Crewel Intentions (An Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mini-Mystery) Read Free Page A

sentiment, and no signature, just the drawing.”
    “When did the notes and gifts start arriving?”
    “The first card showed up about three weeks ago, but the frequency is increasing. At first they arrived every few days. Then I began receiving cards once a day at different times of the day. The gifts began arriving the end of last week. Now sometimes I’ll discover more than one card a day and at least one package.”
    “And you have no idea who might be sending them?”
    “None. I thought Darren sent the first card, but when I called to thank him, he denied having sent me a card. Then I realized the handwriting didn’t match.”
    “I’m not surprised. The handwriting is far too feminine for a man.”
    “You think so?”
    “Definitely.” However, Erica’s not noticing the feminine style of the handwriting didn’t surprise me. Her generation used keyboards and keypads to communicate, not pens and paper.
    “Your boyfriend wasn’t concerned that someone else had sent you a romantic card?”
    “He laughed, said I must have a secret admirer, but he wasn’t worried because he knew how I felt about him. Since he hadn’t sent the first card, I haven’t mentioned the subsequent ones or the gifts.”
    “If you were anyone else, I’d agree with him. There’s nothing menacing about these gifts or the cards other than the gift giver chooses to remain anonymous at this point. And that’s more mysterious and romantic than menacing.”
    But Erica wasn’t just anyone. She had every right to feel threatened, given that both Ricardo and her father wanted her dead—although I couldn’t fathom why either would send her such non-threatening cards and gifts. If Joey Milano knew his daughter’s hiding place, she’d be dead by now.
    I opened the remaining two packages, a Victorian style needlepoint brooch and a needlepoint eyeglass case, both containing pink rose designs. Then I removed the rest of the cards from their envelopes and spread everything out across the table. “These are all quite old.”
    “How can you tell?”
    “From the fabric discoloration and fading and the brittleness of the paper. Are there any shops around here that sell antiques?”
    “There’s a store on Main Street that sells second-hand furniture. I suppose some might be antiques. The stuff just looks decrepit to me. There’s also an outdoor farmer’s market at the high school every Saturday morning. Some people sell crafts and flea market type goods. Do you think whoever is leaving these purchased them from one of those places?”
    I stood up. “Only one way to find out. Let’s go.”
    ***
    As we walked over to the high school, I learned more about Erica’s new life. “Do you like living here?”
    “I do. At first this new lifestyle took some getting used to. I’ve never lived in a small town before, and Oakmont is a really small town by my standards. The population hovers shy of sixty-five hundred. I grew up in The Bronx, surrounded by well over a million neighbors, not to mention an additional seven million in the four other New York City boroughs.”
    “Do people accept outsiders here?” Erica—at least the old Erica—possessed such low self-esteem. I wondered how her Bronx accent and New York attitude fit into what looked like a town right out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
    “The people are wonderful. Everyone is very friendly. The day I moved in, a stream of casserole-carrying neighbors kept showing up at my door. The big problem is returning their friendship. Since I can’t talk about my real past, conversation often becomes awkward.”
    “Don’t you have a fictitious background to draw on?”
    “I do, but the new me is still so unfamiliar to me that the words don’t always flow naturally. I’m no actress. Talking about a made-up past is hard work.”
    “How do you handle those situations when people ask you about your life before you came here?”
    “I try as best as I can to turn conversations around to them.