“If I get nervous, I can always go to Pix's.”
She could hear Tom sigh.
“But what about my being nervous?' he complained.
“I'll call. You'll call. And you'll be here soon.”
They continued to talk, and Tom finally agreed—grudgingly. His misgivings took another five minutes and Faith hung up. The phone rang immediately and the chaos began.
The girls moved the cradle behind the sofa and Faith and Pix dealt with the onslaught on the porch. The press did not appear to know about the baby yet, and they were careful not to mention her. It was enough that Zoe had lost her mother in this particularly grisly manner without being spread all over the front pages herself.
Sgt. Dickinson stopped by during one of the rare hiatuses and told them the medical examiner and the state police had arrived. He seemed a bit left out, and Faith offered him some cold lemonade, which he gratefully accepted. While he drank, he told them that Bill Fox hadn't known much about Bird. She was from the midwest originally, but never mentioned her family or real name. The police hoped to find something in the shack. There was also an APB out for Andy. They did know his name, Andrew Collins, and he was from Rockland. Dickinson hinted that the police had been keeping an eye on Andy for some time.
“Drugs?' Faith asked.
“I wouldn't say no,' he answered.
After he left, Pix went back to her house to get the quilt books and magazines. They had decided to fill the time trying to identify some more squares. Faith felt vaguely compelled to solve at least one puzzle.
While Pix was gone, she sat with Ben while he scribbled with crayons on the shelf paper she had taped to the top of the kitchen table. He was making car noises and covering the paper with lines that Faith assumed to be roads. She looked closely for signs of incipient artistic talent, didn't find any, and sank back into her thoughts.
Roger, then Bird.
She told herself that it was only logical to agree with the prevailing opinion that Roger's death was due to misadventure—that one of the Prescotts had meant to frighten but not kill him.
But there was no question about Bird. Whoever killed her meant it. Whoever?
Faith closed her eyes and felt sick. She opened them and was a little surprised to see the tranquil scene in front of her and not the mayhem in her mind.
The likeliest perpetrator was Andy. He was known to be violent. Pix had told her Bird had appeared with bruises and once a black eye in the previous months. He was also known to be jealous, and he might have gone berserk at the news of Bird's departure, especially if he had been on something.
And unlike the cases in fiction, Faith knew from Charley MacIsaac, the likeliest suspect is usually guilty—a husband, wife, someone who benefits financially or psychologically from the death.
But there had been two deaths on Sanpere, and much as she tried to reason with herself, Faith still couldn't squelch the notion that they were connected. After all, Roger and Bird were connected and had planned to be connected even more closely, it appeared. She tried to think how their deaths could have benefited anyone and came up with nothing. The Prescotts had no connection to Bird. Even if she and Roger had been secretly married, Bird would not have inherited Matilda Prescott's house, because of the way her will had been written. It went to Roger and/or Eric or issue. Faith wondered if Pix knew anything about Roger's will and resolved to ask her.
Ben was tired of drawing and went back to the cradle to gaze at the baby. The two girls—the 'nannies,' as Faith had begun to call them in her mind—were happy to have another child in their charge. Faith expected to see the two of them debating the merits of various soothing syrups as they rocked and knit serviceable garments.
Pix came back with lettuce, tomatoes, and some other vegetables from the garden. Faith put together a large salad for dinner, which they could eat with bread and the terrine of smoked mackerel she had made the day before. The nannies would probably want Bovril and toast.
They spread the photographs of the squares, which Faith had retrieved from their hiding place in the diaper bag, on the floor at the end of the living room and started to search for more names.
“Get out your list of the ones we know so far, and let's divide the photographs into two piles,' proposed Pix, ever systematic. As she grew to know Pix better, Faith began to think all these lists and systems might be a hedge against basic absentmindedness, even out-and-out woolgathering. Nevertheless there they were.
“Fine. You read out the names and numbers, and I'll go through the photographs.”
Pix had identified the tree square as Apple Tree and number nineteen, the chest, as Workbox. There were only five they didn't know.
“You know the island so well. Does any of this make sense, even without all the squares?' Faith asked.
Pix studied the list, glancing over at the photos as she did.
“We really need number four. Obviously she's telling us it's a puzzle since she starts out with Old Maid's Puzzle; then she goes to Harbor View, which must be where the hunt begins. But north on number three—the weather vane could be pointing almost anywhere on this side of the island—or even on the mainland.'
“What about the next group? The Compass is pointing east, and it's the left road on Crossroads that's a different pattern. Does that help?'
“Yes,' mused Pix, 'and number six, Odd Fellows Chain, must refer to the Odd Fellows Hall. There's only one on the island. The problem is it's located almost equidistant between the two main crossroads. We still need number four to point us in the right direction. Matilda figured this pretty carefully.'
“It looks like a bull's-eye. Does that suggest anything?' Faith asked hopefully.
“No, but it also looks like the spokes of a wheel, and that's easier. Let's look in the indexes for all the patterns with the word `wheel' in the title.”
Pix's strategy worked: fifteen minutes later Faith triumphantly cried out, 'Here it is! Millwheel!'
“That's great! It definitely gives us our direction. There was an old mill across from Harborview, and what's left of the wheel is directly opposite the gazebo on the other side of the pond.' She was getting excited. 'So if we go north toward the wheel, then east, the Odd Fellows Hall is before the first of the crossroads.'
“Then we turn left,' continued Faith.
“And,' finished Pix, 'it's another square we don't know.”
“Well, we have more than a week to figure it out before we go home.”
The phone rang. Again.
“It could be Sam. He was in court when I called before, so we have to get it,' Pix groaned. 'Why don't you make us a drink while I find out who it is; then we can feed the kids?'
“Great idea,' Faith replied, looked into the cradle, then moved toward the door.
Zoe was still sound asleep. She had roused briefly, drained a bottle, and immediately closed her eyes again. After a while even the nannies had become a bit bored with gazing at her cherubic, sleeping face and had taken Ben outside to play croquet. This was almost as hard as playing with flamingos and hedgehogs, since he chased all the balls and gleefully tossed them into the air. Between making sure he didn't concuss himself and trying to get their balls through the hoops, the girls were getting a fair amount of activity. They were happy to stop and eat. While they ate salad and what Faith had described as sandwich spread in order to make the terrine palatable, the two women sat on the porch.
“Why do we always sit on the steps?' Faith wondered. 'Because wicker is basically uncomfortable and the overhang cuts out the view.”
It was after six o'clock, and everything was still. Hardly a leaf moved, and there was no activity on the water to ripple the surface. The sun hadn't set, but they could see the moon. The day's events seemed very far away.
But not too far.
“Pix, was that Sam who called? Did you get a chance to ask him about Roger's will?'
“Yes, I asked him the last time he called. Sorry, I forgot to tell you. Other things on my mind, I suppose. Anyway, it's public knowledge, all probated.' She digressed, as was her habit, and Faith waited patiently for her to get back on the track. 'You know it's hard being a lawyer's wife. Sam never tells me anything—and shouldn't—but there's so much I'd like to know. You probably have the same problem. Secrets of the confessional.' She paused, then added hastily lest a whiff of incense escape into the Maine air, 'Not that we have confession, of course.
