The Body In The Basement ff-6

by Katherine Hall Page

  “If you keep it very brief, I don't see why you can't do it now. But"—he looked back at Arlene and Fred—"that's al .

  The best thing for her now is rest. She was pretty shaken up.”

  They nodded solemnly.

  “Tel her ... wel , tel her I'm sorry and give her my love.

  And I'l be here as soon as she can have visitors.”

  Pix gave Arlene a hug, her recent anger total y vanished. Samantha had been dropped off at the end of the road, as had al of them day and night, hundreds of times.

  The sight of her daughter in a hospital bed threatened to unhinge her, but Pix took a firm hold of herself—and Samantha.

  “I have to cal Daddy right away. He's waiting. Then I'l be right back. Earl wants to talk to you about what happened. Do you feel up to it?"

  “They gave me something to make my head stop hurting and I feel a little dopey, but I can tel him what happened. It was so quick, Mom." Samantha gave a little sob. "Duncan must real y hate me!"

  “Don't think about it, sweetheart. He's a very, very troubled boy.”

  As Pix was leaving to get Earl, the nurse came in. "You have a phone cal , Mrs. Mil er. You can take it out here.”

  Pix fol owed her and soon heard her husband's familiar voice. She told him what the doctor had said. "I just wish you were here, even though she's fine"

  “Wel , I wil be in about three and a half hours tops."

  "What!"

  “I couldn't simply sit home. I'm a little south of Portland and wil be at the hospital as soon as I can. Nobody's too concerned about speed limits at this time of night. If I do get stopped, I'l have them cal Earl."

  “Please be careful, darling." Pix was thril ed that he was on his way, but one Mil er in the hospital was more than enough.

  “Don't worry, I wil .”

  She hung up and went back to Samantha's room, where she intended to spend the night.

  Earl had finished questioning her.

  “We'l let you know what happens with the Athertons.

  Duncan must have been upset that they were in his cabin and he blamed Samantha. But why he didn't confront her, I don't know. Usual y, he just yel s. I never expected violence"

  Earl's lips were tight. "He's been trouble since he arrived and we've been too soft with him. Not this time."

  “In his cabin?" Pix had missed the story so far.

  “I'l let Samantha tel you. The doctor told me I had five minutes and they're up. Take care of yourself, Pix. I'l be by in the morning." He gave her a quick hug and left. Before the door closed, she ran over and told him, "Sam is on his way" Earl nodded. "I'm Sony this happened. Samantha's a terrific kid. Now you get some rest, too.”

  Samantha was barely conscious, but for different reasons than earlier. She had heard the last part of their conversation, though.

  “Daddy's coming?"

  “Yes, he'l be here in a couple of hours."

  “Good. I bet he wants to beat the shit out of Duncan"

  Pix did not deny it. She wanted to do it herself.

  * * *

  The next morning, things were not so clear. Duncan Cowley had been at the nine o'clock movie that did not get out until past eleven. Two friends swore to it and Wendel Marshal , who manned the ticket booth, distinctly remembered sel ing him a ticket.

  “It's hard to forget a kid with a hoop in his ear and green hair," he'd told Earl. Duncan had apparently streaked his locks with some sort of dye for the evening out. Now in the hard light of day, it looked pretty pathetic as he sat in Earl's office uneasily flanked by his parents. The state police had come to the house the night before and Jim had stil not shaken off his indignation at his stepson for being the cause of their visit.

  “In al my years on Sanpere Island, the police have never had to come to my house for any reason whatsoever.

  Now we want some answers here and we want them fast.”

  Earl thought this was his line, but he let it lie.

  “Duncan," he said to the boy in a milder tone. The kid looked like he'd been through the mil . "We just want to know what happened. No one's accusing you of anything."

  “Be real," the boy shouted. "You're never going to believe a fucking word I say, so why don't you go ahead and lock me up!" Earl wondered where Duncan had found the energy. Since he'd come in with Valerie and Jim, he'd sat slumped over in the chair, dressed as usual in black and smel ing of stale beer and cigarettes. He was probably hungover from the night before. When the police had not found him at home, they'd driven around the island, turning their flashlight beams into a number of cars and soon locating Duncan in the backseat of one, trying to hide a six-pack under his scrawny frame.

