The Body in the Kelp ff-2

by Katherine Hall Page

  “Yes, Arlene's last name is Prescott.”

  Faith looked at the pictures of the quilt and the books spread out on the floor where they had been working—right under Arlene's eager gaze.

  “Why am I not surprised?" she said to Pix with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Pix clearly had no idea what Faith was talking about, until she followed her vigorous nod. She shook her head slightly and shepherded the girls out the door. Faith looked at them dismally as they climbed into the car.

  Maybe the girl hadn't heard about the quilt or wouldn't connect the pictures to it. Maybe she wouldn't mention them to anybody.

  Maybe there wouldn't be any tides tomorrow. Or maybe it would snow. Or maybe . . .

  7

  The children were crying. They had come across a baby robin, fallen from its nest, lying dead beneath a large oak.

  Princess Ardea came up quietly behind them. They hadn't realized she was near until she spoke. "Come, we will bury it in the garden." She reached into the pocket of her gown, drew forth a blue silk handkerchief—the same blue as the color of the egg the bird had hatched from—and gently wrapped it around the still body.

  They walked back toward the castle grounds, and Paul pointed to a bank of day lilies in bloom. "This might be a good spot. " The princess nodded, and he dug a small hole with a stick.

  “The bird never had a chance to live. It didn't even know it would have been able to fly someday," Julie said.

  “It isn't fair. " Her brother scowled. "Why do things have to die?"

  “To make room for other things," Prince Herodias answered as he approached from the river, where he had been watching the herons.

  “And must everything die?" asked Julie.

  “Yes, that is the way," he replied.

  “Even you?" she persisted.

  “Even us."

  “But not for a long, long time?"

  “No, not for a very long time. Time passes very slowly here. "

  “Then he took her hand, and they went to stand by the others to lay the bird to rest.

  Nightfall in Selega, WILLIAM H. H. Fox

  Zoë slept through the night, which Faith had not expected. She had not expected that she would either, but aside from a brief time of semiconsciousness listening for the baby when she first got into bed, Faith slept too.

  Now it was after breakfast and she was sitting on the lawn watching the two children communicate contentedly in a language all their own. She had spread a blanket and put an assortment of Ben's toys on top, but Ben seemed to think Zoë was the best toy of all. He had taken to crawling to keep her company after trying valiantly to pull her to a standing position before toppling over in a heap. Zoë was wearing another of Ben's shirts, which reached her ankles, and one of his hats. Although it was slightly overcast, Faith didn't want her to get too much sun. Ben was brown as a berry, and next to him Zoë reminded Faith of one of those Poor Pitiful Pearl Dolls before the transformation.

  Was it just yesterday morning she had heard Zoë crying? Less than a day since finding the body? She suddenly felt exhausted and shivered as she contemplated the violence that must have preceded Bird's death. Who could have hated her that much? Faith had been turning this question over and over again in her mind. There was no question of burglary. Poor Bird had had nothing worth stealing. It was hate. Or insanity. Or both.

  There had been three phone calls before Faith took the children outside. First, of course, was Pix. The "nannies" wanted to know if they could come over, and Faith was happy to agree. She asked Pix to stop and get some smaller diapers and another bottle, preferably postwar, to supplement the one from the pantry.

  Sgt. Dickinson had called shortly after and asked Faith if she could keep the baby a little longer. They had not found much in the cabin, but the police down the coast had picked up Andy, and they hoped he might be able to tell them who Bird was. Dickinson had spoken rapidly, and Faith had had the impression that he was short of time—or someone who matched a face on the post office wall had just passed by his window.

  Finally, Louise Frazier had called. Bill had not slept and was still sitting silently. John Eggleston had come by the night before and tried to talk with him, but Bill had waved him away. John was coming back today. Not whom she would have chosen as a comforter, Faith reflected; rather like having Captain Ahab offer solace, but they had known each other for a long time. Bill had roused himself only once, to ask about Zoë, and had appeared to be satisfied with the arrangements.

  Faith looked at the horizon with what she thought was an increasingly nautical eye. They hadn't had any rain in a long time, and it appeared there might finally be a storm.

  By the time the Millers and Arlene arrived, the rain was pelting down and Faith and the children had hastily moved into the living room.

  “We certainly need this," Pix said as she removed her dripping-wet foul-weather gear. "But I hope we don't lose our power. I left the pump on."

  “What do you mean?" Faith wanted to know.

  “When the power comes back on after being off, it surges and can destroy the pump."

  “Just another one of the perils of living in the country.”

  “Have you ever tasted better water?”

  Faith had to admit that if the Millers ever got around to bottling their spring, fifty million Frenchmen would toss their Perrier and Evian bottles out the fenêtre.

  But Pix had more on her mind than water.

  “Faith, how about a cup of coffee?" she asked, and seemed barely able to contain herself before they got into the kitchen. She closed the door quickly.

  “I didn't want to gossip in front of the girls, but when I stopped to get some of Mrs. Kenney's doughnuts this morning, she told me there was a big drug bust last night! She heard it all on her CB. The Coast Guard seized a boat out beyond Osprey Island, and the hull was loaded with bales of marijuana.

