The Body in the Bouillon

had an office here in town where that new dentist is now.”

Faith and Tom were patients of the new dentist, who had been in practice in Aleford for only seven years, as opposed to the other dentist, Dr. Cook, who, from the look of him, might have flossed Sam Adams.

“Roland Hubbard was just about everybody's doctor. Delivered all the babies, a lot of them in their mothers' own beds, made house calls. You know, the kind of thing we don't have anymore.”

Charley sounded bitter. Maybe his throat was worse than he was letting on. He might actually have to go to the doctor's office to get a culture. As for having a baby at home, Faith was very happy for any and all advances medical science might make. She doubted she'd ever want to trade the security of Brigham and Women's for her own roof, not to mention the mess.

“Why did he leave his practice?' Faith asked.

“His wife was very ill and he didn't have much time to see her, let alone take care of her. He thought if he opened a retirement home, he couldbe with her more, and he was. She only lived two years after Hubbard House opened, but from what I hear she was very happy about the idea. Maybe he knew he would need to be around more for the kids too. Anyway, that's how it turned out.'

“I understand his son and daughter are both at Hubbard House.'

“Yes, Muriel and Donald. Donald moved back to town and has a small practice in addition to Hubbard House. Muriel lives at the home.'

“And you've never heard anything shady about the place?'

“Never. And over the years I've gone often to see a lot of friends. The only drawback to Hubbard House is what it costs. When my time comes, I doubt I'll be there, but I'm glad it's around for the people who can afford it and need it.'

“Charley! All this is a long way in the future.'

“The future has a way of creeping up on you, Faith. No, I won't go to Hubbard House. I'll go back to my people in Nova Scotia or just stay in my house here until they carry me out.”

It must be a very bad sore throat. This kind of lugubrious talk was definitely out of character for Charley.

“Anything else that occurs to you?'

“Not really, but I'll let you know if it does. And I'll drop by there this week and have a look. Talk to a few people. It certainly sounds like this Perkins fellow found something out of kilter. Best thing to do would be to show the letter to Hubbard.”

Faith wasn't so sure. Until she'd had a chance to find out a little more, she didn't want anyone at Hubbard House to get the wind up.

“Charley, I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything about this to anyone—not around here or at Hubbard House.'

“I know. It's your baby, but if it looks like anything serious is going on, you'd better let me in on the double. I still feel bad about the last time, and I want to be able to look Tom in the eye—you and little Benjamin too.'

“I promise,' swore Faith, thinking as she did so that two oaths in one day meant life was getting a bit more interesting than usual. She brightened up. 'Next stop, Millicent.'

“I'm surprised you bothered with me at all.'

“You underestimate yourself, Chief MacIsaacand don't think I don't know there's more you could have told me about the Hubbards if you weren't so honorable. Millicent doesn't have that problem.”

Faith moved Ben from the booth back into his stroller and struggled with the belt that held him in. He wasn't in his subzero snowsuit, only the intermediate weight, yet putting him in the stroller was already like trying to wedge a pillow into a case too small. She brushed some crumbs off him. It certainly wouldn't do to let one fall on Milli-cent's cherished threadbare orientais.

On the way over, she gave some thought to where she and Tom might end up in their twilight, golden, or whatever the current euphemism was, years. She looked about at the frigid landscape. Definitely someplace a little less bone chilling.

Someplace with sun, blue skies, and good food. Someplace like Eugenie-les-Bains in the southwest of France.

Millicent let them in with her usual implacability. Faith could be her best friend or worst enemy for all her manner displayed. After dumping Ben in what she hoped was out of harm's way with the contents of the toy bag she had brought for the purpose, Faith got directly to the point. More or less.

“I wonder if you might be able to help me. My aunt, Charity Sibley, is retired and living in New Jersey now. She asked me to make some inquiries about a retirement home here, Hubbard House, and I thought you might have friends there or know something about it.”

Faith had no intention of telling Millicent about Howard Perkins' letter, and Chat had asked her to make inquiries. Not that she thought she could fool Millicent into thinking that having an aunt who might move to Hubbard House was all there was to it. They knew each other too well. It was possible they could become friends at some point—perhaps at the third millennium. At present they tended to circle warily when they met.

Millicent had been looking Faith straight in the eye as she spoke. It was one of the methods she employed. Now she looked away, gasped slightly, and stood up. Ben was obliviously playing with some small Majorette cars four feet away from a spindly table supporting one lone china shepherdess. Millicent moved the table a foot farther away. She sat down, smoothed her skirt, and pre- pared to answer Faith with the air of one who had just saved a rare piece of family Meissen from certain destruction. Faith knew exactly how 'rare' it was, since she had turned it over to look at the mark when Millicent was in the kitchen getting coffee on an earlier call. It looked as if this visit was settling into the pattern of all those before. She was about to add something, something begging, but Millicent had decided she was ready to spill the beans—a few.

“Hubbard House hasn't been around very long, about twenty-five years I believe. Not like our own Peabody House, which dates back to the Civil War. Still, Dr. Hubbard is providing a wonderful service for people, certain people. Only the best people go to Hubbard House to die.' Millicent looked Faith in the eye again as if to say this Charity Sibley, whoever she was, might have trouble getting past the gates.

“I have considered it myself, of course, but so far I am able to manage here quite well on my own.”

Millicent must be in her early seventies, and Faith had no doubt she would still be going strong thirty years from now. She was a small, trim woman with a Mamie Eisenhower cut she had never wished to change. Her bangs were gradually giving way to solid white from iron gray, but everything else about her looked as it always had. She was one of those people whom it was impossible, even unseemly, to imagine as a child. Today she was wearing a blue sweater with intricate cables, a white round-collared blouse, and a matching blue wool skirt.

“I see you are admiring my sweater,' Millicent said. 'It's one of my own.' Millicent was a demon with a needle, and most days saw her perched in her bay window, eyes front, while endless intricate sweaters, mufflers, and socks flowed into her lap.

“As I was saying, I doubt I'll go to Hubbard House—or Peabody for that matter—yet it certainly is lovely there. Dr. Hubbard bought the old Aldrich estate. There were two beautiful Adam houses side by side, Nathaniel Aldrich built the later one for his daughter when she married. A nice custom, I've always thought. Dr. Hubbard joined the two together and built the hospital wing out the back. He also converted several of the outbuildings into cottages. It's very tasteful.”

Faith tried to think of something to say that would get Millicent away from porticos and back to what was going on inside Hubbard House, but she knew it was futile to try to direct the conversation.

“Poor Dr. Hubbard. He was our doctor until he started the home, and our families were friends. His wife, Mary, had never been strong, and I remember Mother saying it was exactly like that old saying, 'Shoemakers' wives go barefoot and doctors' wives die young.' She did die young, and you never saw a man as upset as he was. If it hadn't been for the children, I'm sure he would have followed her. She was a Howell, but one of the ones from Pepperell.”

Faith refused to be sidetracked by Millicent's encyclopedic genealogical prejudices. She didn't know what kind of Howell Mrs. Hubbard should have been, nor did she care.

“Tell me about Muriel and Donald,' Faith interjected instead, eager to display some of her newfound knowledge.

Millicent was not impressed. 'They're both very good children, always have been. Muriel runs things at Hubbard House. She got some kind of training in nursing-home administration after finishing her RN. Donald is a