  Earl was pretty tired, too. This was the second time he'd talked with the Athertons and the boy himself.

  Duncan's denial and alibi had left Earl in a dilemma. He'd been asking around. There were only a few other kids who had the same shoes, mostly summer people. Those things cost a fortune. But in light of Duncan's alibi, he'd have to track down every pair and owner. As alibis went, it was a pretty good one. Patrons who got up in the middle of the film, obscuring the sight of those behind them, did not go unnoticed or unremarked on Sanpere. The only possibility was that Duncan had bought a ticket from Wendel and then immediately went out by another door. Could he have been so furious at Samantha that he'd plotted the attack ahead of time, even providing himself with an alibi? Of course his friends would lie through their teeth for him. At the moment, Earl was trying to find others, less loyal, who might have seen him in the audience. The whole thing was complicated by the group's penchant for the same style and color of dress. He'd have to hope Duncan was the only one with the nifty hairdo.

  The boy claimed that he had not even known Samantha and Arlene had been in his cabin. He seemed pretty upset about it. Until Jim told him to shut his mouth and keep it shut, Duncan had tried to turn the tables, inveighing against the two girls. "They're the ones you should get. Trespassing. B and E. That's private property!”

  Earl didn't say anything about the knife the girls had taken away. The night before, he'd taken it to the police station in Blue Hil for the state police to pick up. He hadn't heard anything since.

  After a further wearying hour, Earl sent Duncan home with Jim and Valerie to what he was sure would be house arrest. Duncan cast an odd look back at the sergeant and Earl had the distinct impression that Duncan would have favored the one and only cel down the hal from the office—

  mostly used to store stationery supplies for the town hal .

  Valerie had sat tight-lipped and grim throughout the ordeal. She seemed to have erected a wal between herself and the rest of the world. She was dressed in a simple blue-checked skirt and white blouse, no hat, no makeup. At one point, Duncan turned to her and said, "Why would I want to do anything to Samantha Mil er? I don't even know her." Valerie just shook her head in utter defeat.

  Earl walked out with them to their car. "Thank you for coming in."

  “A rotten business," Jim said, "a sorry mess.

  Samantha's one of the best sailing instructors we've ever had at Maine Sail." He glared at Duncan.

  An old pickup came roaring down the street—it needed a new muffler—and screeched to a halt next to them. John Eggleston, his hair a mess of disheveled fiery locks, leapt out and ran toward them.

  “I just heard. Please, let's sit down and talk about what happened before anyone goes off the deep end”

  During the long wait the night before, Pix had fil ed Earl in on everything Samantha had told her and had also mentioned her conversation with John. And John had, in fact, been in touch with Earl, asking him to keep an eye on the old quarry. Earl had touched on some of this with Duncan and the Athertons.

  “You've done enough harm here! Al your little talks!

  We know about the kinds of `literature: you've been recommending and you may be hearing from my lawyer."

  Jim had apparently already dived in.

  John stood for a momen
t, openmouthed. "Too late," he muttered, "too late”

  He stood with Earl, watching the family drive away. "I was hoping they'd let the boy stay with me for a while until things cool down."

  “I doubt there's much hope of that. One way or another, Duncan Cowley is going off this island.”

  It was almost dark when Pix woke up. She lay stil for a moment. Sam had thrown a light blanket over her. The heat was final y breaking. She looked out the window at the familiar line of fir trees pointing to the boathouse and shore.

  The outcroppings of pink granite were faintly visible, or maybe it was because she knew they were there that she could see them. She could hear Sam and Samantha talking in her room down the hal . Pix felt warm and safe. She stood up and draped the blanket around her shoulders, trailing it like a queen's mantle as she went in to see her daughter and husband.

  “Mom, Daddy's cheating!" Samantha laughed. They were playing Uno.

  “That's nice," said Pix. "What do you want for supper?”

