The Body In The Basement ff-6

by Katherine Hall Page

  “It's not only Mrs. Bainbridge. Everything's stil going crazy at camp. There was a dead seagul on the dining room porch this morning when the breakfast crew arrived.

  None of the kids saw it, thank goodness. Arlene said it was horrible."

  “But these things happen—probably an injured bird who just happened to end up there."

  “With its throat cut?”

  Now Pix was shivering. Knives. Too many knives. "Are you sure?"

  “Yes, and Arlene thinks it's Duncan again. I mean after what we saw—" Samantha stopped abruptly.

  “After you saw what?" Pix had to know. This was obviously what Samantha had been keeping from her.

  “Mom, I promise I'l tel you, but I can't now. I have to get back. The kids are very jumpy. They swear there's a ghost around, although I think that's some of the older campers trying to scare the little ones."

  “How are your two imps?"

  “Not exactly happy campers. Kids are so weird, Mom.

  One minute everything is fine, the next they're imagining al sorts of gruesome things, especial y these two. I think maybe they are too young to be here. Anyway, al this is going to affect them for a long time. Susannah leaps a foot in the air if someone startles her, and she and Geoff are always off by themselves. At the moment they're feeding each other's fears. I can't even get them to tel their stupid jokes.”

  Kids are so weird. The understatement echoed through the long tunnel of maternal memory. You never know, until you're there, Pix thought. Samantha was arriving sooner than her mother had.

  “It's Parents' Weekend soon, isn't it? Maybe we should bring them to our house for a day, since they won't have visitors."

  “That would be real y great, Mom. They need to be with the dogs”

  Pix understood. There was nothing more therapeutic than a good rol in the grass with an overly affectionate golden retriever.

  “I've got to go, and I'm sure you want to get home and change" Samantha clearly did not approve of her mother's choice of outfits.

  “Honey, I was in a rush. I just grabbed what was on the chair."

  “That's al right. I understand." To avoid more hand patting, Pix grasped her daughter's paw firmly in her own and pul ed her to her feet. They walked back toward the car together and were saying good-bye when, as luck would have it, Valerie came out of the director's office, a vision in a short Adrienne Vittadini brightly patterned sheath with a matching scarf tied carelessly around a broad-brimmed chapeau.

  “Pix! I just heard about Adelaide Bainbridge. Come over to the house and tel me what happened. What a tragedy!”

  Pix hesitated. She was curious about the fabled abode, but she wasn't real y dressed, or even combed sufficiently, and she wanted to get home to cal Faith.

  She hadn't reckoned on Samantha's reaction.

  Samantha clearly regarded an invitation to the Athertons'

  "Mil ion Dol ar Mansion" as a command performance for those fortunate enough to be asked. She actual y poked her mother in the back.

  “Wel , perhaps for a minute. I have to get home. Mother may be cal ing. Rebecca is over at her house.”

  Valerie smiled brightly. "You come, too, Samantha, unless you are needed here.”

  Crestfal en, Samantha admitted she should be inside helping with lunch.

  “Another time." Valerie turned to Pix and said just loud enough for Samantha to hear and swoon, "You have the most precious thing for a daughter I ever did see." Valerie occasional y lapsed into the Kappa Kappa Gammanese expressions of her col ege and deb days in the real South.

  “Thank you. We like her," Pix replied, then realized it sounded a little snippy and added, "We're going to miss her terribly when she goes off to col ege."

  “You're so lucky having a daughter," Valerie commented wistful y as they went down the path connecting the Athertons' house to the camp. "But then, you have sons, too." Her voice was ful of commiseration. Pix was tempted to say they had never put them through the kind of hel Duncan seemed to be inflicting on his parents, yet it seemed inappropriate to gloat, and Danny was stil young.

  Pix was loath to make any predictions—or say anything out loud—that might jinx things.

  Valerie led her into the huge living room with teak-paneled wal s soaring to a cathedral ceiling. The shape of the room—it swept forward, fol owing the lines of the bluff on which it was situated—and al the wood made Pix feel as if she was in a boat, a very spectacular boat, and that must have been the architect's intent. She admitted inwardly that she was indeed envious. The house was gorgeous. Every plate-glass window framed a spectacular view. One set looked straight out to sea, another to the cove. Jim's boats, including the souped-up lobster boat he'd recently purchased, were picturesquely moored there.

