The Body In The Basement ff-6

by Katherine Hall Page

  There had been no word about the Athertons, other than the finding of the life buoy, and they were assumed lost. Duncan's paternal grandparents had been notified and were only too happy to have him come live with them. Pix did have a passing thought as to when they'd seen him last, but it seemed that they had always disliked Valerie intensely, especial y after their son's death, when she'd contested his wil , seeking to prevent certain bequests, among them a trust fund for Duncan. The Cowleys had told her they didn't care to see her anymore and she had retaliated by keeping Duncan from them, never al owing the boy to visit. He was living with John Eggleston at the moment and John was going to take him south the fol owing week. John had been the one to break the news of his mother's probable death to Duncan. He'd told Pix the boy had pretended indifference at first, saying he'd never real y loved her, since she'd never loved him. Then he'd sobbed for hours. Looking at him now playing like the child he stil was in part, Pix hoped he would find what he needed from his grandparents. At any rate, it would certainly be an improvement.

  “It is a good party, if I do say so myself," Pix said tritely and complacently. "What could be easier than lobster, especial y when my guests brought almost everything else?”

  Ever since Faith and family had arrived on Thursday, leaving Aleford as soon as they heard of Pix and Samantha's ordeal, Faith found she was happiest right by her friend's side. First, of course, she had to hear about it al . Then she realized she simply wanted the reassurance of physical presence.

  “Do you think people are ready for dessert?" Faith had made a tableful of blueberry tartes with the succulent wild Maine blueberries now in season.

  “Not yet. Arnie's stil oozing butter and charm." Pix looked at her brother fondly. He'd been sticking to her side, too. He was reaching for a thick wedge of the corn bread*

  Louise Frazier had brought. She insisted that this treasured family recipe from the Deep South went perfectly with Down East fare. And she was right.

  “Now that the rain has stopped, we can get a better look at the house. Do you want to drive out after everyone leaves?" Pix remarked. "It should also be a beautiful sunset." The Fairchilds had bravely faced the storm yesterday, but after driving out to the Point, they didn't even attempt to get out of the car. "These weren't drops; these were tidal waves," Faith had told Pix. "Wonderful climate."

  “It is." Pix had stoutly defended what she thought of as her native clime. "Think how hot it is in Boston. I'd rather have rain, and especial y fog, any day." Maine without its occasional soft, dense gray fogs molding land and sea alike into new shapes was unthinkable.

  “I'd like to go out, especial y for the sunset, and you can tel us what it's al going to look like”

  Pix was a bit shamefaced. "I do feel that I should have been after Seth sooner. You might even have had the roof by now"

  “Pix! No grades, remember? Did I tel you or did you tel me that life is not a final exam? Except maybe final y.

  Never mind. How you can possibly think this is your fault is total y absurd. Next, you'l be taking responsibility for what the crazy Athertons did!"

  “Absolutely not!"

  “Absolutely not what?" It was Jil —arm in arm with Earl, Pix noted with pleasure.

  “Too complicated to explain," Faith said.

  “Speaking of which .. " Earl gave Jil a surprisingly piercing look.

  She drew the word out, "Yes, I suppose now is as good a time as any. I do need to talk to you, Pix.”

  Faith stood up. "I'l leave you to it, then, and rescue the long-suffering teenagers from my adoring progeny." She didn't real y mean it, and fortunately Jil said, "Oh you don't have to leave, Faith. It's not exactly a secret." Faith resumed her place, aware that good manners often paid off.

  Jil sat down on the lawn. Earl stretched out next to her.

  She was finding it hard to begin, pul ing at tufts of grass beside her until Pix began to worry seriously she'd have to reseed.

  “You know I started carrying antiques at the end of last season and stocked even more this year. They've been doing very wel and I've made more money at the store than ever before."

  “That's wonderful," Faith said. Pix had told her about Jil 's cupboard, not exactly Old Mother Hubbard's, and she wanted to keep the young woman's turgid flow of conversation moving.

  “Not real y. You see, almost al the antiques I bought from Mitch were fakes—and these were the bulk of my stock.”

  No one said anything.

