The Body In The Basement ff-6

by Katherine Hall Page

  “What's your price?"

  “Two hundred dol ars," he said firmly.

  Pix almost gasped. The man obviously didn't know what quilts were bringing. She held on to her senses and countered, "A hundred and fifty"

  “We'l split the difference, deah. How about one seventy-five—plus tax”

  Pix agreed. She wasn't about to lose her quilts. She paid him and ran over to Jil , who had a fistful of Bakelite bracelets.

  “Look what I got!" Pix kept her voice down, but it was hard.

  “Quilts! How wonderful. I'l pay for these and then let's go where I can see them properly.”

  They cal ed to Valerie that they'd be outside, then spread the quilts on the grass by the van. The Flying Geese quilt looked even better in the sunlight against the green grass. "Pix, it's gorgeous," Jil enthused.

  Pix was elated and bent down to look at the stitching again. That's when she saw it. Close to the border, just like the other one. Two crossed blue threads.

  Two crossed blue threads just like the ones on the quilt that had served as Mitchel Pierce's winding-sheet.

  Four

  Pix was so startled that she grabbed Jil 's arm.

  “It's the—”

  She started to speak, then stopped abruptly. She hadn't told anyone except Earl about the mark, a mark that had come to represent a hex in her mind. He hadn't seemed very interested. Pix quickly decided to change course.

  “It's the best quilt I've ever found. What a treasure!”

  Jil did not appear to find Pix's overt enthusiasm odd.

  Quilters were known for their passion.

  “It is beautiful. You are so lucky. I could probably get three or four hundred dol ars for it, maybe more." She sounded wistful. "What about the other quilts, what are they like?”

  Pix was suddenly eager to examine them for more marks. They spread them out in a row.

  “What a shame! This quilt is almost perfect, only some wear in the corner. But that could be repaired. What's the pattern?"

  “I'm not sure. Some variation of Pinwheel. This one is Irish Chain, though, and it wil take some work, but I think I can replace the parts where the fabric has disintegrated.”

  Pix wanted to go back to the pile of linens to examine them further. For al she knew, the blue cross-stitches could be a kind of laundry mark, but it was strange to find them in exactly the same place on both quilts.

  “Shal we see what else we can turn up? Valerie seems to be engaged in mortal combat with the owner over that dining room set, so we might as wel look around some more.”

  Jil commented, "Mortal combat with velvet gloves.

  When I was leaving, I heard her tel him, `My, what lovely things you've got here. I have so many people asking me to find antiques for them, I just know I'm going to be coming here al the time.' “

  Pix had to laugh at her imitation of Valerie's accent—

  Down East meets Down South. It was a curious encounter.

  Happily, Jil wanted to look at the linens, and Pix led her to that corner of the barn. They sorted through the stack of mismatched napkins, huck hand towels, and tablecloths, turning up the two badly tattered quilts Pix had previously spotted. Pix shook out each one thoroughly, ostensibly looking for holes. There wasn't a blue mark to be seen. Jil decided to take some of the monogrammed guest towels.

  “People don't care whose initials they are so long as they have them. It adds a touch of class to one's powder room."

  “I'l have to remember that if I ever have one," Pix remarked. The downstairs half bath off the kitchen in the Mil er household always seemed to be fil ed with the kids'

  overflow from the bath the three shared upstairs. In the past, it was dinosaur toothbrush holders and whatever toothpaste manufacturers had dreamed up to entice kids to brush—

  sparkles, stars, exotic flavors. Now it was hair gel and hot combs. The towels, while not actual y on the floor, were always in disarray, except for the first five minutes after she put out clean ones.

  With her mind torn between a vision of what a home inhabited by two reasonably tidy adults would look like and how dreadful it would be not to find mud-covered cleats in the living room anymore, she wandered toward the big open barn door.

  At the front of the store, Valerie was writing a check and arranging to come back later for the dining room set.

  She didn't want to stand around and wait while he unearthed it al . When the owner's back was turned, she shot Pix a triumphant glance and winked.

