The Stolen Canvas Read Online Free PDF Page B

said, sitting up straighter and meeting Annie’s eyes. “I’ll be OK. I’m really sorry. I—saw your light and … well, my car broke down outside of town, and I just started walking …” She broke off, dropped her gaze from Annie’s and reached for the handle of her bag.
    Annie saw now that her surprise guest was not a girl, despite her willowy form. She had to be somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties, and she had the look of someone whose life had not been easy. Small lines around her mouth seemed the more prominent in a face too thin to be pretty. Yet the velvety eyes had a classic nut-brown beauty above a straight nose.
    “Can you walk to the house?” Annie asked. “My name’s Annie Dawson, and I live just up there.” She pointed toward Grey Gables. “It’s not far.” She helped the girl to her feet, feeling the trifling weight against her as she rose. “You probably could use a cup of hot tea.”
    “Yes, thank you,” she stammered. “I’m really sorry to impose …” She said nothing more but walked unsteadily, leaning on Annie’s arm.
    Annie dropped the girl’s bulky nylon bag in the hall and led her to the living room. Settling her on the sofa, she wrapped a pink and green afghan around her shivering guest’s shoulders. “Do you want to lie down?”
    “No, thank you. You’re very kind, but I’ll be fine.” She ran the tip of her tongue over dry lips and drew in a series of shuddering breaths. Gradually she became calmer. “My name’s Tara. I’m from Portland, and I … well, I …” She broke off and a shadow passed over the brown gaze.
    “Well, Tara from Portland, you just rest. I’m going to put the kettle on,” Annie said, patting her arm. Tara was not a child, but everything about her begged consolation. Boots had scooted in behind Annie and sat looking on with her usual calculating yellow gaze. “She won’t bother you, but she does like to hop onto the couch to gain access to the window.”
    “She’s beautiful,” Tara said, a ghost of a smile touching the bow-shaped lips. “I—like cats.” But she made no move toward Boots. Instead she leaned her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes.
    When Annie returned with the tea and a plate of open-faced sandwiches, Tara appeared not to have moved an inch. Her eyes flickered open, and she sat upright. “Oh, this is very kind of you.”
    “Do you take anything in your tea, Miss … ?” Had she mentioned a last name? And was she a “miss”?
    “It’s Frasier. Tara Frasier.”
    “I’m pleased to meet you.” Annie handed her a delicately flowered cup of Earl Grey tea. She could see that Tara Frasier wore no rings. Her nails were short and somewhat ragged, as though she hadn’t cared for them in some time. Still they were well-shaped, sensitive-looking hands. They trembled slightly when she took the cup.
    “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor? I could drive you to …”
    “No, please. I … I really am all right.” She took a sip of tea and glanced around the room as though she were looking for something.
    “Your bag is in the hallway, Tara.” Perhaps she had medicine in it, which might account for why she hadn’t left the heavy thing in the car when she set out on foot.
    “Oh. Thank you.” She took a small pimento cheese sandwich from the tray that Annie held toward her. “I guess I am a little hungry.”
    Annie sat in a chair across from her and set her own teacup on the tray table. Boots quickly leaped upon her now unencumbered lap, and Annie stroked her soft fur. It was quiet in the living room except for the steady ticking of the mantel clock. Annie had never known it to be so loud before. What had brought Tara Frasier to her door? Why had she simply left her car without calling a tow truck or arranged for a ride to a hotel or something?
    “Tara, do you want me to phone someone for you?”
    “No. There’s no one. I …” She broke off and set her cup down on the coffee table in