She sat quietly and let him go on.
“When I was growing up in this town, the same few people ran everything, always the same names. The board of selectmen—and it was only men—school committee, the library, the churches. If their families had missed the Mayflower, it was because they had something better to do. Times have changed.”
“Thank goodness.” Faith found something to say.
Gus nodded. “Wish I hadn’t let Lillian talk me out of smoking. Feel like a pipe now. Anyway, where was I? Yes, it’s changed.” He leaned forward. “But not completely. Not completely, Faith.
“So far as some of those people—or I should say the sons and daughters of those people—are concerned, the Deanes will always be upstarts. We make more money than most of them do now and there’s resentment about that. We were their ancestors’ servants and we didn’t stay in our place.”
“But do you really think this is still true?”
“Absolutely. Now, you take this business with the bog. I don’t mind telling you I’m more than a little annoyed with Joey for stirring the whole thing up in the first place. But not because I don’t like to stir things up.”
Faith ventured a smile.
“Okay, maybe I even like to stir things up, but I was angry with him because he didn’t think it through. It’s a bad investment. He has to put out too much of his own money before he sees any return and he’ll be lucky to break even, what with all the stipulations the town is going to slap him with about the roads, septic systems, what not. Meanwhile, the whole Deane family looks bad. Even people who have never been to the place are suddenly talking about the Deanes robbing Aleford of precious open space. No, I’m not happy with Joey.”
Faith felt a sudden twinge of sympathy for Mr.Madsen. Gus was not a man you wanted to antagonize.
“Could have done better. Told her so at the time, but she’s just like her father, just like me. Wouldn’t listen, and you’ll never hear a word of complaint from her, either. I don’t know if she loves or hates the man at this point.”
He didn’t say her name, but Gus was obviously referring to Bonnie.
“Alefordiana Estates—what the hell kind of a name is that? Thinks we’re in Florida or something,” Gus growled.
“Well, of course I’m not happy about it,” Faith said.
“Going to have a road at your back door. I’ll say you’re not happy about it, but here’s my point, Faith.” He leaned over again and this time raised his forefin-ger. “I may not agree that Joey’s doing the brightest deal, I may not even like the man that much myself, but I’ll defend him to my death against anyone who says he doesn’t have the right to build what he wants on his own land so long as it’s not against the law.
And it’s not. Not a single person in that group of yours can say he hasn’t met every requirement.”
“This may be true, but—”
“Hear me out—I’m not finished. Then you can have your say.”
Faith shut her mouth.
“Somebody in that organization is not normal. I know I lost my temper at the selectmen’s meeting and I’ve been hearing about it from my wife, but my property had been destroyed and my family threatened.
This is the work of a lunatic. My excavator, too!
You’ve heard about that?”
Faith nodded.
“And the Batcheldors. I don’t know what Margaret, God rest her soul, was doing in our house, but she was in there with a can of gas. And now somebody’s tried to do poor Nelson in. Maybe this nut was up to something with Margaret. People can believe so much in a cause that they think anything they do is justified. But I’m not going to sit back and watch the whole Deane family go up in flames.”
He sat back. It was Faith’s turn, but she couldn’t think of any response.
“So, how much potato salad do you think we’ll need this year?”
It was only after they had finalized the menu for the cookout, same as last year’s and the year before, that Faith was able to swim her way back up river and introduce the subject of Lora Deane.
“We feel so lucky to have Lora as Ben’s teacher.
She’s wonderful with children.” This ploy had worked with Brad—more or less.
“She’s gifted with children and I’m happy she’s found a job close by. Wish she’d settle down herself, but she hasn’t shown any signs of it. There was the Hallowell kid. That’s over or I’d have had to put a stop to it. She wants to go back to her place, but we’ve been firm. She’s not to move one foot until everything gets cleared up. Fortunately, she’s a timid girl and listens to us. That’s why she’s not too popular with the guys, I suppose. An old-fashioned girl, that’s our Lora.”
