The Body In The Basement ff-6

by Katherine Hall Page

An elderly woman in a flowered housedress with a bib apron covering most of it answered.

  “Yes?"

  “Are you Mrs. Harding? I got your name at the post office”

  This appeared to be vetting enough.

  “Yes, I am. Why don't you come in, deah, and sit down? It is too hot for man or beast today. I told Virgil—

  that's my husband—that he was to stay in the shade as much as possible and keep his hat on. He's bald, you know, and bald people have to be very careful not to get burned. He won't let me put on any of that cream I got from Marge Thomas. She sel s Avon. Anyway, Virgil says he doesn't want to smel like a perfume factory, but it has no smel I can make out. Those summer people work him to death, cutting the grass, weeding the garden. He caretakes now, you know.”

  This, Pix thought, profoundly grateful, was going to be a piece of cake.

  She told her story again—or rather, tried to. Mrs.

  Harding—"Cal me Bessie, deah. Everybody does, even the grandkids"—tended to use Pix's every word as a jumping-off point for one of her own tangents. But after hearing about the priceless antique garnets—necklace, bracelet, earrings, and ring—Mr. Harding's mother had owned and which were promised to her, Bessie, but just because Mother had lived in their house, Mr. Harding's brother's wife, "who was no relation at al " claimed everything and she, Bessie, did not get so much as a button of her own mother-in-law's who also happened to be a second cousin, Pix was able to get on with her story.

  Once Mitchel Pierce's name was mentioned, Pix didn't have to do anything else.

  “I know he was no better than he should have been, but I liked the man. Always paid his rent on time and sometimes he'd come down here to the parlor—that's where we watch TV—and sit with us. Played that mandolin of his. A couple of times, he'd bring a bottle of something, not that Mr. Harding and I are drinkers, though we do enjoy a nip of something now and then. I don't know what he was doing down on Sanpere in a basement, but the whole thing is very sad and we miss him. That man could make you laugh from here to Christmas"

  “Do you think it's possible he may have left some of Mother's things here in his room or maybe someplace else in the house? Mother is particularly concerned about her quilts. He said they might be valuable.”

  It was the longest remark she'd been able to make so far.

  Bessie shook her head. "He never did keep much here. Told me once that he put his wares—that's what he cal ed them—over to El sworth in one of those storage places people rent. Why on earth, I can't imagine. If you don't have room for what you've got, then you've got too much, is what I say. Somebody else is in his room now, a real nice man who's working at Acadia this summer. We don't see too much of him, though, and of course he can't tel a story the way Mitch could. I think he's from New Jersey or one of those places.”

  Pix made one last try. "So you never saw any quilts—

  or other antiques—that Mitch might have taken on consignment or bought?"

  “No, deah, and I'm real sorry for your mother. The only quilt Mitch ever brought into this house was the one he gave me last year for my birthday. I was some surprised. Don't know how he knew, but he come into the kitchen right after breakfast—I always gave him breakfast when he was here

  —and gave me the most lovely quilt. It's too nice to use, so I keep it on a rack in the parlor. Do you want to see it?"

  Bessie had a sudden thought. "You don't think it could be one of your mother's? I mean, with this talk about Mitch being a little crooked and al ."

  “Oh no," Pix hastened to reassure her, speaking with the conviction the absolute truth gives. "It couldn't be. It's only been a little over two months that he's had ours.”

  She fol owed Bessie into the parlor and stood to one side as the woman spread the quilt out for her to admire.

  Pix made al the right comments—and once again she was speaking the truth. The quilt was beautiful, intricately worked, the colors lovely. And Pix ought to know. She'd bought the twin of it a week ago—the twin, even down to the tiny blue cross at the edge.

  It was difficult to get away from Bessie Harding, but after drinking two glasses of iced tea and promising to drop in again if she was ever up that way, Pix got in her car, waved good-bye, and backed out of the drive. Bessie watched her go, then ran to the mailbox cal ing after the car,

  "I never did get your name, deah! What was it again?" Pix turned onto the main road and headed south. The car windows were rol ed down, but she missed Bessie's last words.

