The Body In The Basement ff-6

by Katherine Hall Page

  "Don't you just love the Fourth of July celebrations? It's my favorite holiday. When I was a little girl, we'd have big picnics like this. Of course we didn't bury our food in the sand”

  It must have been something more than mystifying when Louise met El iot and first heard about a Down East clambake.

  “By the way, do you know that man who came with Addie and Rebecca?" Pix asked.

  “Haven't you met Norman? He's been here for two weeks now. That's Addie's beau." Louise smiled. "Beau!"

  “Wel , perhaps not strictly speaking, but he does dance attendance on her—and on Rebecca, too. He's an antiques dealer from New York City and he's taking a working vacation, he told them. They're to keep his room available for a month and he comes and goes”

  New York City—that explained the clothes and the good haircut. Pix was trying very hard in what she hoped was the second half of her life—and look at Mother, so it was not impossible—to cultivate a more open mind about certain things, one of them being New York City. She now had a dear friend in Faith, who had actual y been born and raised there. In fact, truth be told, she might even prefer it to Aleford and Boston, although Pix was always careful never to ask outright. She didn't want to know for sure. Try as she might, the name New York City did not suggest the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building, but fast living and danger. Whenever she was there—and they dutiful y took the children, as wel as making one or two adult forays—

  she felt like a rube who would leap at the chance to buy the Brooklyn Bridge before she knew what she was doing.

  She looked over at the Bainbridge group, appraising Norman in light of this new information.

  He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. Whatever Addie had just said had sent him into peals of laughter.

  He'd been sitting on a blanket literal y at her feet and got up now, walking toward the table with the drinks.

  “Addie says he told her she's the most interesting woman he's met in years. Every time he goes off-island, he brings something back for them."

  “I'l bet he just wants to get her quilts cheap," Pix said skeptical y.

  “No, he doesn't sel anything made after 1900. He told her he liked her work, but they're not his `thing.' "

  “Then, what do you suppose he sees in her?"

  “We al take Addie for granted because we know her, but she is a great storytel er. El iot thinks Norman is writing a book. Most people are. And Addie is a great source.”

  The afternoon wore on. Pix took a swim, which felt heavenly while she was in the water, but without a shower to wash off the salt, increasingly itchy later, even under her clean dry shirt. She sat down with her back against a log cast up on the shore by one of the winter storms and glanced around to check on her family, a reflex. Ursula was in deep conversation with John Eggleston, whose bright red beard and hair blended wel with the shade his face had taken on during the day. What on earth could they be discussing? Was Mother going to take up wood sculpture?

  Pix would not be surprised. Sam was poking at the mound with El iot. They might have been considering a Viking tomb, given the intensity of their expressions. And Samantha was ... walking toward her.

  Samantha sat next to her mother, leaned back, and stretched her long legs, almost as long as Pix's, out, wriggling her toes in the sand. The two considered the view for a moment before speaking. This one from Sylvester Cove was every bit as good as the one from The Pines, or the Mil ers' cottage, or just about anywhere else on the island Pix could name. Today there were dozens of sailboats, crisp white triangles against the dense green outer islands and the deep blue sea.

  “I love the Fraziers' clambakes," Samantha said, "but not when the weather is like this. We might as wel be home, it's so hot.”

  Pix nodded. She considered another beer, then decided to wait. Others had not waited and the laughter and talk was noticeably louder than it had been earlier.

  Some of the children were getting whiny. It was definitely time to eat. A sudden onslaught of sand fleas sent Pix and Samantha flying from their seats.

  “At least it's not blackfly season," Pix said. Nothing came close to that. They'd al worn beekeeper's hats when they'd tended the graves on Memorial Day. It had been a strange sight.

  A possible discussion of "annoying insects I have known" was sharply curtailed by the noise of a loud disturbance farther down the beach. It was moving toward them.

  “It's that jerk Duncan!" Samantha said as she moved closer. Pix fol owed, out of curiosity and to get away from the fleas.

