The Body In The Basement ff-6

by Katherine Hall Page

  "Gert, come see what a good job Pix has done.”

  Pix usual y felt about twelve years old on Sewing Circle days. Today it might be ten.

  The ladies started arriving promptly at one o'clock, bearing work bags and projects, some to display, some to complete. Pix scurried around fetching chairs and even a footstool or two for those who needed them—like Adelaide Bainbridge. She was an immense woman and said the blood ran better in her legs if her feet were up. She took up two spaces on the couch, further claiming territory as she spread out her work. There was a tiny corner left to sit in and she cal ed over to her sister-in-law, seated in one of the multitude of Boston and Bar Harbor rockers, "Rebecca, there's plenty of room here and I need you to thread my needles. My eyes aren't what they used to be," Addie explained to the group. Rebecca obligingly gathered her things together and squeezed into the space. Fortunately, she was spare and lean, with elbows exposed in the warm weather that looked as sharp as the needle she was now threading. She had brought Ursula an old-fashioned, beribboned nosegay—pale pink sweetheart roses mixed with dried sea lavender surrounded by lily of the val ey leaves. It graced the table now in a smal white pitcher Pix had found, perfect for a tea party.

  Louise Frazier had been voted into the group some years ago and after giving Pix a warm hug sat down on the other large couch next to Mabel Hamilton and pul ed out a child's sweater with brightly colored crayons worked on the front. "I have just got to finish this today," she said, needles clicking away. "The sale is only six weeks away and I have two more to do!”

  After appropriate praise was given for various articles, the talk turned to how many raffle tickets each member had sold for Adelaide's quilt.

  “It's so good of you to give it, Addie. The summer people are buying chances like crazy and now that the Inn is displaying the quilt, even more people wil want tickets,"

  Dot said.

  Adelaide Bainbridge was one of the island's celebrities. Fame had come late in her life. She now admitted to seventy-nine and friends politely ignored the fact that this admission had been made several years ago, as wel . She'd started quilting as a child, taught by her mother to while away their time on one of the smal islands off Sanpere. Adelaide's father had been a lighthouse keeper in the days before automation replaced the families who faithful y tended the beam. Pix always pictured Addie as one of those lighthouse keeper's daughters in old storybooks, battling through the storm to keep the light burning while Papa lay tossing with fever at her feet. If her childhood had been lonely on the island with only her parents for company, she never said anything. She seemed to have learned how to do an enormous number of things wel from her mother—the art of housekeeping, reading and ciphering, and sewing.

  Her quilts had become col ector's items, depicting elaborately appliquéd scenes from her childhood and island life. A few of the recent ones were more abstract—

  colorful shapes suggestive of trees, waves, birds, and fish.

  Some of the quilts were in the permanent col ections of museums. No shrinking violet—her appearance alone claimed center stage—Adelaide enjoyed being the Grandma Moses of the quilting world. Just when people thought her head couldn't get any bigger, an entire article in The El sworth American—"Good Morning America"—

  included her in a special about Maine.

  She lived with Rebecca, or rather Rebecca lived with her, moving into the large white nineteenth-century farmhouse after her brother James, Adelaide's husband, died. That was thirty years ago. Rebecca was the perfect handmaiden, basking in Adelaide's glory. No mean quilter herself, Rebecca had already contributed two quilts to the sale, a Double Wedding Ring and a Log Cabin. Now she was turning out an endless number of counted cross-stitch Christmas ornaments, hunched over her work, looking even smal er than she was next to Adelaide's bulk. The two were the island's own odd couple. Adelaide ran the household and was total y down-to-earth and practical, despite the fits of fancy her quilts represented. Rebecca drifted through the day with her head in the clouds—and occasional y her purse in the refrigerator or the garden implement she'd last been using set on the table in place of a fork.

  Pix knew what she was supposed to do at these gatherings and announced that the coffee was ready.

  People fil ed their plates and she was gratified to see the cheese spreads disappearing. They put their handwork aside and sat back. Pix and Gert passed around more goodies.

