A Stony Point Christmas Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  A Stony Point Christmas

  Copyright © 2012 Annie’s.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. For information address Annie’s, 306 East Parr Road, Berne, Indiana 46711-1138.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  _______________________________________

  Library of Congress-in-Publication Data

  A Stony Point Christmas/ by K.D. McCrite

  p. cm.

  I. Title

  2012946112

  ________________________________________

  AnniesMysteries.com

  800-282-6643

  Annie’s Attic Mysteries

  Series Editors: Ken and Janice Tate

  Dedication

  Dedicated to Debbie Savannah George-Jones, who offered me friendship, fellowship, and a helping hand at a time when I needed it most.

  1

  The old man glowered at Annie Dawson from the other side of his campfire as she approached him. She’d been watching him for a while as she walked, noting how Maine’s cold sea wind whipped his clothes and gray hair. Why would he be out on a morning in late November? And how could such a small fire possibly warm him?

  “Hello,” she said when she was close enough.

  He stared at her from smoke- or wind-reddened eyes. Those eyes were as gray as the sea and the thin, snowy sky above it. His face, wrinkled and drawn, seemed to exude weariness.

  “You need something?” he asked, his frown seemingly frozen in place.

  “No, of course not.”

  Annie felt slightly baffled by his hostile attitude, and her first response was to take a step back. Having been born and raised in Texas, where folks were usually friendly, Annie never quite shook off her habit of greeting others with warmth. She was met with resistance to that habit when she’d first moved to Stony Point, Maine, a newcomer who tried too quickly and maybe too hard to fit in. By this time, though, Annie had learned to take things a little more slowly and let these New Englanders warm up to her. Still, it was hard to look at someone old, cold, and alone, and do nothing.

  “No,” she said again, reassuring him, “I want or need nothing except to make sure you’re all right. Are you hungry? I’d be happy to fix you breakfast. You could warm up at my house, use the shower, if you’d like.”

  He stared hard at her.

  “What makes you think I need anything you have to offer? And why should you care? You don’t know me.”

  His harsh tone stung her worse than the cold wind.

  “It’s just so cold that I—”

  “My welfare is no concern of yours.” He turned his back and walked away from her.

  Annie stood, the wind buffeting her. Her heart ached, not because of his sharp words, but because she knew he was more than cold and weary. His loneliness was almost a visible cloak around him. She wanted to go after him, but she didn’t.

  I suppose there are times, she thought, when it’s best not to follow your heart. And this seems to be one of them.

  She tightened the faux fur collar of her burgundy parka and tugged the crocheted ski hat more snugly over her head. Annie retraced her steps back to Grey Gables—the beautiful Victorian home bequeathed to her by her grandmother, Elizabeth Holden—wondering why she had chosen to walk along the beach on a snowy day in November, especially on a Tuesday before a Hook and Needle Club meeting. Actually—if she were honest with herself—Annie knew why, and perhaps on some level she had been hoping that the frigid temperature could chase out the pain she felt inside.

  A week earlier her daughter LeeAnn had called. After the preliminary chitchat ended, Annie sensed LeeAnn had taken a deep, fortifying breath. It was the way LeeAnn had always prepared herself before engaging in serious conversation.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” Annie had asked.

  “Oh, Mom!” LeeAnn said, and Annie thought she heard tears in her daughter’s voice.

  “What is it? Tell me!”

  “Mom, I’m so sorry.” She broke off, and Annie heard the deep intake of breath again. A dozen scenarios ran through her mind all at once and so fast that she felt a little light-headed.

  “LeeAnn, you’re making me nervous.”

  “We can’t come for Christmas!” LeeAnn blurted. “I’m so sorry. We just found out Herb’s uncle is coming home for Christmas. He’s the one who lives in Greenland, and it’s been nearly fifteen years since he’s been here. The visit is going to be really short, only three days, and … well, Herb wants to be here and wants the kids and me to meet Uncle Bert, and really, it’s the right thing to do. But—oh, Mom—I’m so sorry!”

  Annie felt sick to her stomach with disappointment. She’d been looking forward to this Christmas for months.

  “But I’ve made such plans!” she said before she could stop herself. Then, hearing the soft sound of LeeAnn’s weeping, she tried to soothe her. “Oh, honey, please don’t cry. Y’all can come visit later, it’s all right.” She put some brass to her voice. “In fact, having you visit in the winter is probably not a great idea anyway. You just never know what the weather is going to be, and travel can be so treacherous.”

  “Trust you to find the bright side,” LeeAnn said, sniffling. “But I miss you, Mom. So does Herb, and so do John and Joanna. They’ve been talking about seeing Grandma at Christmas for such a long time.”

  The last thing Annie wanted was for her daughter to feel worse than she obviously felt. She pushed herself to be as sunny as possible.

  “Honey, it’s all right. It’s important to be with Herb’s family while his uncle is there. Just think of all the tales he has about Greenland. It will be such fun for all of you and educational for the children. How many kids can say they know someone who lives in Greenland? Please don’t worry about me. My goodness, I have more friends in Stony Point than I can count, and I have more things to do than I can accomplish in one lifetime, so I’ll be just fine up here. I’ll send everyone’s gifts down, and you’ll have a little part of me at Christmas anyway!”

