Body In The Belfry ff-1

by Katherine Hall Page

  “What about the way they were killed ? Cindy 's was quick ; she wouldn 't have known what was happening after the initial stab of pain, but Patricia 's death was truly agonizing. Unless," he stopped and appeared even more puzzled, "unless the murderer thought the poison would just put her to sleep. A gentle death. But in any case a death he or she wouldn 't have to see."

  “ That would tell us that it was Robert or Dave. Someone who loved her.”

  Tom looked at Faith and drank the last of his wine. "Robert or Dave—or one of her kids ?

  Faith stared back at him. She had a sudden image of Rob at the Willow Tree. She had forgotten all about it, assuming he was there on a date or whatever. But it wasn 't a usual haunt for Aleford kids. Much more likely to be a place you'd go if you didn't want to run into anyone you knew. This and Jenny's hysterical grief smacked into her consciousness. It was like walking into a door. She told Tom about it and he was inclined to dismiss it, but added the information to the sheet.

  “All right, put them on the list," Faith said, "And then let 's burn the damn thing.”

  Tom didn 't burn it, but put it carefully into one of his files. Then he followed Faith upstairs where she was changing Benjamin's diaper. He got out a fresh sleeper and they found some solace in the everyday routine of putting the baby to bed.

  They got into their own bed and Faith snuggled up against Tom. " I don't feel much like a heroine," she said.

  “Just wait a moment," he replied.

  Overnight, winter descended on Aleford. By Sunday morning the trees had dropped all their remaining leaves in unsightly heaps, which a freezing wind made impossible to rake up. At eleven, as Tom was stepping into the pulpit, a heavy rain splattered against the windows like a barrage of gunshots. The congregation stiffened and it seemed to Faith that no one relaxed again during the rest of the service. Not that church was necessarily a place to relax, but it was as if they had all gasped collectively and then did not let the air out.

  And it was freezing, at least it was to Faith, and she was sorry she hadn 't worn her new winter coat. She had noticed last winter that New Englanders seemed to take some sort of perverse pride in how long they could go before they turned on the heat and, having done so, howlow they set their thermostats. It was a common cocktail party conversational gambit, " Turned the heat on yet ? " She fully expected to hear someone tell her one of these days that they had gone until January. Now she sat and shivered her way through the service, finding it hard to pay attention to even Tom's sermon. She felt out of sorts, as if she was coming down with the flu, but it was a flu of the mind, of the soul, and she didn 't doubt that she shared it with most of the people in the church. When Tom mentioned the time of Patricia's funeral the next day, several handkerchiefs came out, and despite the atrocious weather, few lingered to talk to their friends at coffee hour. For once, no one wanted to exchange news. All the news was bad.

  The Svensons' usual spot, six rows back and to the right, had been conspicuously empty. Dave had been arraigned late on Saturday at the District Court and taken to the Billerica House of Correction. His parents were working to arrange bail and meanwhile one or the other of them tried to be at his side.

  The Moores' pew had been empty also. Tom found himself staring at the space in the middle of the second row where Patricia always sat, her face turned upward in expectation. It was hard to get through the sermon.

  By Monday the rain had stopped, but the cold had settled in. There had been a killing frost during the night that left all the remaining flowers blackened stalks. It was hard to believe that only two weeks ago they had gathered in the same cemetery in light clothing surrounded by lush gold and scarlet leaves. Faith felt vaguely thankful to whatever meteorological quirk had ordained the change. It was all in keeping. Nature was mourning, too, with providentially gray skies blocking out the sun.

  The church had been filled and afterward a large crowd gathered around the open grave. Patricia had known so many people, and not just from Aleford. Faith saw John Dunne 's mountainous form looming over the crowd. He was wearing a well-cut black topcoat and she was surprised to see how sad he looked. She assumed cops weren 't supposed to show their emotions. Charley was different. He had known Patricia since his first day in Aleford and Faith could understand why he was so upset, but Dunne ?