  “My word, but these are tempting, Ursula, how did you find the time to do al this?" Mabel asked.

  Credit where credit was due. "Oh, Gert and Pix did most of it." Her self-deprecating smile hinted at the possibility that she might have sliced a lemon or two and put out the milk.

  The talk drifted away from the sale to what was uppermost on every islander's mind these days—Mitchel Pierce. Most people were regarding it as an isolated incident, so it wasn't stirring up anyone's fears. Talk about it tended to the matter-of-fact.

  “And the police don't have any leads? You'd think someone would have seen something," Adelaide Bainbridge declared emphatical y after consuming one of Gert's cream puffs in two bites.

  No one seemed prepared to respond. Al eyes turned to Pix. She was certain that they knew as much as she did but supposed her discovery of the body conferred some sort of mantle of expertise.

  “I'm sure the police have leads that we don't know about. Mitchel hadn't been seen on the island for some time, so they're concentrating around Camden and Bar Harbor. As for seeing something, anyone could have landed on the Point at night—or even driven out there without being noticed. There were no signs of a struggle, so they are probably assuming the murder occurred someplace else. If you were lucky and no one was picnicking, you could even get away , with bringing in a body in broad daylight."

  “And Seth hadn't started working out there yet," Gert added.

  “I know." Pix stil found it hard to keep the irritation from her voice whenever she thought about it. If Seth had stuck to his promised schedule, or what Pix had assumed was promised, the foundation and cel ar floor would have been poured and the murderer would have had to find someplace else for the body. Yet with Seth's mother sitting across from her, hard at work on a smocked baby's dress, Pix couldn't give vent to her true emotions.

  “Poor Mitchel , he was a likable soul," Louel a said.

  "But he swindled you out of al that money!" Pix's emotions found an outlet.

  “I know, I know, stil I'm going to miss him." It was the first real expression of mourning Pix had heard. "It hasn't been easy to make up the loss, but he intended to pay me back, I'm sure. He simply didn't have it."

  “Wel , he'd have it now if he could've taken it with him,"

  Ursula commented dryly. "Seems like there's quite a fortune in his bank account in Bar Harbor—close to half a mil ion dol ars.”

  This was news, and for an instant the ladies were too amazed to comment, then everyone spoke at once.

  Mother has been holding out on me again, Pix thought, and after I slaved away al morning concocting gourmet cheese spreads for her party!

  Ursula's voice cut through the fray. "I found out just as you were al arriving and haven't had a chance to tel anyone" She gave her daughter an apologetic look. "Nan Hamilton cal ed to say she'd be late and told me Freeman had heard it from Sonny, who picked it up on the police band”

  This was an impeccable source, and the obvious question was voiced by one of the Sanfords, "Where in this world would Mitchel Pierce get al that money?”

  It was what Pix was asking herself. Less than a year ago, he was skipping town to avoid his debts and now he was on easy street—or would be if alive. Either he'd been restoring houses at breakneck speed up the coast or he'd been branching out into some other lines of business. The multitude of coves and inlets on the coast brought to mind several il egal possibilities.

  Jil offered a suggestion. She was younger than the other members, but she had come so often with her aunt, who had raised her, in days gone by that wh
en the aunt died, it seemed only right to ask Jil to take her place. "He did sel a lot of antiques and maybe he came across something real y valuable."

  “That's possible," Pix agreed, "but the police would have discovered that by now."

  “How do we know they haven't?" Jil asked.

  “Wel , if you don't know, no one on this island does,"

  Dot teased her, and Jil obliged by turning red.

  “Has anybody claimed him yet?" Serena Marshal asked. "Because when they do, you march right down, Louel a, and get your money back" Serena was partial to Court TV. Cable had changed the landscape of the minds of islanders forever. "They have to settle his debts from the estate.”

  Everyone nodded and they moved away from the topic of Mitch to the consideration of a new member.

  “She hasn't lived here that long, but she does beautiful work and they are year-round now.”

  Pix assumed they were talking about Valerie Atherton.

  She said Samantha was enjoying her work at the camp.

