Every bone in Faith's body wanted to follow the Heunemans down the aisle, even as her mind was sensibly alerting her to the further scandal that would cause. The funeral was already destined to join such other historic notables as Peter Smyth's—the casket lid fell off when the pallbearers tilted slightly to the left—and Susannah Prebble's—her daughter wore a crimson beaded cocktail dress.
Faith had a pretty good idea of what Alden Spaulding's 'secret sins' might have been in regard to Audrey Heuneman. The Bartletts hadn't been watching as closely as they thought.
Instead of dashing off to test her theory, Faith had to remain where she was through Tom's eloquently circumspect eulogy, which segued from involvement in civic activities immediately to ah, sweet mystery of life—and death. By the time they all rose for the last hymn, 'I Cannot Think of Them as Dead,' she was ready to scream, not sing.
And there was still the burial service to endure before she could talk to Audrey. At least Faith didn't have to work today. The filming the night before had ended much earlier than Tuesday's, but Max had decided not to go on location until the afternoon. Apparently, he was going to spend the morning with Nils, going over the dailies and figuring out where they were. Despite recent events, the picture was on schedule. The producers would be pleased.
This meant no lunch, only snacks and the craft services table, which Pix and Niki were handling. Faith figured she could pick up Amy at the sitter's and then pay a call on the Heunemans. She'd already arranged for Ben to play at a friend's in case the funeral went past his schooltime.
The Spaulding family plot was at Mt. Auburn cemetery in Cambridge, thirty minutes from Aleford. The time to be in Mt. Auburn—for the living, that is—was in the spring, when its beautifully landscaped 164 acres were in full bloom. The venerable garden cemetery was the final resting place of many famous people, serving as a pleasant and—of course—educational outing for Cantabrigians and their neighbors. One of Faith's favorite spots was Mary Baker Eddy's grave, complete with an apocryphal story of a telephone to God on the site. Such a device would certainly make life easier, but even with call waiting, it would, no doubt, be impossible to get through. She drove past the impressive monument, following several cars behind the hearse and attendant limousine carrying Daniel Garrison, his wife, and poor Tom. A minister's lot was often not a happy one. Faith had insisted on her own transport and desperately hoped she could get out of going back to the Garrisons' for the baked meats after the service.
She parked and went over to the new grave. The press had been barred from both services, contenting themselves with exterior shots. And the interest of the ghouls at the church service had apparently not been sufficient for the drive to Cambridge. There were very few people to say the final farewell to Alden. Which made Charley MacIsaac and John Dunne stand out all the more. Faith was not surprised to see them and assumed they must have been sitting in the church balcony earlier, keeping an eye on things. Dunne had told her once that it was amazing how many murderers were unable to resist the temptation to attend their victims' funerals. Whether it was from a fear that they might not have done a thorough enough job, remorse, or simply to gloat, they came. Remembering this, Faith looked at the faces gathered around the elaborate coffin, heaped with mounds of gladioli, presumably by direction of the deceased, as was everything else—save Audrey's performance—at the services. As Faith waited for Tom to find his place, she wondered whether she would like these flowers better if they were not so indelibly associated with headstones. It was one of life's many unanswerable questions—along with who among those gathered here this morning, heads bowed, hands clasped, might have picked up the two-by-four that irretrievably knocked Alden out of the running for selectman.
Faith eliminated herself, Tom, Charley, and John to start, then slowly examined the others. Most were known to her—parishioners—and it was hard to imagine what possible reasons they could have had for killing Alden. Disliking him, yes, but actually committing a mortal sin, no. Dan Garrison was not a member of First Parish, but again, why would he want to get rid of Alden just when the man might be at the point of attaining a position of power in the town? A position in which he might even be able to throw a little work in the path of his friend's contracting business.
The person emerging as a distinct possibility was not with them. She'd tried to sit through Alden's funeral rites and couldn't. Still, she hadn't been able to stay home. Faith wished Tom weren't doing such a good job and would speed things up a bit. She wanted to talk to Audrey. Audrey, who just happened to bump a table, sending an urn of hot coffee Alden's way. Audrey, who had publicly declared that if Alden thought he was going to win the election, he was dead wrong.
And he was.
In the end, Faith knew better than to skip the Garrisons' postfuneral gathering. The congregation might think she was neglecting her husband's duties. Once again, John Dunne and Charley Maclsaac were in attendance. They must be seeing a great deal of each other lately, she thought. Their friendship, dating back to Faith's own maiden voyage on the waters of detection, seemed to have increased markedly during subsequent investigations. They were sitting side by side in two chairs by the picture window in the Garrisons' 1950s split-level, which was not the one remodeled on 'This Old House' Dunne's head was slightly inclined toward Charley, who seemed to be regaling him with the life histories of everyone in the room. Charley had a tumblerful of something other than fruit juice and Dunne was drinking coffee. A plate stacked high with spongy white-bread finger sandwiches sat on a table between them. The mound was steadily diminishing as each man systematically reached for another as soon as one passed his lips. They reminded Faith of Ben's book Frog and Toad Are Friends. The moment they saw her, they both rose. To save them the trouble—and because they looked so quaint, if that was indeed the right word—she went over and pulled up a chair.
She figured she could circle the room, thank the Garrisons, whisper something in Tom's ear, and be out in fifteen minutes. She'd kept her coat on, the black one, but unbuttoned it, revealing a dark gray Nipon suit. However, first she knew what was coming.
“We understand you've been getting some interesting mail lately,' John said between mouthfuls.
Charley gave her a baleful look. 'Come on, Faith, the stamp wasn't even canceled. How did you get that letter?'
“I suppose it must have been delivered by hand. We were certainly relieved to learn Penny was all right.' She crossed her legs, considered a sandwich, and then came to her senses.
“I don't think the lady is telling us everything, Charley. Remind me of this the next time she wants to know something like whose fingerprints we found on the light switch in the Town Hall's basement.”
He was so unfair. Maybe she could get Dale Warren to unwittingly spill the beans, because she wasn't going to—no matter what incentives they posed to reveal Penny's whereabouts.
“Why is it so important that you find Penny? She didn't murder Alden.”
Charley and John exchanged glances. She was beginning to think they'd rehearsed the routine.
“How do we know when we can't talk to her?' Charley pointed out reasonably.
“Because you know Penny, even if John doesn't!' Faith retorted.
“Why did she run off?”
Dunne almost got her. She stood up. It was time to go. 'Mrs. Bartlett probably thought you'd arrest her and the real killer would remain at large.”
So there.
They watched her work her way through the crowd. 'I'll have Sully put a tail on her.'
“Good idea. Want some more sandwiches?”
It was an hour before Faith pulled into the Heunemans' sloping driveway in the Crescent Hill section of town. Amy needed changing and Faith had decided to also. The suit was a little severe. She stocked the diaper bag with toys, and the Snugli, in case Amy could be convinced to nestle quietly against her mother. She buckled her daughter securely into her car seat and received a cheerful smile for her troubles. 'Amy,”
“beloved'—the name had been a good choice.
Faith was feeling cheerful. Much to her delight, she'd managed to get Dale to give her the information John and Charley had dangled tantalizingly in front of her. She'd called the station immediately upon her return and, as
