Katherine Page - Body in the Bog

“You don’t have to go just because Millicent has made it a command performance,” she said.

“But I want to go. This is exactly what I’ve been trying to say—meetings like this make things worse.

And I intend to tell them. The whole business should be dropped immediately. If the Deanes pursue the project at some later time, we’ll decide what to do then, but my God, a man and a woman are dead because of all this strife.”

The babysitter appeared with a pile of homework and Faith didn’t dare tell her that both children were not the types to sit quietly at play. Motioning to a note on the kitchen table with instructions and phone numbers, she left quickly, before the girl could change her mind.

On the way over, Tom told Pix, who had joined them, how he felt.

“I agree completely. It would be unseemly to keep attacking the poor man now that he’s dead. It’s all become so unimportant, anyway,” Pix said.

Millicent ushered them into her parlor. It was crowded with people: the Scotts, Brad Hallowell, Ellen Phyfe, and Nelson Batcheldor. He still wore a black armband, but he seemed fully recovered from his own ordeal.

Millicent took charge. “Now, what is the opinion of this body? I called you as representatives of the larger group and we’ll have to do a telephone tree to confirm whatever we decide, but we should come to a decision today. People are starting to talk.” Tom stated his position eloquently and the Scotts voiced their agreement.

“There’s no need to reconvene Town Meeting now, when we don’t even know if the project is going forward. It would be extremely disrespectful to the entire Deane family, and particularly his widow,” Louise said.

Brad Hallowell and Ellen Phyfe disagreed. Faith had expected it from Brad, but she was surprised at Ellen.

“We’ve worked so hard,” Ellen said. It must have been all those envelopes she’d stuffed. “Don’t you think we should see it through just in case?” Brad seconded her vehemently. “Everything’s in place. We can have this thing nailed down by this time next week, and I wouldn’t put it past the Deanes to use Joey’s death to get everybody on their side—a big play for sympathy. Then zap, we’ve got Alefordiana Estates and the bog is literally history.” Tom stood up. “I, for one, will have no part of any further efforts of POW! I can’t condone taking advantage of a man’s death, even for a cause I may have thought was worthwhile. I strongly advise you to hold off. The town is divided enough—and frightened.”

“I agree with the Reverend,” Millicent declared.

“Nothing’s going to happen overnight, and we are ready if something does. As you point out, Ellen, we have worked hard, and much of that is due to the efforts of those in this room.”

“Margaret wouldn’t have wanted us to stop,” Nelson said in a surprisingly strong, firm voice from the corner of the room where he’d been sitting silently since the meeting began.

“Are you sure?” Faith asked. “Don’t you think the murders—and the attack on you, her own husband—

would have led her to the same conclusion most of us have reached? My own feeling is that we have to find out who’s behind all this and solve the crimes before doing anything else. That’s what I intend to concentrate on.”

“Margaret hated Joey Madsen. I can’t say she would have mourned him too much.”

Tom was quickly losing patience with the gathering. “Margaret was a member of our church, and as a woman of faith, I would not have expected her to like the man, but I know she would not have taken any pleasure in his death. Particularly in a case where murder was involved.”

Nelson seemed to come to. He looked chagrined.

“Of course she wouldn’t. I don’t know what I’ve been saying.”

Faith felt a stab of pity for the man.

The meeting ended with a unanimous vote to sus-pend activities for the present, a grudging assent on Brad’s part. Everyone else seemed convinced. There was one amendment. Instead of a telephone tree, Millicent decided it was only fair to hold one more meeting to put the matter before the full membership. Faith thought she probably enjoyed these get-togethers and wanted one last night onstage. It could be a long time before POW! met again.

She stood up and pulled on the denim Comme des Garçons jacket she had worn. “The sitter is taking the kids to the big playground and I said I’d meet them there, so I have to run.” It was almost noon.

The room emptied, leaving Millicent, Brad, and the Scotts to set up the agenda for Monday night. Tom was returning to his sermon. He was pleased with the way things were turning out. Faith was pleased, too—plus, she had a plan she was beginning to mull over.

The quickest way to the playground was on the new bike path. The old tracks from the commuter train that had gone to Boston’s North Station had been taken up and replaced with macadam. It was so new that few Alefordians had started to use it. Any innovation, no matter how useful or pleasurable, took a while to catch on. She went through Depot Square and entered the path. Any bikers, or walkers, were busy eating lunch. She felt hungry herself and began to think what she should make. Croque-monsieurs , the French version of toasted cheese sandwiches, weren’t the most healthy choice—cheese, butter, smoked ham—and if they had croque-madames , a fried egg, too—but it was what she wanted to eat today. They’d have a big salad too.

She’d come to the part of the bike path she liked best. The trees on either side would be covered with blossoms soon. It was the wildest part of the byway—no houses and no entry on or off the path. It was wooded on both sides; the children liked to explore here and they’d discovered a small pond with ducks one day that had now become a frequent destination.

She began to walk more rapidly. The sky was growing overcast and she didn’t have an umbrella. It had been sunny and warm when she’d left the house.

There was a sudden rustling sound in the trees to the left of her. She knew it was absurd, but she felt nervous and picked up her pace even more. The rustling increased and followed suit. She stopped. It stopped. Now she was panicky. There was no way out.

No houses. No way to get off the path until the next cross street—a long distance ahead. She couldn’t run off into the woods on the right side. If someone was following her, there was nothing to stop the pursuit and she’d be even farther away from help. She looked into the woods, venturing to take a step closer, but she could see nothing beyond the trees. Whoever it was stayed hidden, taking great care not to be recognized.

The thought chilled her.

Faith started walking again, then ran. Ran flat out.

The watcher in the woods increased speed. When and where would the attack come? Her heart was racing.

If only she could make it to the street! If only someone would come along! She opened her mouth to yell for help and at first no sound came out. Then she managed a strangled cry. She was getting breathless.

Who will be next? That’s what she’d wondered aloud with Tom. The question had been answered.

Faith was next.

Nine

To her left, she could hear her stalker coming closer.

Faith looked frantically ahead for the cross street. She had never run so fast in her life. She focused all her thoughts on her legs, pushing and straining to keep going. There was no hope of screaming now; she was gasping for breath. Any second, her attacker would be at her back. She heard a whooshing sound and turned her head, even as fear produced a fresh burst of speed.

It wasn’t an assailant. It was a bicycle. A venerable lady’s Raleigh with a wicker basket dangling from the handlebars.