The Body In The Basement ff-6

by Katherine Hall Page

  She emerged in what Pix knew was the latest fashion, but it stil looked like something she'd give to the thrift shop: a long flowered-print housedress with a crocheted vest on top. To complete the ensemble, Samantha was wearing a pair of heavy-soled black boots that managed to suggest the military and orthopedics at the same time. Sam's hair was at that in-between stage where everyone either comments, "Are you growing your hair?" or says, "You need a haircut." Pix chose the latter.

  “Your hair is so cute when it's short, and think how easy it is for the summer." They’d had this conversation before.

  Samantha explained patiently, "I want it to look good when I go back to school. Up here, it doesn't matter what I look like and please, Mom, for the last time, I don't want to look cute. That's not the idea."

  “Wel , attractive, then" Pix knew she should shut up, but old habits die hard.

  Her daughter nobly chose to ignore the remark. "Why don't we go to Granny's? You know how much she hates it if we're late"

  “We're never late!" Pix protested.

  “There's always a first time." Samantha smiled sweetly. "Why don't I drive?”

  Pix sat in the passenger's side, wondering when the reins had slipped from her grip.

  Ursula Rowe greeted her daughter and granddaughter.

  "Don't you both look lovely"

  “You're looking pretty spiffy yourself, Granny,"

  Samantha said as she gave her a kiss.

  Gathered in the hal way, the three generations bore a general resemblance to one another, most blurred oddly enough in Pix, not Samantha. They were al tal and had good posture. Ursula, in her ninth decade, carried herself as proudly as she had at Miss Porter's in her second.

  Ursula's high cheekbones were softened in her daughter's face, only to emerge sharply again in Samantha's. Al three had the same thick hair. Pix and Samantha's was the dark chestnut color that Ursula's had been before it turned snowy white. Pix's was cropped close to her head. Her mother's was almost as short but curled slightly, whether by nature or art, she did not reveal. Samantha's eyes were a deeper brown than her mother's and grandmother's. Her father's genes had turned almond into chocolate.

  “Shal we go in?" Ursula linked one arm through Samantha's, the other through Pix's. Pix felt a sudden rush of wel -being. It was going to be a good summer. She'd tend her garden, put up a lot of preserves, spend time with her mother and her daughter, and maybe clean out the attic at The Pines, a herculean task that had been put off for twenty years of summers. And she'd make Arnie take her over to Vinalhaven.

  Over the creamed haddock Gert had left, they talked about the summer. Ursula had been on the island since Memorial Day. Unencumbered by school-age children, she spent May to October on Sanpere. Pix was dying to ask her the latest gossip, but their custom of not discussing such things in front of the children, even when said children weren't children anymore, was too strong, so they stuck to safe topics.

  “When do you start working, Samantha? Have some more beans, Pix dear. They're the last of last year's."

  “Monday. The campers arrive tomorrow, but Mr.

  Atherton said he won't need me until then. I'l be there in the mornings to teach the younger children sailing, stay to help with lunch, then I'm through for the day. I promised the Fairchilds that I'd be able to take care of Ben and Amy when they come up in August, so that wil be in the afternoons."

  “Phew, that's quite a schedule."

  “Yes" Samantha laughed. "But think how rich I'l be!"

  “Are you going to have any time for fun?" Her grandmother looked concerned.

  “It's al fun! Besides, Arlene is working at the camp, too

  —ful -time, so I wouldn't be seeing her, anyway. And I don't work weekends."

  “It's nice that Jim Atherton keeps the camp going. It must have been the early thirties when his parents started it. He certainly doesn't need the money." Ursula exchanged a sharp glance with Pix hinting good gossip to come.

  “A labor of love," Pix remarked. "I can't imagine Jim without the camp, and Valerie seems to enjoy it, too, although it's not real y her thing."

  “What do you mean, Mom?" Samantha asked.

  “Wel , Valerie Atherton is some kind of interior decorator. I think she likes having the camp around to keep Jim busy while she goes antiquing."

  “It's funny. We're so close to the camp if you go by water, but we don't real y know them. I guess it's because none of us ever went there. I haven't even met Mrs.

