The Body In The Basement ff-6

by Katherine Hall Page

  “I'l let Earl know right away. Obviously Norman Osgood is an alias. If they can find out who he real y is, we may have found the link between the two murders." And the murderer. She couldn't bring herself to say it out loud, even to Faith. The murderer? He'd been sitting on her blanket watching fireworks two nights ago.

  “So, you actual y think Adelaide was murdered?" Faith asked.

  “Yes, and what's more, so does Mother."

  “No question, then" Faith sighed. She knew how Pix and the whole Mil er-Rowe clan felt about Sanpere Island, and now it would never again be the unsul ied Eden it had been.

  Pix told Faith about her trip to Sul ivan and what she'd found at Jil 's.

  “I can't see Jil being involved in this—fake antiques, murder. Besides, she was close to the Bainbridges, wasn't she? And isn't she in that sewing group of your mother's? I believe it's an unwritten law in these societies that one lady does not bump another off."

  “It does seem improbable, but I saw the quilt with my own eyes, and she has been behaving strangely this summer."

  “True, if you're engaged in any sort of criminal activity, the last person you want for a fiancé is a cop.”

  They talked a bit more, particularly about the possibility that Mitch and Norman, or whoever he was, had been in business together.

  “Al those buying trips Norman made off the island—

  maybe he was meeting Mitch. And staying with the Bainbridges—that could have been to swindle them out of more things. Addie must have found out something. Oh dear, it's too dreadful to think about."

  “Forget the Fairchilds and their traditions! I'm coming up this weekend!" Faith felt she belonged with her friend—

  and besides, things were heating up.

  “No, you go. Plan to come up the fol owing one. Arnie and Claire wil be here by then and I'm giving a party for them.”

  Faith correctly sensed that Pix was more thrown by the idea of cooking for the party than solving any multitude of crimes.

  “If you change your mind, cal . We won't be leaving the house until ten."

  “I wil —and have fun."

  “Fun is not the word we're looking for here, but I'l have something. Mosquito bites and sunburn maybe." They laughed and said good-bye.

  Pix had to cut some burned edges off the pizza and it was pretty crusty. She'd completely forgotten about it while talking to Faith. It tasted fine with the scotch she'd retrieved from the lawn, only one smal ant having invaded the alcohol. She might not be hitting al the food groups, but it was exactly the kind of supper she wanted.

  Afterward, she cleaned up, taking a mere merciful three minutes, and cal ed Earl. He wasn't around, so she left a short message for him on the office machine to cal her back, which he did an hour later. He did not seem unduly surprised at the news she had uncovered about Norman. Maybe he was getting used to having her for a partner, she thought somewhat smugly. Wel , Faith had John Dunne, a detective lieutenant with the Massachusetts State Police.

  She went to bed early and tried to read while she waited for Samantha. So, Norman Osgood wasn't an antiques dealer and might not be Norman Osgood, either.

  Who and what was he?

  Samantha and Arlene had gone to the early movie and at nine o'clock found themselves in a booth at the new pizza restaurant near the cannery, consuming a large pie with everything on it but anchovies.

  “Who eats those things? Why do they even bother putting them on the menu?" Arlene asked.

  “My father loves them," Samantha said, making an appropriate face. "He says our tastes are not as refined as his"

  “Yuck!" Arlene popped a stray piece of pepperoni in her mouth. It had taken her a few years to work up a taste for that.

  “What do you want to do? When do you have to get the car back to Fred?"

  “I'm supposed to pick him up at his cousin's around ten-thirty. He's going to be ready to leave, I'm sure. They've been working since early afternoon”

  The girls gave their ful attention to the food before them for a moment. It was disappearing fast.

  “It's great having a place where you can get real pizza on the island. Gives us somewhere to go, too”

  The restaurant was jammed and the crowd at the door was eyeing their booth longingly—and in some cases, aggressively.

  “Let's go," Samantha said after catching one particularly beady eye.

  “Yeah, I'l take the rest for Fred in case he's hungry, although his aunt and mother sent over enough food for an army.”

