responsible for the missing bolt of fabric that turned up in the barn—a missing prop, for which Sandra Wilson, the dead woman, was blamed.'
“Now that sounds more like our old chum. She likesto get other people into trouble. Lord forbid she should get into trouble herself.”
Faith felt a whole lot better. She decided it wasn't necessary to tell Dunne about Corny's rotten disposition. Difficult as she might be, Cornelia was a kind of friend.
“You should have seen her the night of the party. It was tragic. And what is Corny doing in the glitzy movie business in the first place? She should be living in New Canaan with three kids by now and twice as many horses.'
“Agreed, but you know how stubborn she is. f she's decided to worship Maxwell Reed, it's till death do us Faithfelt a distinct chill. She thought of that odd saying, Someone must be walking over my grave.
Hope was asking after her niece and nephew. It was a relief to talk about teething and Ben's worship of a nice safe hero—Barney, a six-foot, cuddly, purple Tyrannosaurus rex.
Dunne didn't call until late in the afternoon. Faith hadn't left the house all day and was feeling not simply restless but cross. Tom wouldn't be home for dinner, and for a fleetingly insane moment, she wished she had a cardboard package of macaroni and cheese to whip up for Ben when he returned from the Macleans'. It was over in an instant, yet she was still shaken when the phone rang.
“Well, we decided to let them start filming again on Monday. At least we'll know where they are, and that's about all we do know about the case. Unless you know something you, ahem, forgot to tell me?' Dunne's gravel-like Bronx accent softened with faint hope.
“Sorry, no, but something did occur to me.'
“Yes?'
“That whatever was in the cup was intended for Evelyn and not Sandra'
“It occurred to me, too. Pretty much right away, which merely gives us twice as much to sort out. We did find out that the kid was in the hotel with her tutor at the time and the mother was in town shopping. At Filene's Basement, she says, and she has a bag to prove it, but no slip. She left that on the counter. We're trying to find someone who remembers her.”
Faith had never been to Filene's Basement. The idea of pushing and shoving for clothes did not appeal to her. Besides, she'd heard that most of the fabled bargains were last season's. But she knew enough about the venerable Washington Street institution to place Dunne's odds of finding a salesclerk who remembered Jacqueline Carroll at about forty to one.
But Caresse, at least, was eliminated. Faith was glad. The little girl might need to turn over several new leaves; still, at least she wasn't the bad seed. Murder was horrible, but a child murderer was particularly monstrous.
“By the way, what was in the cup?'
“Perrier and diet Coke, as you said, plus a lethal combination of rum and chloral hydrate.'
“Chloral hydrate! Isn't that a sedative? How could that have killed her?'
“By itself, it wouldn't have. At least she'd have had her stomach pumped before it did, but with the rum chaser and her body weight, it did the job. The fact that she was an asthmatic and smoked helped. Somebody knows a lot about drugs, a lot about Sandra, or was just lucky.'
“Plus, it would be easy to get. No doubt everybodyon the set is taking something to get to sleep—and to wake up.'
“Exactly'
“John, could I have done anything?'
“No, not unless you had had a bottle of ipecac in your pocket and given it to her immediately, and even then it probably wouldn't have helped. Besides, you didn't know what was in the cup, and if it had been Drano and you'd made her throw up, you'd have killed her.”
Faith was relieved, but she knew she would never get over the remorse she felt—the if only.
“Stop thinking about it,' Dunne said when she didn't respond. She was getting this advice from all quarters lately.
“You don't happen to know if I still have a job, do you?' she asked, determinedly changing the subject.
“Actually, I do.' He paused for a tantalizing moment. 'You do. We told them we would prefer to keep all personnel the same, including the caterer.'
“John, that's wonderful! I can't thank you enough.' Once again, Faith was relieved. Even though they'd have a late night tonight getting ready and she'd have to do her part at home, since Tom was out.
“It's not a totally disinterested act. Without getting involved—and I want to stress this ... God knows why I think it might help—you can keep your eyes and ears open.”
They were a team again.
At least Faith thought so.
Suddenly, she found she was feeling more energetic. It was still early. She could take the kids over to the kitchens. She called Pix and Niki, who agreed to meet her there. They could get virtually everything set for Monday. During the past week, Faith's crew had worked as efficiently as usual. She was sure they wouldn't have to do much now besides get organized and assign jobs. The freezer had been amply stocked and she'd go back the following day to bake.
Pix had been a godsend. Her organizational abilities were phenomenal. Besides taking over the books, she'd worked out schedules for everyone. Have Faith was beginning to resemble the proverbial well-oiled machine, perhaps olive-oiled in this case—the good kind, extravirgin, first cold-pressed from Lucca.
Faith's initial stop was the Macleans'. As the books put it, Ben had trouble with 'transitions' and so raised holy hell when he saw his mother arrive to take him away. Faith characterized it rather as an understandable unwillingness to leave a good party for plain old home. Whatever it was, it was a nuisance. She managed to get him away with a contradictory combination of threats and promises. He was somewhat quieted by the prospect of playing at the kitchens for a while. Amy beamed quietly throughout. It wasn't her turn yet.
Pix and Niki had already arrived by the time the Fairchilds walked in. It took a few minutes to get the kids settled, then Faith joined the other two women, who were looking through sample menus for ideas.
After a while, their talk drifted away from ratatouille and chicken pot pie—Faith made a delectable one with a puff pastry crust, lots of chicken, and a creamy sauce with a touch of sage. But the conversation did not turn to the subject uppermost in Faith's mind. Pix was much more interested in talking about the town elections than the murder. She wasn't sure she even knew who Sandra Wilson was, she'd told Faith when Faith had originally brought the news. It wasn't that Pix didn't care; it wasas with everybody else, Sandra had not made much of a lasting impression—at least so far as Faith could tell.
“March twenty-sixth is only nine days away! f we can't clear the air, Alden is certain to win. I'm getting so mad about all this. Every time I see him in the center, I want to break his other wrist—if the left one really is. Sam and I have our doubts.'
“Me, too. But I'm not so certain Alden's a shoo-in. What about James Heuneman?' Faith tended to overlook him, as did most of the Aleford electorate.
“He's not mounting much of a campaign and will probably take votes away from Penny, not Alden.'
“Won't people see him as a compromise candidate?'
“People don't want a compromise candidate. They want one who stands for something definite.”
Faith told them about Millicent's visit the night before. Pix was elated.
“f Tom can't convince Penny, then nobody can.' Faith half-expected her friend to break out into one of her old high school cheers: 'Tom, Tom, he's our man! f he can't do it, nobody can.' She'd be willing to bet that Pix could still turn a mean cartwheel, too.
“Millicent is sure Penny is hiding something, because she's not good at deception. Millicent referred to their girlhood days and said Penny never could tell a lie.'
“Their `girlhood days' !' Niki rolled her eyes expressively. 'Millicent Revere McKinley has got to be at least three days older than water. She wishes they shared their girlhood days.' Niki was not a big fan of Ms. McKinley's, finding the lady's habit of dropping by to nibble more than a tad annoying. 'Let her hire us if she wants to eat up all our food,' she'd told Faith.