  Atherton. My interview was with him."

  “I think you'l like her," Ursula said. "She's not as flashy as she looks.”

  Samantha brightened. "This is going to be interesting."

  “You know she has a son about your age from her first marriage."

  “Yeah." Samantha made a face. "Arlene says he's a real dork."

  “It couldn't have been easy for him, moving to the island, especial y after losing his father the way he did," her grandmother commented, correctly translating Samantha's opinion. "Now, why don't you clear the table. We can have our dessert on the porch. Gert left your favorite—lemon meringue pie!"

  “What a sweetheart! Please thank her for me" Sam jumped up from her chair and began to clear the old, large, round dining room table with alacrity.

  “I'l make some coffee," Pix offered, wondering how she could drop a gentle hint to Gert Prescott that Pix's own personal favorite was black walnut. Gert probably figured Pix made her own pies, but she figured wrong.

  After consuming two pieces of pie, Samantha went down to the shore to poke around and watch the sunset.

  Her mother and grandmother stayed on the porch in the fading light.

  “More coffee, Mother?"

  “No thank you. I want to sleep tonight.”

  Ursula was a notoriously sound sleeper, and Pix laughed.

  “You could drink the whole pot and not worry."

  “So you say. Nobody knows how much I toss and turn.

  Now, when is Samuel coming?"

  “Not until the Fourth. Maybe the weekend before, if he can get away. He's preparing a big case and it goes to trial soon. It al depends how long the jury takes. We could get lucky." As Pix spoke, she realized how much she was going to miss her husband. It happened every summer. She didn't want to leave him, but she real y wanted to go—and it was wonderful for the kids.

  “Now, tel me what's been going on since you've been here," she said to her mother.

  “Not much. You know how quiet things are in June. It's heavenly. And the lupine was the most spectacular I've ever seen.”

  Ursula said this every year. Pix had come for a long weekend one June especial y to see the fields of tal purple, blue, and pink spiked flowers. She had no doubt that every year would be better than the last, because no memory could equal the impact of that palette stretching out—in some parts of the island, as far as the eye could see.

  “No scandals? Come on, Mother, you're slipping," Pix chided.

  “Let me think. You heard that the manager of the IGA is keeping company with his ex-wife's sister? And thetwo sisters have, of course, stopped talking to each other and the ex-wife has to drive clear off island now every time she needs a quart of milk.

  “And what else? Oh, I know. It wil probably be in the paper this week, but Gert told me about it this morning.

  They had a real scare at the nursing home. When Karen Sanford went to open up the common room, she found glass al over the place, and she'd left it spick-and-span the night before. Obviously vandalism. So she cal ed Earl to come investigate. Turns out the vandals were a Yoo-Hoo bottle that had exploded and knocked over a tray of dishes!"

  “It wil definitely makèPolice Brief," Pix said when she finished laughing. What a change from reading the news at home, she thought to herself. Sgt. Earl Dickinson was the one and only law-enforcement official on the island—and so far, the only one needed. It reminded her.

  “Do you think Earl and Jil are going to get married?"

  Jil M
erriwether was the proprietress of a gift shop in Sanpere Vil age.

  “It's certainly about time, but they seem to be content the way they are and so long as they both feel the same, it's fine"

  “I know what you mean. If one or the other starts getting itchy for the altar, then there could be a problem. Stil , I don't know why they don't. It's nice being married." Pix had no regrets.

  “Then, as you might imagine"—her mother continued to catch her up—"there's a lot of talk about the Athertons. I didn't want to say too much in front of Samantha, but their house is final y finished and everyone's cal ing it `the Mil ion-Dol ar Mansion,' which is quite likely close to the truth. I don't think there's a per son on Sanpere who doesn't know they have six bathrooms, three with bidets."

  “The bidets may have taken some explaining.”

  “True, but the gold-plated faucets didn't."

  “Where did Jim get al his money? The fees at the sailing camp have always been pretty steep, yet nothing that would produce an income like this."

  “His mother's father invented scouring pads or some such thing and money made money. Keeps on making it, if the house and those boats of Jim's are any indication."

