Katherine Page - Body in the Bog

And it’s not. Not a single person in that group of yours can say he hasn’t met every requirement.”

“This may be true, but—”

“Hear me out—I’m not finished. Then you can have your say.”

Faith shut her mouth.

“Somebody in that organization is not normal. I know I lost my temper at the selectmen’s meeting and I’ve been hearing about it from my wife, but my property had been destroyed and my family threatened.

This is the work of a lunatic. My excavator, too!

You’ve heard about that?”

Faith nodded.

“And the Batcheldors. I don’t know what Margaret, God rest her soul, was doing in our house, but she was in there with a can of gas. And now somebody’s tried to do poor Nelson in. Maybe this nut was up to something with Margaret. People can believe so much in a cause that they think anything they do is justified. But I’m not going to sit back and watch the whole Deane family go up in flames.”

He sat back. It was Faith’s turn, but she couldn’t think of any response.

“So, how much potato salad do you think we’ll need this year?”

It was only after they had finalized the menu for the cookout, same as last year’s and the year before, that Faith was able to swim her way back up river and introduce the subject of Lora Deane.

“We feel so lucky to have Lora as Ben’s teacher.

She’s wonderful with children.” This ploy had worked with Brad—more or less.

“She’s gifted with children and I’m happy she’s found a job close by. Wish she’d settle down herself, but she hasn’t shown any signs of it. There was the Hallowell kid. That’s over or I’d have had to put a stop to it. She wants to go back to her place, but we’ve been firm. She’s not to move one foot until everything gets cleared up. Fortunately, she’s a timid girl and listens to us. That’s why she’s not too popular with the guys, I suppose. An old-fashioned girl, that’s our Lora.”

One of them, anyway, Faith thought. For an instant she felt the urge to tell Gus about Lora’s apartment in the South End and Mr. Miata. It seemed wrong to keep any secrets at all from this commanding figure, and Faith was amazed Lora could pull it off day after day. Faith bit at her lip. She’d come to get information, not give it—at least not until she’d figured things out a bit more. Until then, Gus could go on thinking that his granddaughter was up for a role in Little Women .

With a little time left before she had to pick up Ben, Faith went home and reported in to John Dunne about the meeting at Millicent’s. Amy sat at her mother’s feet, surrounded by puzzles, her favorite toy. She was babbling softly to herself and Faith listened intently for recognizable words. Amy had said bird yesterday.

They’d be having mother-daughter talks in no time.

Detective Lieutenant Dunne came to the phone immediately. Faith hated to disappoint him.

“They may be having separate, even clandestine meetings, but if so, it’s only to satisfy Brad Hallowell’s theatrical inclinations. And they were both surprised when they heard about the excavator sabotage.”

“I can’t see Millie shimmying up the boom with a machete in her mouth,” John agreed. He’d been having a good day. They’d checked prints from a particularly grisly homicide with the New Hampshire police after coming up with nothing in Massachusetts.

Bingo, and the arrest had been made an hour ago. The guy was now safely under lock and key.

“How about other POW! members? You said some of them were pretty militant,” he asked.

“The Batcheldors were the most militant, and neither of them was in any shape to disable a steam shovel. I can’t think of anyone else.” She decided the time had come to tell John about meeting Nelson and Margaret in the woods.

After she told him, he asked, “Anything else you’re saving for a rainy day?”

“No—and you did say you only wanted to know about the POW! meetings.”

“You knew what I meant. Anyway, we’ll have a look around Beecher’s Bog and see what we can find.

Nelson Batcheldor is out of the hospital. Might have a word with him about his wardrobe. What about that big donation, the five-hundred dollars. Any ideas?”

“Not really. I think Pix is right and it’s someone in public office who can’t come out and openly support POW! Whoever it is, I don’t see how it’s connected to Margaret’s death or the letter writing. Quite a few people in town are convinced that Joey Madsen wrote the letters and killed Margaret when he found her setting fire to his house—a crime of passion. I’m not convinced.”

“Neither am I,” Dunne admitted.

Amy was losing interest in the puzzles at last and using her mother as a climbing structure.

“I’ve got to go now, but I’ll keep in touch.”

“I know,” John said, and hung up.

Faith put the phone down. She wasn’t holding out on him, but she hadn’t told him about Lora Deane or her own visit to Gus. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with either POW! or Margaret’s murder. Tom would have to take over her duties at POW!’s meeting tonight and report back to Detective Dunne. Given recent events and the imminence of the special Town Meeting, there might be more militancy and, in turn, more suspects. These people seemed so sure. Although Faith believed it was best for the town that the bog be preserved, she could see the other point of view. POW! didn’t.

She put Amy in her car seat and looked past the church to the woods beyond, leading to the bog.

Though it wasn’t harvested anymore, at one time it had been a working cranberry bog. Part of the Beecher’s barn was still standing, their stone walls tumbled but in place, and their old orchard bloomed in the spring. In effect, Joey Madsen would be turfing over a piece of Aleford’s history. The rights of the town versus the rights of an individual. It was a tough call.

The library event was a great success and the head of the endowment campaign told Faith she had already been slipped two hefty checks and received several pledges. “It’s your food, I’m sure. Puts everyone in a benevolent mood,” she’d said. Faith was grateful for her praise but thought it also had to do with the excellent speaker, an eminent historian, who introduced his talk by pointing out the accessibility of libraries in the United States compared with that in other countries and suggesting everyone dig deep into his or her pocket to keep it that way.

When she got home, Tom was waiting up by the fireplace. There were two brandy glasses on the coffee table. Hers was full.

“You always have the best ideas,” she said.

“And here’s another,” he told her, moving from the wing chair to the couch and taking her in his arms.

“There’s nothing like staring into the nonflickering flames of a lifeless fireplace to arouse one’s passion.”

“True, true,” Faith said, sipping her Rémy Martin,

“but first tell me what happened at the meeting tonight.”

“This could kill the mood,” Tom warned.

“I doubt it.”

“All right.” Tom had been planning to tell his wife the moment she walked in, anyway. He knew she’d be kicking herself for missing it—and it had been something to miss.

Joey had arrived at the meeting ready for blood. His lawyer wasn’t with him. He walked in, went to the front row, and sat directly facing Millicent. Her face was stony. She called the meeting to order, but before she could ask for a reading of the minutes, Joey jumped up. “You did it at my meeting, so I can do it at yours. Equal time, right? Isn’t that what all you lily-livered liberals believe in? Well, I’ve got my rights and I’m taking them.”

Tom knew why he’d come alone. Madsen was certainly not following counsel’s advice.