  LeeAnn sniffled some more, and Annie had to fight her own tears. She continued to reassure her daughter until, at last, LeeAnn accepted the situation with as much grace as possible. But after Annie hung up the telephone, the weight of this new development effectively doused most of her Christmas spirit.

  Now, as she trudged back to Grey Gables, she tried to shove aside the scraps of her conversation with LeeAnn. Her encounter with the old man left Annie feeling even more deflated. Why had he been so rude when all she’d wanted was to be friendly?

  Inside the house, she started to unwrap the layers of warm coverings she wore, but paused. The old man’s coat, a lined denim jacket, was more suited to cutting wood on a cool fall day than a buffer between his body and the harsh northeast winter. His thin fisherman’s hat had rested on his cr
own and didn’t even reach his ears. He had no muffler around his neck and no thick gloves, only brown jersey ones. He was wearing shoes, not boots.

  “Now, Annie, he doesn’t want to be bothered,” she said aloud. But the voice inside her heart spoke differently. It said, Yes, he’s cranky and rude, but he’s also old and weary. He’s alone and cold. He’s probably hungry too.

  She glanced at her watch. The meeting would start in less than two hours. She still needed to shower and get dressed, and she had not even gathered up her crochet work to take along. She looked at the watch face again, counting ten tiny jerks of the second hand.

  “I don’t care what he said!” she declared to Boots, who sat yawning on the arm of the sofa. “I’ll just have to be late for the meeting.” The gray cat—also part of her grandmother’s estate—simply blinked at her a moment, and then settled down, sphinxlike, and closed her eyes. Quite obviously Boots couldn’t care less if Annie was late for the meeting, or if she missed it all.

  Annie removed her gloves, scarf, and parka and then hurried to the kitchen. The room, with its soft yellow walls and white cabinets, always gave her comfort, and even on a cold winter’s day, it seemed filled with sunshine and warmth. She made several sandwiches—ham and cheese, peanut butter and jelly, chicken salad—and put them in a basket. She added all the fruit she had in the house and a package of cookies. She made a thermos of coffee and tucked it into the basket. Upstairs she got a couple of blankets from the linen closet and pilfered through some of her crocheted items until she found a hat she was sure would fit him. A red-and-black-plaid mackinaw hung in the back of the closet in one of the spare rooms. Maybe it had belonged to her grandfather, Charles Holden, or maybe it was one of those items Gram had found and kept for whatever reason. Right then, its origins mattered nothing to Annie. It was a good, warm coat for a man.

  Wrapped up once more against the cold weather, Annie rather awkwardly carried her collection of goods to the beach. She plowed against the wind and then followed the path she’d taken earlier. When she arrived at the campfire, the old man was gone, but a small fire still burned. She knew he was nearby, maybe even watching her.

  “Hello!” she called. She expected no answer and got none. “Here is some food, some hot coffee, some blankets, and a coat.”

  She sat the items on the ground, but not too close to the fire where ashes or embers might present a danger. For a moment, Annie’s gaze scoured the beach. She supposed she could follow his shoe prints and track him down like a fugitive, but doing so seemed intrusive, even invasive.

  “I’m leaving now,” she called again. After another few seconds, she walked away, slowly at first, giving him time to acknowledge her presence if he chose to do so, but at last, hurrying back to Grey Gables and the activities that the rest of the day held for her.

  ****

  Annie was glad she hadn’t gotten a speeding ticket, rushing to A Stitch in Time. She parked her faithful and much-loved Malibu a few doors down from the shop’s front, and eyed the other cars already parked there. She recognized all the vehicles of the Hook and Needle Club membership.

  “I am so late,” she muttered, getting her plaid tote bag from the car. She fumbled and dropped her keys, and then she spilled some of the contents of her project bag onto the sidewalk. “Grrr!”

  Annie glanced around to see if anyone in downtown Stony Point witnessed her less-than-graceful antics, and then she shoved everything back into the tote and hurried toward the shop.

  The sound of voices and laughter met her before she opened the door. Once she stepped inside, the usual cordial warmth of the group seemed elevated. In fact, the meeting had more of a party atmosphere than a cozy craft circle. Annie glanced around the familiar shop, filled with its array of yarns, patterns, and other goods every crafter needed. No one noticed her late arrival. In fact, no one noticed her at all. Most of the women were standing, and all of them seemed to be talking at once. Their bright eyes and wide smiles told her something good was happening.

  She put her project bag on the floor, peeled off her gloves, muffler, and coat, and then she removed her hat. Annie usually kept her pale blond hair in a simple short cut, but a new, very young hairdresser had given her a haircut a few days earlier, and Annie still wasn’t used to it. There seemed to be too many short, choppy locks where she used to have longer, smooth strands. She tried to straighten, fluff, or smooth the “do” with her fingers. Thank goodness, hair grew back, and Annie planned never to allow Tiffany Wyman to touch her head again.