  The sight of the bridge from the mainland to Sanpere always gave Pix a feeling of wel -being. A welcome-home feeling. She drove up the steep incline and looked at the sky overhead. She felt inches away from the heavens on the top of the bridge. As a teenager, she and Sonny had climbed to the uppermost crossbar of the bridge a few times before their parents heard about it and forbade them to ever do such a crazy thing again. Stil it had been wonderful, swinging your legs into nothingness and seeing al of Penobscot Bay at your feet. She let the car coast down the other side and reminded herself to mention, as she did each summer to her children, that the top of the bridge was strictly off limits.

  She was eager to talk to Faith but decided to stop at The Pines before going home. She had spoken with her mother earlier to tel her about the planned excursion and see whether she needed anything in El sworth, it standing in relation to Sanpere roughly as, say, Paris to a French vil age on the Atlantic Coast. Mother had wanted for nothing and told Pix that Rebecca was fine, sitting by Ursula's side as she spoke and sipping a cup of tea.

  Tea, or rather, iced tea again, sounded good. It was a long drive from Sul ivan to Sanpere and Pix was tired. She needed to recharge before cal ing Faith and trying to figure everything out.

  She walked into the living room, surprised not to see her mother and Rebecca on the porch.

  “Hel o," she cal ed. "Mother, where are you?" She walked through to the kitchen and saw the two women in the garden vigorously attacking anything that wasn't supposed to be there.

  “You have to keep at it every day," Rebecca was saying. "They real y do grow up over night.”

  Ursula was about to reply when she saw Pix. "Wil you excuse me for a moment, Rebecca? I have to talk to my daughter." Pix liked neither the expression on her mother's face nor the tone of voice in which she had said "my daughter." What have I done? she wondered.

  She wasn't in the dark for long. Mother pul ed her unceremoniously up the back stairs into the kitchen and plunked her down on a chair.

  “Myrtle Rowe Mil er! What have you been doing? What could you be thinking of going up to Sul ivan like that!”

  Mother was definitely clairvoyant. The word witch did not even occur to Pix.

  She was stunned. "How did you know where I was?"

  "Earl cal ed. The Sul ivan post office thought they should report to the state police that someone was asking about Mitchel Pierce. They cal ed Earl, who knew, of course, from the description it was you. There was no answer at your house, so he cal ed here to see if I knew whether you were off-island. It was quite embarrassing."

  “I'm sorry," Pix mumbled. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." And stil does, she thought defiantly. She was sorry she had upset her mother, but some prices had to be paid.

  “You're to cal Earl immediately. Now, you must be exhausted, al that driving. Would you like a cup of tea?"

  She was forgiven.

  “After I cal Earl." Sometimes virtue was its own reward, and besides, she might get a cookie.

  She went upstairs to cal , since Rebecca might run out of weeds and Pix didn't want her activities known by any more people than she could help.

  He answered on the first ring. "Now before you get mad at me, let me tel you what I found out," she said, hoping to distract him, which she did.

  “We knew he had the storage place. It was clean as a whistle, but this business with the quilts seems to prove he was involved in antiques fraud"

  “Does this mean you'l have to take
Bessie's quilt?"

  The woman had been so proud, Pix was sorry to be responsible for having it impounded or whatever they cal ed it when they seized evidence.

  “Yes, but she'l get it back. It's her property, unless at the end of this mess we find out differently."

  “No one has stepped forward to claim the estate yet, right?”

  This would have been big news on Sanpere.

  “Not so far, but it hasn't been very long”

  It just seemed long.

  Pix was about to hang up, grateful that she had avoided a talking-to, when she remembered Jil 's protest.

  "Oh, by the way, according to Ms. Merriwether, any problems between the two of you are a figment of the public's imagination. She and you have simply been too busy to see much of each other lately."

  “Oh, is that it? Better than nothing, I suppose" From the way he spoke, it sounded much better.