  In fact John Dunne was thinking of Dave Svenson. Dunne was remembering how startled the boy had been the day of Cindy's funeral when he came upon him on the ridge above the cemetery. He knew how Dave felt about Patricia. It had come out during the questioning about Cindy the first time. Dunne shook his head. The whole thing stank. He looked over at Charley and then at Faith. It never feels good to have one murder follow another and in this case it had felt worse than usual. Patricia was a close friend of Charley's and he had taken it hard, felt responsible. And maybe he—and Dunne himself—were.

  Rob Moore had read "A slumber did my spirit seal" at the church service and said a few words about his mother. He was remarkably composed, but Faith noticed when he went to sit down between Jenny and his father, neither of whom were able to speak, he took their hands in a viselike grip. She wondered when he would break down and let some of the pain he was feeling out. Some of the Moores' friends had read things, Tom spoke, and they sang Patricia's favorite hymn, "For the Beauty of the Earth.'' Now at the grave, Faith heard her husband reciting the words for the burial of the dead in a voice filled with sorrow. She seemed to be hearing everything from far away as though she were standing in a tunnel, then certain phrases would leap out assuming sudden clarity : "Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts, shut not thy merciful ears to our prayer." What secrets had been in Patricia's heart, the hearts around her?

  Tom's voice had momentarily lost its ceremonial tone and sounded almost conversational.

  “My friends, I want to pause at this time so that we may have a moment of private prayer, but before we do I want to say good-bye to Patricia with a few more lines of her favorite Wordsworth—lines that remind me of her, her deep love of family, friends, growing things, and all this world can offer.”

  It was the last section of "The immortality ode" and when he reached the final lines,

  “Thanks to the human heart by which we live,

  Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,

  To me the meanest flower that blows can give

  Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”

  There were tears.

  After the silence, a long one in the cold grayness, they threw the clods of earth on the coffin, which so impossibly held the body of the woman most of them had seen a few days ago busily preparing for the church fair or buying groceries at the Shop and Save or answering the hotline at the drug crisis center.

  They listened to Tom as he repeated the phrases that were so familiar, but to which no one ever became accustomed—"earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust ...”

  Then it was " Our Father " and they turned away quickly, reluctant to stay, whether from cold or disbelief, Faith couldn 't tell. She looked up and just as the trees had so rapidly dropped their leaves, the cemetery was empty of its mourners.

  The Moores were the first to go. Jenny had started to scream when she saw the earth hit the coffin and her father picked her up in his arms and took her to the car. Rob followed at the end of the service with slow steps, unwilling to let go of even that much of his mother that still remained on earth.

  There were no sherry and sandwiches this time. Those who had to hurried off to work and others went home. A few gravitated toward the parsonage and Faith found herself sitting in the living room with Sam, Pix and a few other parishioners. The Svensons, she knew, were going to see Dave. They were spending as much time as possible with him, trying to share his unshareable nightmare. Tom was at the Moores for much the same reason.

  Faith had made some coffee and put out an assortment of things from the refrigerator : cheeses, some smoky Virginia ham, chutney, and duck rillettes. She had b
aked bread the day before and kept some of the baguettes out of the freezer, thinking at least the Millers would come back after the funeral. Pix brought over a huge pot of thick pea soup. There was plenty to eat, but so far no one had touched a thing. They were drinking a lot of coffee, though, and Faith was just about to get another pot when the doorbell rang.

  “ Pix, could you get the door ? " she called. A moment later John Dunne and Charley entered the kitchen. Somehow she wasn't surprised to see them. They were so much a part of this whole cast of characters that any gathering seemed odd without them.

  “Hello, Faith," Detective Dunne said, "Could I have a cup?"

  “Of course, and please help yourself to some lunch. It's on the table in the dining room."

  “It was a beautiful service, Faith," Charley said. Hestill had a catch in his voice and looked very, very tired. Faith remembered trying to pump him for information after Cindy 's funeral. Dave had been the chief suspect then, too. She had the feeling she was repeating virtually the same words. "You can 't honestly believe that Dave killed Patricia—or Cindy either." Faith faced them both squarely. " I really don 't understand what's going on. Are you trying to smoke somebody else out ? Is that why he's been charged ? If so, it's a cruel and immoral thing to do.”