  It looked like July on a Maine-coast calendar. The fireplace was as stunning as Samantha had described. Pix noticed a large photo on the mantel of a handsome smiling man with his arm around a much younger, and happier, Duncan.

  Valerie fol owed her gaze. "My first husband, Bernard Cowley. Duncan looks a bit like his father. I wish he could act like him. Buddy was a saint. I don't think I'l ever stop missing that man. Of course," she added quickly, "Jim is just about the nicest thing on two feet I've ever met, but you never get over something like this, and Jim understands."

  “It must have been a terrible time for you and your son"

  “It was—and if I hadn't met Jim, I don't know how I would have survived. Coming here was just what I needed and I know Duncan wil settle down" Valerie did seem genuinely happy, more so than Pix had noted recently.

  Maybe things were going better with her son. Certainly it would be hard to be depressed in these surroundings. Most of the furniture in this room was modern, with a few wel -

  chosen antiques: a softly burnished cherry card table, a child's Shaker chair, and an enormous grandfather clock, the sun and the moon slowly changing places above a stately schooner on the face. Scattered about in what Pix was sure was not a haphazard fashion were old brass navigational devices, a col ection of Battersea enameled boxes, and other conversation pieces.

  “Now tel me about poor Adelaide while I make coffee.

  I think there are two of those devastating muffins from that bakery in Blue Hil left. I swear Jim and Duncan devour whatever goodies I bring into this house like a swarm of locusts.”

  Pix begged off. The locusts could feast on her devastating muffin. She real y had to get home, so she quickly gave a brief account of Adelaide's death.

  “I didn't actual y know them wel , but Jim and his family had," Valerie said. "Poor old lady. She did kind of let herself go, if you know what I mean.”

  Pix looked at the svelte figure graceful y draped across the leather couch before her and did indeed. Valerie Cowley Atherton would never let herself go. Pix saw her twenty years hence with face as smooth as plastic surgery could make it, body as trim as aerobics and a diet of lettuce and Perrier would supply.

  She left and promised to return for a ful tour of the house.

  “It's beautiful, Valerie, and everything you've done is perfect"

  “Thank you" Her hostess flashed a wel -satisfied smile.

  "I've always wanted to live in a modern house. Buddy's family, bless their hearts, would have a conniption over this place. The Cowleys are an old family and they never let anyone forget it. You can't imagine the inconvenience they put up with in order to stay authentic!”

  Pix laughed. She had often heard Faith on the same subject with regard to New Englanders. She hoped the heat was breaking in Aleford, although it wasn't here. She stil felt guilty about the question of air conditioning at the parsonage.

  “I can imagine. I'm afraid in my family, we may tendin this direction ourselves. Thank you for showing me the house. I'l take a rain check on the coffee."

  “Bring Sam. We'l make it something else and al go into the hot tub," Valerie cal ed after her. Pix waved goodbye. You'd have to put a gun to Sam's head to get him to disport in that kind
of revelry.

  A hot tub sounded particularly unappetizing at the moment. A cold shower would be more like it. The temperature was up over ninety again. No one could remember such a long stretch of searing hot days.

  But everything, including bodily comfort, took a backseat to her most important task; she was rewarded by Faith's answer on the second ring. What was more, Ben was at a friend's house and Amy was napping.

  Faith was shocked at the news. "I know who Addie Bainbridge is. She's the fat one who runs the bed-and-breakfast and makes those incredible quilts, right? Her sister—what's her name again? She lives with her."

  “Yes, except it's her sister-in-law. She's a Bainbridge, too, Rebecca. They've lived together for over thirty years."

  “Oh, the poor thing. What wil she do now?"

  “Her main worry at the moment, besides getting Adelaide buried, is keeping her garden watered, so I think she'l be al right. She's got something to focus on. Then, too, she may not real y be taking it al in. Rebecca's always been a bit scatterbrained and it's become more pronounced recently."

