Katherine Page - Body in the Bog

Maybe Millicent thought the best way to deal with the situation was to be gracious. Maybe she was just plain curious. In any case, she recognized the irate builder.

“I believe Mr. Madsen has something to say before we begin. Mr. Madsen?”

“Damn right I do. First of all, whoever screwed up my excavator, I’m going to get you. If it takes the rest of my life. Now, for the rest of you, you can hold meetings round the clock and it isn’t going to do you any good. My lawyers have been over the plans a thousand times. There’s nothing wrong. Alefordiana Estates is going to happen, so you’d better get used to the idea. I’m under the impression that this is still a free country and a man can do what he wants with his own land. You’re trying to take that right away from me and I’m serving notice here and now that you’re going to fail. Nobody takes anything away from me that’s mine.”

The room was silent. Joey was running out of steam. He left the stage and walked to the doors at the rear of Asterbrook Hall. He turned and shook his fist, repeating his last words. “Nobody does me out of what’s mine. Remember that!”

Faith was listening openmouthed to Tom’s description of the meeting. “What happened after he left?”

“You know Millicent. A class act. She thanked the group for their indulgence and called for the minutes.

The rest of the meeting went fast. I had the feeling people were itching to get out and tell everyone who wasn’t there what had happened. Pix almost had me winded by the time we got here, she was so eager to tell Sam. Oh, and by the way, the Scotts are back.

Louise was looking very determined, so I have the feeling it was her idea more than Ted’s. But you know Ted. If he didn’t think it was safe for them, especially her, to be back, he wouldn’t budge. Millicent read your letter—very good—swore us all to secrecy for some reason. We’re not to reveal the contents, and Louise announced she and Pix would be preparing the mailing tomorrow. I didn’t volunteer you.” Faith’s brandy glass was empty and it was late. It had been a long day—Bridey Murphy, Gus, the library. She was tired—but not too tired.

When you sign up for something, April seems a long way off in September, which is why Faith found herself at the end of a line of preschoolers, all chanting,

“I know a little pussy, who lives down in the lane” in unison. When they got to “He’ll never be a pussy, he’ll always be a cat, ’cause he’s a pussy willow, now what do you think of that!” for the fourth time, she thought she might have a new description of hell. An eternity of Miss Lora’s annual Pussy Willow Walks.

They were on their way into the bog. Faith had on the fisherman’s boots she’d purchased in Maine and the ground squelched beneath them. They’d had more rain during the night, but today was bright and fair.

“It never rains on Pussy Willow Walk days,” Lora told the helper mothers. She didn’t like to call them chaperones—“sounds too much like your Dad insisting on going on your dates,” she’d told Faith once.

Any relative of Lora’s would be getting more than he or she bargained for on the young woman’s dates these days, Faith thought. And how did she manage to look so full of energy and good cheer after weekends of carousing?

The helper mothers—helper fathers appeared only occasionally—were spread out through the line.

Faith, at the front, was supposed to keep watch for low branches and thorny bushes. She trudged along and tried to ignore the performers behind her. They were gearing up to start the poem again—Ben’s high little voice chanting as enthusiastically as the rest.

The densely growing trees, covered with thick ropes of interwoven vines, had kept the ground beneath from getting as wet as the ground immediately around the bog. Lora had made sure there were pussy willows to find, she’d reassured the mothers. They were on the other side of the woods, on a path that led to a small pond. Faith continued to reconnoiter. She was getting a bit ahead of the pack, but she told herself it was for their own good. She snapped a few branches out of the way to convince herself.

Emerging from the woods into the open, she noticed that there seemed to be a fallen log in the path.

They’d have to help the children over it. She went closer.

It wasn’t a log.

It was Joey Madsen. Face up, his eyes wide with surprise. There was a knife in his chest. He’d been stabbed and he was dead.

Eight

Faith screamed. She couldn’t help it, even knowing the children were close behind her. She ran back toward the group, which had become instantly silent.

The children’s faces were frightened. One little boy was getting ready to cry.

She spoke quickly. “I saw . . . I saw a poor dead animal and it startled me. I’m sorry if I startled you, too, children.”

There were a few solemn nods. Ben immediately spoke up. “What kind of animal? A big animal? A fox? A deer? What is it, Mom? Can we see?” Faith cut him off, “No, sweetheart, I think it would be better to go back now and wait until the path is clear. We need to leave him in peace.” Lora was looking at Faith in some confusion.

“You’re sure we should turn around?”

“I’m sure,” Faith said firmly.

The other mothers began to get the children back in line and one of them started singing “Inch by Inch.” Soon the kids joined in. Thank God for presence of mind, Faith thought, and motioned for Lora to step aside.

“What’s going on?” the teacher asked in a low voice.

“There’s been an accident.” Faith could not bear to tell Lora that her brother-in-law was dead, and in any case, she couldn’t let her know until the police had been there. “A very bad accident. Please call Chief MacIsaac and tell him to get here right away. Tell him to call the state police and ask Detective Dunne to meet him here.”

“The state police! Faith, you’ve got to tell me! It’s a person, isn’t it! What’s happened?”

“I can’t say any more and I can’t let anyone go any closer until the police arrive. Please , you have to take care of the children.” Faith hoped this would distract Lora. It did. The class was almost out of sight and Lora sprinted after them.

Faith called after her, “Wait! Go upstairs to Tom’s office and tell him to come as soon as possible!”

“Okay,” Lora said, running to keep up with her charges.

They were gone and Faith was alone in the bog with the body. She would have welcomed the sound of any nursery rhyme, no matter how many times it was repeated.

Joey. Joey was dead. She felt dizzy and sat down on a rock. For a moment, she thought she might be sick.

She dropped her head to her knees. Pine needles carpeted the ground in a thick brown mat. They smelled faintly of balsam, of Christmas trees. An ant crawled from underneath. She sat up. Joey. Joey Madsen had been murdered. She couldn’t stop thinking of his sightless eyes staring up at the spring sky. Face up.

Not face down.

Joey had known his killer. No one had crept up stealthily behind him. He’d come down the path, maybe his hand out in greeting. Someone Joey knew.

Someone he trusted. Why were they meeting here, out of sight? Why not at the company’s office or at Joey’s house?

She stood up, wishing Tom would hurry. She walked back toward the body, careful to retrace her steps. Away from the dense canopy the trees made, the ground was soft. She could see the imprint of her boots, coming and going. There were other footprints, too. A ditch ran alongside the path, filled with the runoff from the pond.

The water was still and covered by thick green slime.

There was very little blood. Just a stain on the surface of Joey’s sweatshirt, around the handle of the knife. A large crow flew overhead, cawing loudly. She needed to stay nearby. She needed to keep the birds or other predators from desecrating the corpse. From pecking at those open eyes.