  “I'm speaking to you, young man! Don't you walk away from me!" It was Valerie. Her face was red, and as she'd been wearing a fetching sun hat since she arrived, it wasn't from a burn. She was absolutely furious.

  “Fuck you!" Duncan answered, and kept walking.

  “I saw that beer can in your hand! Don't you lie to me!”

  Duncan stopped and turned to face his mother. "So what? Only grown-ups can get wasted?" He said this last in the jeering singsong tones of a smal child. Pix marveled at Valerie's self-control. Sure, she was yel ing, but had Duncan been Pix's son, she would have had him by the arm by now and marched him straight to the car.

  Jim appeared. He'd been swimming and was dripping wet. It magnified his rage—a bul from the sea.

  He stood next to his wife.

  “Don't you ever talk that way to your mother again!

  Where do you get off using words like that? Now, I've had just about al I'm going to take from you. Get in the car.

  You're going home."

  “Home?" Duncan screamed. "You cal that `home'?

  Your home maybe, not mine!”

  Valerie stepped forward and put her hand on his arm.

  "Now Duncan, let's calm down...

  He pushed her away rudely and she went sprawling in the sand. Everyone on the beach froze for an instant, including Duncan. He stared at his mother and seemed about to reach for her before noticing Jim virtual y foaming at the mouth.

  Duncan took off, the tiny red lights of his sneakers blinking frantical y in the late-afternoon light.

  “Let him go," Valerie said to her husband. "He needs to be alone." She brushed the sand from her white pants, adjusted her hat, and said to everyone with a big smile, "I apologize for my son. In his case, adolescence real y is a disease. I only wish there were shots for it.”

  People laughed and Jim let out what seemed like the breath he'd been holding since confronting his stepson. He hugged Valerie and echoed her sentiments. "My parents always said someday I'd get mine the way they got theirs from me, and boy, were they right!"

  “I don't believe it," Samantha said. She and Pix were on the fringes of the group.

  “About Jim, you mean?"

  “Yeah, I don't believe he was ever the way Duncan is.

  And he's definitely not the type who got in trouble when he was a kid. More the kind other parents wanted their kids to be like.”

  Pix was not unduly surprised at her daughter's analysis. Samantha was a good judge of character.

  “I agree. Plus, I happen to know for a fact Jim was an Eagle Scout. But I think you're being a little hard on Duncan.

  He may feel like the odd person out in that big house. And he must miss his father terribly. Then, the move couldn't have been easy."

  “I guess it's because I like the Athertons so much. I wasn't thinking of it from his point of view. It's hard to be sympathetic, but you're right. What if Daddy died and you got married again and made me move from Ale-ford, although coming to Sanpere wouldn't be so bad."

  Samantha was working out a whole scenario. "Except no matter who you picked, it wouldn't be Daddy."

  “Who wouldn't be Daddy?" Sam appeared at his daughter's side.

  “Mom's next husband—that is, if something happened to you and she remarried," Samantha added hastily, seeing her father's startled look.

  “I thought you were going to be faithful to my memory,"

  Sam said to his wife. "Now I fin
d out you're getting hitched when I'm barely cold in the ground.”

  Whether it was the heat, the sand fleas, the scene with the Athertons, or something altogether different, Pix suddenly felt a sense of deep despair. She didn't want to joke about Sam's demise. She didn't want to talk about death at al .

  “Samantha, why don't you and your friends see if you can find Duncan. He may want someone to talk to" Pix had not liked the look of fear and anxiety on the boy's face as he'd run off. "He's probably up in the ledges at the other end of the beach. I saw him sitting there before"

  “You're right, Mom, but I think he'd be more apt to talk to one person than a bunch of us. I'l go.”

  She ran off. Sam looked at Pix. "What's going on?”

  “I don't know. I wish I did. It's probably just me. I got tired al of a sudden”

  At that moment, El iot began to bang on the lid of Pix's now-empty chowder pot with the ladle.

  “Hear ye, hear ye! Gather round!”