  Outside as she looked at the quilts, she softly crowed,

  "Golden oak, never restored—perfect condition and everything my client wants, even the lion's paw feet on the table. It's not my taste, but at the moment it's delicious. He said he was happy to get rid of it, wants the room!" She picked up the corner of the Flying Geese quilt to examine the stitching. "It looks like you made a steal, too, Pix. This is gorgeous. You sure you want to keep it? I have just the place for it. I wouldn't sel this one"

  “And neither would I, thank you," Fix said gleeful y.

  Somehow it added to the sweetness of the coup to have a professional's approval—and envy.

  “Ladies, the morning is young. Let's get going!”

  By lunchtime, they were ready to quit. The shops had begun to merge together into one antique haze. Valerie had picked up some yel ow ware bowls and pitchers.

  "These used to go for a song, but now that everyone has a country kitchen, or a modern one that has to be accented with a few old pieces, the prices are up. Stil these were good buys." Pix did not find her night table. What she did find was an elaborate Victorian wire plant stand perfect for the second-floor landing in her house in Aleford. She might even bow to convention and put a Boston fern in it.

  Jil had found several more smal items, including an old dol made from a clay pipe that she knew would appeal to someone. Also a cigar box ful of old hat pins. Her find for the day was an elaborately carved picture frame, a sailor's valentine. The picture was gone, but the wood was in perfect shape.

  “Who do you suppose looked out from here," Valerie mused, "his sweetheart, his mama? We'l never know”

  “Maybe his dog," Pix suggested. That would have been her choice. She'd see what price Jil put on the frame.

  Dusty's face would look perfect surrounded by the intricately carved wood, the same golden honey color as her fur.

  They decided to stop for lunch at Country View, a stand on the way back to the island that overlooked a large cow pasture and blueberry fields. The view changed with the seasons, green and yel ow now with a few contented Swiss Browns in clover, their tails swinging like pendulums at the flies. Pix had a sudden image of a chirpy cuckoo emerging from a yawning pink mouth on the hour.

  Happily munching fish sandwiches—and the fish was so fresh—Fix realized she'd be up to her elbows in haddock and cod for much of the afternoon. She wasn't going to get any gardening done, but at least the chowder was foolproof. No anxiety there. She'd made it dozens of times before.* And it had to be made the day before so the flavors could blend. If she put it off until the morning, it would stil taste delicious, but at the first bite Ursula would go into her old "Can you look me straight in the eye and say that?"

  routine, asking, "When did you make this chowder?" She might even cal her Myrtle. It had happened before.

  Over their coffee and thick wedges of the pie made at the stand, apple today, Jil brought up the subject of Mitchel Pierce.

  “Did you know Mitch, Valerie? It's funny. I hadn't thought about missing him until someone mentioned it at the Sewing Circle yesterday. But he was a part of life here

  —both his good and bad sides. And, of course, the whole thing is so disturbing." Jil did seem to be extremely disturbed. She was picking at the handle of the paper coffee cup, reducing it to shreds. And several of her cuticles were ragged. Pix had never seen her display any nervous gestures. Jil was normal y as imperturbable as a china dol —and just about as easy to read.

  “I've m
et him," Valerie replied, "but I didn't know him. I saw him at a few shows and bought things from him once or twice. He sold me that sweet little col ection of fans I had framed to hang in my bedroom. We'd planned on having him down to the house sometime. Jim says he was quite the storytel er. The two of them were friends, but we've been so busy with the move and the house, there hasn't been much time for anyone”

  Pix was tempted to tel them about the cross on the quilts and see whether they had any idea what it could mean. Valerie, especial y, might know if this was a common mark on antique quilts. But again, she decided to do as Earl had advised and keep quiet.

  “I hate to break up the party. It's been so nice to get away—and with grown-ups, too—but if I don't make the chowder, I real y wil break up a party. Louise is counting on it."

  “I'm taking some of Louel a's pies. I don't dare try to cook any of my southern specialties for Louise."

  “Wel , I'm bringing festive plates and napkins from the store," Jil said. "Louise knows the size of my kitchen—and the extent of my culinary expertise. Dinner guests are lucky to get a hamburger. I need Faith to give me a few lessons.”

