Katherine Page - Body in the Bog

“Now, we want to be forceful, but we don’t want to alienate people.”

“Before we get to the letter, how did you convince the police to let you onto the reviewing stand yesterday?” Faith couldn’t help herself. She knew she was playing right into Millicent’s crafty little hands, but she had to ask.

Millicent gave Brad a slight smile. There was a trace of pity in it. She’d arranged for him to be on the platform, too, in recognition of all the work he’d done on the parade and other events. Unfortunately, Brad had had to contend not only with the police but his mother. He’d been lucky to go to the bathroom un-escorted and he’d had to sneak out the back door this morning for the meeting.

Yet mostly, Millicent’s smile conveyed superiority.

Assuming her rightful place on the platform in the face of all obstacles was one of her more minor accomplishments—a piece of cake.

“I called the state police and talked to that nice Detective Dunne. He understood completely. I also mentioned I was leaving the house and the young man they’d sent would have to forcibly restrain me to keep me here.”

Faith could imagine the scene. Millicent could match wits but not muscle. She was thin and had those angular bones that looked as if they would snap in a strong wind. And she would have put up a fight. No doubt about it. Dunne had obviously pictured the ill-matched pair rolling about the well-worn Oriental, dodging furniture and knickknacks, the poor officer trying not to do any damage to them or their owner.

“So you just left?”

“No, I didn’t have to. John very nicely sent a car for me, which was ridiculous. It was only across the green, but he insisted. He also sent another policeman. I promised him I would return home immediately afterward and that seemed to satisfy him.

‘Millie,’ he said, ‘we just don’t want anything to happen to you.’ So thoughtful.”

John Dunne was also in the select group that was permitted to shorten Millicent’s name.

Having cleared this up, Millicent got back to business.

“Now, as I was saying, we need to find the right approach. Our original broadside was effective, but this occasion calls for greater subtlety.”

After several tries, they came up with an acceptable letter. It was straightforward, avoided inflammatory statements, but was strong, ending with the warning:

“If we do not act now on behalf of Aleford’s future inhabitants, they may not have an Aleford to inhabit.” Brad had thought of the phrase and he was enjoying the sound. He repeated the words several times like a mantra.

Faith had been struck by two things about Brad during the meeting. First, he was clearly very bright.

The other feeling she had about him was harder to de-fine. He had mentioned that he spent a great deal of time playing certain Dungeons and Dragons–type games with fellow enthusiasts on the Internet. He seemed to regard POW! as another kind of game, talking about strategies for winning, tactical maneuvers, and referring to those not in agreement as opponents.

He cautioned Faith not to talk about what was in the letter. It would lessen the impact, he’d said, but she felt that was a ploy. Secrecy added drama. Millicent played right along.

“I certainly wouldn’t want Joey Madsen and his people to find out what’s in our mailing. They’d be certain to send out one of their own contradicting everything and getting everyone all muddled about the facts.” She gave Faith a piercing look.

Faith had every intention of telling Dunne and maybe Tom, yet kept quiet. Word wouldn’t get to Joey from them.

“I’m sure Joey will be sending out a mailing, or at least will write to the Chronicle. And since he’s a Town Meeting member, we can expect a good floor fight.” Brad was relishing the moment.

He’s immature, Faith thought suddenly. That’s his biggest problem. It is all a game to him. He likes to pit the grown-ups against one another and watch. She didn’t doubt his sincere commitment to the environment, but something else was going on—intrigue, danger, real threats. The monitor screen come to life.

He’d spoken of the letters with the same enthusiasm he’d reserved for his computer games.

“If whoever it is had used e-mail, I could have cracked this thing by now. The person may not have it, or may have known what I would do.” He seemed to think the first possibility absurd, despite sitting in the same room with two people who still licked stamps.

Faith was getting a little tired of him. He was so single-minded. Maybe Miss Lora was a better judge of character than Faith had previously given her credit for—judging her primarily on the depth of her relationships with preschool children. Maybe his boyish-ness had attracted her, besides his obvious good looks, then she’d gotten bored. Certainly the looks were here, though. His dark hair curled damply obviously fresh from a shower and he smelled like Ivory soap. His shirtsleeves were rolled up. Those muscles didn’t come from keyboarding.

“I think we all deserve a good hot cup of tea after this work,” Millicent offered. Faith accepted. She wanted the caffeine and she wanted some time alone with Brad.

He sat fooling with his laptop. He didn’t appear to be in need of conversation. Faith plunged right in.

“My son, Benjamin, is in Lora Deane’s preschool class. She’s a wonderful teacher. I understand your anonymous letter referred to her.” Faith watched his expression closely and saw his surprise. Whatever he had expected her to introduce as a topic of conversation, it was not Miss Lora.

“Yeah, well,” he stammered, and looked about the room. There was no help forthcoming from the break-front or the row of extra chairs, each at exactly the same distance from the wall. “I mean, we went out for a while, that’s all. The letter was pretty crude.” He grinned, then re-collected himself. Faith was a minister’s wife. “Filthy lies, all of it.” Faith waited. Sometimes this worked. It did now.

He started talking again, filling the empty air between them. His fingers were still hovering over the keyboard.

“She’s the one who broke it off. Just left word on the machine that she didn’t want to go out anymore.

No discussion. Nothing.” His anger was evident. “I pity the next guy who gets involved with that—I mean with her.”

He remembered Faith’s original remark and added,

“Oh, she’s good with kids.” It was not something he seemed to feel was especially noteworthy. He began to drum his fingers on the table. He was a nail-biter.

Lora would have cured him of that, Faith thought. A few applications of some nasty-tasting stuff—but her mind was wandering.

“So you wouldn’t want to get back with her?”

“Did she ask you to speak to me?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Anyway, it’s too late. Way too late.”

Before Faith could ask him why, Millicent appeared with the tea tray. For three meager cups, she was as loaded down as for a banquet. There was a pitcher of hot water, a smaller one of milk, a plate of thinly sliced lemons, a strainer and stand, two sugar bowls—one for white, one for unrefined—tongs, cups, saucers, linen napkins, a cozy, and the pot itself.

“Now,” she said brightly, “how do you take it?” Faith wasn’t altogether sure.

She had hoped to get some more time alone with Brad Hallowell, so Faith had consumed more tea than she wanted. But finally she had to leave to pick up the kids. Brad showed no intention of following her example. It had been foolish to think they would discuss the inner workings of POW! in front of her, if there were any. Keeping Brad by her side was more likely Millicent showing off and a reluctance to return home on his part.