  Charley didn 't say anything. Dunne looked at her sadly, "Faith, you must understand there's a great deal of evidence against Dave. In Cindy 's case, he had a powerful motive ; she was certainly driving him close to insanity and his alibi for the time in question is dependent on someone the police do not regard as a reliable witness. In the case of Patricia Moore, we are assuming that he overheard her call and knew he faced exposure. He was at the house at the time of death and had access to the poison used. Perhaps he couldn 't bear for her to know that he had killed Cindy, but that's getting very speculative."

  “I'm sorry. I'm not buying it at all." Then, as she caught a glance between the two, she hastily added, "Oh, don 't worry, I'm not getting my magnifying glass and fingerprint kit out. You can do the job yourselves." She moved toward the door into the living room with the pot of fresh coffee. "Just do it, is all I ask," she tossed over her shoulder.

  “Let's have a sandwich, Charley," Dunne said. "Good idea, then I suppose we'd better get back to work before Faith reports us.”

  John Dunne smiled. He had heard about Faith's cooking and if the coffee was anything to go by, what was in the dining room should be pretty tasty.

  Charley returned to the living room first and took a seat next to old Daniel Eliot, who had settled into the wing chair for the winter. Charley wasn 't surprised to see him. Dan never missed a funeral. He was close to ninety and lived at the Peabody Home near the center of town. You had to be somewhat hale and hearty to stay there. It wasn 't a nursing home so much as a residence for elderly people who didn't want to cope with a house. Daniel had never liked his house much and was only too happy to move his pared-down possessions into a bed/sitting room and let somebody else worry about what to cook. This had been twenty years ago and he'd been worrying about what to cook for a good twenty before that after his mother died. Daniel had never married and he was proud of his misogyny.

  “How are you doing, Dan ? " Charley asked. "About as good as you, I expect," he replied. Charley tried a different tack. "A very sad business.”

  He sighed.

  “Yup, the women in this family are going like flies. Her mother—she was my cousin, you know—just the other day and now Patty. Well, they always did want things their way. It's a lesson, Charley." Daniel nodded emphatically.

  MacIsaac had no idea what the old geezer was talking about, but he nodded in return. Patricia 's mother had died over ten years ago, which was not exactly last week. Might be an opening at the Peabody House soon.

  He spotted Dunne with an empty plate motioning to him and he excused himself. They said good-bye to Faith and slipped out under her gimlet eye.

  When Faith tumbled into bed that night, the last thing she would have thought was that she would have trouble falling asleep, but she did. Normally she carefully arranged herself in a fetal position under the duvet, put her head on a big square down pillow and was instantly asleep. Now she tried reading, got some warmmilk, which she loathed even with nutmeg in it, and was still wide awake. She wandered around the house, checked Benjamin an unnecessary number of times, and finally settled onto the couch in front of a lifeless fireplace.

  They had done some good thinking there, as well as other less cerebral things, for she knew why she couldn't sleep. There was something she had said or someone else had that she was sure was important, but she couldn't remember. She had driven Tom crazy all evening trying to dredge it up, but now perhaps if she just closed her eyes and let her mind drift it would come of its own accord. She thought of all the people, the scenes—funerals, kitchen table confidences, the sail in New Hampshire, the Moores' house.

  All right, it was something to do with the Moores' house. She went room by room, then suddenly clear as a bell she heard Rob say, "Dad was an only child and now there's no one left in Mom's family.”

  Faith sat up with a start and ran upstairs to shake Tom 's peacefully sleeping shoulder.

  “ Tom, Tom, I've got it. What we've been missing ! “

  “Oh, Faith, can't it wait until morning?”

  Well, it could have, Faith thought guiltily. She had been so elated she had forgotten how exhausted Tom was.

  “I'm sorry, sweetheart." She looked so crestfallen that Tom reached out and pulled her under the covers.

  “Come on, tell me, otherwise I know I won't be able to sleep."

