exotic tea cozy. She greeted Faith with some confusion and possibly an attempt at humor in a grim situation: 'Another body? Didn't give him any of your bouillon, did you?'
“Bouillon? Another body? What's this all about?”
Before Faith had a chance to reply to John Dunne's query, Roland Hubbard spoke. 'Mrs. Pendergast is a little upset—as are we all. She's referring to the unfortunate death of one of our residents of heart failure a week ago. He had been eating some of Mrs. Fairchild's delicious soup at the time he was stricken.”
Dunne looked incredulous. He had half a mind to take Faith into the office and find out what she knew, but he wanted to see her alone.
“Tomorrow,' he muttered, then remembered all his dear mother's chidings and held out his hand. 'Thank you for your help, Mrs. Fairchild. We will be in touch.”
Faith left with one of the officers, and as the door closed behind them, Francis Coffin jumped up excitedly.
“Piece of cake, eh, boys? `Shersay the femme.' It's obvious they had a lovers' quarrel and she did him in. And what about the story about being asleep when it happened!' He began to laugh helplessly. 'Did you have that soup of hers tested, Roland? Maybe we've got a Typhoon Mary on our hands. Well, no need to look further. We've got the killer.”
Dunne nodded his head toward Mrs. Pendergast, whose mouth had dropped open to the carpet. 'Shut up, Frank. I know Mrs. Fairchild. Her husband's the minister over in Aleford and she's not a suspect at the moment. Why don't we get on with this and perhaps—Mrs. Pendergast, is it?—could make a pot of coffee?' He'd had it with the niceties, and he knew Chief Coffin wouldn't even notice the difference.
“Don't see what a minister husband has to do with it. Their wives are just like anybody's else's. Put their pants on one leg at a time.”
Dunne was trying very hard not to listen. It crossed his mind that he might have a difficult time conducting the investigation with Coffin in the same room, since at the moment he was ready to throw the chief up against the wall and listen happily to the sound of all his brittle bones breaking. One of the officers from Byford picked up on the mood. It wasn't hard.
“Chief, maybe the lieutenant could spare us for a minute and we could get a few winks out in the living room. I know I could use them, and we're going to have a lot to do in the morning.”
Dunne made a mental note of the man's name. He definitely deserved a promotion.
Faith felt like a schoolgirl as she drove home through the chill winter night in the Byford squad car. And tomorrow's detention was one she wasn't going to get out of no matter how many apples she brought the teacher. , They passed the spot where she had gone off the road and she pointed her car out to the officer, who told her he would get someone to take care of it the next day. She continued to think about what she would tell and not tell John Dunne in the morning. She knew it would be morning and as early as he could get there. She'd gotten to know him very well during what she chose to remember as the time she'd solved the case of Cindy Shepherd's murder with some help from the police. It was unlikely that this was how Dunne characterized the events.
Faith walked through the snow up the front path, or where she knew the path to be. The snow was piled high against the storm door and she tugged valiantly trying to get it open. Just as she was considering going around to the back, where the door was sheltered by a small porch, the tiny opening she'd achieved was widened by a mighty shove from inside. The Maine balsam wreath her friends from Sanpere, the Fraziers, had sent went flying off into the snow-covered bushes.
Tom. He was up. Granted, it was a rare husband who could sleep after learning that his wife had been about to spend the night with a corpse.
She was a little apprehensive. He might be annoyed, but she also knew he'd be so glad to see her that the annoyance would melt at contact.
“Faith! Are you all right! What in hell is going on!”
She was right—it was all mixed up together and she was in his arms for a long minute before he remembered to be upset again.
“Faith ...'
“I know what you're going to say and I'm as shocked and upset as you are. Let's go to bed and I'll tell you all about it, if I can keep awake. Besides, I've never been so cold in my life.”
Faith had been able to supplement Julia Cabot's nightgown and the blanket with her own parka, which she had found in the coat closet off the living room together with her shoes, but it was not enough. Something like what Admiral Byrd and his men had worn would have been a closer approximation.
At last nestled snuggly in their not-so-wee little bed, she found the more she talked, the wider awake she got. It was Tom who began to nod off.
“So you see, I'm not in any danger. Nobody except the Cabots and Leandra Rhodes knew I was sleeping in that room. Perhaps some of the people I saw at dinner assumed so, since it was the guest room, but they wouldn't have known for sure. Which means that I wasn't the intended victim, unless Leandra's kleptomania transforms itself into other aberrations.'
“Leandra's what?' Light was beginning to streak in the window, and Tom realized he wasn't going to get any sleep. Maybe Faith would make waffles.
Faith told him about her conversation with Julia Cabot and moved on.
“Let's assume Eddie was the right person in the wrong spot—I'm sure the murderer would havepreferred the body not be found so soon—what was Eddie doing there and why two knives?'
“The what he was doing there is pretty obvious, don't you think? A tryst or whatever scumbags like Eddie call it. A quickie?'
“Yes. It must have been a quickie, because he was on top of the spread. He didn't want to mess up the bedding so someone would notice later. He probably used that room a lot. I hadn't gotten into the bed yet, so nothing was disturbed, and my clothes were out of sight in the closet.”
She remembered her purse was in the closet too and gave a thought to the contents, realizing that it was being gone over carefully and labeled exhibit something. She didn't think there was anything more incriminating than a Mass Millions ticket and a few cosmetics, which might suggest her natural look wasn't entirely due to the amount of time she seemed to be spending outdoors lately. She carried a knife, but it was the Swiss Army variety and not the kind sticking out of Eddie's chest and larynx.
“To be more precise, the question is why was he doing his kinky number there in the Hubbard House guest room and not in his own place or a motel in Danvers? The storm would have kept him off the roads, but his apartment was right there.”
Tom mumbled something in reply. He was dozing off.
Faith sat up abruptly. 'I can't sleep after all, Tom. Besides, Ben will be up soon.' They had been trying to put Benjamin on a more humane schedule, but no matter what time he went to sleep, he was still up with the chickens. Faith had given a passing thought to leaving out a bowl of cereal or some yogurt in his room next to his toys, but quickly abandoned it as she pictured the havoc a two-and-a-half-year-old could wreak on a house whilst his parents slumbered blissfully unaware.
Tom sighed. 'I'll get up with you. In any case, our friend John should be dropping by soon too.”
Faith had told Tom about Detective Lieutenant Dunne, and Tom was pleased the detective was assigned to the case. Francis Coffin's reputation was not unknown in Aleford.
“I'll make some waffles. Put Dunne in a good mood.'
“It will put me in a good mood,' Tom said. Then, as he watched Faith pull her nightgown up over her head, added, 'And speaking of moods ...”
There was the patter of little feet in the hall. 'Damn. I swear that child is psychic.'
“Really, Reverend Fairchild, I didn't know you believed in the supernatural. Anyway, I'll give you a raincheck. Ben does sleep sometimes.”
The Fairchilds were sitting down to waffles with blueberry syrup when the front doorbell rang.
“I'll go, Faith, and this isn't like the other time. We tell Dunne everything. Not that we know much.”