  “I didn't know it when I bought them, of course. I should have been suspicious, since they weren't as expensive as similar things I'd priced at other dealers', but I thought he was giving me a good deal because he liked me. Then there began to be al this talk about phony antiques after his death. I got scared. If he was involved in something, I might be charged as a receiver. And I'd sold a good many. I had to be sure what I had were fakes for sure, so I began to go up to the library in Bangor and read whatever I could. I also talked on the way up and back to some dealers, without saying why or giving my name."

  “And here we were spouting off about it at the clambake." Pix was sympathetic.

  “Yes. I know it was wrong. I should have told Earl in the first place, but ... wel , I just didn't. Maybe I didn't want him to know what I'd done. No, make that definitely—I didn't want him to know what a fool he had for a girlfriend.”

  Earl put his arm around Jil . She didn't shrug it off and she continued speaking as she leaned toward him. "Once I was certain, I took everything from Mitch out of the store and put it al upstairs”

  Faith gave Pix's hand a knowing squeeze.

  “Despite Mitch's giving me a break, I was stil out a lot of money and I couldn't afford the loss. I simply didn't know what to do, so I decided to talk to Seth."

  “Why Seth?" Faith asked. Earl looked a little grim.

  “I've known Seth al my life and I knew I could trust him.

  He was a good friend of Mitch's, plus he hears things."

  Faith finished her sentence silently for her: Things an officer of the law might not.

  “And I thought he might know where the fakes had come from and maybe I could get some or al of my money back. I knew Mitch couldn't be making quilts, though he probably was manufacturing the furniture and the wood carvings. Seth was furious. If Mitch hadn't already been dead, Seth would have gone after him himself. He told me he'd do a little investigating on his own"

  “What did he turn up?" Faith had assumed the role of chief interrogator. It was fun—so long as you were sitting in the afternoon sun at a backyard Maine lobster fest.

  “Nothing much. We both suspected Norman Osgood, the antiques dealer who was staying at Addie and Rebecca's. Seth fol owed him when he went off-island a couple of times, but al he did was go in and out of antique shops, just as he said he was. We couldn't have been more wrong." She looked at Earl, who was grinning broadly.

  “Norman Osgood is an undercover agent investigating antiques fraud. He's tickled pink that you, Pix, your mother, and Samantha somehow managed to crack a ring he's been fol owing up and down the entire East Coast for a couple of years. The Athertons fortunately did not think to erase their computer files and Norman has been having a field day."

  “I was right!" Faith exclaimed. "He wasn't a dealer!”

  It was Jil 's turn again. "I final y told Seth I'd have to tel Earl, what with the whole island talking about us, and besides, I missed him. That's when Seth had the idea that I could sel the fakes, just not as antiques. He helped me label every piece as a reproduction—indelible ink on the quilts, marks burned into the wooden pieces. They're very good copies and I have a big sign—'Genuine Fakes, Guaranteed to Fool Your Friends.' People think it's some more Maine humor, like the sign Wal y Sanford has had outside his store for years—'Clams Dressed and Undressed.' It's true, and so is mine. I've already sold two quilts and one of the carvings since I put them out yesterday.”

  Such being the joys of confession, Jil went with Earl to join the croquet
game, an almost-noticeable weight lifted from her lovely shoulders.

  “Is there anything left?" Faith asked.

  “What do you mean?"

  “Are al the loose ends tied up? Anybody not accounted for? Clues left dangling? Red herrings?”

  Pix realized her friend was indeed much more adept at al this than she was.

  “I think so." She leaned back against the gray shingles of the house.

  She thought about her list. The columns with

  "Suspects"; "Causes of Death"; "Who Benefits?"; and

  “Quilts." Duncan, Seth, John, Norman—al eliminated.

  Sonny Prescott had been right al along: unknown partners in crime. Except they had known them, especial y Jim.

  “It's pretty clear that Valerie was not overly maternal—

  or wifely. But what an actress! I can hear her now speaking about Duncan's father—he was à saint' and so forth. She wished Duncan could be more like him. Maybe Duncan was like him and she hated them both. You should have seen her horror at the sails and the bloody bats! As soon as I heard it was latex paint, I should have known it was one of them. But Jim—an Eagle Scout! And the camp, it was like his child, wife, everything al in one."

