“Look, Faith, think about it for a moment and then forget the whole thing. Eddie Russell was not a nice boy and he was into some pretty heavy shit.'
“Drugs.' As Faith said it, she mentally kicked herself for not thinking of it before. It fit so neatly into the rest of the picture. Dunne probably knew from the start. And it wasn't that she had led a particularly sheltered life.
“The man was a walking Rexall's. I asked him for Band-Aids once. He didn't get it. Pretty stupid for a guy who thought he was smart—but he also got himself killed, which is about as stupid as you can get.”
Faith had not regarded murder in this light, yet it made a certain amount of sense.
“So it was pretty well known that if you wanted drugs, you could get them from Eddie?'
“Everything from nose candy to weed. He wasn't a druggie himself, though. I heard him talking about some of his customers once. Thought they were complete losers. Trish and I laughed about it later. If anyone was a loser, it was Eddie.'
“Why do you say that?'
“He was a type. Always wanted to be one of the big shots. But—what was he, thirty, thirty-one?—he wasn't anything but a handyman at an old people's home hustling on the side. I remember when he was first back from Florida. He was bragging about all the rich women he'd had down there. How he could have married any number of them—but you notice he didn't. A loser.'
“Who do you think killed him?'
“Maybe he owed a lot of money to the wrong people and they wanted to make an example out of him. Maybe somebody's husband. Maybe somebody had just had enough of his face.”
Or his blackmail, Faith speculated to herself.
“Knifed, right?' Scott said with more than a touch of relish. 'You have to be pretty strong to drive a blade in —and get it in the right place.”
Faith thought of the knives in Eddie's throat and chest.
“Oh, whoever it was got them in the correct places, all right.'
“You mean there was more than one? Jeez, I hadn't heard that.”
Something to regale the bar with after work at the Willow Tree.
“Yes, two knives. Ordinary ones, like hunting knives.”
Scott reached into his pocket, produced a knife for her inspection, and flicked it open. The blade looked sharp enough to shave a peach.
“Like this?'
“Exactly.”
As she drove away from the gas station, she realized how difficult it was going to be for Dunne to trace the murder weapons if virtually every male—and no doubt a fair number of females—of a particular age and background carried the same knife. She turned her attention instead to what Scott had just told her about Eddie. It provided another possible motive, but what drug dealer was going to pick the first heavy snowstorm of the year and Hubbard House, filled with people, to kill Eddie when the task could be accomplished so much more easily on a long car ride to a deserted beach, for instance? And why the whips-and-chains accoutrements? Faith hadn't thought it wise to reveal too much to Scott. The number of knives had been in one of the papers, but so far nothing had been said about the cords.
She pulled into the Hubbard House parking lot, got out, and went into the kitchen. The only alteration in her routine was that she was going to stay for lunch. Tom had grudgingly agreed to get Ben at school and take him to Lizzie's house.
“This hasn't been the merriest of Christmas seasons,' he had said sadly earlier that morning.
“It will be, darling. Don't worry. I'm only going to help for a day or so more, then we'll turn our full attention to the blazing hearth before us and sing Noel,' she'd promised.
Mrs. Pendergast didn't hear Faith come in. She was running the enormous electric mixer. Faith walked over and tapped her on the elbow. She jumped a mile or the equivalent for a woman her size.
“What are you doing creeping up like that! Most scared me to death!'
“I'm sorry, but you didn't hear me with that thing going.”
Mrs. P. turned that thing off.
“I'm making a nice Lady Baltimore cake. People around here need something to lift their spirits.' She looked at Faith darkly.
Faith had to protest. 'Mrs. Pendergast, it wasn't my fault Eddie Russell was murdered. I just happened to be spending the night in that room. It could easily have been somebody else sleeping there. You, for example.'
“Well, I stayed in my bed all night. That's all I know. And I never sleep in the guest room. It's too cold.' She unbent a little. 'Why don't you make up some frosting for the cake while I put this batter in to bake?”
Faith wondered if others at Hubbard House were blaming her indirectly. She supposed if she had stayed in her bed, Eddie and whoever would have seen she was there and the murderer would have canceled his plans—or pinioned Faith to the bed too for some knife-throwing practice.
It was a busy morning, and they were interrupted several times—first by Donald Hubbard, who was looking for his wife. She had been due to meet him in his office at ten o'clock.
“She's usually late,' he said indulgently, 'but not this late. I've already asked Muriel and some of the people Charmaine knows here. So far no one has seen her. Her car is in the parking lot, so she's around someplace.'
“Did you try the Porters? She likes to go see Naomi's orchids, you know,' Mrs. Pendergast offered.
“Good idea. I'll do that. Thanks, Mrs. R' Donald was in a good mood. The murder of Eddie Russell hadn't cast a pall on him. But his mood did have a thin overlay of concern, and Faith wondered whether it was totally due to the question of Charmaine's whereabouts. His next comment increased her doubts.
“I haven't had a chance to speak to you before, Mrs. Fairchild. It must have been a terrible shock for you to find poor Edsel. And then all the police interrogation.'
“Of course it was horrible, but the police have been very kind.'
“I don't suppose they've told you anything about a suspect,' he said casually—too casually.
“No, I don't think there is one at the moment.' She was about to ask him his opinion when Boot-sie Brennan came flying through the swinging door, and he wisely beat a hasty retreat.
She left as quickly as she had come after asking what 'we' were giving them for lunch today.
Faith and Mrs. Pendergast looked at each other when she left and exploded in a fit of laughter.
“Someday I'm going to tell her 'we' are giving them bread and water today. Bet she says, 'That sounds yummy.' “
The next visitor was Denise. Faith hadn't seen her since the night of the Holly Ball, and the change was startling. Denise looked dreadful. She was wearing sweatpants and a worn Champion sweater under her fur coat. She didn't have any makeup on, and if her hair had been longer, it would have been unkempt. There were deep circles under her eyes, and the moment she entered the kitchen she reached into her bag and took out a cigarette. 'I don't care what Roland says, I've got to have a smoke.' They didn't stop her. She walked shakily over to the counter and sat down on one of the kitchen stools.
“Have you been ill? The flu?' Faith asked.
“Something like that,' Denise said shortly. When she lit her cigarette, Faith noticed her hands were unsteady and several of her nails had been bitten to the quick.
“Where's Charmaine? She was supposed to meet me here. We're having lunch. Have you seen her?”
Faith was surprised. She wouldn't have expected the two ladies to be friends.
“Donald was just here looking for her too. He went out to the Porters' cottage to see if she was there.'
“Then I'll go up to his office.' She stood up and swayed slightly.
“Are you sure you're all right?' Faith asked. 'I'm fine. Don't worry about me,' Denise said with a flicker of her old grin.
The trays were done and Faith took her leave of Mrs. P.—Violet—and went upstairs to the dining room. Sunshine streamed in through the windows and there were yellow lilies in several large vases around the room. Sylvia Vale took care of the flowers, and Faith wondered where she'd found these gorgeous lilies in the midst of winter. The lady herself stepped through the doorway and Faith asked her.
“I really can't take any credit at all, my dear. Winston's sends me an assortment of cut flowers twice a week, and I simply put them in the containers.”