  Samantha was stil in a good mood three days later, but was beginning to get restless. She had been showered with attention in both tangible and intangible forms. The campers had al made cards for her. Susannah and Geoff had created three gushing ones each. The Fairchilds had sent a basket of yel ow roses, baby's breath, and daisies—

  not the kind the Mil ers gathered in big bunches from the meadow to weave into crowns or set about the house in a variety of containers, but perfect daisies with huge yolk yel ow centers and every creamy white petal perfect. No tiny holes as evidence that some creature had rested there.

  Gert Prescott left two lemon meringue pies. Ursula brought a beautiful conch shel Samantha had long coveted.

  Valerie dropped by to leave a tiny porcelain box with the words FORGET ME NOT surrounded by the flowers on the lid. She tried to say how sorry they were to Pix, but Pix, feeling very uncomfortable, cut her off, thanking her and adding, "Samantha is fine, thank God, and maybe Duncan wil get the help he needs now.”

  That you al need, she finished silently.

  Sam had stayed until Monday night and he and Pix had spent a great deal of time talking together and with Earl about what to do. In the end, with Samantha's approval, they decided not to press charges. It wasn't because of lack of evidence but, rather, because they felt that Duncan might only become more withdrawn and disturbed if caught up in the juvie system. Both Pix and Sam had been very moved by Samantha's description of what the boy kept in his trunk. Earl spoke to the Athertons and they were going to find an appropriate residential school with a summer program—not the military one—for their son as soon as possible. Depending on how he did and what those working with him said, they'd decide whether he would return home in the fal or stay.

  Sam had left reluctantly, trying up to the last minute to get his wife and his daughter to go back with him, but neither woman wanted to budge.

  “I'm not going to let her out of my sight," Pix told her husband, "especial y at night. Earl doesn't think she's in any danger. Duncan wil be leaving soon, and we can't run away.”

  Sam agreed intel ectual y, yet his gut told him otherwise. "I'l be back Friday night." Pix wasn't going to argue with that.

  Adelaide Bainbridge's funeral was Tuesday morning.

  Pix and Samantha had driven out to The Pines to get Ursula. Rebecca had been picked up earlier by a contingent of Bainbridge cousins feeling pangs of familial obligation: "Poor old Becky.”

  Samantha had had plenty of company since she'd returned home from the hospital Saturday morning, none more constant than her grandmother's. Pix knew her mother would be terribly shaken by what had happened and she was right. Today, Ursula opened the door to Samantha, who was running up the steps, the only evidence of the attack and her slight concussion hidden by her hair. To al intents and purposes, she was ful y recovered, but the pain in the older woman's eyes was fresh. Pix was struck anew by how much her mother seemed to have aged since Saturday. There were dark shadows and lines that Pix had never seen on Ursula's face before. When she spoke, it was not in her usual timbre. The volume had been turned down and the treble increased.

  “Mother, are you sure you want to go?" Pix asked.

  "There'l be so many people at the service, no one wil miss us."

  “Of course I want to go—and Rebecca would notice, for one. Besides, I couldn't miss Addie's funeral. I've known her for so many years”

  Pix thought her mother would say this and she resolved to get her away as soon as possible after the graveside service.

  As they drove across the causeway back toward Sanpere Vil age, Pix again noted the happy vacationers on the beach and out in their boats, enjoying the typical Maine day. The heat spel had broken and normal July weather was back. There was a good stiff breeze on the water, turning up smal whitecaps. The sun shone just enough for comfort and a few hardy souls were swimming.

  “I'm glad it's not so hot today. The idea of sitting through the service wondering who was going to pass out, maybe even me, is distinctly unappealing.”

  Samantha laughed. The idea of her mother passing out in any situation seemed pretty far-fetched—but then, she had been in no shape to judge on Friday night.

  “Addie could never take the heat, even when she was thin."

  “Addie was thin?" In Pix's memory, Adelaide had always been a substantial woman.

  “Oh yes, she was thin—and very pretty—when she was young. She could have had her pick of any number of the boys. My brother, Tom, used to talk about the beautiful lighthouse keeper’s daughter. She'd come over for dances and such, but even then she tended to be outspoken. He thought she'd probably boss a man to death.”

