household, Faith reflected.
“They hadn't told the police anything except that I was at school and things were fine between Cindy and me.”
Dave was a senior at BU and had applied to law school for the following year. He had wanted to get a degree in agriculture at U Mass, but Cindy did not fancy herself a farmer 's wife, even the kind of farmer Dave had wanted to be, a researcher in alternative food sources. ' It's all cow cakes, Dave, no matter how you slice it,' she had said, laughing at him.
“When the police get me, they don't have to look any further. I wanted to do it and so far as anybody knows I was there. Even my parents thought I might have done it. I've been pretty crazy lately. All I know is I'm not going to be locked up.'
“Dave, believe me we'll straighten this out. It looks bad, but we 'll do everything in our power to help you. You must remember, God protects the innocent. Hold on to that,' Tom consoled.
“Thank you. I guess that's why I came. I need your help, though unless you find out who the real murderer is, I'm not sure what you can do.'
“Then that's what we'll have to do,' Faith said briskly, suddenly seeing Dave twenty years ago, a replica of her own darling babe. The thought stabbed her, but it was nothing compared to the hardball of a baleful glance that Tom threw across the table. She took it bravely full in the face and got some more waffles. Benjamin was still contentedly in training for a lock-picking career.
After Faith had spoken Dave looked a lot better, eating waffles steadily and to all appearances without a care in the world save whether State would take the pennant this year or not. It amazed Faith that even someone as relatively grown up as Dave still invested real adults with so much power. Faith considered herself to be one of the real adults since starting her business and even more since Benjamin was born. Unreal adults were all those yuppies somewhere in their twenties for decades who appeared intent only on making a fortune, brushing their teeth, and having an inordinate amount of fun. They weathered market fluctuations and favorite restaurant closings with equal aplomb. The wages of sin weren't what they used to be.
Tom continued to look at her, cartoonlike balloons coming out of his mouth : 'Don't make promises you can't keep.”
“This could be dangerous.”
“Stay out of it.'
“I don't see why I can 't devote a little time to thinking about all this,' Faith muttered to herself. 'It's not as if I'm going to get myself killed.”
She had leaned over to pick up Benjamin, who had started to demand a new diversion, when they heard a car pull into the drive. Dave was out the back way before the engine stopped.
Faith thrust his dishes into the dishwasher.
“Now, Faith,' warned Tom. She motioned for him to be quiet, scooped up the Rolex, and put it in her pocket. 'Now, Faith,' he said with greater determination. 'Let's just see who it is and what they want. Don't worry, Tom, I'll be good.'
“That's what I'm afraid of.”
The bell rang.
3
Tom opened the door. It was Chief MacIsaac, all right, and he was not alone.
Charley MacIsaac was a large man—stacks of oatcakes in his youth in Nova Scotia—but he was completely dwarfed by the man at his side. Clad in what Faith noted with surprise to be a rather modish Burberry raincoat, the giant was about six-foot-seven and hefty. His dark hair, streaked with gray, was curly like a perm, but Faith, a specialist in snap judgments, immediately concluded that this wasn't the sort of man who went in for perms. A mother, most likely his, would have described his face as having character ; others equally charitable would call it homely. When he greeted themwith a thin-lipped regulation smile, uncharitable Faith barely repressed a shudder.
“This is Detective Lieutenant John Dunne from the State Police,' Charley said, 'They've been kind enough to give us a hand in this unfortunate business.' Dunne looked at Charley with tolerance bordering on annoyance. The case would have been a whole lot easier if MacIsaac had never had his hand anywhere near it. In their initial excitement, the Aleford Police had trampled Belfry Hill like a pack of puppies not yet housebroken, destroying evidence that might have been there and leaving their tracks all over the place. These small town guys might be likable as hell, but they were a pain in the ass to work with.
Dunne moved into the room, quietly for a man his size. 'I hope you don 't mind going over this again, Mrs. Fairchild,' he said in a tone of voice that left no alternative. And a tone of voice that revealed other than Yankee roots.
“ Not at all,' Faith replied politely as she steered him toward the wing chair, the only one in the room she trusted to hold him safely. There was a superabundance of spindly New England furniture in the parsonage and one of those chairs would fall apart like balsa wood if he sat in it.
Where did they find this guy ? she wondered. He sounds like he comes from the Bronx. And what kind of a name was John Dunne for this decidedly unpoetical creature ?
She was terrifically disconcerted to hear her unspoken thoughts answered.
“ I understand we are fellow New Yorkers, Mrs. Fairchild. I grew up in the Bronx.”
This was probably supposed to make her feel at ease Faith reflected, if such a presence could. Why was it that the police had this effect on her ? She hadn 't murdered Cindy, but she felt as wary as an about-to-be- uncovered serial killer.
“Yes, I'm from Manhattan.' That sounded like one upmanship. She hastily added, 'Though of course I know the Bronx—the Zoo, the Botanical Gardens, but I must confess I mostly go there for egg creams.”
it was Dunne 's turn to be wary. He looked at her hard. Egg creams were nothing to joke about.
He stood up and took off his tan raincoat. It reminded Faith, as Tom jumped up to take it, of a frost heave— huge boulders suddenly emerging from the earth. Dunne sat down and the terrain settled.
Faith put Ben in the playpen again, showering him with all his favorite toys, Happy Apple and a stuffed clown that never failed to send Ben into gales of laughter. It was doing so now and Charley shot an avuncular smile at the baby, but Dunne never gave him a tumble. This wasn 't going to be easy.
Tom tried to catch Faith 's eye. She deliberately ignored his rather impassioned glance. Subtlety had never been Tom 's strong point.
“ Would anyone like some coffee ? It's already made,' Faith offered.
“ I never say no,' Charley answered. He could usually be found having a cup at the Minuteman Cafe every morning at eight and every afternoon at four. When Faith used to roam the town restlessly before Benjamin's arrival, she would see him there and would join him for the Minuteman 's surprisingly good muffins. The cafe had replaced the old country store as gathering place and information center, not that she had ever seen anyone there engaged in idle chatter or gossip. But somehow they managed to keep on top of things by nods over their coffee mugs and monosyllabic hints.
She looked over at Detective Lieutenant Dunne.
“Thank you, no,' John Dunne replied as he took out his Filofax.
Faith was startled. She hadn't seen a Filofax since she'd left the city ; her own was gathering dust in a drawer upstairs. She knew it was simply a matter of time before Dunne would get her to confess the infractions of a lifetime, starting with stealing a bottle of red nail polish from Woolworth's on a dare in sixth grade up to the present suppression of the whereabouts of a key suspect in a murder investigation. She would have found whips and chains easier to resist than calculated organization.
She left, quickly returned with coffee for the rest of them, and sat down next to Tom on the couch.
“Now, Mrs. Fairchild, could you tell me what happened yesterday? I've read the reports, but it would help to hear it in your own words.”
This was something she could do. Faith sat up straight and patiently went through what was beginning to seem like something she had dreamed.
“I started up Belfry Hill just before noon with Benjamin.'
“ Excuse me, but how did you know what time it was?' Dunne was looking at her watchless wrist.
“No, I didn't have a watch on,' she answered, correctly interpreting his gaze, 'I don 't wear one unless I need