One of them, anyway, Faith thought. For an instant she felt the urge to tell Gus about Lora’s apartment in the South End and Mr. Miata. It seemed wrong to keep any secrets at all from this commanding figure, and Faith was amazed Lora could pull it off day after day. Faith bit at her lip. She’d come to get information, not give it—at least not until she’d figured things out a bit more. Until then, Gus could go on thinking that his granddaughter was up for a role in Little Women.
With a little time left before she had to pick up Ben, Faith went home and reported in to John Dunne about the meeting at Millicent’s. Amy sat at her mother’s feet, surrounded by puzzles, her favorite toy. She was babbling softly to herself and Faith listened intently for recognizable words. Amy had said bird yesterday.
They’d be having mother-daughter talks in no time.
Detective Lieutenant Dunne came to the phone immediately. Faith hated to disappoint him.
“They may be having separate, even clandestine meetings, but if so, it’s only to satisfy Brad Hallowell’s theatrical inclinations. And they were both surprised when they heard about the excavator sabotage.”
“I can’t see Millie shimmying up the boom with a machete in her mouth,” John agreed. He’d been having a good day. They’d checked prints from a particularly grisly homicide with the New Hampshire police after coming up with nothing in Massachusetts.
Bingo, and the arrest had been made an hour ago. The guy was now safely under lock and key.
“How about other POW! members? You said some of them were pretty militant,” he asked.
“The Batcheldors were the most militant, and neither of them was in any shape to disable a steam shovel. I can’t think of anyone else.” She decided the time had come to tell John about meeting Nelson and Margaret in the woods.
After she told him, he asked, “Anything else you’re saving for a rainy day?”
“No—and you did say you only wanted to know about the POW! meetings.”
“You knew what I meant. Anyway, we’ll have a look around Beecher’s Bog and see what we can find.
Nelson Batcheldor is out of the hospital. Might have a word with him about his wardrobe. What about that big donation, the five-hundred dollars. Any ideas?”
“Not really. I think Pix is right and it’s someone in public office who can’t come out and openly support POW! Whoever it is, I don’t see how it’s connected to Margaret’s death or the letter writing. Quite a few people in town are convinced that Joey Madsen wrote the letters and killed Margaret when he found her setting fire to his house—a crime of passion. I’m not convinced.”
“Neither am I,” Dunne admitted.
Amy was losing interest in the puzzles at last and using her mother as a climbing structure.
“I’ve got to go now, but I’ll keep in touch.”
“I know,” John said, and hung up.
Faith put the phone down. She wasn’t holding out on him, but she hadn’t told him about Lora Deane or her own visit to Gus. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with either POW! or Margaret’s murder. Tom would have to take over her duties at POW!’s meeting tonight and report back to Detective Dunne. Given recent events and the imminence of the special Town Meeting, there might be more militancy and, in turn, more suspects. These people seemed so sure. Al
though Faith believed it was best for the town that the bog be preserved, she could see the other point of view. POW! didn’t.
She put Amy in her car seat and looked past the church to the woods beyond, leading to the bog.
Though it wasn’t harvested anymore, at one time it had been a working cranberry bog. Part of the Beecher’s barn was still standing, their stone walls tumbled but in place, and their old orchard bloomed in the spring. In effect, Joey Madsen would be turfing over a piece of Aleford’s history. The rights of the town versus the rights of an individual. It was a tough call.
The library event was a great success and the head of the endowment campaign told Faith she had already been slipped two hefty checks and received several pledges. “It’s your food, I’m sure. Puts everyone in a benevolent mood,” she’d said. Faith was grateful for her praise but thought it also had to do with the excellent speaker, an eminent historian, who introduced his talk by pointing out the accessibility of libraries in the United States compared with that in other countries and suggesting everyone dig deep into his or her pocket to keep it that way.
When she got home, Tom was waiting up by the fireplace. There were two brandy glasses on the coffee table. Hers was full.