  “Until he met Valerie, my dear Watson"

  “Now, don't be so patronizing. Just because you want to be Holmes, I don't have to be the poor dense doctor."

  “My point is, don't underestimate the power of good old sex," Faith said.

  “And in this case, the seduction of good old money"

  “I'm sorry about the Watson crack," Faith apologized.

  Appeased, Pix said, "Jil 's cleared up the last question I had. It must have been Valerie who came in and clipped off the X from my quilt. Which just about does it, I'd say."

  “They never did find the weapon that kil ed Mitch?"

  “No. Earl thought it might have been the knife the kids found in Duncan's trunk, but that turned out to be a special limited edition one belonging to Bernard Cowley. The knife had never been used for anything. And now, how about dessert?"

  “Yes, but it's so hard to move. I could sit here in the sun for the rest of the day. Look at the kids. They are having a bal . Fred seems very nice, and I'm sure he and Arlene wil be model parents, unlike some of the rest of us." Fred was showing Ben how to climb the apple tree.

  "Look, Arlene is wearing bel -bottoms! I should have saved al those clothes I wore in the sixties," Pix commented.

  Faith disagreed. "You did the right thing. Trust me.”

  Pix was cutting the tartes and Faith was putting everything on another table that had been set up out of the sun. Earlier, Samantha had picked a large bouquet of wildflowers and put them in an old white ironstone pitcher fil ed with water. Faith added a few roses from Pix's garden and several stalks of delphinium. She placed it on the dessert table now with the tartes and several large bowls of fresh strawberries. Pix had provided whipped cream and sugar, although preferring her berries straight. These were so ful of flavor, they didn't need anything, even the crème de cassis Faith favored when she got tired of them plain.

  This never happened to Pix.

  Arnie and Claire had apparently cleaned out Louel a Prescott's entire stock of cookies—chocolate chip, oatmeal, and hermits—and surprisingly the Bainbridges'

  butterscotch shortbread. Apparently, Rebecca was not the one who hoarded the secret recipes. There was hope of sherry-nutmeg cake yet.

  Pix was arranging the cookies on a large blue wil ow platter. Ursrula had come in to get a sun hat and see whether her daughter needed help.

  “These are the most delicious cookies. I hope Rebecca wil give me the recipe, too," Pix said, eating one that had conveniently broken in the box.

  “I'm sure she wil , dear." Her mother gave her a quick kiss, something that had become a habit of late.

  Her daughter and granddaughter safe and sound, her beloved son in residence, Ursula should have been in clover, and she was—almost. But Pix thought she could stil detect a wrong note in her mother's voice. She started to ask her about it when Faith came in with the empty tray to get the rest of the things.

  “Everyone's already at the desserts. Tom says it's Maine air. Gives him an appetite. And this from a man who has consumed two lobsters, coleslaw, and untold pieces of corn bread al in the recent past!”

  As soon as she left, Pix said to her mother bluntly, "Tel me what's bothering you." When her mother did not reply at once, Pix suddenly realized it was always when the Bainbridges' name came up that Ursula seemed perturbed.

  Could her mother miss Adelaide to such an extent? They had been close but not the best of friends. Addie. Faith had been talking about putting the last pieces in place. Surely the picture was complete. The card table could be cleared for another puzzle or tucked in a hal closet to make room for other activities. Wasn't it time to put everything away?

  “Does it have to do with Addie? Are you worried about Rebecca? Oh, Mother, surely you don't think the Athertons kil ed Addie, too? I always thought the quilt was too much of a coincidence! She must have discovered what they were doing!”

  Her mother sat down on a stool by the kitchen window.

  The voices outside were clearly audible. Arnie was teasing his wife about the size of the piece of blueberry tarte she'd taken. When Ursula spoke, Pix had trouble hearing—and believing—what her mother said.

  “The Athertons didn't kil Adelaide, but the quilt was not a coincidence. I know she'l tel one of us soon. I've been waiting and waiting. Perhaps me, maybe Earl, or maybe you. She's a good woman, though very disturbed in mind, and is probably home thinking about it right this very minute."

  “You can't mean Rebecca!"

