Katherine Page - Body in the Bog

It seemed terribly inappropriate, if that’s the right word.”

Faith wasn’t sure inappropriate was the right word, either. Callous , unfeeling , dancing on Joey’s grave —

all came to mind. She went back to the kitchen. Tom was cleaning up himself and Amy. Ben was in the backyard on the swings.

“It’s all over town,” she told him.

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised.” He’d missed a spot and she took the wet cloth and wiped his cheek.

“It does change things, though. Pix said they didn’t send out the mailing. Do you think the Deanes are likely to press forward with Alefordiana Estates? Remember, Gus wasn’t too enthused about it.” Gus hadn’t been too enthused about the man his granddaughter had married, either. But that was a long way from murder. Although, two men with violent tempers . . .

“I have no idea,” Tom said. “Bonnie may be so upset that she’ll want to continue even if it doesn’t make the best business sense—in memory of her husband and because there’s no doubt he would have wanted it that way.”

Faith thought about Bonnie and found herself disagreeing with Tom. Bonnie might be upset, but if it didn’t make sense financially, she wouldn’t have any part of it. She wondered how Bonnie had viewed Joey’s scheme. She had been conspicuously absent from all the presentations, but then, she’d just had a baby. This thought was qualified immediately. A woman who closes a deal as she’s going into labor wouldn’t shy away from important meetings after the birth—if she wanted to be there.

“I wonder what Millicent is planning to do? She’s put so much time and energy into fighting Alefordiana Estates. It wouldn’t be like her to abandon the cause, even if the cause is dead.” As she spoke, the last word stuck in her throat. Faith picked Amy up. She was beginning to droop. Sleep, the sweet escape. Faith wished she could crawl in with her daughter.

Pix’s call was just the first, and eventually they had to take the phone off the hook. Faith prepared a brief statement that she gave to the Aleford Police Department, then referred all the newspapers and other media to them. Prudently, she’d called both her parents and Tom’s when it became apparent that the news would spread. She downplayed her role: “Wrong place, wrong time.” Her mother, Jane, had sounded skeptical, “I did hope your last murder would be it, dear”—making Faith feel somewhat like “the bad seed.”

Faith’s sister, Hope, on her way to an important meeting, was more direct. “Can’t you find anything else to do up there? I thought when you started the business again that would take care of things.”

“It’s not a hobby,” Faith had protested. “I’m not deliberately finding bodies!”

“We’ll talk. Got to run.” And Hope was off to crunch some more numbers, and squeeze some individuals, as well.

Late in the afternoon, Tom went out for milk. He returned from the Shop ’n Save with a gallon, some Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream, and the news that Aleford seemed to have developed a siege mentality overnight. There were very few people in the market and they weren’t lingering.

Even the checkout clerks looked nervous.

“It was weird. People were stocking up the way they do when a big storm is predicted, but there wasn’t any excitement like there is then.” Faith was making lentil stew, more than enough for dinner. She had also felt the need to fill the larder. A few loaves of olive bread were rising on the back of the stove. She’d taken some thick pork chops out that she planned to rub with garlic and rosemary before broiling. As usual, in times of trouble, she turned to substantial food. Garlic always made life seem better.

Pix had come and gone, jumpy as everyone else.

She was picking the kids up rather than letting them walk home from their various practices. Faith had asked about Samantha’s latest college inclinations and Pix’s face had gone blank for a moment. Samantha? College? She recollected herself and said, “Still waiting for Wellesley, and since that’s the one place she hasn’t heard from, that’s the one place she wants to go. I’ll be happy when this is all over.”

“So will I,” Faith said—and they both knew they weren’t just talking alma maters.

Charley MacIsaac and John Dunne came by shortly after Pix left.

“Homicidal maniac—that’s what people are saying,” Charley commented.

“And what do you think?” Faith directed her question to both of them. Dunne answered.

“Homicidal, obviously. Maniac, I doubt. Both of these crimes have been carefully planned, nothing accidental or spontaneous about them. And all this window dressing—poison-pen letters, disabled construction equipment, harassing phone calls.”

“The brick through Lora’s window, the attack on Nelson, although that was probably not intended to fail,” Faith reminded him. “So you think everything that’s been happening this month is connected?”

“Don’t you?” Cops loved to answer a question with a question, Faith had observed.

“Yes, I haven’t figured out how, though.”

“If it makes you feel any better, we haven’t, either, which is why we’re here.”

“You need my help.” It was a statement of fact.

Dunne grimaced. He would have done well in Ed Wood movies. However, Faith’s overriding thought was John’s admission that he needed her particular expertise. They were back in business.

Dunne opened his Filofax and flipped to a blank page.

“Tell me everything you know about Joey Madsen and his family. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how insignificant it seems.”

“Was he carrying a weapon?” Faith knew enough to get her questions in first when John was in one of these expansive moods.

“No—and before you get around to asking about the murder weapon, it was a common, ordinary kitchen knife. Impossible to trace. He or she could have had it in a drawer for years or picked it up at a yard sale—it wasn’t new.”

Faith obediently filled John and Charley in on everything she’d learned about Joey Madsen and the family he’d married into. Tom added what he knew.

Faith even mentioned Miss Lora’s double life and her own recent visit with Gus.

“It’s no secret Gus Deane didn’t think much of his granddaughter’s choice,” Charley told them. “Tried to buy him off. Bonnie heard about it and almost didn’t invite the old man to the wedding. It was quite a scandal at the time. Her father was still living and he smoothed things over.”

They talked some more. Charley seemed convinced that someone connected to POW! was involved. John didn’t comment, nor did Faith—out loud. Could Beecher’s Bog mean so much that you’d kill for it?

And no one in POW! would have murdered Margaret, a founding member! Unless someone in POW! found out that Joey had killed her, enraged that she was burning the house down, then killed Joey, taking the law into his or her own hands. It certainly avenged the one crime while preventing what POW! viewed as an almost equally heinous one from occurring. Brad Hallowell clearly viewed the development of the land this way. And what about the possibility that Margaret hadn’t been alone that night? Her accomplice had gotten away but might have seen who killed her—and again, the killer might have been Joey. Faith related her theories and ended, slightly chagrined, “There are a lot of ‘might haves.’ ”

The men, including her husband, nodded.

“But it’s possible,” she protested, in the face of solid male opposition, never a pretty sight.

“It’s possible,” Charley conceded in the tone of voice he used to humor her. She wasn’t offended, just vowed to keep her theories to herself in the future.