  They got in the car and Arlene started the engine. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she said to Samantha.

  “Wil Fred be mad if we go without him?"

  “No, I told him we might. He just wants to know what's in the trunk. He doesn't care if he's there or not. I don't think he likes to go into the cabin, anyway. He told me if he sees the stuff Duncan has around again, he might be tempted to smash it to pieces."

  “Maybe it's better he doesn't come, then.”

  Arlene turned the car down Main Street and drove up the steep hil by the old Opera House, where the movies were shown now. In an earlier era when Granvil e had been a boomtown because of the granite quarries and fishing industry, Nel ie Melba and other stars had tread the boards.

  They parked the car by the side of the road again and made their way to the cabin with no difficulty. It was dark.

  Fred had left his flashlight in the glove compartment. With it to guide them, they went back up the tumbled-down stairs and pushed open the door. It was much as before—the bed mussed, some dirty clothes in the corner, the candles placed about. Samantha had come armed with several bobby pins.

  “I'l try to open it and you stand guard”

  She directed the beam of light on the lock and wiggled the bobby pin around, trying to press down on the catch.

  The first pin snapped and she tried another with greater success.

  “It's open!”

  Arlene came quickly to her side and they raised the lid slowly.

  A heavy smel of incense made Samantha sneeze.

  The black robe was on top and they lifted it away apprehensively. Underneath were some books, magazines, and several large photograph albums. There were also more clothes.

  “This is real y weird. Why would he keep his clothes locked up?”

  Samantha thought she knew why and she found she had a lump in her throat.

  “These aren't his clothes. They're his father's. Look at this Nautica sailing jacket. It would be huge on Duncan.”

  At the bottom of the trunk was a box with a man's watch, some cuff links, and a bunch of birthday cards—al from Duncan to Dad.

  “And the albums are probably ful of pictures of him,"

  Arlene said. "I can't believe it, but I'm actual y feeling sorry for the creep.”

  The albums did have pictures, starting with Duncan as a baby and his young parents, smiling and looking straight into the camera with the confidence they would al live forever that a moment like this brings.

  “Let's put it back. It's too sad."

  “Sssh," Arlene said, and grabbed the flashlight, clicking it off.

  Samantha heard it, too. Someone had jumped off the porch and was running into the woods.

  They went to the window, but al they could see were some tiny red flashing lights disappearing into the darkness.

  “Let's get out of here before he comes back!”

  They hastily put the things into the trunk, trying to remember exactly where everything had been. Some of the books were about the supernatural, but the magazines were mostly back issues of Hustler. As Arlene refolded what must have been Mr. Cowley's gown from some graduation, something fel from the pocket and onto the floor with a clunk. Samantha trained the light on it.

  It was a hunting knife.

  “Should we give it to Earl?"

  “Let's ask Fred. But I'l tel you one thing, I'm not leaving it here." Arlene took off the tank top she was wearing over her shirt and wrapped the kn
ife in it.

  They closed the trunk and returned to the car through the woods, much faster than they had come.

  It was almost 10:30. They had been at the cabin longer than they had thought.

  “Look, just drop me at the end of the road and go get Fred."

  “Are you sure?"

  “So long as I have the flashlight, I'l be fine. I'd probably be fine without it, I've walked this road so many times."

  “Al right, but I'm cal ing your house in a little while. I want to be sure."

  “That's very sweet, but be real. What's going to happen to me?"

  “Do you want to take the knife?”

  Samantha shuddered. "No thank you. And tel Fred that I think we should give it to Earl as soon as possible.

  Tonight. I think I should tel my mom about it, too."

  “Yeah. I'm sure he'l agree. Why do you suppose Duncan didn't come in and blast us for being there? The last time, he yel ed his head off."

  “Maybe he planned to come back with his friends and ambush us. Or maybe he didn't know who or how many we were.”

  This first alternative left Samantha feeling distinctly shaky.

  They were at the end of the Mil ers' road. Arlene stopped the car.

