Another forty minutes yielded only two squares: number nine, Winding Ways, and number twenty, Prosperity, which Faith noted assured them they were on the right track, but gave no clues. Ben had had more than enough of sitting indoors. Eager as she was to figure out the quilt, Faith was glad to take a break.
“I think I'll take Ben home the shore way, and he can explore to his heart's content.'
“Leave the quilt and I'll keep trying. It's addictive. Besides, I'm dying of curiosity.' Pix was standing on the floor with a stack of
Faith took a look at the magazine. 'It's gorgeous and could not possibly have been accomplished by human hands.' She paused, then added, 'You know we could be at this until Christmas, especially if we get sidetracked like this.'
“Don't worry, I'm working. That was just a momentary aberration.'
“Speaking of which, was Matilda the type to go to all this trouble for an empty box? Some kind of joke from the other side?'
“I don't know. It's an awful lot of work to do for a joke.”
“On all our parts,' Faith agreed.
Before she left, she jotted down the names of the quilt squares they had identified. They were assuming the clues were in sequence from left to right across, but they could be wrong. She wanted to look at it all again when her mind was clearer and see if she could figure anything out.
“Call me if you find any more names,' she said as they left.
Faith and Ben took their time following the shoreline between the two cottages, stopping to watch some eider ducks bob about in the water. Faith's pockets were heavy with all Ben's treasures: assorted shells, sea urchins emptied of their contents by the gulls, and rocks. he had finally pried him away from a boulder almost as big as he was that he seemed to want to add to the collection, and they climbed up into the meadow in front of the cottage. The landscape had that peculiar flat, intense light it sometimes assumes in the late afternoon, or just before a storm. Everything was absolutely still and light flooded into every corner. It was like a stage set. Ben and Faith stopped for an instant.
“I'm going to get you!' Faith cried and reached out for him. He squealed in happy terror and ran for the house. It worked every time.
The door was open. Faith thought she had closed it. When she walked into the living room, she was sure she had.
But the person or persons unknown who had been in the house since and torn it apart hadn't bothered.
She didn't linger to see if Goldilocks was sleeping in Ben's bed, but grabbed her car keys and child, drove straight to Pix's, and called the police.
Faith hung up and turned to Pix. 'He's going to check it out and then come by here. It's very strange. There's absolutely nothing of value in the house that people know about. Not even a TV set. What could someone have wanted?”
Which was Sgt. Dickinson's question as well. The house was empty, and he asked Faith to come back with him to try to figure out what was missing. Pix jumped in next to Faith.
They stood and surveyed the living room in silence. It wasn't as bad as Faith had first thought. Drawers were pulled out and cushions from the couch strewn around, but nothing had been smashed or broken, thank goodness. Short of haunting every yard sale on the Maine Coast for the rest of her life, she would have had no idea how to replace the vintage noncollectible cottage furnishings. The other rooms showed the same regard for property, but not order. Things were messed up, particularly the beds, but intact. Sgt. Dickinson showed special interest in the beds, examining the sheets with care. He was a medium-sized, well-built man with aspirations toward a Burt Reynolds mustache, the whole effect only slightly marred by a persistent cowlick.
“They might have done a little rolling around in here, but nothing else,' he reported to Faith and Pix. 'If you catch my meaning,' he added solemnly. They nodded vigorously in unison and Faith felt slightly relieved. The sanctity of the cottage beds had been preserved. It had been plain to her from the start that all those hours of exercise and masochistic dips in the ocean by the previous inhabitants had been to quell certain urges. And as for the current inhabitants—well, they
Ben had sensed something was amiss and had clung to Faith since they had entered the house, refusing even Pix's familiar arms. Trying to remember whether she had brought her Hermes scarf with the boat design or not was made more difficult by Ben's anguished cries whenever she tried to set him down for a moment. Pix had told her life was simple on the island, and Faith hadn't brought any good jewelry. Nor, she finally recalled, the scarf. But Pix was wrong. Life on the island was certainly not simple. Yet it wasn't something for which one dressed. She'd been right about that.
An hour's careful inventory revealed only a few items missing: some bottles of scotch, gin, vermouth, and wine Faith kept in the pantry; and a cuff bracelet Tom had bought for her from a silversmith on the island when they had first arrived. The wine in the basement had not been touched. Possibly, the fear of Faith and Ben's arrival had driven the miscreants away before they had had a chance to get to it.
They assembled on the porch to hear Sgt. Dickinson's parting words.
“Looks like kids, Mrs. Fairchild. No tire marks, except yours going out. I expect they were out in a skiff, saw you leave, and decided to have a party. Or at least get the makings of one. This happens a lot in the winter. But they're getting pretty foolish lately. I have an idea or two who they might be, and I'll keep an eye out for that bracelet of yours.'
“It wasn't worth that much, but my husband gave it to me.”
He took a small memo pad out of his pocket and made a note, as he had been doing every time Faith opened her mouth. He was nothing if not thorough.
“I don't think they'll be back to bother you, but I'll make it a point to check by here for the next couple of days.'
“I think you're right, Sergeant. There's really nothing for them to steal. But thank you all the same. It's reassuring to know you're around.' Faith gave him one of her more radiant smiles and he was properly impressed. He blushed and left.
“Do you think this is some sort of record, Pix? For summer people, especially?'
“What are you talking about, Faith?'
“Making the `Police Brief' two weeks in a row, of course.”
Pix patted her on the shoulder and they went in to start cleaning up. Ben had fallen asleep—he hadn't slept long enough earlier—and Faith had put him in his crib. His room was untouched. Evidently these were not teenagers who collected stuffed animals.
“Faith, why don't you come and stay with me until your sister gets here? There's plenty of room and we'd love to have you,' Pix offered.
“That's very sweet and thank you, but I'm not nervous. Whoever it was has had a look around and won't be back, and I know how to make sure of it.”
They were stripping the sheets off the bed.
“What do you mean? They'll probably watch you the next time you go to the state liquor store. You know there's always that line of teenagers sitting on the stone wall next to it.'
“Oh Pix, don't tell me you think it was kids who broke in here! It wasn't booze and bangles our thief wanted. It was the quilt.'
“The quilt!'
“Of course. Look at the way the beds are messed up and which drawers are open. No small ones, only those big enough to hold the quilt.' Faith stood for a moment, her arms filled with bedding.
“And we have to do something about it as soon as possible, because if we don't he, she, or they will try again.”
6
Despite her brave words to Pix, Faith spent a sleepless night. She was jolted to full consciousness by each noise outside and inside the cottage.
And it was an extremely noisy night.
Prescott's was loading lobsters, and the trucks seemed to grind every gear. Every floorboard in the house creaked in turn; the glass in every window rattled; and every diurnal creature decided to join his nocturnal cousin
