'So in the unlikely event that we found this hypothetical campsite, we could safely assume it had nothing to do with the murder?'
'I imagine you could safely assume it was abandoned three or four days before the murder,' Binkie said.
And from the look on her face, I doubted we'd pry any more information out of Binkie. I stood up to go.
'Sorry to barge in,' I said, looking at the Dickermans. I felt sorry for them: Not their fault, really, how Fred and Will had turned out; or if it was, they were certainly paying for it now. 'I hope you can work things out with the power plant and all. I know Aunt Phoebe's not sold on it, but I'm sure a lot of people around here would hate to see it shut down or change hands.'
'Don't worry, dear,' Binkie said. She smiled--not the gentle smile I'd seen previously, but the sort of smile that made me feel very, very sorry for anyone who might attempt to take the Central Monhegan Power Company away from the Dickermans.
Just then, we heard frantic knocking at the door. Both of the Dickermans leapt to answer it, then returned almost immediately with Mamie and Dad at their heels.
'Ah, Mamie thought we'd find you up here!' Dad exclaimed. I was about to ask what he wanted me for, but then I realized he was looking at Binkie.
'Dr. Langslow suggested that we might want a couple of doctors to examine Resnick's body,' Mamie said. 'Just in case there's anything significant that doesn't… uh, last. Seemed like a good idea.'
'Yes,' Binkie said. 'Provided you have some responsible witnesses to supervise the proceedings, of course.'
'We thought perhaps you could do that,' Mamie said.
'Of course,' Binkie said. 'Shall we go now?'
'Well, first we have to find John Peabody,' Dad said. 'He's the only other doctor we know of on the island, and we haven't seen him all day.'
'Off finding a bit of peace and quiet, I imagine,' Winnie said. Having met Mrs. Peabody, I imagined he was right.
'Winnie and I can find John, then meet you at the Anchor Inn,' Binkie said. 'We'll see you later, then,' she told the Dickermans, and shooed the rest of us out. She and Winnie hiked off in search of Dr. Peabody while Mamie, Dad, Michael, and I took what Mamie assured us was a shortcut to the Anchor Inn.
'Oh, Meg,' Dad said as we strolled. 'Mrs. Peabody said you had her digital camera and could take some pictures.'
'What a great idea,' Michael said.
I rolled my eyes, wondering whether I really wanted to be involved in this.
Just then, we rounded a turn in the path and I caught sight of a cottage I hadn't seen before.
'Mamie,' I said. 'That's Rhapsody's cottage, isn't it?'
'Why yes,' she said, beaming. 'How did you know?'
'Just a lucky guess,' I murmured.
Chapter 27
Unlike Aunt Phoebe's cottage, which was just a small weathered saltbox, this really looked like a fairy-tale cottage. Rhapsody had painted it various shades of lilac and lavender, with blue trim. The blue tile roof hadn't weathered the hurricane well, and several of the blue-and-lavender shutters had come loose, revealing, rather than protecting, the small diamond-shaped windowpanes. Dead vines covered the front. The vines probably bore purple flowers during Monhegan's brief summer, but they looked pretty stark now. Still, the effect was charming, in a cloying sort of way. I half-expected to see Hansel and Gretel walk around from the backyard, munching on chunks of marzipan windowpane and gingerbread woodwork. The door knocker was shaped like a unicorn's head, complete with a wickedly sharp horn, and I wondered how many people had impaled themselves on it.
'Isn't it cute?' Mamie said.
'Very cute,' I said. Mamie smiled and Michael looked puzzled. Only Dad had known me long enough to realize that I'd just uttered my ultimate insult, but even Dad wasn't tactless enough to say so.
'Look, we'll catch up to you in a bit,' I said. 'I want to talk to Rhapsody.'
'What about?' Mamie snapped.
Damn. I'd forgotten how protective Mamie was of her pet artist.
'Mother's interested in a painting,' I said. Well, it wasn't a complete lie; if Mamie chose to think I meant one of Rhapsody's paintings, that was her problem.
'I'll come with you, then,' Mamie said. 'She's very shy, you know.'
'I'd like to meet her,' Dad said, falling into step beside Mamie.
We slipped and slid up the cobblestone path--nature never intended cobblestones for use in hurricanes--and Mamie knocked very gently on the front door.
After half a minute, I saw motion out of the corner of my eye. The curtain in the window to the left of the door fluttered slightly. I deliberately avoided looking at it, and pasted what I hoped was a friendly, harmless smile on my face.
Mamie had raised her hand to knock again when the door opened slightly, with the sort of creak they use in movies to suggest that maybe this is a door you'd be better off not entering. But there wasn't a monster or a wicked witch hiding behind the door. Just poor Rhapsody, who peeked through the narrow opening as if she were the one expecting monsters.
'Rhapsody, we're so sorry to intrude, but Meg's parents want to buy a painting,' Mamie said.
Rhapsody didn't seem reassured by Mamie's words, but after staring at us blankly for a few seconds, she opened the door a little wider and scuttled back to let us pass.
'I'll make tea,' she murmured, and fled down the tiny hallway while Mamie led us into the living room. I instantly wished I'd suggested inviting Rhapsody down to the general store or to Mamie's house. Her decor gave me galloping claustrophobia. Not so much the furniture, although she had too much of it--fussy little chairs that would collapse instantly under anyone over a hundred pounds; rickety-looking tables about to overturn under their loads of knick-knacks; spindly cabinets whose glass fronts bulged outward from the further hoard of knickknacks within. You could have sewed all the frayed antimacassars and antique doilies together to make several bedsheets, and from the number of puffin-related items among the knickknacks, I gathered that Rhapsody was Mamie's best customer.
And apart from the black and white of the puffins and the various wood tones, everything in the room was colored some shade of lavender, purple, or lilac.
Everything also carried a visible coating of dust. I sneezed four times while poking around the room to find a chair I would feel safe sitting on.
Mamie beamed with pride at the decor. Dad gazed at me, clearly awaiting brilliant deductions. I could tell Michael wanted to make a break for the wide-open spaces. I tried to stifle my sneezes by concentrating on the pictures on the wall. She had about thirty of them, all book covers or illustrations from the Puffin Family series. At the lower left-hand corner of every painting was Rhapsody's signature--a fussy, overelaborate design, barely recognizable as the letter
Rhapsody emerged from the kitchen, wearing a frilly lavender dress that served very well as camouflage, considering her decor. She carried a tray, from which she handed out tea in eggshell-thin antique china. The idea of actually grasping the delicate gold-and-lavender handle of the cup was more than I could manage; I was sure to break it. Besides, I could tell from the smell that she'd made some kind of odd-tasting herbal muck. So I cleared a space among the fragile-looking knickknacks on the doily-covered end table, set down my cup, and tried not to watch what Dad was doing with his.
'By the way, before we talk about the painting, I have a question about puffins,' I said.
'I don't really know that much about them,' Rhapsody said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. 'I just paint them.'
'Yes,' I said. 'That's what I wanted to ask you about.'
