The Stolen Canvas(55)
“That’s good, that’s good,” Jem muttered as she replaced fallen items tenderly. “We don’t want the lady of the house suspecting anything until we’re long gone. He began helping her, hastily returning boxes to their former positions. “OK, that’s good enough. Now get your things. We’re getting out of here.”
Obediently, she left the attic and crossed to her room. She could see Blackie crouched beneath the bed, eyes wide in the tiny face. Jem followed her; he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. There was no chance to run or to use the phone. Sadness, anger, and regret scoured her heart. She was a wave-battered landscape after a storm.
She turned to look at him. “Jem, what would Wally think of you now?” she asked wearily.
He appeared stunned and grew silent. Several seconds passed. Then he gripped the door frame, his knuckles turning white. “He’s a choir boy!” he said derisively.
“He’s your brother. He cares about you,” she said, placing her things in her yellow duffle bag and watching him. His lips trembled. She knew she’d struck a nerve. She had seen the look of admiration mixed with regret whenever Wally looked at Jem. She’d heard the childhood stories. Wally was respected in Stony Point, a hardworking part of the community. Now his brother was doing something that would hurt Wally and his friends deeply.
“Never mind the soft soap. Hurry up. We’ve got to make tracks. The camper’s out back in the woods behind this place. We have a little trekking to do.”
She heard Blackie’s frightened meow beneath the bed. It broke her heart, but she’d have to leave him here where it was safe. Annie would see that he was taken care of. “I want to leave a note. It’ll just take a minute.” She reached into the middle desk drawer for paper and a pen.
“Sure,” he said sarcastically. “And tell her all about me? What do you take me for?” He reached to grab the pen from her grasp.
“I won’t say anything about you; I just want to say goodbye.” She bent over the desk, scribbled onto the blue paper: I’m sorry. Thank you for everything. I’m so sorry. Tara
“Sweet,” he said mockingly. “Now, let’s go.” He picked up her heavy duffle bag, his face close to hers. He paused, stroking her cheek with his free hand. “It’s just like we planned, baby,” he said softly. “It’s just you and me.” Then he stepped across the hall and hefted the three wrapped canvases.
He didn’t see her draw two small items from her pocket and place them on the dresser—a coil of dark hair and a small beaded ring.
17
The sun was sinking low on the horizon, softening the edges of everything when Ian drove away from Grey Gables with Annie. When he’d called her earlier that afternoon and proposed a visit to Carla’s animal shelter, he hadn’t been sure she would come.
It had been less than a week since he’d been out to Grey Gables. She’d served him lemonade and oatmeal cookies on the porch while Wally worked on the pantry shelves. It seemed like a month of Sundays had elapsed. Ah, you’re losing it, old boy. But the truth was he looked forward to Annie Dawson’s company with ever-growing anticipation.
She had answered with laughter in her voice. “Good afternoon, Mr. Mayor, sir!”
Drat those caller-identification monitors that allowed for no secrets. “That’s what Peggy calls me, but I prefer Ian, especially when I’m not acting in my official capacity. How are you, Annie?”
“Right as rain, as Gram would say. Thankfully, the sun’s shining on Grey Gables—at least for another few hours today.”
“Speaking of Peggy,” Ian began slowly, “I understand something happened out at the shelter. She said something about an owl, and Tara finding Carla unconscious.”
“That’s true, Ian. Carla was barely conscious and running a high fever when she was found. She picked up some disease from that wild owl she’s been tending, but she’s much better … thanks to Tara’s quick action.”
He heard a note of pride in her voice; she’d become fond of the girl who’d appeared on her doorstep. Tending the wild and sick, it seemed, was something Annie and Carla had in common.
“I’d like to pay Carla a visit—to let her know that the town’s supporting her,” he said. “Any chance I could talk you into accompanying your mayor on a compassionate visit? Could I pick you up in an hour? I’ll buy you supper afterward.”
“Well …” She had hesitated, long enough to send his hopes plummeting. Then she said, “I haven’t seen her since she got home from the hospital. Do you know she arranged for a taxi to take her home, rather than ask anyone to drive her?”