  El iot, normal y a reticent and mild-mannered man in his late sixties, assumed an entirely different persona at the clambake. He wore an apron that proclaimed him "The Clam King," a gift from a partygoer some years ago and now indispensable garb, as was his broad-brimmed straw hat decorated with smal plastic clams, lobsters, and various seashel s bearing absolutely no resemblance to reality.

  People crowded near to the pit, knowing that before they would get their hands on a lobster or an ear of corn, they'd have to listen to El iot's traditional clambake speech.

  “Some of you have heard this al before," he started.

  "Many times before," a friend cal ed out, and everyone groaned.

  El iot continued undaunted.

  “When my friend Sam and I dug the pit and lined it with rocks this morning, getting everything ready for you sleepyheads who were stil snoring away, we were continuing a tradition that goes back to the first summer people to come to Sanpere—the Abenaki Indians. Along with al the other useful things Indians taught the early colonists, they showed them how to cook in the sand this way. I always like to remember them—we could be eating at the site of one of their clambakes—and say thank you before we tuck in."

  “Thanks, Abenakis," a little girl shouted, and everyone laughed. She buried her head in her mother's skirt in embarrassment.

  “Now, I'm not quite done yet. At the risk of being accused of being sentimental—"

  “Risk it, El iot." This, much to Pix's surprise, came from her own mother.

  “Thank you, Ursula, I wil . I'd like to make a toast to al of you good people, who mean so much to Louise and me, and also, as always, to absent friends. Final y, in the words of Sean O'Casey, `May the very best of the past—be the worst of the future!" He took a swig of beer, handed the bottle to his wife, took the first stone anchoring down the tarp covering the steaming pit, removed it, and flung it into the sea. 'It resounded appropriately with a loud splash.

  Everyone cheered and rushed to help uncover the steaming food, packed in cheesecloth parcels.

  Pix stayed close to Sam. "I love El iot's toasts" Things were beginning to be al right again.

  “And I love you," he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

  "Now let's eat." Definitely al right.

  Perhaps because they had been waiting so long for the food or because the various potables that had been imbibed created an atmosphere of heightened enjoyment, one and al declared the food the best ever. Pix knew she was a mess. She'd dripped melted butter down her chin as she'd consumed her lobster and clams. Her fingers were sticky from the chicken—Louise always charcoal-broiled it a bit first—and corn. Above al , she was ful —and there was stil dessert. She and Sam were sitting on the blanket she'd brought when Earl and Jil strol ed past laden with lobster carcasses and clam shel s.

  “Come and join us," Pix cal ed.

  “Just as soon as we dump this stuff," Earl answered.

  She'd have to go see Earl down in Granvil e at the combined post office, town hal , and office of the law to get him alone and talk about the blue quilt marks. Although her appearance at the tiny hole-in-the-wal that served the needs of justice on the island would immediately cause talk. She'd better cal him. Now she might just try to steer the conversation to antiques, quilts in particular, perhaps, and fakes. She was feeling comfortably sated and the demons disturbing her earlier were gone. She didn't want to waste the opportunity. Earl was right here and she hadn't made much progress in her investigation so far. Faith would no doubt have had the whole thing sewn up by now—

  but maybe not. Pix sat in the growing darkness waiting for Jil and Earl's return. El iot had lighted his huge bonfire and a few people were playing guitars. It was a lovely scene.

  She was content to wait.

  * * *

  Samantha had not been able to find Duncan at first. He wasn't in plain sight and she walked deeper and deeper into the woods before she found him, curled up in a fetal position on a bed of pine needles.

  “Duncan, it's me, Samantha Mil er. I'm a friend of Arlene Prescott”

  He didn't move for a second, then slowly sat up and eyed her warily.

  “You work at the camp. I've seen you. Did they send you to get me?" He spat the words out.

  Assuming he meant Valerie and Jim, Samantha answered, "No, I just thought maybe you'd like to talk to somebody. You seemed pretty upset" He was so antagonistic that she'd begun to wish she hadn't been the good little Samaritan her mother expected and had stayed down on the beach.

