Threads of Evidence (13 page)

Chapter 25

 

—Sampler worked by Martha Jane Reynolds, age eight, Homer, Ohio, 1819

 

 

 

Dave Percy was a few inches taller than I was—maybe five-ten—and his ten years in the navy working on submarines had left him with a passion for neatness and cleanliness that even Gram's coon cat couldn't surpass. No, he didn't groom himself constantly, as Juno did, but I'd never seen a trace of dust in Dave's house, or a dirty dish in his sink. And although he gardened in gloves because of his poison plants, I'd never seen a weed brazen enough to pop up there.

Not surprisingly, he lived in an immaculate yellow Cape surrounded by a white picket fence. Although I'd always felt comfortable with Dave, I suspect he would have been horrified to know that I sometimes wore the same pair of jeans two days in a row. Some nights I even hit my pillow before brushing my teeth.

He answered my knock almost immediately. “Angie! Good to see you. I've been so tied up grading exams and submitting final grades I haven't had a chance to keep in touch with anyone in the past couple of weeks. Come on in!”

I eyed the stack of papers he was carrying. “Is there hope? Will you get all that done in time?” He put the papers on a table and offered me a glass of iced coffee before I had a chance to say anything else.

“Of course. I just have to isolate myself until I've put my red pencil down and handed in my class rosters. We only have half days of school this week, so I'll have the afternoons to work. By tomorrow morning paperwork will be done. Wednesday is the last day of classes.”

“And then you're free for the summer.”

“Free of school, in any case. But I see you have a package in hand. A new needlepoint assignment?”

“It is,” I said. “A little different from our usual customer orders.” I started to unwrap the two needlepoint pictures Gram and I had decided would be best for Dave. Then I stopped. “You were at the house sale Saturday, so you know Skye West bought the old Gardener place, out near Ob Winslow's house.”

“Couldn't miss an event like that! I noticed you and Sarah were pretty busy that day.”

“We've been out there for the past week. We organized the sale for Skye.”

He looked at me quizzically. “A new sideline for Mainely Needlepoint?”

“Sarah was hired to appraise and price what was in the house, and she took me along,” I explained. I didn't mention how much we'd been paid, or that Sarah would probably have done it for nothing to get to know Patrick better.

“I'm new enough to town that I hadn't heard anything about that place before. I'd just seen it standing there, sadly decaying. My students filled me in on all the gory details. Did you see any of the ghosts reputed to live there when you were sorting through things?”

I liked his smile. “Not a one,” I assured him. “But it is sad that Jasmine Gardener died there.”

“And her mother was either crazy or a witch,” Dave added.

“What?”

“According to certain of my more romantic-minded students, you understand,” he continued, “she never left the house, and had three black cats.”

“Interesting! She did stay there alone for years after Jasmine died, but she left the house at least occasionally until she was ill, at the end. The black cats? That's a wrinkle I hadn't heard until now. I suppose she could have had a cat to keep her company. But I didn't see any broomsticks around that might have been used for transportation.”

“Ah, so the exciting story loses interest when confused with reality,” he said. “But what has that to do with why you're here?”

“Mrs. Gardener may not have been a witch, but she was a needlepointer.” I unwrapped the package I'd brought with me. “A lot of her work couldn't be saved, although some people bought it, anyway, on Saturday.”

“Me among them.” Dave smiled. “Prices were pretty low. I figured I'd try to repair one of her table runners.”

“Good luck! But here's another opportunity for you. Her best work was ten scenes of Aurora—that's the name of the estate—and Haven Harbor.” I held up one of them. “Skye West would like us to restore all ten panels for her. Gram's managed to kill the mildew, but torn or missing threads need to be removed or stitched over, depending on their condition. I've divided the work up, and hoped you'd be able to do these two.”

Dave sat down next to me on the couch and looked at the panels we'd chosen for him: the one of the fountain, and one of Haven Harbor itself, from the lighthouse to the yacht club on the other side of the harbor. That one was elaborate, with boats in the water and even a few tiny people on the wharves.

