By the end of an hour, they’d covered all the questions, eaten all the cookies, and Tom had brought out a decanter of sherry.
Michael Caldicott had been keeping his own notes. “There’s quite a lot here for the police.
This really was a brilliant idea on your part, Faith.” They’d gotten to first names by the second question.
She nodded. “The most striking coincidence is the day of the week and time—all on a Tuesday and all daytime breaks.”
“Chief MacIsaac told us daytime breaks are the most common,” Roland Dodge added ruefully,
“especially among those who are doing this for a career, as opposed to teenagers and drug addicts.
If you’re caught, the penalty for a daytime crime is considerably less than for one committed under the cover of darkness.”
“And none of our houses had alarm systems; that’s another common denominator,” Faith continued.
“We’re remedying that,” Pauline said. “Would you believe we’re on a waiting list? All Aleford wants to get wired.”
Faith had found this out herself when she’d called. Minuteman Alarms’ owner’s joy at the sudden rise in his fortunes had been apparent even over the phone. The parish Buildings and Grounds Committee had approved alarm systems for both the parsonage and the church.
“Some of my friends have wondered why I want to put in an alarm now, the old locking the barn door business. It’s true I haven’t got much left to take, but I simply don’t want anyone in my house again whom I don’t know!” Edith Petit said grimly.
Unless it was someone you did know, Faith thought, but she said instead, “I’ve since learned thieves make it a practice to return roughly a year later, on the assumption that you will have replaced what they have taken with your insurance money. You can tell that to anyone who doubts the wisdom of an alarm system.”
They’d been sharing larcency lore throughout the evening, Roland Dodge contributing the fun-niest. Several years ago, a neighbor of theirs had seen a young man leaving the house next door with a television set, putting it into the back of a van parked in the driveway. She insisted he come in and take hers as well, since it was “on the fritz.” “It’s absolutely true,” Roland insisted. “I heard it from the woman myself, and of course she never saw her TV again!”
The items taken from their respective dwell-ings were also the same—silver, jewelry, and, in the art teacher’s case, a box of chocolates from an admirer. Cecilia was particularly indignant about that affront, although it was her mother’s locket with pictures of
Faith knew this game. She played it at night when she couldn’t sleep. The first day it was “If I Could Have One Thing Back, What Would It Be?” She had quickly moved to three things and as she cataloged what was gone, the items changed from night to night.
Silver plate and costume jewelry, except when it was mixed in with the real thing, had been ignored. None of the houses had been trashed, although searched thoroughly. Like Sarah, both the Dodges and Edith Petit had had canisters of flour and sugar emptied. Faith caught Tom’s eye and knew they had come to the same conclusion: clever thieves who knew the inhabitants and ages of the homeowners. These pros knew a younger person didn’t gravitate toward the pantry for hiding places—jewel rolls in the bottom of a garment bag and rings in the freezer were the choices of the next generation.
They did have many of the same service people, but as Detective Dunne had pointed out, there weren’t many alternatives in a town the size of Aleford, and people like Mr. McCarthy, the plumber, had lived in town forever, the firm getting its start plugging up the musket holes in rainwater barrels, no doubt. It seemed crazy to suspect him, but then, he might have had someone working for him who was less reliable. They carefully listed the plumber, the plow service, cleaners—anyone who had been in the houses as far back as a year ago. The Caldicotts and the Dodges had both remodeled their kitchens. It all went down in the report.
As she listened carefully to what had been stolen from each house—and what hadn’t—Faith knew there was something she was missing. Her Nikon camera had been on the kitchen table. The Caldicotts had state-of-the-art computer equipment and a Bang & Olufsen stereo system in the same room. None of this was even moved out of place, nor was liquor touched in any of their houses. “Not even my Macallan twelve-year-old scotch!” Roland exclaimed. “Wished they’d taken all the booze and left my Brass Rat—that’s what the MIT class ring is affectionately called, has a beaver on it,” he explained. Nothing new, even though it would certainly have been easy to fence these things, Faith assumed. It couldn’t have anything to do with size, because the sideboard drawers were large and those had been taken from Sarah’s house and the parsonage. Three homes, including Sarah’s, had lost antique Oriental rugs. The Dodges were missing a pair of mahogany knife boxes, too—empty of cutlery, but fine eighteenth-century examples with intricate inlay work.
“Charley MacIsaac says all the houses bordering the green have been broken into at one time or another, and I certainly wish someone had told me that when I was buying mine,” Edith said. “If we do nothing else tonight, I think someone should write up a list of tips for people on how to avoid being broken into, and we’ll put it in the
Things like not leaving your garage doors up when the garage is empty, Faith thought dismally.
It was a good idea, though. Pix volunteered to write the article. She felt it was the least she could do as one who had retained her circle pin.
It was dark by the time everyone left and there was a strong feeling of camaraderie. Dunne had been right about that. Everyone
Telephone numbers were exchanged and promises made to keep in touch.
“Oh dear,” Edith said as she put on a pale lavender sweater for the short walk across the green to her house. “We didn’t get a chance to talk about those insurance adjusters. It might be a good idea to meet again. My turn next time. I’ll bake an angel food cake,” she said brightly.
A new association. What could they call themselves? We Wuz Robbed, Inc., flitted across Faith’s mind.
After she closed the door on Pix and Samantha, with many thanks to them both, another thought loomed.
“Honey, do you think Edith Petit was referring to anything specific when she mentioned insurance adjusters?”
“I doubt it. We’ve been with the same company for years, and Gardner’s been our agent the whole time. You sent them the police report and our list of what’s gone, didn’t you? Anyway, we’ll find out tomorrow morning. The adjuster’s coming at nine, right?”
“Right—and I didn’t send anything; I took it to the office myself, with the photos, so we know they have everything.”
“Unfortunately, this happens all the time, Gardner said, and it’s probably done by rote,” Tom added.
After the conversation of the night before, Faith was unprepared for the fact that in the future she’d be referring to the freshly shaven, well-dressed young man who appeared promptly at nine a.m. on her doorstep as “theinsurancead-justerfromhell”—all one word.
“Hello, my name is Mr. Montrose.” The voice was devoid of accent and expression.
He stepped into the hall, extending a business card instead of his hand. Faith took it between two fingers. Maybe this was like showing a badge, presenting credentials in the wake of the crime.
“Please come in. My husband, the Reverend Fairchild, was called away unexpectedly, but he hopes to be back before you leave.” It appeared first names were being omitted. “I’m Mrs. Fairchild,” she added, although it seemed pretty obvious. Once again, the Millers had whisked the children off. Faith had thought to spare the adjuster any interruptions, yet she was fast conclud-ing that the children were the ones who had been spared. As yet, there hadn’t been any “So sorry you were ripped off” or any other niceties.
She ushered him into the living room, deciding not to offer coffee. He sat down in the larger of the two wing chairs that flanked the fireplace, setting a slim briefcase on the floor beside him.
He put the tips of his fingers together and nodded to her to take a seat also. Who did he think he was? Faith thought in growing annoyance, some sort of headmaster, or the host of
Next, he folded his hands together in what under other circumstances would have looked like the old childhood amusement “Here is the church; here is the steeple.” Hands flip. “Look inside and see all the people.” Mr.