  “Good-bye. I hate to do this, except I'm late already—”

  Samantha cut her off. "Don't be sil y. Go! It was my idea. If Fred is nice enough to let us have the car, the least we can do is get it back to him on time. He's probably imagining al kinds of things, from crumpled fenders to dropped transmissions.”

  Arlene laughed. "Talk to you later.”

  The moon was waning yet stil quite ful and bright.

  Samantha switched the flashlight off and decided to jog home. It was beautiful and the familiar sight of the dark trees on the opposite shore as she passed the first inlet comforted her. But who would comfort Duncan? The trunk and the candles above it were a virtual shrine to his dead father. She imagined him slipping his skinny arms into the sleeves of that familiar jacket, trying to recapture some of the warmth and security those other arms had provided.

  She thought about her own father and what would evoke him most. His handkerchiefs, she decided. Big white squares of the finest cotton. When she was sick with a cold, her nose raw from Kleenex, she used those. They smel ed slightly of the drawer where he kept them—a drawer fil ed with years of Old Spice soap on a rope sets given to him by his kids. She felt tears pricking at her eyes and stopped to speak to herself sternly. "Your father's not dead, Miss Samantha Mil er. Get a grip, girl." She laughed when she realized she'd said it out loud. She started jogging again, her mood elevated as she brought her knees up and down.

  She was almost home.

  She was almost home before she realized that she wasn't the only runner out that night. Someone dressed in black streaked by her and knocked her to the ground. She screamed, felt a sharp pain on the back of her head, and had time for just one impression before losing consciousness.

  Lights. Smal , red twinkling lights.

  Nine

  The phone was ringing. Pix swung her legs over the side of the bed, shoved her feet into her slippers, and ran downstairs. It must be Samantha needing a ride home.

  “Hi, Mrs. Mil er," Arlene said cheerily. "I know it's a little late, but can I speak to Samantha?"

  “Isn't she with you?" Pix's chest tightened and her heart began to pound.

  “You mean she's not home yet! I left her off at the end of your road about half an hour ago”

  Pix dropped the phone and raced up to Samantha's room, cal ing her daughter's name. She had to be there. Pix hadn't heard her come in. Obviously, Samantha hadn't wanted to bother her and had gone straight to bed. Even as Pix opened the door, she knew none of this was true. The room was dark and the bed stil neatly made.

  Pausing only to grab her keys from the kitchen counter, she picked up the phone and told Arlene to cal the police—

  and the ambulance corps. Then she got in the car and started slowly down the road, searching on either side for Samantha.

  The moon was bright; if it hadn't been, she would have missed her. Samantha was lying under a tree, partial y concealed by a stand of large ferns. A few feet farther on, the ground dropped off to a ledge of jagged granite rocks, now nearly covered by the incoming tide.

  She ran to her, cal ing, "Samantha! Samantha!" But there was no answer. She was sobbing as she reached her daughter, careful y putting her arms about her. She was warm and Pix could feel her soft breath on her mother's cheek. She was alive.

  “Samantha! Oh dear God, please help us!" Pix had no idea what her child's injuries might be, so she dared not move her, but knelt next to her, cradling her, burying her face in her daughter's sweet-smel ing hair. The night air was warm, yet Pix had never felt so cold.

  She held her daughter's hand and felt for her pulse. It was steady. Samantha's eyelids fluttered.

  “Samantha? Can you hear me?"

  “Where am I, Mom? What's going on?" Samantha's voice started as a whisper, then got stronger. She looked about her in agitation. "My head hurts. It was Duncan. His shoes. I saw his shoes. Duncan hit me" She reached her hand to the back of her head and pul ed it quickly away.

  “Mom, I'm bleeding! I'm scared! Do something!" She began to cry.

  “The ambulance wil be here soon. Try to stay stil ." Pix had not seen the blood. She lay down next to her daughter, with her arm over Samantha's body to keep her calm.

  Where was the ambulance! With her other hand, she grasped Samantha's hand, wet with her own blood, tightly.

  “Sssh, honey, don't worry. Everything's going to be al right.”

  But it wasn't.