Dave examined both carefully. “She was good with a needle. No doubt. But I can handle this if we have yarn that matches or is close in color.”

I showed him what else was in the package. “Sarah and I tried to find remnants of the threads she used in the pictures in her stash of needlepoint materials. We didn't always succeed, but what we found is in here, along with some other floss and yarn Gram thought you might be able to blend in.”

“This looks like fun,” he said. “A good start for summer vacation. I don't think it'll take me too long, since I'll have days free of anything but gardening and enjoying the warmth of summer in Maine.”

“Good!” I said. “Then I'll leave all of this with you.” I got up to go before I remembered. “Oh, and you're coming to Gram's wedding in two weeks, right?”

“Wouldn't miss it,” he assured me.

“Well, I'm having a shower for her and Tom on Saturday. It's a surprise. Tom knows about it, though, and it'll be at the rectory in the afternoon. I'll let you know what time when I know for sure.”

“A shower for both of them? Very modern.” He nodded. “Sounds like fun.”

“It's a wine shower. Something else to imbibe would be okay, too, but they want to start a wine cellar.”

“Great idea! I was planning a trip to the Cellar Door Winery sometime soon, anyway. I'll move that trip up on my schedule. They're doing some wonderful work there. Whoever thought there would be wineries in Maine?”

“And now we have at least a half-dozen,” I agreed. “Local wines, as well as those from California or France.”

“Or Italy, South Africa, Australia, or—”

“Okay!” I laughed. “So there'll be lots of choices. I'll let you know about the time of the shower. See you then, if not before.”

“Looking forward,” said Dave, showing me to the door. “I'm hoping to see you often this summer.”

I glanced at him.
Is that an invitation?

“Especially if you bring me interesting needlepoint projects like the one today.”

Well, not necessarily an invitation, but maybe an invitation to friendship?
I could do with a few more friends, of either sex. “For sure, I'll see you Saturday, then.” I waved as I headed to my next stop.

Chapter 26

 

—Anonymous, Nursery rhyme, 1823, said to have been written by a 90-year-old woman

 

 

 

Katie Titicomb didn't answer her door, but I knew she had a garden. I followed the brick path around her house into her backyard. As I suspected, Katie was there, kneeling on a gardening pad in the dirt, setting out tomato plants. She wore gardening gloves and a large straw hat, and, other than her face, her pale skin was covered from head to toe.

“Katie?” I said softly so as not to startle her.

“Yes?” She looked up. “Angie! It's you. I couldn't imagine who'd be calling on such a beautiful afternoon.” She got up slowly, testing her knees as she stood. “I'm glad you're here. I'm ready for a break. I love gardening best in January and February, when I'm reading the Burpee and White Flower Farm catalogs and planning for summer. Now that it's actually time to plant, my body rebels.”

“Gram's at home, planting her tomatoes, too.”

“And she won't even be living there in two weeks. Goodness, it's hard to believe her wedding is that soon.”

“I'm planning a shower for her and Reverend Tom next Saturday afternoon at the rectory. Tom knows, but it'll be a surprise for her, I hope.”

“Fun! I haven't been to a bridal shower since Cindy got married,” said Katie. “You weren't here for that, were you?”

I shook my head. Katie's daughter, Cindy, had married while I was in Arizona.

“It was a lovely occasion. Balloons and umbrellas and lace baskets, and so many gifts! And a cake, of course, and pink punch.”

Thanks to Sarah, at least I now knew about umbrellas. Somehow I didn't mourn missing Cindy's big day. “The shower's going to be for both Gram and Tom, and it'll be focused on wine. Turns out they've always dreamed of having a wine cellar.”

“What a wonderful idea!” said Katie. “Can I help? I love showers.”

“Could you help me decorate? I'm afraid I'm not a shower maven. But I do want it to be fun for Gram and Tom.”

