“Then that's what we'll have to do," Faith said briskly, suddenly seeing Dave twenty years ago, a replica of her own darling babe. The thought stabbed her, but it was nothing compared to the hardball of a baleful glance that Tom threw across the table. She took it bravely full in the face and got some more waffles. Benjamin was still contentedly in training for a lock-picking career.
After Faith had spoken Dave looked a lot better, eating waffles steadily and to all appearances without a care in the world save whether State would take the pennant this year or not. It amazed Faith that even someone as relatively grown up as Dave still invested real adults with so much power. Faith considered herself to be one of the real adults since starting her business and even more since Benjamin was born. Unreal adults were all those yuppies somewhere in their twenties for decades who appeared intent only on making a fortune, brushing their teeth, and having an inordinate amount of fun. They weathered market fluctuations and favorite restaurant closings with equal aplomb. The wages of sin weren't what they used to be.
Tom continued to look at her, cartoonlike balloons coming out of his mouth : "Don't make promises you can't keep.”
“This could be dangerous.”
“Stay out of it."
“I don't see why I can 't devote a little time to thinking about all this," Faith muttered to herself. "It's not as if I'm going to get myself killed.”
She had leaned over to pick up Benjamin, who had started to demand a new diversion, when they heard a car pull into the drive. Dave was out the back way before the engine stopped.
Faith thrust his dishes into the dishwasher.
“Now, Faith," warned Tom. She motioned for him to be quiet, scooped up the Rolex, and put it in her pocket. "Now, Faith," he said with greater determination. "Let's just see who it is and what they want. Don't worry, Tom, I'll be good."
“That's what I'm afraid of.”
The bell rang.
3
Tom opened the door. It was Chief MacIsaac, all right, and he was not alone.
Charley MacIsaac was a large man—stacks of oatcakes in his youth in Nova Scotia—but he was completely dwarfed by the man at his side. Clad in what Faith noted with surprise to be a rather modish Burberry raincoat, the giant was about six-foot-seven and hefty. His dark hair, streaked with gray, was curly like a perm, but Faith, a specialist in snap judgments, immediately concluded that this wasn't the sort of man who went in for perms. A mother, most likely his, would have described his face as having character ; others equally charitable would call it homely. When he greeted themwith a thin-lipped regulation smile, uncharitable Faith barely repressed a shudder.
“This is Detective Lieutenant John Dunne from the State Police," Charley said, "They've been kind enough to give us a hand in this unfortunate business." Dunne looked at Charley with tolerance bordering on annoyance. The case would have been a whole lot easier if MacIsaac had never had his hand anywhere near it. In their initial excitement, the Aleford Police had trampled Belfry Hill like a pack of puppies not yet housebroken, destroying evidence that might have been there and leaving their tracks all over the place. These small town guys might be likable as hell, but they were a pain in the ass to work with.
Dunne moved into the room, quietly for a man his size. "I hope you don 't mind going over this again, Mrs. Fairchild," he said in a tone of voice that left no alternative. And a tone of voice that revealed other than Yankee roots.
“ Not at all," Faith replied politely as she steered him toward the wing chair, the only one in the room she trusted to hold him safely. There was a superabundance of spindly New England furniture in the parsonage and one of those chairs would fall apart like balsa wood if he sat in it.
Where did they find this guy ? she wondered. He sounds like he comes from the Bronx. And what kind of a name was John Dunne for this decidedly unpoetical creature ?
She was terrifically disconcerted to hear her unspoken thoughts answered.
“ I understand we are fellow New Yorkers, Mrs. Fairchild. I grew up in the Bronx.”
This was probably supposed to make her feel at ease Faith reflected, if such a presence could. Why was it that the police had this effect on her ? She hadn 't murdered Cindy, but she felt as wary as an about-to-be-uncovered serial killer.
“Yes, I'm from Manhattan." That sounded like one upmanship. She hastily added, "Though of course I know the Bronx—the Zoo, the Botanical Gardens, but I must confess I mostly go there for egg creams.”
it was Dunne 's turn to be wary. He looked at her hard. Egg creams were nothing to joke about.