  “Total y gaga?"

  “I wouldn't go that far, definitely bordering on eccentricity though."

  “Wel , so are most of the people I know, including you.

  There's nothing wrong with that, but what is going on up there? I think I'l pack up the kids and come this weekend.

  There has to be a connection between the two quilts. Let me know as soon as you find out whether there's a mark on the latest one and what kil ed her."

  “I wil —and it would be lovely to have you here" At least Pix thought it would be, wouldn't it? A tiny voice was whispering that these were her murders, but she valiantly ignored it.

  “The only problem is, we promised to go to Tom's sister's for a big family picnic, since everyone couldn't get together on the Fourth, and you know how they are about these things.”

  Pix did know, having listened to Faith to these many years. Fairchild gatherings were sacrosanct, as wel as invariable. They were a family that celebrated—birthdays, major holidays, and then their own specific South Shore rituals: First Spring Sunday Raft Races on the North River, Al -Family Autumn Touch-Footbal Saturday, and so forth.

  Faith's own family had tended toward less strenuous fetes, such as taking the children to the tree at the Metropolitan Museum of Art or shopping for Easter dresses at Altman's, fol owed by lunch in the store's Charleston Gardens restaurant. Pix wasn't sure what her own family did al those years, because they were much too busy.

  “Maybe you can come up the fol owing weekend."

  Things should certainly be sewn up by then, which brought her back to the quilts.

  “I told you the quilt I bought is a fake, right?"

  “No, but I know you've suspected as much. Have you heard about the one found with Mitchel Pierce's body?"

  “No, Earl hasn't said anything. They'l probably send the one around Addie to Augusta for testing, too.

  By the way, the Bainbridges sold Mitch a lot of antiques, things they thought were worthless, although I'm sure they were anything but. Maybe Addie discovered that she had been swindled, but that would mean she'd be angry at Mitch, not somebody at her. But she might have had a reason for wanting him dead, except I can't imagine her kil ing him. In fact, it would have been a physical impossibility for her to transport his body, let alone dispose of him in the first place."

  “Could the sister-in-law have helped?”

  Pix was stunned. "Rebecca! God, no. I don't think she even swats flies."

  “I think what you need to do is sit down and make some of your lists. You're so good at that. You know the kind they do in al those British detective stories. There's got to be some link you're missing.”

  Pix had been thinking al morning that she hadn't exactly been bringing the organizational skil s that propel ed her to the fore of every cause in Aleford to bear on this situation. It wasn't just making some lists, although that might help. She planned to sit her daughter down as soon as she came home and find out what she knew. And the same with Mother. It wasn't going to be easy, but somebody had to do it.

  “I'm going antiquing again," she told Faith, ful of plans and energy now. "Maybe Jil wil come along. I want to find out if there are any more of those quilts around. Perhaps the police can trace them. We'l go up toward Bar Harbor—

  and Sul ivan."

  “That's where Mitch was living, right?"

  “Yes. Maybe I should talk to his landlady. I could pretend I was looking for a place for a friend to stay.”

  Pix was learning fast, Faith realized with a twinge. If she wanted to be any part of this, she'd have to get up to Sanpere as soon as possible. Damn the Fairchild fun and games, she thought guiltily.

  Looking out the window over her struggling squash vines to the imperturbable line of firs beyond, Pix wished life on Sanpere would return to normal. She told Faith about the paint on the sails, adding, "And don't say a word about red sails in the sunset."

  “It never crossed my mind," Faith lied. "It's more red and white, though”

  Pix hadn't thought of that. Things were becoming more complicated by the minute.

  Amy was waking up. Faith heard soft little coos that would soon become bel ows of rage. She told Pix, who remembered the scenario al too wel .

  “Cal me as soon as you find out anything more"

  “I wil ," Pix promised. "Oh, one last thing." She couldn't hear the baby yet, so Faith had a few seconds more. "Jil and Earl have apparently split up and Jil has been going around with Seth Marshal ."

  “That's a surprise. Seth is al right, but he's not what I would cal husband material. Who left whom?"