  It hit Pix that they were on their way to a funeral. So much had been going on that she'd been viewing the morning's activity as a kind of respite, especial y since the medical examiner had ruled the death due to heart failure, plain and simple; nothing to do with quilts, crosses—or knives. Samantha had told her about the knife they'd found.

  She would have to ask Earl about it.

  “Rebecca must have been mistaken about the quilt,"

  she said to her mother, who was sitting up straight in the seat next to her, holding her purse in gloved hands. "I hope it's not a sign that she's beginning to deteriorate."

  “I don't think Rebecca Bainbridge's going downhil any faster than the rest of us—but she may have made a mistake with the quilt.”

  Pix looked over to exchange a smile with her mother about the downhil remark, but her mother's face was shut up tight.

  The whole island was crowded into the simple white church that sat high on a hil facing out to Penobscot Bay where Addie had worshiped, off and on—mostly on, of late.

  The Sanpere Stitchers al sat in one pew, immediately behind Rebecca and the rest of the family. Pix reached for Samantha's hand and gave it a squeeze. She had told her daughter she didn't need to come but had been happy when Samantha wanted to be there. Pix was stil not ready to be separated from her, even for an hour or two. She looked around the church, flooded with sunshine from the clear long, glass windows that framed the bay above the plain altar and that on the sides offered a view of the woods on the left, the cemetery on the right. Soon Adelaide would join her husband, James, there. The stone with both their names had been in place for many years, merely waiting for this last date to be carved on its polished granite surface.

  Pix looked down the row of faces in her pew: Nan Marshal ; Geil, Dot, and Louel a Prescott; Mabel Hamilton; Louise Frazier; Jil Merriwether; Serena Marshal ; and others. These island women held the community together in so many ways, a root system like the evergreens and ground covers that kept the thin layer of earth on top of this inhabited rock from washing off into the sea. The women were al subdued but showed no outward signs of grief. It was Addie's time. And she had had a long life, not like some: Louel a's grandson, lost diving for urchins; Mabel's daughter, kil ed in a car accident. Pix saw Jil bow her head suddenly. In silent prayer? What—or whom— was
she thinking about? Ursula's head was unbowed and her face appeared swept clean of al expression, except to one who knew her as wel as her daughter did. Something was troubling Mother. The slight lowering of her eyebrows, the barely perceptible tightening of her lips. Pix looked at her mother's lap. Her hands were clenched together, thumbs locked over each other. Not in prayer. She had been upset about the attack on Samantha and the death of her old friend, of course, but was there something else? Mother was remarkably good at keeping things from people. Pix resolved to find out what was bothering her, even if it took the rest of the summer.

  She gave a surreptitious glance over her shoulder as they stood for a hymn. The church was indeed packed.

  Norman Osgood was in one of the rear pews, solemn-faced. Seth was also in the rear. He seemed perfectly at ease in his unaccustomed formal garb, a wel -cut dark suit.

  Pix wondered why he wasn't up with the rest of the family.

  Had to get back to work quickly?

  They sat down and the minister began his eulogy.

  Rebecca began to cry audibly. She was going home today, she'd told Ursula. She'd been able to go back ever since the final report from the state medical examiner's office, but at Ursula Rowe's urging, Rebecca had decided to stay at The Pines until after the funeral. Would she move to the front bedroom right away? Pix wondered. Or would she stay in the smal one in back until a decent period of mourning had passed? And what would the family do?

  Surely not turn her out immediately. Pix hoped the force of island opinion, mainly the formidable force of the Sewing Circle, would prevent that from happening.

  She realized she had barely listened to the service.

  She was agitated, too. The world was topsy-turvy and the sooner she could get her feet firmly planted on the ground, the better. One death was resolved, but the other was not.

  They al filed out of the church in silence as the organist played Adelaide's favorite hymn, "Abide with Me." Then they buried her.

  “Mother, you cannot keep me locked up like some princess in a tower! I want to get back to work. They need me! And nothing could be safer. I'm surrounded by hordes of little munchkins every minute I'm there. You can drive me over and pick me up. I won't even go to the bathroom by myself, I promise. But you've got to let me leave. I'm starting to go nuts here”