“You always have the best ideas,” she said.
“And here’s another,” he told her, moving from the wing chair to the couch and taking her in his arms.
“There’s nothing like staring into the nonflickering flames of a lifeless fireplace to arouse one’s passion.”
“True, true,” Faith said, sipping her Rémy Martin,
“but first tell me what happened at the meeting tonight.”
“This could kill the mood,” Tom warned.
“I doubt it.”
“All right.” Tom had been planning to tell his wife the moment she walked in, anyway. He knew she’d be kicking herself for missing it—and it had been something to miss.
Joey had arrived at the meeting ready for blood. His lawyer wasn’t with him. He walked in, went to the front row, and sat directly facing Millicent. Her face was stony. She called the meeting to order, but before she could ask for a reading of the minutes, Joey jumped up. “You did it at my meeting, so I can do it at yours. Equal time, right? Isn’t that what all you lily-livered liberals believe in? Well, I’ve got my rights and I’m taking them.”
Tom knew why he’d come alone. Madsen was certainly not following counsel’s advice.
Maybe Millicent thought the best way to deal with the situation was to be gracious. Maybe she was just plain curious. In any case, she recognized the irate builder.
“I believe Mr. Madsen has something to say before we begin. Mr. Madsen?”
“Damn right I do. First of all, whoever screwed up my excavator, I’m going to get you. If it takes the rest of my life. Now, for the rest of you, you can hold meetings round the clock and it isn’t going to do you any good. My lawyers have been over the plans a thousand times. There’s nothing wrong. Alefordiana Estates is going to happen, so you’d better get used to the idea. I’m under the impression that this is still a free country and a man can do what he wants with his own land. You’re trying to take that right away from me and I’m serving notice here and now that you’re going to fail. Nobody takes anything away from me that’s mine.”
The room was silent. Joey was running out of steam. He left the stage and walked to the doors at the rear of Asterbrook Hall. He turned and shook his fist, repeating his last words. “Nobody does me out of what’s mine. Remember that!”
Faith was listening openmouthed to Tom’s description of the meeting. “What happened after he left?”
“You know Millicent. A class act. She thanked the group for their indulgence and called for the minutes.
The rest of the meeting went fast. I had the feeling people were itching to get out and tell everyone who wasn’t there what had happened. Pix almost had me winded by the time we got here, she was so eager to tell Sam. Oh, and by the way, the Scotts are back.
Louise was looking very determined, so I have the feeling it was her idea more than Ted’s. But you know Ted. If he didn’t think it was safe for them, especially her, to be back, he wouldn’t budge. Millicent read your letter—very good—swore us all to secrecy for some reason. We’re not to reveal the contents, and Louise announced she and Pix would be preparing the mailing tomorrow. I didn’t volunteer you.” Faith’s brandy glass was empty and it was late. It had been a long day—Bridey Murphy, Gus, the library. She was tired—but not too tired.
When you sign up for something, April seems a long way off in September, which is why Faith found herself at the end of a line of preschoolers, all chanting,
“I know a little pussy, who lives down in the lane” in unison. When they got to “He’ll never be a pussy, he’ll always be a cat, ’cause he’s a pussy willow, now what do you think of that!” for the fourth time, she thought she might have a new description of hell. An eternity of Miss Lora’s annual Pussy Willow Walks.
They were on their way into the bog. Faith had on the fisherman’s boots she’d purchased in Maine and the ground squelched beneath them. They’d had more rain during the night, but today was bright and fair.
“It never rains on Pussy Willow Walk days,” Lora told the helper mothers. She didn’t like to call them chaperones—“sounds too much like your Dad insisting on going on your dates,” she’d told Faith once.
Any relative of Lora’s would be getting more than he or she bargained for on the young woman’s dates these days, Faith thought. And how did she manage to look so full of energy and good cheer after weekends of carousing?
The helper mothers—helper fathers appeared only occasionally—were spread out through the line.
