Annie felt as if she were trapped in an old rerun of The Streets of San Francisco as she drove up to Sarah's pretty, out-of-the-way neighborhood. She kept checking in her rcarvicw mirror ior any sign she was being followed. She hadn't formed any strong opinions about the man in her workroom, but she figured Garvin MacCrae for one relentless man. He would stoop to following her. No doubt in her mind.
She had to hunt for a parking space, found one two blocks up from the stone steps, but it was a glorious sunny afternoon. Her shop was closed on Mondays, and she had spent most of the day cleaning her apartment and thinking. She had on black leggings, her oversize Mt. Desert Island sweatshirt, and sneakers.
As tempted as she was to take Otto with her on such a beautiful day, she didn't think that would be a smart idea. Visions of bulls in china shops came to mind, not to mention Sarah's disability.
"I won't be long," she told him. "You be a good boy."
Her good boy was flopped on his back, paws in the air, before she'd gotten the doors locked.
She enjoyed her walk to the stone steps, reveled in the crisp, clean smells, the bright red leaves that had fallen on the sidewalk. When she reached the little cul-de-sac at the top of the hill, it occurred to her that for all she knew, Sarah Linwood could have packed up and gone.
But she hadn't. As usual, she'd left her door unlocked, and Annie walked right in.
Sarah was standing at the ancient stove in her cluttered kitchen. A teakettle whistled, and she motioned for Annie to sit at the rickety table just inside the front door. An extra cup and saucer were already set out with a plate of simple baking powder biscuits, small dishes of strawberry jam and soft butter, and cream and sugar. As at their previous tea together, Sarah had laid out her good china, in a delicate pattern of tiny pink rosebuds.
Annie gave her hostess a questioning look. "You knew I was coming?"
Sarah smiled. "I always put out two cups for tea, just in case I have company. Not that I ever do, of course, but I can always hope someone drops in at just the right moment. Is Irish Breakfast all right with you?"
"It's perfect."
Balancing herself with one hand on the stove, Sarah filled a rosebud teapot with the boiling water. Today she wore cheap elastic-waist jeans and a turquoise button-front top in a pilled polyester knit with her white Keds and mismatched socks, one white, one pink. Her graying strawberry hair was clean and neatly brushed, without any clear style.
"How do you manage groceries?" Annie asked, resisting the urge to start firing questions at her about her dangerous and secret affair with Vic Denardo, about her compulsive gambling.
"A little at a time. I have a string bag I carry. I don't have a car, but I use public transportation when I can, a cab when I must. It's a chore. I try to go on days when I can manage with just the cane. Sometimes I can even get along without it, but I always take it with me." She shrugged. "I don't get out much."
She took her cane from where she'd leaned it against the counter, then picked up the teapot. Annie started to volunteer to help but saw there was no need. Accustomed to the challenges of her physical condition, Sarah had everything well in hand. She made her way to the table, moving slowly but not clumsily, and set the pot on the table. "It'll need a couple minutes to steep." She eased down onto her chair, her expression registering just the barest flash of pain. "You can tell me why you look so troubled."
Annie took a biscuit from the plate, realized she was hungry after her long day pulling her head together after her twin encounters with the man in her workroom and Garvin MacCrae. "A man came to my gallery yesterday afternoon looking for you."
Sarah frowned. "Who?"
"He didn't tell me his name." Annie decided to give her the description she'd given Garvin MacCrae. "He was stocky, muscular, in his mid-to-late fifties. He had thick, wavy gray hair and very dark eyes."
"Vic," Sarah breathed, without hesitation.
Annie took a breath, trying to stay composed. "Then Garvin MacCrae didn't lie to me."
"Garvin?"
"He stopped by yesterday too."
Despite her shaken look, Sarah managed a sardonic smile. "Quite the day you had."
"Yes."
She poured a small amount of tea into her saucer, nodded in satisfaction at its color and filled Annie's cup, then her own. She set the pot down, her hands steady. She was an artist, Annie remembered, and a Linwood. She would know how to keep her emotions in check. "I let you walk into a potentially dangerous situation without all the facts," she said simply. "I'm sorry."
"Water over the dam now."