Point’s proud history, I expected more, I guess.”
“I have to admit, I’ve not had those issues brought up to me, and I haven’t thought about them even in my years as mayor, or when I was growing up here,” said Ian, looking pensive.
“Maybe that’s why Stella suggested the American Indian theme for Harvest on the Harbor. It was a way to bring them up. I’m fascinated with what I’m learning.” Annie shifted her empty teacup to the edge of the table to make it easier for Lisa to give her a refill. “After the poetry and literature book search came up empty, I turned to the Internet. I still didn’t find references to any of the lines of the poem, which leads me to conclude that it was a personal composition. But I found several places to learn more about the Passamaquoddy tribe and other Maine American Indian tribes.”
Ian abruptly moved his head forward. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?! Annie, I know who you should talk with! Oh, sorry to interrupt.”
“Interruptions are allowed for special cases, and this is one of them. Who do you think could help?” Annie asked eagerly, putting her fork down.
“There’s a member of the Passamaquoddy tribe right here in town. His name is Cecil Lewey, and he lives at Ocean View Assisted Living. My brother Todd introduced him to me years ago. Let me call him first, but I’m sure he’d be pleased to talk with you. I’ll call you as soon as I know.”
“Oh, Ian, I can’t thank you enough. Maybe he’ll recognize the patterns on the box or the beadwork, or even know the artist!” Annie picked up her cup of tea in salute. “Here’s to late lunches and public servanthood.”
8
The next morning Annie’s answering machine was blinking at her when she came in from a morning walk on the beach. She deposited the two new pieces of sea glass—one amber and one blue—into the sweetmeat dish before listening to the recorded message.
“Good morning, Annie!” boomed Ian’s voice. “I spoke with Cecil Lewey earlier, and he would very much like to visit with you. If you’re free today, he’ll be available. Keep me posted on the mystery.”
Boots strolled in as the message was playing and rubbed against Annie’s denim-covered legs. Squatting, Annie ran a hand down Boots’s back and gave her a good thorough chin and head rub. The cat had made it quite plain that she had not appreciated Grey Gables being empty so long yesterday and guilt lingered in the back of Annie’s mind.
“If I knew you’d behave, I’d bring you with me,” she told Boots. “But you have to admit you’re a bit unpredictable at times, even for a cat. And Cecil might be allergic to cats.” Boots stared at Annie, a furry statue. “I promise to stay home with you tonight.” Boots looked none too convinced, but at least she did not try to block Annie’s way upstairs to shower and change for the trip to Ocean View Assisted Living.
An hour later, Annie’s Malibu was pulling up to the security gate of the facility. A white van with the name of an electrician emblazoned on the sides was stopped ahead of Annie’s car, the driver talking to a man dressed in a polo shirt with the Ocean View logo stitched on the pocket. Looking around as she waited, Annie noticed a familiar Cadillac sedan pull up behind her. She smiled and waved into her rearview mirror at Gwendolyn Palmer. The van rumbled forward. Annie turned into the visitors’ parking lot and, as she slid out of her car, Gwen steered her car into the space next to her.