Read Online The Stolen Canvas by Marlene Chase - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marlene Chase
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sleeves of her green-and-pink plaid shirt, and her silver bracelets tinkled musically. “But how did she happen to show up here at Grey Gables?”
Annie took a few contemplative stitches in the doggy jacket she was making. Mary Beth, owner and champion of A Stitch in Time, had suggested that since they were launching a benefit for the local animal shelter, handmade pet products would be just the ticket. The single crocheted pet coat Annie had chosen hardly required close scrutiny; she could use the time spent on the undemanding pattern to sort out her thoughts. “Well, at first, she told me she just stumbled upon Grey Gables after her car broke down. But actually, she didn’t have a car, and she came here on purpose.”
“You’re harboring a prevaricator?”
Annie drew in her breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t think she lied exactly. Apparently she found some letters that Gram had written to her mother who just died. She said she had come to thank her, but then when she realized Gram was gone …”
Alice’s frown deepened. “Why didn’t she say so in the first place?”
“She came here right after her mother’s death and was pretty upset and confused. Actually, she nearly collapsed on the climb up to the house. She was in pretty bad shape. She thought that I wouldn’t help her if I knew she had hitchhiked all the way from Portland.”
“Hitchhiked?” Alice parroted. “All the way from Portland?”
Annie shrugged, and prepared herself for Alice’s chiding. You’re such a pushover, Annie, especially when there’s a mystery afoot .
Alice made the charge only with her eyes. Looking sidelong at Annie, she said, “What do you think is wrong with her?”
“I don’t know. She was real unsteady on her feet—especially last night. And she was pale as chalk. I think I’d better take her to the clinic.”
“Annie, what are you saying? She’s not your responsibility.”
Annie studied the stitches in her crochet project and waited. She didn’t want to sound all pious about being a brother’s (or a sister’s) keeper. But surely a young woman who lands on your doorstep and needs you …
“I mean, she could be anyone,” Alice said more quietly. “She could be—”
“She has no job and no family. She’s all alone. I think Gram would want me to help her; she seems so lost.”
Alice sighed. She took a muffin from the plate and held one out to Annie. They munched silently for a few seconds before the sound of the screen door halted their reverie. Tara stood on the threshold, paling at the sight of Annie’s guest.
She took a step back to retreat into the house. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”
“Alice isn’t company. She’s my best friend from next door. Come on out and have a cup of tea and one of her homemade muffins. Fair warning. They’ll probably spoil our dinner!” Annie gestured toward an empty wicker chair at the table. “No one makes muffins better than Alice. Alice MacFarlane … Tara Frasier.”
Tara took the chair Annie had indicated. Her wild crop of curls had been tamed with a headband, and she wore a pink top under an oversized white shirt. She held out a thin hand and met Alice’s gaze briefly before dropping her eyes. “Hello,” she said softly. She took a muffin and watched the steam rise from her cup of tea. Her eyes roamed over the ocean and sky and the flowers blooming in a riot of color. “It’s so beautiful,” she said wistfully.
“Did your mother visit here, Tara?” Annie asked after a few moments of silence while the three of them gazed into the distance appreciatively.
“I—I think so, only I don’t know for sure. She didn’t talk much about herself, and I left home when I was pretty young.”
Annie and Alice listened to Tara’s account of an unhappy childhood, of loneliness, and of her struggle to make ends meet on a meager income. Tara didn’t know anything about her father other than the name he’d given them. She told
Annie took a few contemplative stitches in the doggy jacket she was making. Mary Beth, owner and champion of A Stitch in Time, had suggested that since they were launching a benefit for the local animal shelter, handmade pet products would be just the ticket. The single crocheted pet coat Annie had chosen hardly required close scrutiny; she could use the time spent on the undemanding pattern to sort out her thoughts. “Well, at first, she told me she just stumbled upon Grey Gables after her car broke down. But actually, she didn’t have a car, and she came here on purpose.”
“You’re harboring a prevaricator?”
Annie drew in her breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t think she lied exactly. Apparently she found some letters that Gram had written to her mother who just died. She said she had come to thank her, but then when she realized Gram was gone …”
Alice’s frown deepened. “Why didn’t she say so in the first place?”
“She came here right after her mother’s death and was pretty upset and confused. Actually, she nearly collapsed on the climb up to the house. She was in pretty bad shape. She thought that I wouldn’t help her if I knew she had hitchhiked all the way from Portland.”
“Hitchhiked?” Alice parroted. “All the way from Portland?”
Annie shrugged, and prepared herself for Alice’s chiding. You’re such a pushover, Annie, especially when there’s a mystery afoot .
Alice made the charge only with her eyes. Looking sidelong at Annie, she said, “What do you think is wrong with her?”
“I don’t know. She was real unsteady on her feet—especially last night. And she was pale as chalk. I think I’d better take her to the clinic.”
“Annie, what are you saying? She’s not your responsibility.”
Annie studied the stitches in her crochet project and waited. She didn’t want to sound all pious about being a brother’s (or a sister’s) keeper. But surely a young woman who lands on your doorstep and needs you …
“I mean, she could be anyone,” Alice said more quietly. “She could be—”
“She has no job and no family. She’s all alone. I think Gram would want me to help her; she seems so lost.”
Alice sighed. She took a muffin from the plate and held one out to Annie. They munched silently for a few seconds before the sound of the screen door halted their reverie. Tara stood on the threshold, paling at the sight of Annie’s guest.
She took a step back to retreat into the house. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”
“Alice isn’t company. She’s my best friend from next door. Come on out and have a cup of tea and one of her homemade muffins. Fair warning. They’ll probably spoil our dinner!” Annie gestured toward an empty wicker chair at the table. “No one makes muffins better than Alice. Alice MacFarlane … Tara Frasier.”
Tara took the chair Annie had indicated. Her wild crop of curls had been tamed with a headband, and she wore a pink top under an oversized white shirt. She held out a thin hand and met Alice’s gaze briefly before dropping her eyes. “Hello,” she said softly. She took a muffin and watched the steam rise from her cup of tea. Her eyes roamed over the ocean and sky and the flowers blooming in a riot of color. “It’s so beautiful,” she said wistfully.
“Did your mother visit here, Tara?” Annie asked after a few moments of silence while the three of them gazed into the distance appreciatively.
“I—I think so, only I don’t know for sure. She didn’t talk much about herself, and I left home when I was pretty young.”
Annie and Alice listened to Tara’s account of an unhappy childhood, of loneliness, and of her struggle to make ends meet on a meager income. Tara didn’t know anything about her father other than the name he’d given them. She told
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