  “Oh no, not Valerie"—Mabel. laughed—"though she'd liven things up. I don't believe that girl has ever even threaded a needle in her life. We're talking about Joan down to the Inn." Joan Randal and her husband, George, owned the Sanpere Inn. Smiles of the "sil y old Pix" variety crossed some lips and Pix lowered her age to five. She loved these women—but one at a time.

  “I don't see why we shouldn't have her," Louise said.

  "There's a space open." Everyone grew silent for a moment as they remembered their friend who'd died the year before. "Joan's eager to join and she's a gifted quilter, although a bit shy about her talents. I've seen her quilts. In some of them, she's taken the traditional patterns and given them a new twist by using contemporary fabrics. She has a wonderful sense of color.”

  It was agreed that Joan would be the newest Sanpere Stitcher and informed of this signal honor as soon as possible so she could contribute to the sale.

  The afternoon drifted on. A lot of coffee was drunk, some gossip conveyed, and a surprising amount of work accomplished. The only note of discord had been struck when Adelaide misplaced her scissors and, finding that her sister-in-law was sitting on them, chewed Rebecca out in no uncertain terms. "I do believe you are getting scattier by the minute, Rebecca! You know you put cream that had turned in the gravy last week." Rebecca appeared not to hear her and just went on working. It was something she'd grown adept at over the years. The other women ignored Addie, too. They'd also heard it al before.

  After the last woman left, Ursula looked about at the wreckage of half-fil ed cups and crumb-laden plates and said, "Don't you wish we could leave al this until tomorrow?" Unfortunately, Gert had had to leave, as it was her evening to do for the Bainbridges. Besides Ursula, Gert seemed to do for most of Sanpere.

  “Why don't we? Come to my house for supper and leave everything," Pix suggested. She had no problem with it, yet she was sure what her mother's response would be.

  “Getting up and seeing a pile of dirty dishes in my living room would be worse than seeing a ... wel , let's just say it would be unpleasant.”

  Pix knew what her mother had intended, but she didn't agree. Seeing a body would be far worse. And she, Pix, should know.

  It didn't take as long as they thought to clean up. Ursula turned down Pix's offer of supper. "Maybe it's the noise, but al I ever want on Sewing Circle days is a boiled egg and early bed.”

  Pix kissed her mother good-bye and headed home.

  She felt like talking to Sam and hoped her husband would be around. She'd always thought it was one of life's little inequities that when a man was left on his own, he was showered with dinner invitations—the poor thing. When Sam was out of town, kids home or not, no one so much as offered her a casserole.

  Samantha was in the living room reading. Pix was glad to see it was Alice Hoffman and not Martha Stewart—this after Samantha's remark the other evening that their soup bowls didn't match. It had never come to her attention before, and the bowls had been around as long as she had.

  She'd be tying ribbons around their napkins next.

  “How was your day, sweetheart?"

  “I like the teaching part, but it's boring standing around while they eat, then it's a big rush to clean up. The kids are great, except it's kind of sad."

  “What do you mean?"

  “Wel , some of them real y don't want to be there, although I think they kind of like me."

  “They're probably just homesick. Most kids are that way at camp in the beginning."

  “I know. I remember Danny sending you al those cards to come get him, then when you final y broke down and went, he wanted to know what you were doing there”

  Pix remembered the incident wel . Danny, or their unexpected little dividend, as she and Sam cal ed him in private, was predictably unpredictable in al things.

  “But these kids have been sent to camp for years, even though they're so young. It's like their parents want to get rid of them," Samantha continued.

  “Maybe their parents need to have a program for them.

  If both are working, a child can't simply stay home."

  “I know and I think that's true in some cases, but there's one little girl, Susannah, who's so sweet, and I know her mother isn't working. She said so. And then there's this boy I'm kind of worried about. He's real y mad at his parents for what he cal s `dumping' him at camp while they're on vacation."

  “It's hard to know what's going on in other people's families." With that understatement, Pix went to make some supper for the two of them, after which she had a delightful and foolish talk with her husband, reminiscent of al the talks of al the other summers.