  Rebecca and Ursula were sitting in the living room. "It's too hot on the front porch. The sun has been beating down on it al day," her mother explained.

  “If you don't mind, I think I'l lie down for a while. I can't understand why I'm so tired al the time," Rebecca said.

  “I'm sure you'l feel better soon," Pix reassured her.

  “Thank you, deah, but I know one thing. I'm not going to feel any better until we can have a proper Christian burial for Addie." Her voice broke. "It's not fair to do this to her.”

  Pix went upstairs with Rebecca and spread the afghan she requested over her, despite the warmth of the room, tucked up under the eaves as it was.

  “I like to lie here and look out the window at the water,"

  she told Pix drowsily. "I could never see it from my bedroom in the back, but Addie could.”

  The woman was almost asleep. Pix left, closing the door. When she went back downstairs, her mother was in the kitchen pouring iced tea, adding sprigs of mint she must have just cut in the garden.

  “In al this commotion, I forgot to tel you Faith cal ed. It seemed every cal was someone looking for you. She said for you to cal her back as soon as you could."

  “I wonder what she wants?"

  “I have no idea. She didn't mention anything to me."

  Mrs. Rowe smiled. Let the girls have their secrets was its implication.

  Pix didn't feel like going back upstairs and so cal ed from the kitchen. She got the answering machine and left a message.

  “Stil too hot for the porch?" she asked her mother.

  "Yes, but not the backyard. Let's sit there.”

  They took their glasses and a plate of sugar cookies out back. There were chairs and a smal table set out under a large black oak surrounded by a bed of lilies of the val ey.

  They weren't in bloom now, but the columbines that had sprung up among them, managing to get just enough sunlight, were lovely.

  “It's because I worry about you," Ursula said. "That's why I was angry."

  “I know, but I wouldn't put myself in any danger." Pix suddenly thought of al the things she was responsible for, starting with her family. Wel , she certainly hadn't been in peril. Half the state of Maine knew where she was every minute.

  “It's just this terrific need to know what happened—

  maybe because I found the body. I can't not try to find out whatever I can," she told her mother.

  “I understand. An enormous wrong has been done, two wrongs if, as we suspect, Adelaide was kil ed, too."

  “You don't think she died of natural causes? A heart attack?"

  “It may have been a heart attack, but I don't think it was natural. However, I could be wrong. I hope I'm wrong"

  “Did Earl say anything more about the autopsy?" Pix realized she'd forgotten to ask him.

  “He said they're not finished doing their tests. Rebecca wants very much to go home, although she's happy enough here. But the house is stil sealed."

  “This whole thing has been terribly hard on her."

  “Yes, I suppose it has”

  Pix told her mother what Seth had said about Addie's wil .

  “I haven't felt right about asking Rebecca so soon, but I'm not surprised. The whole show was always Addie's and James's, her husband. You wouldn't real y remember him.

  Besides, he was sick at the end of his life. But he and Addie were wel matched—two very strong-minded people.

  He was First Selectman for years. His people hadn't farmed for a long time, so he fished, yet buying the house in town set them apart from some of the others. Rebecca had lived in the house, taking care of her parents until they died, then moved out when James inherited it. She lived in Granvil e and worked at the Emporium until Addie asked her to move back in to help take care of James. After he died, she just stayed. But it was always James and Addie's house, even though Rebecca had lived there for most of her life"

  “I hope she can stay at least for a little while. I get the feeling she'd like to move into Addie's big front bedroom with the view.”

  Her mother nodded. "I'm sure she would."

  “What about the quilt? Has Rebecca said anything more about it?"

  “I did ask her that, only she insists she's never seen it before and that if it had been in the house, she would have known about it. I suggested maybe the antiques dealer staying there had purchased it and left it for Addie to look at, but she said it wasn't the kind of thing he bought."

  “That's true. Remember, he told us he was interested in clocks and furniture at the clambake" An image of Ursula deep in conversation with John Eggleston earlier that same day came into Pix's mind and she remembered she wanted to ask her mother some questions about him.