  “Addie was very difficult to live with, especial y these last years," Ursula said slowly, "and Rebecca did long for a room with a view.”

  Myrtle Rowe Mil er, better known as Pix, lay flat on her back in the cemetery. The bright blue sky seemed very close, almost brushing the tip of the long piece of grass she was chewing on. She'd slipped out from Arnie and Claire's going-away party at The Pines, ostensibly to see how the plot had fared in the heat and subsequent rains. She doubted she'd be missed.

  The last two weeks had been fil ed with picnics and excursions of one sort or another. Arnie had, in fact, taken her to Vinalhaven, a lovely long, lazy sail.

  Samantha had not remained jobless for long; the camp having obviously shut down, much to the loudly expressed sorrow of Susannah and Geoff, who had begged Samantha to take over. Now Arlene and Samantha were working for Louel a, rising early to help bake, then tending the register while Louel a kept cooking.

  And Seth seemed to be accomplishing miracles of construction at the Fairchilds'. Pix went every day, watching the house rising from its foundation before her eyes.

  Everything had turned out al right after al —except two people on the island were dead who should stil be alive.

  She rol ed over and propped herself up on one elbow, looking at the stone that marked her father's grave. What was the line from Edna St. Vincent Mil ay? "I am not resigned to the shutting away/of loving hearts in the hard ground"? That was it. And Pix was not resigned. Not for her father, nor Mitch, nor Addie.

  Rebecca had told Earl, the same day as the party Pix gave for her brother. Possibly while the Mil ers and Fairchilds were gazing at a magnificent pink-and-purple sunset from a spot on the Point where al hoped a deck would be by Labor Day.

  Lilies of the val ey—they grew in dense clusters on the edges of the cemetery. A British friend of Pix's had once told her it used to be considered very bad luck in her country to plant a bed of lilies of the val ey, that the person who did would be the next to die.

  But it was not the person who sowed who perished.

  Rebecca had given Addie the plant poison in every way imaginable. She'd brewed her sister-in-law's tea from the deadly roots and added the water in which she'd placed the cut leaves to Addie's juice. She'd even, she confessed to Earl, pushed Addie's tiny quilting
needles into the berries, hoping she might mortal y prick herself. One or al had worked.

  And the quilt was no coincidence: End of Day.

  Rebecca had made it herself years ago, hiding it away when Addie had criticized the handiwork—hidden away, but not forgotten.

  Had she wanted to be caught? If she hadn't wrapped Addie in the quilt to try to link her crime with the other, no autopsy would have been done on someone Addie's age.

  And the autopsy, like so many others, had not been able to pick up this natural poison. It mimicked heart failure. A failure of the heart—Addie's. Rebecca's.

  Pix lay back down again. It felt good. Peaceful. The only noise was the raucous cries of the gul s and, if she listened very hard, the sound of her own blood pulsing.

  Slow, steady—reliable. She sighed. Another epitaph? But the reliable part wasn't so bad. They were reliable women: her mother, her daughter, and Pix herself. So different—

  and so alike. She was looking forward to spending the rest of the summer in their company. Maybe she'd get to the attic.

  Maybe not.

  EXCERPTS FROM

  HAVE FAITH

  IN YOUR KITCHEN BY

  Faith Sibley Fairchild

  and Friends

  A WORK IN PROGRESS

  PIX ROWE MILLER'S . FAMILY FISH CHOWDER

  6-7 slices of bacon,

  1/4" thick

  2 cans (3 cups) evaporated milk

  3 cups diced yel ow onions

  5-6 medium potatoes, peeled

  1 cup whole milk

  1 lb. haddock

  salt

  1 lb. cod

  freshly ground pepper

  Fry the bacon, remove from the pan, and place on a paper towel. Sauté the onions in the bacon fat and set the pan aside.

  Cut the potatoes in half the long way, then into 1/4"

  slices. Put them in a nonreactive pot large enough for the chowder. Cover the potatoes with water and boil until tender. Be careful not to put in too much water or the chowder wil be soupy. While the potatoes are cooking, cut the fish into generous bite-sized pieces. When the potatoes are ready, add the fish to the pot, cover and simmer until the fish flakes.