  After what seemed like several hours, she heard the ambulance siren and tears streamed down her face in relief. Earl was right behind them. He ran toward them.

  “What happened?" he asked as the rescue workers rapidly assessed Samantha's injuries.

  “I don't know! Arlene Prescott cal ed and said she'd dropped Samantha off at the end of the road. When Samantha wasn't in the house, I came to look for her. She said it was Duncan. She saw his shoes!" The rescue workers were wrapping Samantha in a blanket and moving her onto a stretcher.

  “She's had a concussion; we're treating her for shock,"

  one of the squad said. "And she has a scalp wound that's going to need some sutures, but nothing seems to be broken. You want to ride with her?”

  Pix climbed in the back of the ambulance for the drive over the bridge to the mainland. Samantha seemed to be sleeping. Pix was on one side, a corps member, bless him, on the other.

  Duncan Cowley had attacked her daughter. Intending what?

  At the hospital, Samantha was taken away before Pix could get out of the ambulance. Earl had been fol owing and gave her a hand.

  “I've been in touch with the state police and they're going down to the island to question the boy and his parents. You know she's going to get the best care possible here. I know how hard it is, but she's young and healthy. Everything's going to be fine, Pix.”

  Pix did not trust herself to do more than nod and let him lead her into the waiting room, where a nurse promptly put a cup of coffee loaded with sugar into her hand. Arlene and Fred were already there. For a moment, Pix was in the peculiar position of having to comfort Arlene when what she was feeling was anger. Why hadn't she driven Samantha to the door!

  “I shouldn't have let her walk home," Arlene wailed.

  Fred looked at Pix and told his girlfriend to be quiet.

  "No one's blaming you. Now stop bothering Mrs. Mil er."

  Arlene took a mighty gulp and calmed down.

  Then they waited.

  Someone at the nurse's station offered them more coffee, but Pix didn't want any. The cup she had drunk was making her feel jangly. She had cal ed Sam soon after they'd arrived and he was waiting by the phone. She wanted him by her side. Hospital waiting rooms. She thought of al the hours she had spent in them: her father's last il ness, a friend's maste
ctomy, Sam's ulcer, Danny's broken arm. No one talked except in occasional hushed voices. Each was total y absorbed in the thoughts being directed toward the room you weren't al owed to be in.

  She knew, as Earl had said, that Samantha was going to be okay, but the nature of the attack—and al that blood

  —was taking her down these dark corridors in her mind.

  Then, as it happened in hospitals, the time stretched out beyond anxiety into boredom, and final y numb fatigue.

  Arlene suddenly got up. "The knife! I forgot al about the knife. It's in the car."

  “What knife?" Fred asked.

  “The one in Duncan's trunk. Thank God he didn't have it with him.”

  Earl tuned into the conversation. He'd been off with Jil on the long white sandy beach out at the Point.

  He came over to them and said, "You better tel me al about it—and keep your voices down. We don't want to worry Mrs. Mil er.”

  If Pix noticed that Earl and Fred left soon after, it didn't real y register, nor did Fred's return alone. Earl walked in later. What did capture her immediate attention was the entry of a man in a white coat.

  “Mrs. Mil er?" Pix jumped up, for once unaware of the picture she presented. It was an odd one in these wee hours of the morning—she was in her pajamas, with Earl's jacket over them.

  It was a young doctor, as most of them seemed to be these days. "Your daughter would like to see you." He was smiling.

  “She's going to be al right?" Her tears flowed freely.

  Earl, Arlene, and Fred gathered close.

  “Yes, though she's going to have a very large lump on her head and we had to do a little embroidery on her scalp

  —not much. The ambulance crew said from the way she was lying, she struck a tree root or a rock when she fel , which knocked her out cold. Samantha says someone pushed her and it must have been with some force. We also did a CAT scan and I don't see anything to be concerned about. We do want to keep her overnight to be sure, but she's a very healthy specimen and should be just fine.”

  The news was overwhelming.

  “When can I have a few words with her, Doctor?" Earl asked. "There seems to be an assault involved and we need al the information she can give us"