He stood up and took off his tan raincoat. It reminded Faith, as Tom jumped up to take it, of a frost heave—huge boulders suddenly emerging from the earth. Dunne sat down and the terrain settled.
Faith put Ben in the playpen again, showering him with all his favorite toys, Happy Apple and a stuffed clown that never failed to send Ben into gales of laughter. It was doing so now and Charley shot an avuncular smile at the baby, but Dunne never gave him a tumble. This wasn 't going to be easy.
Tom tried to catch Faith 's eye. She deliberately ignored his rather impassioned glance. Subtlety had never been Tom 's strong point.
“ Would anyone like some coffee ? It's already made," Faith offered.
“ I never say no," Charley answered. He could usually be found having a cup at the Minuteman Café every morning at eight and every afternoon at four. When Faith used to roam the town restlessly before Benjamin's arrival, she would see him there and would join him for the Minuteman 's surprisingly good muffins. The café had replaced the old country store as gathering place and information center, not that she had ever seen anyone there engaged in idle chatter or gossip. But somehow they managed to keep on top of things by nods over their coffee mugs and monosyllabic hints.
She looked over at Detective Lieutenant Dunne.
“Thank you, no," John Dunne replied as he took out his Filofax.
Faith was startled. She hadn't seen a Filofax since she'd left the city ; her own was gathering dust in a drawer upstairs. She knew it was simply a matter of time before Dunne would get her to confess the infractions of a lifetime, starting with stealing a bottle of red nail polish from Woolworth's on a dare in sixth grade up to the present suppression of the whereabouts of a key suspect in a murder investigation. She would have found whips and chains easier to resist than calculated organization.
She left, quickly returned with coffee for the rest of them, and sat down next to Tom on the couch.
“Now, Mrs. Fairchild, could you tell me what happened yesterday? I've read the reports, but it would help to hear it in your own words.”
This was something she could do. Faith sat up straight and patiently went through what was beginning to seem like something she had dreamed.
“I started up Belfry Hill just before noon with Benjamin."
“ Excuse me, but how did you know what time it was?" Dunne was looking at her watchless wrist.
“No, I didn't have a watch on," she answered, correctly interpreting his gaze, "I don 't wear one unless I need to. I knew it was near noon, because when I was halfway up the hill, I heard the bells ring at the Congregational church.”
Dunne nodded, "Okay, so it was slightly past noon when you reached the belfry."
“Probably about five after," Faith corrected, recalling her self-pity stop. "I was walking rather slowly. I got to the top, went inside and sat down. I took my sandwich out and put it on the bench and started to loosen the Snugli straps.”
37 Charley interrupted this time, " Sandwich, Faith ? You didn 't mention a sandwich before." He appeared hurt.
“ I'm sorry, Charley. It was tuna, tomato, and egg.”
“And I thought we had something there," he said glumly. "We're having it analyzed."
“Just plain tomato and egg," said Faith, "But the tuna is from Dean and DeLuca in New York. It's imported from Italy.”
Mac Isaac had been eyeing her hopefully as if perhaps she woul
d remember that she had left her particular sandwich on the kitchen counter yesterday, but this last piece of precise information squashed that.
“You still have the rose," said Faith gently. "And the knife.”
Charley paused and cleared his throat, "Yes, we still have the rose and the knife. A rose that grows in pretty near every garden in town and the kind of knife that is used in every kitchen, including mine. And whoever used it was damn lucky or knew a lot about surgery.”
Faith hoped he was not going to turn cynical over this business.
“It looked like a good sandwich. Too bad we didn't know sooner.”
Faith was relieved. Chief MacIsaac was on the job, but he was not off his feed. At least not yet.
John Dunne had clearly had enough of this meandering. It was often helpful to let a witness go off on tangents, but this was getting ridiculous. Imported tuna fish and Snuglis, whatever they were.
“When you entered the belfry, Mrs. Fairchild, can you describe exactly what you saw ? Sometimes it helps if you close your eyes.”