  “So they real y intend to live on the island year-round.

  I'm not so sure I'd want to be here al winter. It gets pretty quiet." Pix thought of her constant round of activity in Aleford and realized with a start that she'd miss it if she moved.

  “Your father and I considered living in The Pines when he retired, but when it came down to it, there were too many things and people we didn't want to leave.”

  The two women paused in their conversation and looked out across the water at the sunset. They could see Samantha silhouetted against the horizon. The Pines had been built to take advantage of "the view." There was a large front porch and one extending off the second-floor bedrooms. It was an ark of a house, with rooms added to the rear as needed. By modern standards, it was dark. The windows were smal and the interior pine paneling old-fashioned. The only remodeling that had been done since it was built was to the indoor plumbing and the addition of a gas stove and other modern appliances in the kitchen. The old woodstove was stil used for heat and Gert kept it blackened, its chrome sparkling. Pix had seen a similar one for sale in an antiques shop for five hundred dol ars.

  Her mother had been stunned.

  The sun was a bal of fire, descending rapidly into thesea, leaving streaks of purple, pink, and orange as it fel that would have seemed garish in any other context. Flashy.

  It brought Pix back to the Athertons. It wasn't that Valerie dressed in gaudy colors or was dripping with rhinestones.

  Her jewels were real, especial y the large diamond solitaire Jim had given her as an engagement ring. It was that she dressed. She wore outfits. Blouses matched shirts and pants. Sweaters matched both. Her shoes matched her scarves, as did the polish on her perfectly manicured nails.

  Pix's nails, clipped short, tended to suggest activities like weeding and clamming. Valerie's indicated pursuits like sunbathing and page turning.

  “Let's see, the Athertons have been married for about three years, right? And they used to spend the winters in Virginia, where Valerie lived?"

  “Yes, we al thought Jim was a confirmed bachelor. He met Valerie when he was sailing someplace in the Bahamas. It was just after her husband died so tragical y.”

  Pix had heard the story. Valerie, Duncan, and Bernard Cowley were sailing when a sudden tropical storm hit, almost destroying the boat and sweeping Bernard overboard. Valerie had developed an understandable aversion to boats of any size or shape amounting to a phobia and refused to set foot on one. That her new husband ran a sailing camp was definitely ironic.

  Pix looked over at her mother. She'd been widowed a long time. It was a prospect Pix kept firmly shoved way in the back of her mind. She sincerely hoped she and Sam would go at exactly the same moment.

  “And what are you going to do with yourself while Samantha's busy making al this money?" Ursula asked.

  “The usual—and maybe this year we'l tackle the attic.

  Then remember, I'm overseeing the Fairchilds' new cottage."

  “I'd almost forgotten about that. Seth Marshal is building it, isn't he?"

  “Yes, and tomorrow I want to go over and see how much he's done since Memorial Day.”

  Faith and Tom were building a modest house on a point of land not far from the Mil ers. The Fairchilds had hired Seth Marshal as the architect and contractor after seeing his work. It was a very simple plan, yet Faith had stil wanted Pix to keep an eye on the progress. Pix had steadfastly refused to accept any money for the job, insisting that having the Fairchilds as neighbors on Sanpere as wel as in Aleford was reward enough.

  Besides, Pix argued, she was the one who had lured them to Sanpere in the first place, with somewhat startling results. But Faith had pressed hard. She knew the amount of time Pix would devote to the project, so final y they'd compromised on an amount. Pix grudgingly agreed, especial y when Faith threatened to bar her from the site if she wouldn't take the money.

  It was the kind of thing Pix loved doing, and being paid for it seemed wrong. There was nothing more exciting than watching a new house go up. She loved al the smel s—

  from the fresh concrete of the foundation to the fragrant fir of the framing. She'd miss out on the concrete. Seth would have poured the foundation long ago. They'd seen the gaping hole in May.

  “It wil be nice to have the Fairchilds on the island," her mother remarked. "I'm not surprised they decided to settle here. Sanpere has a way of getting into one's blood"

  “Just think. This is your eightieth summer on the island. We should make a banner to carry in the Fourth of July parade.”