“I'd love to help! What's your color scheme?”

Color scheme?
“Gram's wedding dress is pale blue. Pale blue and white?”

“That sounds elegant. Silk ribbons for Charlotte—she's too old for crepe paper. I'm going to Portland to do some errands tomorrow. Would you like me to pick up some decorations? Sophisticated ones. And nothing extravagant.”

“I would love that,” I said with relief. “I've never planned a party like this. It sounds as though you know what to do.”

Katie came over and patted me on the arm. “Don't you worry a bit about it, then. I'll take care of the theme and decorations. You just figure out the refreshments.”

Food. Cake? Cupcakes? Or something a little more substantial? Cheeses. Breads. Crackers. And it was a wine shower. There should be wine. I certainly would want a glass. “I can handle refreshments,” I assured her.
With Sarah's help,
I added silently to myself. Detective work I could handle. I was out of my depth at planning a bridal shower.

“So? Anything else happening?”

“Yes, actually. You've heard Skye West bought the old Gardener estate, Aurora.”

Katie nodded.

“She's asked Mainely Needlepoint to preserve and repair ten needlework panels that Mrs. Gardener made. We're going to line and reframe them, but before then, they need some repair work. Would you have time to work on two of them?”

“Only two?”

“Several only need cleaning, and we're dividing the others among you and Sarah and Dave. That way we can get them all framed and back to Ms. West as soon as possible.”

Katie agreed. “I have time. I finished three more lighthouse pillows for Harbor Lights last week, and I've practically finished the headboard Nautical Decorators in South Portland asked for. I'll be glad to finish that one up. I've been working on it, off and on, since February.”

“I'll let them know they'll have it soon,” I said, nodding. “Shall I get you the two panels for Skye West? They're in my car.”

“Thank you. That'll be fine.”

I turned to go, when she called out, “What do the panels picture?”

“The Congregational Church,” I called. “And fireworks.”

By the time I got back, Katie's hands were clean and she was sitting on a dark green lawn chair. I handed her the package containing the panels.

“The fireworks,” she said, looking at that one. “They're the ones they used to have at Aurora.”

Fireworks were fireworks to me. “How can you tell?”

“See how they're high in the sky, and gold?”

I looked.

“And over in this corner are three pine trees, and a lone pine on the other side is silhouetted against the sky.”

“Yes.”

“Every year the Gardeners ended their fireworks display at the end of their big Labor Day party with a fantastic group of explosions at once, almost all of them gold. It had something to do with the name of their house, Aurora. And if you sat on the back hill, looking out at the harbor where the fireworks were, you would see those pine trees, exactly as they are in the needlepoint.”

“You went to their parties, then.”

“Every year. My mother didn't like the crowds, but I'd beg, and my father would always take me.”

“Were you at the last party?”

“The night Jasmine Gardener died? Oh, yes. I was only eleven, you understand. What I remember most is, despite what my father warned me about, I ate too many hot dogs and cotton candy and felt horribly sick. It was right before the fireworks started. I didn't know what to do. My father was talking to some friends. He'd told me to stay on the old green army blanket we'd brought to sit on during the fireworks. But I felt so awful. I ran to the corner of the field, away from everyone else, and threw up, right there, outside.” Katie paused. “I was so embarrassed. I thought everyone would know. But the only one who saw me was Jasmine. She took me inside the big house with her and washed my face and then sent me back to my father.” Katie smiled sadly. “She was so kind. And she looked so beautiful in her bright yellow-and-orange jumpsuit. They were all the style then, you know. It happened so suddenly. My father didn't even know I'd been away. Later, when we were walking to our car, we heard about Jasmine. We thought she was just sick. We moved aside so the ambulance could get to her.” Katie sighed. “The next day we heard she'd died. I begged to go to her funeral. Lots of people in town were going. But my father said I didn't even know her, and I was too young to start going to funerals. But I did know her. I must have been one of the last people to see Jasmine Gardener before she died.”