  “Family, Tom, it has to have something to do with family. We've been concentrating on sex and money, admittedly more interesting in most cases than family, but we've lost sight of the fact that Cindy and Patricia were members of the same family. There's got to be a tie-in that way, not through Dave, Robert, and company."

  “ I'm not sure I get you, honey. Don 't you think the police have explored this angle ? "

  “I'm not sure I get me either, Tom. It's a hunch, but it feels right. Maybe I have been living in New England too long, but it seems more in keeping with both crimes—roses and poisoned teapots instead of love nests and murder for hire like in the Daily News."

  “Okay, I see your point, but don't be too quick to stereotype Aleford. I'm sure there are plenty of love nests around."

  “That's a relief," Faith said, curling up into her own.

  9

  Just as Faith dropped off to sleep at last, she remembered the book Millicent McKinley had mentioned, a family history by one of Patricia's ancestors. She resolved to go to the library as soon as possible to get it. She also had to figure out a way to get a look at Patricia's will—and Cindy's, if one existed.

  Accordingly, the next afternoon after Benjamin 's nap, she strapped him into his Snugli for the short walk, dropped a goodly supply of zwiebacks into his diaper bag and set off for the Aleford Public Library, or rather the Turner Memorial Library, named after Ezra Turner who had given it a much needed boost around 1910 by leaving his extensive private library to Aleford rather than Harvard. After stocking the hitherto sparse shelves, the town sold off some of the more valuable works, most of them to Harvard, and everybody was happy. Well, maybe not Harvard, which did not like to buy what it could have received for nothing, not to mention tacitly acknowledging the foolhardy practice of non-Harvardian bequests.

  At the moment, Faith was standing under the imposing portrait of Ezra that dominated the reading room, talking to Peg Bartlett, the head librarian. Ezra looked like Thomas Carlyle with more neatly combed hair and Peg looked like a Scottish farmer 's wife who has just come in after delivering a calf with not a wisp of hair out of place or a wrinkle in her tweeds. She was a terrifically enthusiastic person who took her vocation, the dovetailing of person to book, with the utmost seriousness. Whenever Faith asked her to recommend something to read, Peg would cock her head to one side and eye Faith reflectively as if measur
ing her for a dress and murmur, "Maybe the Iris Murdoch, no wait, there's a new Anne Tyler," until she would suddenly straighten up and lead Faith to the exact book she wanted. Faith thought she was rather extraordinary, although a little intimidating. When Faith wanted to read a Judith Krantz, she would slink surreptitiously to the counter and slide it to one of the high school kids to check out.

  Peg was replying to Faith's query about the book Millicent mentioned.

  “Certainly I know the book, A Ship Captain's Daughter, by Harriet Cox Eliot. She was Patricia's grandmother and the literary one of the family. She wrote quite a few books, mostly about her family and local history. Harriet was the oldest of the Cox girls, as they were called all their lives. Captain Cox used to take his family with him on board his ships whenever he could. He wasn't at all superstitious and never had a ship go down. Harriet's book is all about her travels and in-eludes a great deal of family history. Her mother was Persis Dudley, you know.”

  Faith didn 't know but somehow with a librarian she found it easier to admit ignorance than with other people. They were so used to answering questions.

  “ I'm sorry, Peg, who was Persis Dudley ? "

  “No, I'm sorry, Faith, I keep assuming you've lived here all your life.”

  My God, thought Faith, momentarily panicked, has the Big Apple bloom rubbed off already ?

  “Not that anyone would mistake you for a New Englander," added Peg with an eye on Faith 's agnès b. outfit, "But it just seems you belong here."

  “Thank you," said Faith, she knew not for what.

  “Anyway, as a young woman, Persis Dudley was a close friend of Lucy Stone's and an ardent worker for women 's rights. I'm sure she would have been terribly annoyed at Harriet's choice of title had she lived to see the book. But Harriet also wrote a reminiscence of her mother, A Daughter Remembers, which reprinted many of her mother 's speeches. Persis was quite in demand as an orator and was evidently quite effective in stirring up an audience. She was also a Lucy Stoner.”