Boxed In(53)
“I hope the information will help you find out more. I hope you can find the family members, if the line has continued.”
“Thank you so much for your help, Janet.” Annie reached out to shake her hand. “Having Evelyn’s name and birth date gives me much more to go on and also strengthens my suspicions that the items are not from my ancestors.”
Janet walked Annie to the door. “If you find more information on Evelyn’s family line, please let me know. I’d like to update our records. And bring Cecil for one of the dance days. You’ll both enjoy it.”
“I’d love to come,” said Annie. “Do you have a list of dates?”
“We always post them on our website.” As Janet opened the door for Annie, in rushed a blast of cold air. They could hear the two flags out front snap in the wind. “Storm’s kicking up.”
“I’ll do my best to stay ahead of it,” said Annie, keeping a tight hold on the tote. “Thanks again, Janet!” She hurried to the car, imagining the kind of storm that was coming. The dense fog the area was infamous for would be terrible to drive through. Annie decided to fill up her gas tank and pick up some lunch she could eat as she drove so she wouldn’t have to stop again on the way home.
By four thirty Annie was pulling up the driveway of Grey Gables. She had driven through increasing cloud cover until she was about forty-five minutes outside of Stony Point, when the rain began. Pulling as close as she could to the door, Annie was still quite wet before she hurried under the shelter of the porch roof. “Why didn’t you bring a slicker?” she chided herself. “Haven’t you learned how tricky Maine weather is yet?”
Boots was stationed at the entrance to the living room when she opened the door. She padded over to Annie. “Hey, Boots! Did you miss me?” Annie said, bending down to give the cat a little loving attention. But Boots didn’t love the dampness of her shoes and slacks, and scooted away back to the dry comfortable couch.
“Miss Persnickety!” Annie chuckled. “I’m going to change into comfortable dry clothes, make some dinner, and then will you be ready for a good cuddle? I’m sure not going anywhere on this wild night!” Boots closed one eye, tilted her head, and began licking a paw and then passing it over an ear. Annie had been dismissed to make herself presentable.
After making and enjoying a warm meal, Annie settled down with Boots on the couch, a cup of tea steaming on the side table next to her. She pulled out her crochet and set to work, hoping to finish and block the first pillow pieces. The rhythm of the alternating passes of Tunisian knit and purl work lured her into a state of relaxation after the tense ride home. Boots shifted her body until her back pressed lightly against Annie’s leg. Annie paused long enough to run her hand along her sleek back, being careful not to allow any stray cat hairs to end up crocheted into the pillow.
The sound of the rain drumming against the house made her think of Janet’s comment about Cecil and his dancing. Annie had been impressed with the ease Cecil had shown those hours on the boat, his body adjusting effortlessly to any movement of the vessel over the water, even the jolt from the fin whale passing under them. After so many years of making his living on the sea, Cecil understood its rhythms as well as he did the dances of his tribe. But Annie thought back to the first time she’d met Cecil and puzzled over something. His posture had been just as straight as it had been on the boat, but he had used a walking stick on their climb back up the stone steps. There had been no walking stick on the boat, and he had not leaned against the side of the boat or the dash or a friend. How could he do that for so many hours?
A ringing phone interrupted her mental gymnastics. Startled, Annie set her crochet back in the bag and lunged for the phone. “Hello?”
“Annie, it’s Peggy.” Peggy’s voice was breathless, a rare state for someone used to bustling around at work while never losing a word in conversation.
“Hi, Peggy. Is everything OK?”
“No, it’s not,” Peggy answered bluntly. “The strangest thing just happened. John and Gwen were here at the diner for dinner.” She paused. “They got into an argument, right there in the middle of their fish chowder. They were almost yelling, Annie!”
“That does sound very unusual for both of the Palmers,” Annie said. But, she thought to herself, it doesn’t sound as odd as it might have last week.
“Gwen was as white as her double-bleached tablecloths. I’ve never seen her like that. And Annie, I heard John use your name. More than once. Something about it all being your fault. Whatever he thinks you did, he’s really mad about it. Do you know what he meant?”