Faith obediently shut her eyes, looked at the mental picture, and carefully began to put it into words. "It was very bright out, so it was a few seconds before I saw that somebody else was there on the other bench. I thought she was asleep because her head was on the bench. It looked like a very awkward way to sleep. Not very comfortable, tumbled over to one side. I stood up to leave, because I thought Benjamin might start to cry and disturb whomever it was. That was when I realized it was Cindy and that she had a knife with a pink rose twisted around it sticking out of her side.
“I tried to think what to do. She wasn't breathing and I knew she was dead. I remember thinking it wasn't any use to try to resuscitate her.”
Faith 's big blue eyes flew open, filled with some of the fear of the day before. "My next thought was that the murderer must be close by."
“Why did you think that?" Dunne queried.
“Because the body was warm. Oh, that's right. I put my hand in front of her mouth to see if I could feel any breath and I touched her neck to find a pulse. There wasn't any, but the skin was still warm." Faith shivered. " I knew she couldn't have been dead long. So I rang the bell."
“And a good thing too," MacIsaac noted. He was solidly in Faith's camp on the bell controversy and was contemplating nominating her for the Bronze Musket, a plaque awarded on Patriot's Day to a citizen who has contributed above and beyond the call of duty to the town. Had it not been for Faith's quick thinking, they would have wasted valuable time apprehending the perpetrator. Of course they hadn 't apprehended anyone yet, but they would. Towns like Aleford had few secrets for long. His thirty-year sojourn had taught him that.
Dunne nodded in agreement. " Now one or two other points, Mrs. Fairchild.”
Faith stiffened slightly. What on earth was she going to say about Dave ? Just then Benjamin began to scream angrily from his cage. Her relief was enormous. She started to get up, then changed her mind. Who knew what Tom would say if she left him alone ? By their very nature, most ministers are notoriously poor liars. His innate goodness, something she cherished, had the effect of both buoying her up and weighing her down. This was one of the times when she could feel the water level rising. She put her hand on his shoulder.
“Tom, dear, would you see what Ben needs and I'll come help as soon as we're finished here ? " Faith hoped the emphasis she put on "finished" wasn 't too obvious, but obvious enough to get them out of her living room.
Tom took Benjamin upstairs grudgingly, well aware that his wife was about to tell any number of, to her, perfectly justifiable falsehoods.
Dunne turned back to Faith and asked, " How did you know so quickly that it was Cindy Shepherd ? “
She was surprised and momentarily relieved. So he didn't want to know about Dave. Not yet anyway.
“ It wasn't hard. I recognized her hair first of all and she had on a nice turquoise and black Benetton sweater that she'd worn to the last Young People's dance at the church.”
She was also wearing those black stirrup pants, tacky and already passé, and turquoise ballerina flats, Faith recalled to herself. It was definitely an outfit and she was pretty sure what Cindy was wearing underneath was black lace or nothing at all. Not a class act, but proven effective. She wondered if Charley would tell her about the underwear if she got him alone some time.
Tom was back with a fussy Benjamin in his arms.
“I'm afraid he needs your particular talents, darling," he said with a touch of smugness as he handed Ben over.
“We're just leaving," Dunne said and stood up, occupying most of the airspace in the room. He walked over to Faith with MacIsaac at his heels. She noticed Dunne had on a well-cut Harris tweed sports jacket. She felt a little sorry for Charley, whose plain clothes usually took the form of an ancient Celtics jacket or shapeless brown overcoat. He'd been widowed a long time and his wardrobe had definitely remained in mourning.
Faith faced the two of them squarely. This is it, she thought.
Dunne spoke sternly, " What we are investigating here is a murder. And the murderer is still at large. We don't want to alarm you or your husband, but you must exercise simple caution until this is all wrapped up."
“You can 't mean that you think somebody wants to kill me ? " Faith protested.
“ Remember, the murderer may think you saw something you didn't.”
Faith blanched.
