Katherine Page - Body in the Bog

Maybe everyone was getting pins and needles. Sherwin Greene got up during the time allotted for the opposition and everyone expected a blast. Without naming the Deanes, he had repeatedly referred to “un-trustworthy, greedy, bloodsucking land developers” during the previous debate.

“I assume you will keep the membership’s names and other information on file, as well as other material we might need to make a sudden response to an attack?”

“Certainly,” Millicent replied. “Perhaps Brad could speak to this issue.”

Brad Hallowell stood up. He had been strangely silent all evening; then Faith realized that of course he’d already known about Millicent’s watch-and-wait motion. She’d presented it as a compromise, yet it had been the plan all along. Brad had no quarrel with it; he’d still be in the game.

“Everything’s on my computer with backup discs.

We could get a mailing out or start a telephone tree of the membership for a meeting in no time at all.” Sherwin stood up again. “That’s all right, then, but what about reconvening Town Meeting? Would we have to collect the signatures again?” Millicent had been doing her homework. “Since we did not actually set a date, the signatures we have will suffice. I checked with Lucy Barnes yesterday.” Lucy Barnes was the town clerk.

Sherwin sat down, Millicent took the vote, and the motion passed.

“If there is no further business, I declare this meeting a—”

Faith’s hand was up. Millicent looked peeved.

“Mrs. Fairchild?”

Mrs. Fairchild rose and addressed the room.

“I’m afraid I will have to decline the position on the executive committee, honored as I am. My work has recently increased. We’re moving into the wedding and graduation season. I’m also shorthanded at present because my assistant is taking a pastry-making course, so I’m alone at the company. Tomorrow night, for instance, all by myself I have to make beef bourguignon for seventy-five and bake a hundred meringue shells—some always break.” Faith was deliberately rambling. She knew she sounded nutty, but she didn’t care. She was speaking loudly and clearly.

“I won’t even be able to get there until seven because of the kids. . . .”

Millicent had had enough. “I’m sure this is all very interesting”—her tone suggested “interesting to persons totally unknown to Millicent Revere McKinley”—“and we are sorry not to have your”—there was a pause, Faith waited—“help.” There was no adjective in front of the word, such as competent, able, invaluable . Miss McKinley gathered the papers in front of her into a pile. “I now declare this meeting adjourned.” So much for Faith.

Pix was giving Faith a funny look as they filed out of the room and up the aisle. “Now what was that about?”

“You know how stretched I am without Niki. I don’t have time to be involved in POW!”

“But POW! isn’t doing anything right now,” Pix pointed out logically.

This was why Faith had been glad Tom had stayed at the parsonage. She was beginning to wish Pix had stayed home, too.

“Millicent and Brad, probably the others, too, are going to want to have a meeting every time the Deanes replace a piece of rotted board. There’ll be meetings of the inner circle all the time.”

“I hope not,” Pix said. “I’m busy myself.” She seemed to have dropped the subject and began to discuss Danny’s problems at school. “I know next year will be better. We just have to get through these last few weeks.”

But when she left Faith at her door, it was clear she wasn’t dropping the subject. “Do you want me to help you tomorrow night? I’m not sure what I could do—beat egg whites?” She sounded willing but dubious.

“It will take you twice as long as it takes me. Don’t even think about it. Besides, it’s nice to be by myself sometimes. It happens so rarely.”

“Pretty soon, Ben and Amy will be off to college and you’ll wish for less time alone,” Pix commented sadly, although even with a future empty nest, all of her volunteer activities made time alone a remote possibility.

“Good night,” Faith said, then, for the second time that evening, added, “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” And she was sure she would be.

*

*

*

Niki was taking a pastry course and Faith did have to work Wednesday night making beef bourguignon and meringues. Faith spent the day making sure as many people in town knew these two salient facts. She even managed to work it into the conversation when she picked Ben up at school. Miss Lora, the professional that she was, had not let her personal grief intrude on her classroom demeanor and the children had spent a happy morning with papier-mâché. The large room smelled of wet newspaper and wallpaper paste. Ben was encrusted from head to toe and displayed a huge creature of some sort, sadly too wet to take home; besides, he had to paint it.

“It’s a triceratops, Mom.” At last, something she could recognize.

“He has a very serious interest in prehistoric life,” Lora Deane told Faith, indicating that it was past time for the Fairchilds to get the brilliant child whatever encyclopedia and computer software he might need to further his study.

With children in tow, Faith spread the word at the library, the market, Aleford Photo, and ultimately the post office. If the post office didn’t do it, nothing would.

Tom surprised her by coming home early. “The Lord does work in mysterious ways. A meeting I had to attend has been canceled. If you want to take off, go ahead. I’ll handle things here. I know you’ve been stressed about getting everything done without Niki.”

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

“Oh, Tom, that would be great.”

“I also have an ulterior motive. This way, you’ll be home sooner.”

Faith sincerely hoped so.

Have Faith’s kitchen was on the outskirts of town.

She drove over, parked the car in front, then unlocked the door to the premises and went in. It was five o’-

clock. She’d told the world she was getting there at seven. That gave her two hours to get some work done. It was true. She was concerned about doing the work herself. Niki’s class was three nights a week for the next month, and Niki had always had a part-time day job at a restaurant in Watertown.

But before she did anything else, Faith made her calls. First one to Charley.

“I’m going to be working at the company tonight and think you should be here at six-thirty.”

“What’s going on, Faith?”

“I want to talk to you about the murders, you and John. Be sure he’s with you. Something’s come up and we may be able to solve this thing.” She liked the collegial way that all sounded.

“All right, I’ll meet you there,” Charley said. “I’ll call Dunne, too.”

“Six-thirty. Don’t be late. I have to get home.” Faith didn’t want to give Charley any more hints of what she was up to. He’d be over in a minute and mess things up.

Satisfied, she started separating dozens of eggs, reserving the yolks and putting the whites into a large copper bowl. She hummed to herself. The meringues would be heaped with her homemade vanilla ice cream, then topped with a boysenberry puree and fresh raspberries. It was one of the desserts she’d created for the Patriots’ Day dinner, then had abandoned when she couldn’t get boysenberries last week.

She began to beat the egg whites with a balloon whisk. It was a satisfying job. Soon the white peaks began to stiffen. Things were going along beautifully.

The door opened. She heard footsteps. Charley hadn’t waited. She looked up in annoyance. But it wasn’t Charley.

Faith gasped. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.” It was the murderer.