  “Mrs. Kenney said they were probably going to land it on Osprey, which is uninhabited, divide it into smaller amounts, and then bring it into Camden and Bucksport on several other boats."

  “So that's why Sgt. Dickinson was in such a rush this morning. He barely said two sentences. But he did tell me they had located Andy. Maybe he was on the boat!”

  Pix slumped into a chair. "What an amazing summer! Believe me, Faith, in all the years I've known this island, there hasn't ever been this kind of trouble."

  “I certainly hope not," Faith said, as she filled the pot with water and set it on the stove. "But I'm beginning to think there was probably a lot going on you didn't know about. And what about the old days—during Prohibition? Things must have been pretty lively then.”

  She sat down next to Pix to wait for the pot to boil and studiously avoided watching it. Her mind was racing. If Andy had been on that boat, where had he boarded it and did his presence mean that he was not a suspect in Bird's murder? And if he wasn't a suspect, who on earth was? Itinerant tramps suddenly gone amok were always possibilities in books, but unheard of on the island. Everybody knew everybody else, and if there had been a stranger around the last few days, they, or rather Pix, would have heard about it by now.

  And there was something else. Bird had been attacked face on. The murderer had not crept up behind her. This suggested that they had been talking. It also suggested it was someone she knew.

  The whistle blew shrilly, and Faith ground some beans for the Melitta. Nothing was getting any clearer. Except for one thing.

  She and Pix had better hurry up and figure out Matilda's clues before word spread too rapidly that she had kept the quilt photos. She doubted that Arlene's branch of the Prescott family had had anything to do with the break-in, or with Roger's death for that matter; but she wasn't going to count on word not leaking out. Anything to do with Matilda's quilt, which might just happen to be a treasure map, was bound to reach the wrong ears at some point. The drug raid might squeeze it off the grapevine today and give them time to name the rest of the squares and find whatever they were seeking
. She said as much to Pix, and they spread their things out on the kitchen table.

  “Only four more." Faith put the photos in a row. "What do they look like to you? Number eight could be a spider's web, or a ripple in a pool with concentric circles."

  “And number twelve looks like mountain peaks. Let's try those themes.”

  It worked for number twelve. Pix located it in one of the quilt books soon after.

  “Hill and Valley. That should be easy—North Star is just before and it's not marked in any way, so presumably it means go north, and Apple Tree is before that, so we look for a tree or orchard."

  “Pix, I think we should go out for a drive when the rain lets up and see what we can figure out with what we have. The children will be fine here, and we could spend weeks at this. We don't even know that they are all in these books." Faith was also starting to get a little bored with the current approach.

  “True. I agree. We can follow the clues to square eight and then see what choice we have. The Schoolhouse square should give us a clue, but again there were quite a few of them when the island population was greater. At the turn of the century there were fifteen hundred residents in Granville alone."

  “Let's give the kids an early lunch, then take off. I want to do some cooking this afternoon. I feel like eating something good tonight, and it also calms the spirit."

  “I know," Pix responded. "Comfort foods—like shepherd's pie and macaroni and cheese.''

  “No, like seafood mousse or maybe lobster en gelée.”

  “Whatever.”

  It was shortly after noon when Faith turned the Woody around in the driveway at Harborview and said, "Go," to Pix who sat next to her with the list and the photos discreetly out of sight in her lap.

  “Drive back through the village and turn right up the hill. At the top, you're as close to the mill wheel as you can get on the road.”

  They drove on, turning east when the road divided, and paused at the Odd Fellows Hall.

  “That casserole supper seems like a long time ago," Pix remarked. "Although it's been less than two weeks.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  And thinking of the way Roger and Bill had looked at Bird when she had come in with Andy.

  Faith tried to remember more about what Andy looked like, but she had been so distracted by his outfit that she didn't really remember much about his face, although she had had a general impression that he regarded the world at large in a smug, lordly way. Almost as if he knew what the other men yearned for and only had. Now no one had her.

  “What's next?"

  “Go straight and turn left at the crossroads.”

  They encountered few other cars. Most people were eating lunch. Traffic on Sanpere was never very heavy, except on the Fourth of July when everyone left the parade at the same time for the chicken barbecue. And then they had two auxilliary policemen, each authorized to wear a special armband and carry a piece.

  A blue Ford pickup roared past them going the other way, and the driver raised a few fingers from the wheel in the traditional island wave. Faith was flattered. She might almost live here. But what was she thinking of? Tom, that's whom she was thinking of. He had noticed the wave the first day and thereafter raised his fingers, getting a response each time. He liked to be at home wherever he was. She took a deep breath. Labor Day was still a long way off.

  “Come on, Pix, right or left?”

  The road forked, and each branch beckoned with a claim of its own.

  “I can't tell you. It's number eight. The square we don't know."

  “All right, we'll wing it and go down each. Maybe something will suggest itself." She turned left, and they drove past a series of wood lots, a few trailers, and one or two farmhouses before the road again split.

  “I think we should try the right-hand one first. Remember, Winding Ways with the upper right section indicated comes next, followed by Apple Tree. If we see any sign of apples, we'll know we're on the right track.”

