Katherine Page - The Body In The Basement

“I was right!" Faith exclaimed. "He wasn't a dealer!”

It was Jil 's turn again. "I final y told Seth I'd have to tel Earl, what with the whole island talking about us, and besides, I missed him. That's when Seth had the idea that I could sel the fakes, just not as antiques. He helped me label every piece as a reproduction—indelible ink on the quilts, marks burned into the wooden pieces. They're very good copies and I have a big sign—'Genuine Fakes, Guaranteed to Fool Your Friends.' People think it's some more Maine humor, like the sign Wal y Sanford has had outside his store for years—'Clams Dressed and Undressed.' It's true, and so is mine. I've already sold two quilts and one of the carvings since I put them out yesterday.”

Such being the joys of confession, Jil went with Earl to join the croquet game, an almost-noticeable weight lifted from her lovely shoulders.

“Is there anything left?" Faith asked.

“What do you mean?"

“Are al the loose ends tied up? Anybody not accounted for? Clues left dangling? Red herrings?”

Pix realized her friend was indeed much more adept at al this than she was.

“I think so." She leaned back against the gray shingles of the house.

She thought about her list. The columns with

"Suspects"; "Causes of Death"; "Who Benefits?"; and

“Quilts." Duncan, Seth, John, Norman—al eliminated.

Sonny Prescott had been right al along: unknown partners in crime. Except they had known them, especial y Jim.

“It's pretty clear that Valerie was not overly maternal—

or wifely. But what an actress! I can hear her now speaking about Duncan's father—he was à saint' and so forth. She wished Duncan could be more like him. Maybe Duncan was like him and she hated them both. You should have seen her horror at the sails and the bloody bats! As soon as I heard it was latex paint, I should have known it was one of them. But Jim—an Eagle Scout! And the camp, it was like his child, wife, everything al in one."

“Until he met Valerie, my dear Watson"

“Now, don't be so patronizing. Just because you want to be Holmes, I don't have to be the poor dense doctor."

“My point is, don't underestimate the power of good old sex," Faith said.

“And in this case, the seduction of good old money"

“I'm sorry about the Watson crack," Faith apologized.

Appeased, Pix said, "Jil 's cleared up the last question I had. It must have been Valerie who came in and clipped off the X from my quilt. Which just about does it, I'd say."

“They never did find the weapon that kil ed Mitch?"

“No. Earl thought it might have been the knife the kids found in Duncan's trunk, but that turned out to be a special limited edition one belonging to Bernard Cowley. The knife had never been used for anything. And now, how about dessert?"

“Yes, but it's so hard to move. I could sit here in the sun for the rest of the day. Look at the kids. They are having a bal . Fred seems very nice, and I'm sure he and Arlene wil be model parents, unlike some of the rest of us." Fred was showing Ben how to climb the apple tree.

"Look, Arlene is wearing bel -bottoms! I should have saved al those clothes I wore in the sixties," Pix commented.

Faith disagreed. "You did the right thing. Trust me.”

Pix was cutting the tartes and Faith was putting everything on another table that had been set up out of the sun. Earlier, Samantha had picked a large bouquet of wildflowers and put them in an old white ironstone pitcher fil ed with water. Faith added a few roses from Pix's garden and several stalks of delphinium. She placed it on the dessert table now with the tartes and several large bowls of fresh strawberries. Pix had provided whipped cream and sugar, although preferring her berries straight. These were so ful of flavor, they didn't need anything, even the crème de cassis Faith favored when she got tired of them plain.

This never happened to Pix.

Arnie and Claire had apparently cleaned out Louel a Prescott's entire stock of cookies—chocolate chip, oatmeal, and hermits—and surprisingly the Bainbridges'

butterscotch shortbread. Apparently, Rebecca was not the one who hoarded the secret recipes. There was hope of sherry-nutmeg cake yet.

Pix was arranging the cookies on a large blue wil ow platter. Ursrula had come in to get a sun hat and see whether her daughter needed help.

“These are the most delicious cookies. I hope Rebecca wil give me the recipe, too," Pix said, eating one that had conveniently broken in the box.

“I'm sure she wil , dear." Her mother gave her a quick kiss, something that had become a habit of late.

Her daughter and granddaughter safe and sound, her beloved son in residence, Ursula should have been in clover, and she was—almost. But Pix thought she could stil detect a wrong note in her mother's voice. She started to ask her about it when Faith came in with the empty tray to get the rest of the things.

“Everyone's already at the desserts. Tom says it's Maine air. Gives him an appetite. And this from a man who has consumed two lobsters, coleslaw, and untold pieces of corn bread al in the recent past!”

As soon as she left, Pix said to her mother bluntly, "Tel me what's bothering you." When her mother did not reply at once, Pix suddenly realized it was always when the Bainbridges' name came up that Ursula seemed perturbed.

Could her mother miss Adelaide to such an extent? They had been close but not the best of friends. Addie. Faith had been talking about putting the last pieces in place. Surely the picture was complete. The card table could be cleared for another puzzle or tucked in a hal closet to make room for other activities. Wasn't it time to put everything away?

“Does it have to do with Addie? Are you worried about Rebecca? Oh, Mother, surely you don't think the Athertons kil ed Addie, too? I always thought the quilt was too much of a coincidence! She must have discovered what they were doing!”

Her mother sat down on a stool by the kitchen window.

The voices outside were clearly audible. Arnie was teasing his wife about the size of the piece of blueberry tarte she'd taken. When Ursula spoke, Pix had trouble hearing—and believing—what her mother said.

“The Athertons didn't kil Adelaide, but the quilt was not a coincidence. I know she'l tel one of us soon. I've been waiting and waiting. Perhaps me, maybe Earl, or maybe you. She's a good woman, though very disturbed in mind, and is probably home thinking about it right this very minute."

“You can't mean Rebecca!"

“Addie was very difficult to live with, especial y these last years," Ursula said slowly, "and Rebecca did long for a room with a view.”

Myrtle Rowe Mil er, better known as Pix, lay flat on her back in the cemetery. The bright blue sky seemed very close, almost brushing the tip of the long piece of grass she was chewing on. She'd slipped out from Arnie and Claire's going-away party at The Pines, ostensibly to see how the plot had fared in the heat and subsequent rains. She doubted she'd be missed.

The last two weeks had been fil ed with picnics and excursions of one sort or another. Arnie had, in fact, taken her to Vinalhaven, a lovely long, lazy sail.

Samantha had not remained jobless for long; the camp having obviously shut down, much to the loudly expressed sorrow of Susannah and Geoff, who had begged Samantha to take over. Now Arlene and Samantha were working for Louel a, rising early to help bake, then tending the register while Louel a kept cooking.

And Seth seemed to be accomplishing miracles of construction at the Fairchilds'. Pix went every day, watching the house rising from its foundation before her eyes.

Everything had turned out al right after al —except two people on the island were dead who should stil be alive.