  This was encouragingly domestic, and Pix longed to give Jil a little more of a nudge altar ward. "There's a wonderful house for sale on the crossroad. The last owners put in a new kitchen and the back has an orchard that slopes down to one of the long inlets from Little Harbor."

  She could picture Jil , rosy-cheeked and smiling, hanging up her wash near the old apple trees, a pie keeping warm on the stove for Earl's return. "And Faith likes nothing better than teaching people how to cook. Dismal failure though she's been with me, she keeps trying.”

  But Jil wasn't biting. "How could I afford a big house like that? Besides, it's so convenient living over the store”

  Pix sighed. Maybe another time.

  The first thing Pix did when she got home was spread out the quilt in the living room. It had not diminished in effect, yet she found herself with a definite feeling of unease as she stood looking at it. The blue threads—but what else was nagging at her? It was too cheap. Why had the dealer let it go for so little?

  She thought about it al the way over to Sonny Prescott's lobster pound. Sonny dealt in al kinds of marine life, besides those succulent crustaceans. Pix had already ordered the cod and haddock for the chowder. The mixture of the two fish, as wel as the use of slab bacon instead of salt pork gave the Rowe family chowder a distinctive flavor.

  They also put in more onions than most recipes cal ed for.

  Hearing the car, Sonny stuck his head out the bait shed doorway and yel ed, "I'm over here" Pix fol owed him in. He'd been close to the only other murder investigation on Sanpere in recent memory and Pix wondered what his thoughts might be on Mitchel Pierce's death. Among others, Mitch had boarded at Sonny's one winter, so he knew Mitch better than most.

  “I've come for my fish," Pix said. The smel of the bait, decomposed herring, was overwhelming, but it didn't bother her. It was one of those smel s you got used to in childhood and never noticed again. She vastly preferred it to al those perfume samples magazines and catalogs were including in their glossy pages with increasing eye-watering and nose-itching frequency.

  “Be right there, deah. Got to get this ready for Jeb Sanford." Sonny supplied fishermen with bait, fuel, and whatever else was needed. In turn, they sold their catches exclusively to him.

  While she was waiting, Pix left the shed and sat at the end of the pier, dangling her legs over the side. She'd known Sonny since they were both teenagers and had occasional y "borrowed" a dinghy from the yacht club to row out into Sylvester Cove to watch the sparkling phosphorescence magical y drip from the oars, a mirror image of the mass of bril iant stars shining overhead. What else Pix and Sonny might or might not have done in the way of canoodling was between the two of them, but they always had a special smile for each other. Sonny came and sat down next to her, the huge package of fish fresh from the boats tied up and set behind him.

  “I cleaned it for you. Save you some time. It's for chowder, right? The Fraziers' clambake?" Sonny probably knew the social plans of every inhabitant on the island for the holiday just from the orders that had been placed.

  “Yes, and I'l be peeling potatoes until midnight. I've been dreading cleaning al this fish. You are truly a godsend. What would I ever do without you?”

  Sonny grinned. "Let's not find out." They sat for a while looking at the boats moored in the cove. There were some beautiful yachts from farther down the coast. From behind Barred Island in the distance, one of the windjammers sailed into view.

  “Is it the Victory Chimes?" Pix asked.

  Sonny nodded. "Funny to think these were work-boats, hauled lumber, whatever else was traded. Now they're hauling rich tourists who want to experience the good old days—cramped sleeping quarters and plenty of hard work to sail the things. Me, I'd like to take one of those cruises Kathie Lee advertises. That would be some good time.”

  Pix laughed and asked if he'd heard what the weather was going to be for the next couple of days.

  “Same as it's been. Good for vacations and good for me; not so good for the crops or fires. Heard they had a big one up to Baxter State Park," Sonny observed.

  “My garden is going to shrivel up and die." There was that word. Pix had used it on purpose. "Like Mitchel Pierce.”

  They looked at each other.

  “If you hadn't have gone out there, no one would ever have found him. Seth was fixing to pour this week."