  “Dad thinks he wil be up on Sunday," Pix happily told Samantha. "And he can stay on through the Fourth."

  “I'd better make myself scarce," her daughter teased her. "I know what you two are like.”

  Pix was stil not used to the idea that her older children knew their parents had and enjoyed sex. "Oh, Samantha, don't be sil y. Daddy wants to spend as much time as possible with you, too.”

  And it was true. Sam was taking the thought of his daughter's leaving for col ege in the not-too-distant future even harder than Pix.

  The phone rang and Samantha grabbed it, but this time it was for her mother.

  “Pix? It's Jil . What are you doing tomorrow? Valerie and I are going to go antiquing over in Searsport and toward Belfast if there's time. Could you join us? Valerie says prices are especial y low because of the economy, and since it's stil early in the season, things haven't been picked over. We'l leave after breakfast. I have someone to cover the store then."

  “I'd love to. I have to be home in the afternoon to make chowder for the Fraziers' clambake, so the morning is perfect for me," Pix answered. "I'm looking for a night table to go in the guest room at home, and in any case, it's always fun to poke around."

  “Plus, Valerie knows so much about everything.

  Whenever I go with her, I always learn new things—and she's very good at dickering. I can never find the nerve.”

  Pix had always been amazed that Jil had found the nerve to open and run her store. She was extremely quiet and shy. Both Pix and Faith thought Jil was beautiful—what was cal ed in another day a "pocket Venus"—tiny but perfect, with thick, silky dark brown straight hair fal ing to her shoulders. Her attire betrayed the fact that she spent winters off-island working in Portland. The outfit she'd worn today at the Sewing Circle—a hand-painted turquoise tunic over a gauzy white accordion-pleated skirt—hadn't come from the Granvil e Emporium, where it was stil possible to find printed shirtwaist dresses circa 1955. Tom and Sam both said “attractive" was as far as they would go in describing Jil , thereby confirming Faith's oft-stated notion that men knew nothing about female pulchritude.

  The next day, Valerie met them at Jil 's. Pix had offered to drive, but Valerie had a van and there was always the possibility they might be carting home something big. Jil hoped to get some things for the st
ore—smal folk art items and thirties jewelry had proved especial y popular.

  “Hop in," Valerie cal ed out cheerful y. She was wearing work clothes jeans, turtleneck, sneakers, each discreetly emblazoned by Lauren. The first place they stopped was a barn. The sign out side promised TRASH

  AND TREASURES. Jil had found some alphabet plates at a procurable price there earlier and wanted to look in again. Pix walked through the door feeling the tingle of excitement she always did at an auction, a yard sale, any place that offered not just a bargain but a find.

  Jil started sifting through boxes of costume jewelry and Valerie was climbing over dressers and bedsteads to examine an oak dining room set. Pix strol ed through the musty barn. There was a pile of Look magazines next to a windup Victrola. Tables were fil ed with a mixture of fine cut glass and gas station giveaways. She was slightly taken aback to see the kind of tin sand pail and shovel from her childhood behind locked doors with other toys of various vintages. Maybe hers was stil in the attic at The Pines. At the end of the aisle, there was a heap of linens, and her heart began to beat faster when she saw there were some quilts in the pile. She started to sort through them. Motes of dust floated in the strong light from an adjacent window.

  Some of the quilts had suffered a great deal of dam age, but one was remarkably wel preserved. Left in a trunk or used only for company, it was the Flying Geese pattern, done in shades of brown and gold. The triangular "geese"

  were several different prints—some striped, some flowered. The setting strips were muslin and elaborately quilted. It was a real scrap quilt and Pix fel in love with it.

  There were occasional touches of bright red, perhaps flannel, and the handwork was exquisite. She took it and two of the damaged ones that she thought could be repaired to the front of the barn.

  “How much for al three?" she asked the owner. "Some of them are very badly worn."

  “Came out of a house over near Sul ivan. Nothing that went in ever left until the party that owned it departed in a pine box." He seemed to find this very funny. Pix had heard about these untouched houses before.