Katherine Page - The Body in the Kelp

“Are you feeling as out of sorts as I am? Whenever I think about Bill, I sit and cry. The poor Fraziers have completely broken down. Their daughter and her husband arrived from Boston, and I left them to it."

“My news is not going to make you—or the two nannies—feel any better. Bird's father just left with Zoë."

“Oh no! I was beginning to think you would keep her!"

“Maybe I was too. It was quite a wrench to see her go, but Mr. Warner is a lovely man and he was so happy to have her. He didn't even know he was a grandfather. You should have seen him, Pix—he was grieving terribly for Bird. She'll never be back, but he has a part of her in Zoë."

“Bill and Bird gave her an appropriate name."

“Yes, and by the way, Bird's real name was Laura Sue. I don't blame her for changing. It sounds as though `Tips for Teens' or ‘Original Recipe Brownies' should follow, but I would have picked something with fewer comedic possibilities to replace it."

“Like what?"

“Oh, I don't know. Portia or Deirdre. Something, anything."

“I disagree. Bird was Bird. It suited her."

“That's only because you were used to it being her name, and is this conversation going anywhere or are we just bored?"

“Just bored." Pix agreed.

“Well, I'm going to finish my spaghetti sauce, then read a million stories to Ben. It's too foggy to take a walk. We'd tumble into the sea. But if it lifts later, we'll come your way if that's all right."

“Of course. And just be happy you don't live on Whitehead Island. It's the foggiest place in Maine. They have eleven weeks of it a year."

“How many do we have?" Faith was slightly startled by her own use of "we." Had she said good-bye to the Hamptons and civilized life as she knew it forever? She hoped not.

“About five weeks—and sometimes all in a row, or it seems that way."

“Don't worry, it will lift before Hope and Quentin arrive. There isn't a fog that creeps on little cat or any other feet that would dare to obscure their well-regulated horizons.”

Pix laughed again. "While you're creating culinary masterpieces, I'll go to work on the quilt. We've got to find out what those last two squares are."

“Call me if you have any luck. It would be fun to take Hope and Quentin on a treasure hunt when they arrive on Wednesday. And Quentin could probably figure out how to write the whole thing off as a tax loss. I think that's what he does, although I've never been too certain. One of those legally illegal things anyway."

“Good cooking, Faith."

“Good hunting, Pix. Oh wait! I must be losing my mind. I almost forgot to tell you the rest about Bird! She and Roger were from the same town in Iowa. They grew up together and, from the sound of it, Bird had been in love with himsince she was a little girl. And the police told Mr. Warner that she was pregnant at the time of her death."

“By Roger, do you think? Oh, Faith, it just gets sadder and sadder."

“I know. Roger does seem the likeliest—or it could have been Andy? Her father didn't say how far along she was."

“This is almost too much to take in. Do you think Bill knew?"

“There are lots of things I'm afraid we're never going to know and that's one."

“Well, I'll try to find these squares and at least we'll know something. Talk to you later."

“Okay, good-bye.”

Faith hung up and turned back to her tomatoes. She decided to give Pix some of the sauce. The Millers definitely needed some real food. The quilt photos were being hidden in a half-empty can of bread crumbs with Italian seasoning. Pix had told Faith she used this convenience all the time and that they were particularly good on chicken. Faith had asked Pix if she ever thought about where those bread crumbs had been. She used the same tone her mother employed years ago when Faith picked up a penny from a New York City sidewalk. It was impossible to be too stern about fresh bread crumbs.

The fog did not lift, and as the afternoon wore on, Faith began to feel suffocated by it. She was tempted to jump inthe car and drive to the Millers', but it would take too much energy. Besides, once there she'd have to come back again. Her sauce was made and she was contemplating an early dinner, long bath, and bed—Benjamin permitting—when the phone rang. It was Pix again. A very excited Pix.

“I've got number fifteen! It's White House Steps and that's got to be it. Somewhere on that road there must be a white house, and the treasure is under the steps!"

“Pix, that's fantastic! If only the fog would lift, we could go hunt! But if the treasure was under the steps, why would Matilda put all those other squares after it?”

Pix sighed. "You're right. I didn't think of that. I was so excited to have found it. But it must be another directional clue. Starting from the steps you look for some fern berries, then number seventeen and a shady pine. If we could find the steps, we could look for large pines. It must be buried under one of them."

“Let's go back to Prescott Point first thing in the morning," Faith proposed. "But now I have to finish reading The Three Little Pigs to Ben. I don't know why he likes it so much. I've always thought it was such a prissy book. And what do you suppose would have happened if the wolf had gone to the third little pig's house first? Before he was finished with all his brickwork? He'd have been singing a different tune."

“You've been cooped up too long, Faith. See you in the morning.”

Faith hung up and felt happier than she had in days. At least one mystery was becoming clearer.

The weather was not, however. When she awoke the next morning, the fog was thicker, if that was possible. She called Pix and they commiserated, resolving to go exploring the moment it lifted.

“It'll burn off," Pix promised.

Faith, thinking of those five weeks, was less sanguine. "How much fog has there been to date? Maybe we can approach this scientifically."

“There's nothing scientific about fog and I prefer to trust Arlene. When she called Samantha this morning, she told her it would burn off by tomorrow, so no doubt it will.”

Faith faced another long, housebound day squarely in the face and found it wanting. She decided to get ahead in cooking some treats for Hope and Quentin; then even if she had to bring a stick to feel her way, she'd take Ben to the Millers', one step at a time.

The morning passed quickly, and after making more bread and a large Basque salad with shrimp, sausage, prosciutto, peppers, onions, and rice for Quentin and Hope's arrival, she called Pix to tell her she was bringing lunch. Pix, who had stoutly averred she welcomed a few foggy days, agreed with more than a suggestion of cabin fever in her voice.

Faith took the path through the woods. It was quite clearin patches, impenetrable in others. Ben ran ahead, undeterred by frequent falls over tree roots and happily scaling small stones. He was chanting to himself, "See Samantha, Ben see Samantha," until it all ran together like a name from The Arabian Nights.

Pix and Samantha welcomed them eagerly. The quilt books and magazines were strewn about the living room, and they had been ardently pursuing square number seventeen. They seemed happy for a break. Samantha took charge of Ben with an obvious display of bliss on both their parts—Ben's perhaps a bit more obvious since he jumped up and down and whooped.

“Why don't you stop and have lunch?" Faith suggested. "We won't fuss. I'll just put everything on the table. It's fresh curried pea soup—appropriate for a pea souper—and there's plenty to go with it. This weather has given me an enormous appetite. All I've done is eat.”

She went into the kitchen and unpacked her basket. A moment later Pix was shaken from a last contemplation of four-patches by a shriek from the kitchen.