Katherine Page - The Body in the Kelp

They'd have to get in touch with Nan to find the old road and since she didn't have a phone, that meant going to her house. Pix volunteered to do it while Faith went back to the cottage. It was impossible to feel apprehensive with such a blue sky.

As Faith was dropping her off and fetching her son, she took a deliberately cheerful view. "The Hamiltons are bound to know where the road is, and it won't take me too long to get things in order. Quentin can always remake the bed if my hospital corners aren't taut enough. Call me and we can resume the search. Ben shouldn't be a problem." Samantha was with Arlene for a joyful reunion after their fog-induced separation.

“Don't worry, I'll call the moment I have any news. Oh Faith, isn't this exciting! Even if it's not the gold, we've solved the puzzle.”

Pix phoned a half hour later. "Nobody's home! I'm so disappointed. I'll go back in an hour or so and keep checking until I find them. They can't have gone far. Freeman says the last time he went off island was in 1979. Hasn't needed to since. Nan does go up to Ellsworth to shop occasionally."

“Well, let's hope she didn't go today. Talk to you later.”

It was almost four o'clock when Pix called again. "Still nobody home!" she cried. "Should I wait until tomorrow?"

“Why don't you try once more at dinnertime, island dinnertime that is? And maybe by then Hope and Quentin will be here and can help us hunt."

“All right, I'll let you know one way or the other.”

At five o'clock Hope and Quentin pulled up to the cottage in the Jeep Cherokee they had rented. Faith grabbed Ben and rushed out to meet them. Hope was getting out of the car in one swift motion. It was the way she did most things. Like her mother. They didn't look the same, but they moved the same way. Women who knew where they were going.

Faith hugged her sister warmly and turned her cheek to Quentin. It wasn't an air kiss, but it wasn't a big smacker either and that pretty much summed Quentin up. Nothing in excess. He and Hope looked as if they had just stepped out of the J. Crew catalogue. Faith knew for certain that everything Hope was wearing was brand-new, but it could just as well have been sailing in Newport for years. And Quentin's jacket was either an old favorite of his father's handed down or the equivalent at a price. Dressed for the part, they were delighted to be there.

“We've been having such fun, Fay. Maine is wonderful!”

“But the last few days were a bit foggy, don't you think?" Hope and Quentin looked at each other in astonishment. "Foggy? They've been the best of our trip. We were out sailing all day yesterday and the sun never stopped shining." Of course.

“Are you hungry? Why don't we go in and get something to drink and sit on the porch? I have a nice 1987 Bertani Catullo white chilling and some tidbits to go with it," Faith proposed.

“I'm sure you do. We stopped for clams at Beal's, but I can eat again. How about you, honey?" Quentin said. He was very appreciative of Hope's sister's talents. Hope herself had firmly told him her own culinary expertise involved knowing which number to dial.

“We have been eating like pigs. Lobster, clams, all those biscuits and pies, but it's vacation, so lead me to the trough." She was on a permanent diet. The Sibley side of Faith and Hope's family were tall and also had what was referred to kindly as "big bones." Hope's skin had been stretched tightly, but not too tightly, over those bones so far, and with her dark hair and deep-green eyes—the only ones in the family, to Faith's chagrin-the hearts Hope Sibley did not cause to quicken in fear over her business acumen quickened for more pleasurable reasons. Quentin was tall too, although less exotic in appearance: light brown hair, brown eyes. Just your average, run of the mill, good-looking-enough-for-any-adcampaign-from-Dior-to-Dewars kind of guy. They made a nice couple.

They settled onto the porch and took turns retrieving Benjamin from trying to climb onto the Jeep's hood. He had settled into car worship and Faith had to keep her car locked at all times after once discovering him at the wheel, steering away and screeching in imitation of squealing tires.

Quentin seemed to find it all very amusing, and Faith and Hope exchanged looks of relief. Quentin did not have a great deal of experience with children. None, in fact, and viewed the whole notion of parenthood with fear and loathing. There was no question of avoidance, he had told Faith once as she was cleaning spit up off his linen suit in Ben's earlier days. The line must continue, but preferably out of sight with a good nanny. Hope felt almost the same way, with moments of thaw when Ben was particularly winsome.

Faith raised an eyebrow in inquiry and glanced in the direction of her sister's ring finger. Hope shook her head slightly. She didn't seem worried about when and if Quentin. would pop the question. He could do no wrong.

They began to eat the gravlax Faith had made with the salmon from Sonny Prescott and dill from the Millers' garden. There was dark-brown bread to go with it, and Faith had heated up some tiny chèvre tarts, in case anyone was still hungry.

“Delicious! And we certainly wouldn't need dinner after all this." Hope leaned back against Quentin, sitting on the stair above.

“Speak for yourself. I always need Faith's dinners," he protested.

“Me too," Faith said. "Besides, we'll eat later, after Ben is in bed. Anyway, it's a simple meal, a bourride, some salad—”

Hope sat up. "And now, sister dear," she said, fixing Faith with that gimlet eye usually employed in sizing up a building, or individual, in her capacity as a real estate appraiser for Citibank, "tell all, and I do mean all—not the edited-for-Mother-and-Father version.”

Faith had sandwiched a brief mention of finding Roger's body between glorious descriptions of the flora and fauna of the Maine coast in a letter to her parents. After finding Bird's body, she had decided not to say anything more and confined herself to postcards of lighthouses and sunsets with brief messages about the weather.

“I know you found some poor drowned man's body on the beach, Fay, but knowing you I figured there had to be a whole lot more going on.”

Her sister was smart. But where to begin and where to stop? She gave an only slightly edited version of the last few weeks, and had just gotten to Bill Fox's suicide when the phone rang.

“I hope that's Pix," Faith cried, and ran inside. It was.

“Faith, I had just about given up. They weren't home again. Then on my way back, I passed them on Route 17 and waved them over to the side. They'd been at Nan's sister's house helping her pack. She's moving to her daughter's in Granville or maybe it's South Beach."

“Pix! Tell me about it later! Did they know where the road was?"

“Of course, and what's more we all drove over there and I know where it is now too. Is your sister there yet?"

“Yes, and there's just enough daylight to go and have a look. I haven't had a chance to tell them about it, but I'll fill them in on the way. Can you meet me there in ten minutes?"

“Of course. See you then.”

Faith ran back to the porch and hastily told Quentin and Hope about the quilt.

“Are you making this all up to entertain us?" Quentin asked reasonably. "If so, it's very kind of you and a lot of fun—especially after the tale of horrors you've been relating."

“I swear it's true," Faith protested.

They were still claiming disbelief as they got into the Jeep while Faith threw some shovels, trowels, a pick, and a crowbar—all easily to hand in the Thorpe cottage's well-equipped barn—into the back. Soon they were headed off to Prescott Point. Ben chortled with joy at riding in the Jeep and made little vroom-vroom noises all the way there.