  “I know. It's scary. Who do you think wanted Mitch out of the way so badly?”

  Sonny had to have a theory. He did about most things and he did about Mitch.

  “I figure he must have gotten in over his head somehow with the antiques or maybe the cars. He was a trusting soul for a crook and not a real good judge of character. This time, he put his faith in the wrong man."

  “Crook!"

  “Come on, Myrtle," Sonny was virtual y the only person who used her name in everyday conversation. "The man was running scams up and down the East Coast. Where do you think he got al those fancy cars?”

  Mitch had a fondness for vintage sports cars.

  “Saved up?"

  “Touch one of those fenders and like as not you'd burn your fingers.”

  This was food for thought: a stolen-car ring.

  “Lot of talk about a car wash place in Belfast that real y laundered the vehicles. Mitch was a regular.”

  “And the antiques?"

  “Fakes. Don't look so surprised. Just because he could tel a good story and did a nice job for your mother doesn't make him a member of the choir. People are not always al of a piece like you.”

  Pix wasn't sure whether this was a compliment or not.

  She suspected something in between. Oh, for a bit more intricacy.

  “Not that I'm suggesting you change. I like you just the way you are—especial y those long legs of yours" Sonny stood up and eyed them, exposed to ful advantage in Pix's denim shorts. For an instant, they were teenagers again, ready to take off for a picnic on Strawberry Island, a little knol off Prescott's Point. Pix was suddenly acutely aware that Sonny was divorced and her own husband was almost three hundred miles away. She paid for her fish and left with a pleasant sense of having been tempting and tempted.

  The fact that she was absolutely and total y in love—and loyal—to her husband made it al the more enjoyable.

  At home, she began the mammoth task of cutting and chopping, running what Sonny had said about Mitch through her mind as she alternately was drenched in tears from the onions and splattered fat from the sizzling bacon.

  Maybe there would be a chance to talk to Earl in private at the clambake tomorrow. Jil said he was coming, although he'd probably be cal ed away just as they were uncovering the lobsters. There were going to be about fifty people of al ages at the party, and Pix found large gatherings often offered more opportunities for intimate conversation than smal ones. Two people strol ing off t
o gather driftwood for the bonfire were much less likely to attract anyone's notice than say two people disappearing from a group of eight at a dinner party.

  She decided to cal Faith and have her give Sam a book that Pix had about identifying quilts, so that he could bring it up. Sam would never find it himself, and Faith wouldn't stop until she did. Pix was absolutely sure it was in the stack of books by her bed, in with the cookbooks in the kitchen, or down in the basement in a carton waiting for more bookshelves. The quilt looked authentic, yet it was possible that it was a fake. Using the book, she could date it. Which would mean what? That she had been swindled?

  The man hadn't said it was an old quilt. Maybe the quilt on Mitchel Pierce's body wasn't old either, but what would that matter? It did somehow, though. She was sure. She took her cleaver and whacked the head off an enormous cod Sonny had missed when he cleaned the fish. She thought of the mice. She thought of Mitch. The cod stared at her, glassy-eyed. She came to her senses. Chowder, rich, fragrant fish chowder. She tossed the head into a pot for stock and beheaded the other cod she found with aplomb.

  These were fish, not French aristocrats, and she was definitely not a murderess.

  “Anything I can do to help?" Samantha's voice was a welcome alternative to the sound of tumbrels.

  “Perfect timing. Could you peel these potatoes?”

  “Mother! There are mountains of them," Samantha shrieked.

  “Wel , just do as many as you can and I'l help when I get the onions done and the rest of the fish cut up.”

  Samantha had spent the morning at The Pines. She often bicycled over to see her grandmother. They had a very special relationship. Pix wondered what they found to talk about, but they shared a love of the outdoors and it was Ursula who had started Samantha on the first of her many col ections—seashel s at age three.

  “Granny's helping me with the mosses," Sam told her mother.

  “I thought you'd given the project up"

  “Of course not, after al that work last summer!”

  “This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Arlene is otherwise occupied, would it?" Pix was curious to know how Samantha was taking Arlene's defection.