Faith, at the front, was supposed to keep watch for low branches and thorny bushes. She trudged along and tried to ignore the performers behind her. They were gearing up to start the poem again—Ben’s high little voice chanting as enthusiastically as the rest.
The densely growing trees, covered with thick ropes of interwoven vines, had kept the ground beneath from getting as wet as the ground immediately around the bog. Lora had made sure there were pussy willows to find, she’d reassured the mothers. They were on the other side of the woods, on a path that led to a small pond. Faith continued to reconnoiter. She was getting a bit ahead of the pack, but she told herself it was for their own good. She snapped a few branches out of the way to convince herself.
Emerging from the woods into the open, she noticed that there seemed to be a fallen log in the path.
They’d have to help the children over it. She went closer.
It wasn’t a log.
It was Joey Madsen. Face up, his eyes wide with surprise. There was a knife in his chest. He’d been stabbed and he was dead.
Eight
Faith screamed. She couldn’t help it, even knowing the children were close behind her. She ran back toward the group, which had become instantly silent.
The children’s faces were frightened. One little boy was getting ready to cry.
She spoke quickly. “I saw . . . I saw a poor dead animal and it startled me. I’m sorry if I startled you, too, children.”
There were a few solemn nods. Ben immediately spoke up. “What kind of animal? A big animal? A fox? A deer? What is it, Mom? Can we see?” Faith cut him off, “No, sweetheart, I think it would be better to go back now and wait until the path is clear. We need to leave him in peace.” Lora was looking at Faith in some confusion.
“You’re sure we should turn around?”
“I’m sure,” Faith said firmly.
The other mothers began to get the children back in line and one of them started singing “Inch by Inch.” Soon the kids joined in. Thank God for presence of mind, Faith thought, and motioned for Lora to step aside.
“What’s going on?” the teacher asked in a low voice.
“There’s been an accident.” Faith could not bear to tell Lora that her brother-in-law was dead, and in an
y case, she couldn’t let her know until the police had been there. “A very bad accident. Please call Chief MacIsaac and tell him to get here right away. Tell him to call the state police and ask Detective Dunne to meet him here.”
“The state police! Faith, you’ve got to tell me! It’s a person, isn’t it! What’s happened?”
“I can’t say any more and I can’t let anyone go any closer until the police arrive. Please, you have to take care of the children.” Faith hoped this would distract Lora. It did. The class was almost out of sight and Lora sprinted after them.
Faith called after her, “Wait! Go upstairs to Tom’s office and tell him to come as soon as possible!”
“Okay,” Lora said, running to keep up with her charges.
They were gone and Faith was alone in the bog with the body. She would have welcomed the sound of any nursery rhyme, no matter how many times it was repeated.
Joey. Joey was dead. She felt dizzy and sat down on a rock. For a moment, she thought she might be sick.
She dropped her head to her knees. Pine needles carpeted the ground in a thick brown mat. They smelled faintly of balsam, of Christmas trees. An ant crawled from underneath. She sat up. Joey. Joey Madsen had been murdered. She couldn’t stop thinking of his sightless eyes staring up at the spring sky. Face up.
Not face down.
Joey had known his killer. No one had crept up stealthily behind him. He’d come down the path, maybe his hand out in greeting. Someone Joey knew.
Someone he trusted. Why were they meeting here, out of sight? Why not at the company’s office or at Joey’s house?
She stood up, wishing Tom would hurry. She walked back toward the body, careful to retrace her steps. Away from the dense canopy the trees made, the ground was soft. She could see the imprint of her boots, coming and going. There were other footprints, too. A ditch ran alongside the path, filled with the runoff from the pond.
The water was still and covered by thick green slime.
There was very little blood. Just a stain on the surface of Joey’s sweatshirt, around the handle of the knife. A large crow flew overhead, cawing loudly. She needed to stay nearby. She needed to keep the birds or other predators from desecrating the corpse. From pecking at those open eyes.
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