Katherine Page - Body in the Bog

“His flask. He was carrying one of those pewter flasks!”

“I’m sure the police are checking it. I’ve been out in the waiting room. I haven’t even seen Charley since we came in. Dunne arrived a couple of hours ago and then left. There have been cops in and out ever since.

They took everything Nelson was wearing or carrying away, including his musket.”

“Maybe Charley will tell you more when you do see him.”

“Possibly. I’m going to stay a bit longer. Nelson’s still unconscious, but he could come around in the next few hours, and I want to be here.” Tom had been feeling a bit incongruous sitting in the hospital in his Minuteman garb, but he didn’t want to take the time to go home to change. It wasn’t important enough for Faith to bring him his clothes, either. They’d been listening to the Marathon at the nurses’ station near the waiting room too. Everyone knew it was Patriots’

Day. He prayed for it to pass swiftly and safely.

Faith hung up the phone and went to tell the others.

How were they ever going to get through this long, long day? Waiting for the call had given them some focus. Now there were only empty hours ahead.

“Poisoned?” Pix said, shocked. “When would someone have had the opportunity? Unless it was extremely long-acting. But he would have been showing some symptoms. Did he look any different to you, Faith?”

Faith thought for a moment. “He looked tired, but not really any different from how he’s looked since Margaret died. I can’t imagine that he’s been sleeping well. Yet he was definitely moving more slowly.” Nelson, and Margaret, too, walked with brisk, purposeful strides—the strides of people who have feeders to fill, bookshelves to build. She remembered watching him leave the hall at St. Theresa’s, and while not exactly dragging his feet, he wasn’t rushing off to battle as were some of his fellow militiamen. She hadn’t been feeling especially perky herself at that hour in the morning, so she’d taken no notice of it until now.

“But he didn’t seem to be in pain, particularly gastric pain?”

“No, I would have noticed that.”

“Did you see him eat anything?”

Faith started to answer, then stopped herself. Who was supposed to be asking the questions here, anyway? After solving two murders, Pix had returned from Sanpere Island last summer ready to tackle anything from the case of Judge Crater to what happened to Jimmy Hoffa. Faith loved her friend dearly, but she wasn’t about to hand over her magnifying glass.

Fortunately, Samantha came into the room, effectively stopping her mother’s persistent line of inquiry.

Faith half-listened to the teenager while thinking about Pix’s question. She had not, in fact, seen Nelson eat or drink anything, but there were several rooms off the main hall and she had been in and out of them. It was possible he’d taken a doughnut, some coffee, or juice, all of which were in the main hall. He wasn’t at St. Theresa’s when she’d arrived and she never saw him with eggs and sausage later, so if the flask wasn’t poisoned, it was most probably one of those three.

Pretty hard to poison a doughnut, particularly one fresh from a box from a national chain. Coffee or juice, but again how, with a cop next to him and Nelson himself presumably keeping a close watch?

“It will be perfectly safe! Anyway, they’re after you, Mom, not me,” Samantha’s voice penetrated Faith’s speculations. Whoever said children were honest was right. Ruthlessly honest.

“I just called Jan and the car will pick me up here or at home. No one will even open a window, and the driver’s an auxiliary policeman anyway,” Samantha was pleading. She turned to her father. “Please, Dad, this is the last parade I’ll ever be in.”

“I certainly hope not,” he said dryly.

“You know what I mean!”

Pix sighed. “The whole thing is so crazy. I can’t imagine that anyone could want to harm us, but we—or, as you aptly point out, sweetheart, I—did get the letter. I’d like to assume Nelson was his or her intended victim and get on with my life, and my family’s, but my correspondent does not strike me as a particularly honorable or trustworthy person. What’s to prevent him from striking tomorrow or the next day or the next? Can we keep living like this—in hiding?” The Scotts could be out of town for quite a while, Faith reflected, because of course Pix was right. Murderers did not follow rules. Honorable, trustworthy —no, these were not words that sprang to mind.

“So you’re saying I can go, right?” Samantha was surprised. She’d expected a lot more opposition, especially from her mother. For a moment, adolescent that she was, she wondered if she ought to go if her mother thought it was okay.

“Sam?” Pix walked over to her husband and took his hand.

“Closed car, comes here, brings her back. A cop at the wheel. Probably as safe as the yard,” he answered.

“But no getting out of the car. Anybody. Go to the bathroom before you leave.”

“Daddy!” Patrolman Dale Warren was in the room again and Samantha was mortified.

Danny came running into the room. “You’re letting Samantha be in the parade and not me! It’s not fair!

You let her do everything!”

It was Sam’s turn to dig his heels in. A closed car was one thing. A three-mile march straight up Main Street, even in the DARE contingent, was another.

Help came from an unexpected source. “Couldn’t he come with me? There’s plenty of room, and one of our class projects was peer counseling with kids at his school. He could even wear his DARE T-shirt.” Everyone looked at Danny to see if he’d accept the compromise. Faith was getting a glimpse of a future she’d just as soon learn about when she got there—many years from now.

“Okay,” he said. “Those cars are cool. Wait till I tell Mark. He’s gonna wish he was here, too.”

“ ‘Going to,’ dear,” Pix said automatically, thanking God her oldest son was safely in New Haven.

“This solves one problem, anyway,” Sam commented as the kids left the room for the phone.

“What?” Pix asked curiously. Something his lawyer’s mind had picked up on that she’d missed?

“Now we have something to do this afternoon.

We’ll be glued to the TV, watching the parade to make sure the kids are all right. Can we stay for lunch, Faith? I think we’re going to need nourishment.

The parade started from East Aleford at about two o’-clock and usually reached the green about three.

Promptly at 1:30, a gleaming turquoise-and-white 1955 Chevy Bel Air picked Samantha and Danny up.

Amy had gone for her nap and Ben was complaining about missing the parade. They usually watched from the front steps of the church.

“I’ll take you out when the clowns come,” Faith promised.

“And I want to see Samantha and Danny. I want to be in the parade. Why can’t I be in the parade?”

“You can when your legs get a little longer,” Faith answered. The Aleford Minutemen marched, all in their proper uniforms for the parade, wives and children behind them.

Tom had called again to report that there was nothing to report and said he’d be home soon. That had been an hour ago.

Faith looked in the refrigerator and decided on big overstuffed sandwiches. She had some dark rye and piled thick slices of smoky Virginia ham, sharp cheddar cheese, lettuce, with some spicy chutney on the bread.

She set the table, putting out bowls of cherry tomatoes and Cape Cod potato chips—an indoor picnic.

Sam was starting his second sandwich and finishing his first beer—Sam Adams lager, in honor of the day—when Tom walked in the back door. They all started talking at once.