As though he’d voiced his suspicions aloud, she whispered, “She wouldn’t! She wouldn’t do this.” Her imploring green eyes searched his. “Someone else must have …” She didn’t complete her sentence but leaped up and ran down the stairs.
Ian followed her to the front door where they examined the lock and casing. No sign of jimmying, and the wood was unmarked. Together they hurried to the back door. It too was closed, though not locked. Obviously, the thief—and Ian had a pretty good idea who the thief was—had fled through the back of the house, taking the Betsy Originals with her.
“Who else comes and goes from Grey Gables beside Tara?” Ian said, the question more of a statement. “There’s Wally, of course.” He was sometimes short of money and had access to the house, but he was a trusted friend. Annie’s friend.
“No,” she said, “Wally wouldn’t.” She shook her head from side to side and sank down on a kitchen chair.
Ian wanted to shout or hit something. He’d find Tara Frasier and shake the truth out of her. He’d make her confess and return Annie’s property. He pulled her toward him, held her, and felt her whole body go limp.
“Where is she? Where is Tara?” he demanded. Annie had taken the little fraud into her home, fed her, befriended her, and all the while she was snooping around, waiting for the right moment to steal from her!
“I don’t know,” Annie said barely above a whisper. “I didn’t see her this morning. She was still in bed when I left. She’s been so tired working extra hours while Carla was in the hospital. Last night she didn’t even want supper when she came home.”
As though on telepathic cue, they both headed for the guest room—Tara’s room. Ian pushed the door all the way open, and they stepped inside. The bed was made, the room neat and orderly, as though freshly prepared for a new guest’s arrival.
Annie rushed to the closet, staring in with that same shocked, sorrowful look that tore at Ian’s heart. “Her things are gone,” she said in a small voice. “She didn’t have much, but it’s all gone—her yellow duffle bag—everything.” She paused as the little black kitten scampered into the room and leaped onto the white bedspread. “Everything,” she repeated, “except Blackie.”
“Annie,” he said, wishing he could comfort her but finding no words.
“She loved that kitten. Why would she leave it behind?”
Ian gritted his teeth. The girl had pretended to care about Annie too, but it had all been an act—an awful joke. “We have to call the police,” he said, pulling out his cellphone.
“No. Wait. Not yet,” Annie said, turning toward him. Then rushing past him she picked up something from the pine dresser. A small square of white paper. She read it out loud, her lips pale and trembling.
“I’m sorry. Thank you for everything. I’m so sorry.”
“That’s it?” he heard himself say incredulously. “She steals art worth twelve to fifteen thousand dollars, and she’s sorry?”
Annie shook her head. “I just don’t understand it. How can she hope to sell them? Any gallery would check the provenance of the artwork. Tara’s too smart to think she could get away with this. Besides, how could she do it? She doesn’t have a car. She either walks or takes my bicycle to the shelter. And I saw the bike when we came home tonight.”
Ian drew in his breath and ran a hand through his hair. Of course, she couldn’t hop on a bike with four huge needlework pieces in heavy frames. She had to have access to a car, or to someone with a car. She had to have an accomplice. “Has she made any friends here yet?” he asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.
“Only the girls at the Hook and Needle Club.” She crossed her arms over her chest as though the summer night was cold. A tear rolled down her cheek. “She was learning how to knit.”
“Come on,” he said, pulling her gently by the arm. “We’ll go talk to Reed.” Reed Edwards, the chief of Stony Point’s small police department, had an office just down the hall from Ian’s. Annie trusted him; maybe she’d feel better talking to him in person. But regardless of what happened, Ian wasn’t about to leave her alone at Grey Gables tonight. He’d call Alice and arrange for Annie to stay with her.
“Wait. Look. She left something.” Annie picked up a small bead ring from the dresser where she’d found the note. Next to it lay what looked like a coil of hair.
Ian stared at them in confusion. They were the items Annie had spoken of—things she said Tara had found in Carla’s bedroom.