  The meeting was so charged with gaiety, Annie smiled with anticipation as she hung up her coat and picked up her crochet work. She turned from the coatrack and noticed a stranger sitting next to dark-haired, outgoing Peggy Carson. Peggy, a waitress at The Cup & Saucer diner, chattered a mile a minute to Mary Beth Brock, the owner of A Stitch in Time.

  The new member of the group had lank brown hair pulled back in a clasp at the nape of her neck, and she appeared thin, almost frail and rather young. She held her head bent over a tiny hook and quickly crocheted lace made of thin white thread. Something about that pale neck and small shoulders touched Annie. She settled down in the empty chair next to the woman.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Annie Dawson, and I’m another crocheter.”

  The woman lifted her head. She had lovely hazel eyes in a pale, careworn face. When she smiled shyly, the fine web of wrinkles deepened, giving her an illusion of age that may have been inaccurate.

  Those eyes have seen a lot of pain, Annie thought.

  “Hello.” She put out her work-roughened right hand. “My name is Sara Downs.” Her refined voice belied the impoverished appearance made by faded, loose-fitting clothes and mousy hair.

  “Are you a newcomer to Stony Point?” Annie asked.

  “Yes,” she replied softly, turning back to her lace.

  Annie waited a moment, but when the woman said nothing else, she asked, “Do you like it here?”

  Sara nodded. “So far. Peggy has been very kind.”

  “Whoop!” Peggy said, turning in her seat. “I heard my name. Oh, Annie! I didn’t see you come in. Have you met Sara?” With short, dark curly hair and a rather round face, the slightly chubby Peggy always gave off an air of friendliness and enthusiasm. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at the two women.

  “Hi, Peggy,” Annie said. “Yes, we just now met. She was telling me you’ve been very kind.” Annie shifted a look back and forth between the two women. “Are you related, cousins or something?”

  “Nothing like that!” Peggy sang out, patting Sara’s arm. “Sara started working in the kitchen at The Cup & Saucer. The other day on our break, she told me she loves to crochet, so I invited her to visit our little group. Maybe the Hook and Needle Club will get a new member.” She beamed at Sara, who smiled shyly and kept crocheting.

  “We always need new blood,” Annie declared with a light laugh. “Maybe you can tell us some interesting new tales while we work. We’ve all heard one another’s stories so many times, nothing is new anymore.”

  “Oh, my,” Sara said, lifting her head quickly. She looked a little like a cornered animal. “I have no stories to tell. I’m dull as toast, actually.”

  “Oh, Sara, I bet you’ll have plenty to say, once you warm up to us,” Peggy said with a laugh. She looked at Annie. “Have you heard the news?”

  “News? You mean whatever it is that has everyone in here chattering like a bunch of magpies? Apparently not. What’s going on?”

  The news must be significant for no one to have noticed this awful haircut, Annie thought. Thank goodness for that.

  “It seems that Norma—”

  “Annie!” Alice shrieked from across the room. She ran up to the small circle that now surrounded Annie. “Isn’t it fantastic, Annie?”

  Alice MacFarlane, with flashing blue eyes and rich, shoulder-length auburn hair, was Annie’s best friend and closest neighbor.

  Before Annie could respond, Peggy looked at Alice and said j
ust a little testily, “I’m trying to tell her right now.”

  The two friends eyed each other as if they might have a spat over who got to reveal the news to Annie. She never liked it when her friends fussed at each other.

  “Maybe I’ll just ask Kate,” Annie said, starting to rise.

  “Norma got some money!” Peggy blurted.

  “Norma at the post office?”

  “Yes!” Alice said. “She got to work this morning and there was an envelope in the outgoing mail basket with her name printed across it, no address or anything. When she opened it, guess what?”

  “Twenty one-hundred dollar bills,” Peggy said. “Two thousand dollars, cash!”

  “My stars!” Annie said.

  “And that’s not all—” Alice said.

  “Grace Hitchens had a note stuck to her front door that said her hospital bill had been paid in full!” Peggy said. “There was a note in the envelope with Norma’s money too.”

  Annie’s mouth fell open. Grace Hitchens had been hospitalized for nearly five months. Her house was on the market, and she’d already sold her car. No one had known what would happen to her if the house sold because she had no family to rely on. In fact, the Hook and Needle Club had talked about organizing some kind of fundraising for her. And Norma, a single woman working only part-time now and facing retirement soon, was often on Annie’s mind.

  “That’s absolutely wonderful!” she said. “Who did such a lovely, generous thing?”

  Mary Beth joined the group. Stocky-built with salt-and-pepper hair, she was the one who welcomed new members to the Hook and Needle Club with open arms and kept the group organized.

  “That’s what has everyone so mystified, Annie,” she said. “No one knows!”

  “There wasn’t a name or anything?”

  “There was a name, but we don’t know who it’s really from.” Mary Beth’s voice carried such authority that neither Alice nor Peggy said a word.

  “What did the notes say?” Annie asked Mary Beth.

  “They were exactly the same. They read, ‘An early Merry Christmas, from Santa Claus.’”