  “I'm not going back."

  “It's a long walk." She almost said home, then quickly changed it to the house.

  “So what" He leaned against a tree and put his arms behind his head. He was pathetical y skinny and short for his age. Samantha hoped for his sake that he would grow a few inches this summer and maybe start to work out. It would certainly make life easier if he looked a little more attractive.

  She decided to give it a try. "I know a kid whose mother died last year—cancer. It was real y terrible.

  Anyway, I wanted to say I'm sorry about your dad. I know how my friend feels, and she didn't have to move”

  Duncan looked as if he was going to cry. His face got al screwed up, then he opened his eyes wide and shook his head. The ring in his ear wobbled. Samantha noticed that the hole was red and angry, obviously infected. Now completely grossed out, she decided she'd done her duty and turned around to return to the party.

  “Hey, are you leaving?"

  “My parents might be wondering where I am," she lied,

  "and besides, the food is almost ready and I love lobster cooked this way. You ought to try it."

  “I don't eat fish—or meat," he added.

  Definitely not getting enough protein, Samantha thought. She sat down beside him. He was so pathetic.

  "There's lots of corn. It's steamed in the husk. My dad brought it up from Boston, since there's no corn here yet.

  Come back and you can eat with us." It was worth a try.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  She didn't have an answer ready.

  “I don't know. I guess I feel sorry for you.”

  He nodded. She assumed he felt sorry for himself, too.

  "Life sucks. Especial y in this rinky-dink place."

  “It must seem smal after living in Richmond. That was where you were, right?"

  “Yeah. Richmond was okay. The best place was where we lived before my real father died. Outside the city"

  “There are a lot of good kids here, though. I've been coming every summer since I was born and I know everybody. You could come to the movies with us next week if you want." Samantha had no idea why she proposed this. Arlene would kil her.

  “I don't need your friends. I've got plenty of my own"

  She should have saved her breath.

  “Wel , that's great. Now I'm going to go get some thing to eat before I starve." Enough was enough. "Plenty of friends. We even have our own club.”

  “Club? That sounds
like fun," Samantha commented perfunctorily. She was picturing a steaming red-hot lobster.

  “Maybe you'd like to join." Duncan's tone was mocking.

  Samantha resented the implication—that she was too good for his little club, or whatever.

  “Maybe I would—and maybe I wouldn't," she said in as even a voice as she could manage. He real y was irritating.

  She stood up to go. Duncan got up, too. He seemed to have sprouted during the conversation and stood only a few inches from her face. He had a sour smel and the skin on his face was oily. She took a step backward. He fol owed.

  “Naaah, I don't think you could get in.”

  Suddenly, she had to know.

  “So what do you have to do to be a member of your club?" she said slowly, moving away from him. "You have to kil something.”

  Five

  Jil and Earl had joined the Mil ers, bringing cups of fresh-brewed coffee for everyone. As soon as the sun had gone down, the air had assumed some of its more characteristic Maine snap and the sight of the steaming cups was a welcome one.

  “You take yours with milk and Sam doesn't take anything, right?" Jil had an amazing memory. Pix could barely recal the preferences of her immediate family, let alone friends. This was why she made lists. But then, Jil might get lost on the intricate carpool routes Pix routinely negotiated without a second thought.

  “Thanks," Sam said. "When I find the energy—which could be sometime next week—I'l make a pie run.”

  They talked about the summer. Jil bemoaned the economy; Earl bemoaned the increase in the island pop ulation—it doubled during these months---and Sam bemoaned the fact that he wouldn't be back again until August. It took a while for Pix to steer the conversation around to antiques.

  “We had a good time with Valerie the other day exploring the antique stores in Searsport. She has a wonderful eye. Plus, having an expert along was insurance against getting duped by fakes. Have you heard much about antique fraud along the coast?" She addressed Earl directly, evidently striking a nerve.

  “Have we! It's big business. I went to some seminars last winter in Augusta on this very subject. The Sheriff's Department has a special unit that does nothing else but deal with these scams."