“We don't want you to lock yourself in the house day and night, Mrs. Fairchild. Just report any odd behavior to Chief MacIsaac or to me. Here's my card with numbers where I can be reached day or night. For instance, let us know if someone asks you a lot of questions about what you saw."
“ But that will be the whole town ! You might as well arrest Millicent McKinley and be done with it. Sorry, no Ir pun intended.”
Dunne smiled, or grimaced, it was hard to tell. "None taken. Believe me, I'm used to it. My mother was a poetry lover," he added.
Charley spoke up, "She does have a point, John. Just about the entire town will have an unhealthy interest in all this. Maybe it would be better to focus on the folks who don't talk about it.”
Detective Dunne looked at him with something like respect, "Please be careful, Mrs. Fairchild, and keep in touch. Above all, don't play amateur detective." He turned to Tom, including him in his remarks, " You'd be amazed at how many people who are involved in crimes like this think they can do better than the police." Tom was standing near the fireplace. "You don 't say ?" His deliberately neutral tone was belied by a sudden flush on his face that could scarcely have been caused by the flamelike chrysanthemums.
“I blame TV," Dunne said, moving across the room to the door with the others in his wake. He stopped just before opening it.
“By the way, we haven't been able to locate Cindy 's boyfriend, Dave Svenson. Do you happen to know where he is? We'd like to ask him some questions.”
Before Tom could speak, Faith stepped in front of him.
“No," she said firmly, "We don't know where he is, but if we see him, we'll give him your message.”
All of which was perfectly true, she told herself, crossing her fingers behind her back to be on the safe side.
Since Dunne didn't say anything further, she added, " Is he a suspect then ? " There was no harm in asking.
Dunne looked at her intently. "Everybody's a suspect until we have a suspect." It was a good exit line and had never failed him yet.
MacIsaac was listening to a different drummer. A beat that kept you lingering on the doorstep.
“Oh, Tom, we'd like a list of the members of your Young People's group and anything else you think might pertain," he said.
“No problem. I'll get everything together for you and call the station. I would also appreciate it if you could let us know when the funeral can take place. I'll be seeing the Moores this afternoon.”
Charley looked at Dunne, who obviously wanted to be in the car backing out of the driveway by now, for an ans
wer.
“They're doing the postmortem this morning, so I'dsay Monday or Tuesday. Tuesday to be on the safe side." He strode off purposefully.
Tom shut the door.
“Faith, what can you be thinking of? And crossing your fingers behind your back does not make a lie any less of a lie, as I believe I have told you God knows how many times before !"
“Hold on a minute, Thomas! First of all, God does know what I mean and even so I know very well what makes a lie and what doesn't. And next, I didn't see you blurting out that Dave had been here for breakfast !" Tom looked uncomfortable.
“All right, all right. I just can't believe he had anything to do with it and it may be wrong—no, I know it's wrong—but I couldn 't turn him in."
“Besides," Faith consoled him, "we honestly don 't know where he is.”
Tom smiled. "Besides, we don't know where he is." The smile disappeared. "What I'd like to do after I get the stuff for MacIsaac together is try to find him and get him to go to the police with me. The longer he stays away the worse it's going to look."
“That's a great idea, Tom. I'll help you find him. He must be with one of his friends. That 's where kids always go when they run away. Not that this is your typical kid running away because he doesn 't like the curfew his parents slapped on him."
“That's exactly what I don't want you to do. Help, that is. I want you to stay as close to home as possible until they find out who did it. `They' being the police. Honey, don 't you see? I don 't want anything to happen to you ! "
“I don't want anything to happen to me either. And nothing will. Anyway, what can I do ? Get a plaid cape and a magnifying glass? I'm simply going to keep my eyes and ears open, that's all. But first, if I don't feed this baby, we're both going to explode.”
Dunne and Charley had come to the same conclusion that Tom and Faith had and they were on their way to the Svensons to get a list of the names of Dave's friends.
“If they don't give us much, which will probably be the case, there are a bunch of other people we can ask," Charley told Dunne.
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