  Her mother sighed. "I've lived a very long time. Maybe even too long.”

  Pix was used to this sort of remark, but her heart never failed to tighten. "Don't be sil y."

  “Oh, I'm not sil y. I'l tel you what the funny thing is, though. Eighty years old and I stil feel twenty inside. It's al gone so fast.”

  Pix stood up and cal ed Samantha to come in. Too fast. Much too fast.

  The next morning proved to be another typical Maine day and Pix proposed to Samantha that they pack sandwiches and walk out to the Point to check what progress had been made at the Fairchilds' cottage. Her daughter agreed wholeheartedly. She was curious about the house, too.

  “Show me the plans before we go, and let's take the dogs.”

  Pix had assumed any walk they took would automatical y include the golden retrievers that she regarded as canine offshoots of the Mil er line: Dusty, Artie, and Henry.

  “Of course we'l take the dogs." She leaned down to stroke Dusty. "Do you think you can keep up with us, old lady?" Dusty's muzzle was turning white and she no longer raced into the mud at low tide when one of the children threw a stick, her former favorite and extremely messy pastime.

  It was close to ten o'clock by the time they set off, feeling vaguely wicked about skipping church.

  “We'l start next week," Pix vowed. "Most people don't even know we're here yet."

  “Granny does," Samantha reminded her.

  “True, but look at this sky. Surely this is a day that the Lord hath made, and I'm sure both the Lord and His representative on earth would be glad we're enjoying it."

  “Hey, Mom, I don't even like going to church here. It's so boring compared to Reverend Fairchild's service. You don't have to convince me.”

  Through a quirk of faith, and through Faith's quirks, the Fairchilds had managed to buy the entire forty-acre parcel of land known local y as the Point, a long finger of land stretching out toward the open sea. It had one of the only white, sandy beaches on Sanpere and was a popular spot for swimming and picnicking. The Fairchilds had given most of the land to the Island Heritage Trust, saving a few acres for themselves at the very end. An old road had been improved and they had been able to get the power and the telephone companies to string lines out
to the site—no mean accomplishment, Pix had informed them. Faith had been surprised. "How could we possibly be out there without power or a phone?" She was even more surprised when Pix had told her that the Mil ers hadn't had a phone at their cottage, by choice, until the kids had started to go to sleep-away camps off-island and Pix's nerves couldn't take it. "It was wonderful. A real vacation when no one can cal you" Faith had privately thought this New England eccentricity in the extreme. No phone!

  Today, Samantha and Pix were fol owing the road straight down the spine of the Point. They'd take the shore way back, clambering over the rocks when the tide was lower. The road went through the woods, but there were openings that cut down to the sea. Judging from the number of sailboats out, local pews were pretty empty this Sunday morning. The sun sparkled on the surface of the water and the clouds in the sky were as white and bil owy as the sails beneath them. Pix thought how much of their lives on Sanpere was governed by the sea. Their days were planned around the tides. When it was high, they swam. When it was low, they dug clams, gathered mussels, or simply combed the beaches for shel s, peering into the jewel-like tidal pools at the starfish, sea anemones, tiny crabs, and trailing seaweed. The Mil ers' cottage was not on deep water, unlike The Pines. First-time visitors were always shocked at the broad expanse of pure mud revealed where a few hours before the ocean deep had beckoned. Pix had grown to prefer the change, charting the summer by the time of the tides.

  She remembered suddenly what the tide had revealed to her friend Faith several summers earlier and shuddered.

  She stepped determinedly along and almost bumped into Samantha, who was crouched down on the shady path leading from the road to the construction site.

  “What are you looking at?"

  “Someone dropped a key," Samantha answered. "It looks like an old one. Isn't it pretty?" The cut work on the top of the key was done in intricate swirls.

  “Hold on to it and I'l ask Seth next time I see him if anyone has lost it. I'd take it, but these pockets have holes in them, I'm ashamed to say"

  “If that's al you've got to be ashamed about, Mom, you're in good shape" Samantha shoved the key in her jeans pocket. If no one claimed it, she'd wear it on a ribbon around her neck.