slid to the floor and opened, spilling its contents all over—contents that appeared to be letters and some kind of currency.
Just then they heard a car pull up. Pix—and Samantha—ready for the end of a treasure hunt.
Eric grabbed Hope again and turned out the lights. 'Don't answer the door and keep quiet!' he hissed at them.
The door opened.
“Eric? Sonny? Anybody heah? I found the note and set off right away.”
Eric turned the lights on. It was Margery Prescott.
Things were informal on Sanpere, but this was getting ridiculous, Faith thought. Did the Thorpes have this many unexpected guests when they inhabited the cottage? And who would be dropping by next? Jill? More Prescotts? Were they all in on this?
“Pick up the papers on the floor and let's get the hell out of here,' Eric directed Margery. He let Hope go and she gave him a poisonous look, which had no effect whatsoever.
“Where's Sonny?' Margery asked as she stuffed everything back in the box.
Eric grinned nastily. How could she ever have liked him? Faith wondered.
“He's out cold in the kitchen. Maybe you'd better go make sure he stays that way.'
“What!' exploded Faith. This was too much for her to keep her mouth shut.
“You just saved us the trouble of doing it offshore.”
Margery looked at Eric with adoration and nodded. Margery and Eric? Marjorie Main and Douglas Fairbanks?
“Margery, how can you trust him? He's killed three people. Now look what he's doing to Sonny. Just what do you think he's going to do to you once he's away and doesn't need your help?'
“That's where you're wrong, Faith. I'll never be finished with Margery. Never have. We go back a long way. Businesspartners who got friendly. And I didn't kill three people, did I, honey?”
Margery laughed. It was truly repulsive.
“No, Margery here took care of Bird. Took care of her very well.”
Faith began to feel sick. She saw the scene in the cabin projected on the living room walls. All that blood and hate. It had been Margery who had hated that beauty so much.
It was beyond horror. Faith felt completely overwhelmed by the evil in the room.
“Margery and I are going to take our business to a new location. Maybe north. Maybe south.”
Business. Did Margery have talent as a potter? Faith looked at her strong hands and stubby fingers. She certainly would be able to wedge a lot of clay.
“Can you really go back to making pots after all this?' She was stunned. Did Eric actually think he could start production again, even under an assumed name? He must really be mad.
“Pots?' Eric laughed. 'Not pots, but pot. Pot—and other things—in with the lobsters in those nice big trucks of Sonny's. Lobsterpot. Not floats—the real thing.' He was enjoying himself. Showing off for Margery, who rewarded him with an affectionate grin.
The night noises, all that action in the cove. It finally made sense. Too late.
Margery stood up to go to the kitchen.
“Bring the baby back with you. He's out there somewhere, probably asleep, since he isn't yowling. We'll forget about tying anybody up. Instead, I think we'd better take him and his auntie for a short boat ride to make sure these folks don't decide to follow us too soon or do something else stupid like call the police.'
“His auntie' directed her 'this-is-just-about-enough' look at Ben's mother. The steady gaze was as plain as skywriting on a cloudless day.
As Margery walked by, Hope tripped her and delivered a forceful, lightning-swift chop to the back of her neck, at the same time grabbing her left arm and twisting it in a way it was never meant to go. Faith didn't stay still to watch. As soon as Hope moved, she threw the oil lamp at Eric, ran over and jumped on him, brought her right knee up sharply between his legs, and wrestled the gun from his surprised hand.
Only slightly flushed, and firmly astride Margery's lumpy, cursing body, Hope called out to Faith, 'Aren't you glad I signed us up for those self-defense courses, Fay?”
It was a sister act nonpareil.
Eric was lying on the floor moaning and writhing in pain. Faith stood over him with the gun aimed at his chest. She was in no doubt about the location of his heart—only of its existence. Quentin, somewhat stunned, knelt beside Hope. 'Darling,' he said with a note of awe in his voice, 'will you marry me? Soon?'
“Of course!' She beamed at him radiantly.
Faith hated to be a wet blanket, but they did have two murderers and a drug traffIcker to attend to before any epithalamic toasts could be raised.
“Quentin, you go for the police, but first see how Sonny is. Oh, and Ben too. He's on the porch.”
Quentin returned immediately with the news that both Sonny and Ben were oblivious. He tied Margery securely, then Hope helped him with Eric, lovingly clover-hitching him to one of the more uncomfortable chairs in the cottage. Faith kept a steady aim and hoped she didn't have to fire any shots. Goodness knows what that would do to their security deposit.
“If Margery took Sonny's truck, there's a CB in it and you can call for help. Do you know how to work one?”
Quentin, who despite his flush of joy was beginning to feel a tad inadequate, hastened to assure Faith that a CB was something he was capable of handling. Hope went out into the kitchen, finished tying Sonny up, and dragged him into the living room so they could keep an eye on him.
“I moved Ben inside, Faith. Do you want him in here?'
“No, he's fine where he is and this room is beginning to get badly overcrowded.”
Quentin returned. 'I reached your Sergeant Dickinson. He seemed pretty surprised. I had to repeat everything twice.”
Eric and Margery, after some foul-mouthed moments, had subsided into bitter silence. Faith had placed a chair by the door and was sitting in it with the gun aimed and cocked. She felt like Annie Oakley.
Three deaths. Three shattered lives. For what? Money? In Margery's case, love? Money! Faith sat up straight.
“Hope, let's see what's in the box! I don't know what has happened to Pix and Samantha, but I'm sure they wouldn't blame us for looking after all this.'
“And it is already open,' her sister agreed.
She and Quentin sat as close as possiole on the couch and sorted through the contents. Quentin was making a neat stack of the currency.
“Sorry, sister-in-law to be, it's a bundle, but it's Confederate money. Still, not completely without value.'
“As wallpaper?' Faith proposed. She was trying hard not to be desperately disappointed.
“Here's a letter, Fay, from Matilda. I'll read it out loud to you:
To Whoever Finds This Box:
I hope you had a good time figuring out my quilt. I had a lot of happy hours planning it and don't intend to die until it's finished. You probably expected the gold, unless it's already been found, but that's someplace else fun. You have to forgive an old woman her amusements.
Please give the top two papers to my nephew, Sonny Prescott, who is my executor. Tell him he's to call a family meeting and decide what to do with the land. I never wanted anyone to know I had it or I would have been pestered to death years ago by real estate agents and developers. If no one ever finds this box, that would be all right too. Maybe the Point would remain the way it is. I'd like to see it stay unspoiled, but I know this may not be possible. Anyway, I won't be around to know about it.
As a prize for figuring out an Old Maid's Puzzle, the rest of the contents of the box is yours. Sorry I can't be there to shake your hand.
Yours respectfully,
Matilda Louise Prescott
Hope scanned the two remaining papers.
“They're old deeds, all right. What is this `Point' she refers to? Is it big? Because these seem to indicate a large property.' And Hope should know, Faith reflected. Before she could answer her sister, Margery broke in.