  They weren't, and Faith suggested they go back to the original fork and try that one. Pix agreed. "And I thought I was figuring it out so cleverly."

  “You are. Keep it up.”

  The right turn dipped down toward the shore. The rain had not completely stopped, and as Faith looked at it breaking the surface of the water, she was sure this was the correct choice.

  “Look at the water. The waves look just like the square. I'm sure of it—look at the way the wind ripples the surface of the waves." She put her foot down on the pedal, and they shot forward. The road twisted and turned.

  “Winding Ways," Pix muttered.

  “Ayup." They carne to a fork that showed the remnants of logging tracks, and they stayed on the road, turning right. When they saw the old apple orchard, Pix grabbed Faith's arm. "It really is like a map!"

  “Of course it is, and what's more I'm sure the gold, or what's left of it, is at the end. She must have put it there before she became bedridden, intending to tell someone, but then decided this would be more fun."

  “Or maybe the gold has been there since her father's time." Faith stopped the car again to have another look at the photos.

  “Maybe we should get rid of the ones we've identified and just keep a list of the names."

  “I think we should hold on to them. There's always the possibility we've identified something incorrectly, or by one of its other names.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, which Pix broke somewhat hesitantly. "It's been a bit like a game up to now. If, a very big if, we do find something valuable, what are you going to do with it?”

  Faith realized she had been thinking primarily of the journey and not the arrival. Although from the moment she had seen the spidery handwritten "Seek and Ye Shall Find" at the Fraziers', she'd been convinced it was some sort of treasure.

  “Us, not me. Let's get that understood. I never could have identified all these squares without you or known where they led. But I'm sure it's the gold, Pix, and I know you don't just mean we'd never have to worry about our children's college tuitions or wardrobes again. You must have had as much Sunday School as I did." Faith pictured the pin with all the bars for perfect attendance, which grew steadily longer on the lapel of her navy-blue coat from B. Altman's as the hem of said garment kept pace. She was sure there was a similar bijou in Pix's past. Along with all those "Do what you think is best, dear" remarks from parents who would have been astonished if you had. It was a burden that Faith had been endeavoring to unload for some time. Now might be as good a time as any, but she still said to Pix, "You mean what is the right thing to do."

  “I suppose I do. Of course, we may never find it." Neither of them believed that for a moment any longer, and the look they exchanged said as much.

  Faith continued wrestling. "Probably the morally correct thing to do would be to split it with the Prescotts. Take a finder's fee. Or give the whole thing to some worthwhile cause."

  “Legally, of course, I think it would be ours. Abandoned property or something like that.”

  They laughed. "I wonder what our husbands would advise," Faith mused. "Representing God and Mammon."

  “I wouldn't say that exactly." Pix was a little peeved. "Sam does plenty of pro bono work."

  “You know what I mean. I only thought it would be funny if Tom said finders keepers and Sam said give it away."

  “This is all castles in the air until we locate what is in that last square."

  “Very nice castles, but you're right. Let's get going.”

  She pulled out onto the road, and they followed it for almost a mile before another choice presented itself. The next square was North Star and Pix told her which way was north. Faith said a silent prayer of thanks to the Girl Scouts or whomever for the thorough training Pix had had in her youth. The road suddenly plummeted, and they careened up and down two hills. The burned-rubber tire tracks in evidence indicated it was a favorite spot for those island youths possessing cars, and Faith could see
why. She looked forward to driving it again herself, slightly faster this time. "Hill and Valley it is," she noted jubilantly.

  When the road took them past an old schoolhouse that a summer person had painstakingly restored, they felt the treasure was almost in their grasp. But not quite.

  Faith stopped the car again.

  “Let me see the next square. Jacob's Ladder? How does that fit in? Are any of the rungs a different pattern? Or does it seem to be pointing a certain way?"

  “No, it's all the same. Very regular and there are three possible roads here and all these woods."

  “Fern Berry doesn't give us much help either," Faith observed dismally as she looked at the lush ferns, bright red bunchberries, and other bracken that grew along each roadside.

  “And we don't know the one after, and the one after that is Shady Pine.”

  They looked up glumly at the awning of evergreens surrounding them.

  Pix sneezed.

  “It looks like it's back to the books and back to the antihistamines for me." She was allergic to ragweed, and this was the worst time of year for her.

  “I thought the rain was supposed to drive the pollen out of the air," Faith commiserated.

  “So did I." Pix sneezed three times in rapid succession. Faith started the engine. "There are only two more squares to identify now. Even if we didn't name that spiderwebby one, I'm sure it had to do with that ocean view. And if worst comes to worst, we'll go down each of these and look for noticeably shady pines or ferny berries.”

  Pix laughed and sneezed at the same time.

  “We're in the right spot, though. No question.”

  “What makes you so positive?"

  “This spit of land is called Prescott Point, that's why." Faith was impressed.

  As they passed the turnoff for Prescott's lobster pound, Faith said, "Do you mind if I stop to pick up some fish?”

  “Not at all. I'll see if Sonny has any scallops today. Scallop stew is Samantha's favorite.”