  “Jil , according to Earl, and he's as puzzled about it as I am. Jil is very touchy this summer. I haven't felt that I could ask her what's going on."

  “Definitely invite her to go on your little jaunt”

  Pix laughed and suddenly perversely wished Faith were on Sanpere.

  “Talk to you soon."

  “Bye-bye”

  As soon as she put the phone back in the cradle—it was an old black dial phone that 'no one wanted replaced

  —she remembered she had completely forgotten to tel Faith that Seth had planned to pour the foundation today.

  Maybe she'd go over there with Samantha before dinner. At the moment, she wanted to get to work. She felt more like her old self now that she had a plan. The tire swing was receding into memory.

  She couldn't talk to Mother so long as Rebecca was there, but she should cal to check in. Gert answered. Her mother was napping and Rebecca was sleeping, too. Earl had sent Dr. Harvey from the Medical Center over and he had given her a mild tranquilizer. The police had roped off the Bainbridges' house and the guests had moved on, leaving addresses, except for Norman, who was now staying at the Inn. Norman. It occurred to Pix that he probably would have given his eyeteeth for some of the rubbish the Bainbridges had disposed of so blithely last fal .

  She wondered why Addie had gotten it into her mind to clear things out then—intimations of mortality, or simply wanting a heavier purse? And for what? She made quite a bit of money with her quilts and it wasn't as if she was a lavish spender. If she'd traveled as far as El sworth in the last ten years, Pix would be surprised, so Paris or cruises to the Caribbean were not the incentive.

  The last thing Gert told her was that Addie's body had been taken away for the autopsy and the police hoped to be able to release it for a funeral by Saturday or Monday at the latest.

  It was horrible to think about. Pix went into the kitchen and made herself a tuna-fish sandwich, taking the time to toast the bread. She grabbed a pad of paper, poured some milk, and went out on the deck to get to work.

  Samantha came home just as she got to the fourth heading for the columns she'd neatly folded: "Suspects."

  The others were "Who Benefits?"; "Causes of Death"; and

  "Quilts."

  “I'm out here on the deck," Pix cal ed. "Come join me.

/>   There's tuna fish if you want a sandwich.”

  Samantha came directly.

  “Wel , wasn't it fabulous?”

  Pix was tempted to tease her daughter and ask what was fabulous, but obviously the subject was too important.

  “Fabulous is exactly the right word," she told her, "and I was even a little jealous. The view is spectacular and the house is in exactly the right spot"

  “ À little jealous,' the view! Oh, Mother, what about the fireplace, the furniture, and that rug! Valerie had it woven to order when she couldn't find one the right size with the colors she wanted.”

  Pix remembered the rug. It went from dark to light blue, with every possibility in between. It looked like the sea and the sky in every conceivable light. But what she wanted to do now was talk to her daughter about what she wasn't tel ing dear old Mom, not discuss Grecian versus Roman shades or any of the other fine points of interior decorating.

  She decided to be direct; besides, she couldn't think of another way.

  “You started to say something about Duncan at the camp and told me you'd explain later. It's later now”

  Samantha saw the look in her mother's eye and knew she meant business. Any attempt at avoidance would mean being nagged for days. It was best to get it over with. She plopped down in one of the canvas sling chairs from the fifties that her grandmother had happily donated and told her mother everything about Duncan, starting with the conversation in the woods during the clambake.

  Pix was aghast. "The boy is clearly disturbed. He needs help. We have got to tel his parents"

  “Mom, Arlene says they've taken him to a mil ion shrinks. I'm sure they know he's got problems. I mean, look at the way he treats them."

  “But I doubt they're aware of his `club.' " Pix was torn.

  She real y didn't know what to do. Jim Atherton's response had been so harsh. She hated to think she might be responsible for the boy's being struck again—or sent to the military school, which appeared to be the next course of action. And she real y wasn't acquainted wel enough with Valerie to gauge her reaction. John Eggelston had come to Duncan's defense. Maybe the best thing would be to talk to him.

  Samantha was speaking. "It's like I feel sorry for him and hate him at the same time. I don't want to get him in trouble, but maybe you're right."