  “Which reminds me, what were you and John talking about so earnestly over your lobsters?”

  If her mother wondered at the abrupt change in subject, she did not show it. She was working on a pair of mittens with sailboats on the back for the Sanpere Stitchers Fair and her needles continued to click rapidly. Pix had worn similar mittens in her youth, ones with kittens, ice skates, and once her flower namesake done in purple on green.

  Pix was a fair knitter herself, but her mittens tended to be utilitarian solid colors, as the Mil er children scattered them al over Aleford while sledding, making snow forts, and skating on the old reservoir.

  “We were talking about changing one's occupation in midlife. He was expressing some amazement, and contentment, with the way the Lord had worked things out for him.”

  There didn't seem anything untoward here.

  “What about Mitchel Pierce? Did John mention him to you or have you heard why Mitchel moved out?"

  “It was foolish to think those two could ever have lived together. They were both much too stubborn, but that wasn't what happened. John caught Mitch using his tools without permission and went through the roof. It seems he's very, very particular about them—the same way an artist would be about his brushes, I imagine."

  “What was Mitchel making?"

  “That, I cannot tel you. You'l have to ask John. I do know he was very upset, because Mitch had waited until John was asleep, then went out to the woodworking shed. It may have been the subterfuge that bothered John most.”

  Woodworking in the dead of night, a fake quilt for his landlady: It al sounded very much as if Mitch had been in the business of making and sel ing forged antiques. But had John realized this, too?

  Or had Mitch found something in John's shed?

  Something John didn't want him to know about?

  Pix wanted to go home, make herself a drink, and stretch out in the hammock. There was a pizza in the freezer and she could make a salad for their dinner. It was the utmost effort she could envision, and she knew Samantha wouldn't mind.

  As it turned out, she didn't even have to do that much.

  Samantha cal ed as she was about to leave to tel her she was going out with Arlene. Fred was helping some relative move and he'd let his girlfriend have his car. Samantha and Arlene were looking forward to Girls' Night Out: dinner and a movie in Granvil e. Pi
x gave her consent, said good-bye to her mother, and went home.

  She poured herself a drink, put the pizza in the oven, and tried to decide whether she had enough energy to wash some lettuce for a salad. She didn't. She grabbed a handful of carrot and celery sticks to munch on instead and prepared to head for the hammock until the pizza was ready.

  They kept only a smal portion of the lawn mowed, so the kids could play croquet and badminton. The rest they left to its own devices, watching the cycle of wildflowers and grasses change over the course of the summer. Now the meadow was fil ed with white daisies, purple vetch, and hawkweed, yel ow and dark red against the green. Pix stretched out in the hammock and looked up into the sky.

  The air was cooler as dusk approached. She gave herself a swing with her foot and balanced her glass on her chest.

  The phone rang.

  She leapt from the hammock, setting the drink down on the grass, and sprinted for the house. Fortunately, Faith did not hang up.

  “I figured you'd be out doing something energetic in the garden or digging clams at the shore. Whatever.”

  “Actual y, I was lying in the hammock”

  This did not sound like the Pix Mil er she knew, Faith thought. When her Pix Mil er indulged in contemplation, it was usual y paired with something else—taking the dogs for a run or a ten-mile hike with Danny's Boy Scout troop.

  Things must be seriously out of kilter on Sanpere.

  “What I have to tel you may help put some of the pieces together—or confuse things further. I'm not sure."

  “Tel me. Tel me!"

  “Tel me. Tel me!"

  “A few days ago, I cal ed a friend of mine who has an antiques shop on Madison Avenue. She knows everybody in the antiques world, national y and international y. Anyway, right off the bat, she hadn't heard of Norman Osgood, which was pretty surprising. But she said she'd check her professional directories and ask around. She cal ed me back today, and the man does not exist. She didn't even find him in the Manhattan phone book!"

  “Faith, this is amazing. What made you think about checking on Norman?"

  “You kept saying something wasn't quite right about him, and I trust your impressions absolutely."