complete with peeling nose, by August.
Where did Mitchel Pierce fit into the social scheme?
Pix wondered. He wasn't a summer person, but he was from away. He was more intimate with the native population of Sanpere, since he'd boarded in various island homes at times. These people general y spoke approvingly of him, even after some major disaster when a foundation he had finished crumbled because there was too much sand in the concrete. He loved to listen to the old-timers' stories and could recount the history of the island better than most who had grown up here. He played the mandolin passably and was a popular addition for musical evenings, where he was sure to be asked for 'Rainbow' and 'The Girl I Left Behind Me' Yet his last series of misadventures had left an unpleasant taste even in the mouths of these supporters.
He'd been working on a large Victorian mansion original y constructed by a shipyard owner in Sanpere Vil age. The current owners, wealthy summer people, lived in Chicago during the winter. Mitch had charged not only building supplies at Barton's but also food at the IGA and bread and other baked goods at Louel a Prescott's. Louel a ran a smal bakery from her kitchen and had learned the same delectable recipes from her mother that her sister, Gert, had. Both women were noted especial y for their pies, and in Louel a's case, the best anadama bread in Maine, or perhaps anywhere.
Mitch had disappeared midwinter and was sighted up in Northeast Harbor with a booth at an antiques show. He told someone there that he planned to return to Sanpere to finish the job and settle his accounts, but he never again crossed the bridge to anyone's knowledge—and there were plenty of people looking for him. Bar-ton's was a big outfit, and in any case, the owners of the house he was working on would be forced to cover the bil , since they'd given Mitch carte blanche. But Louel a, and Vincent at the IGA, had trouble absorbing the loss. Mitch had run up quite a tab. His habit of turning up on your doorstep with a pie in one hand and a few pints of the expensive ice cream Vince stocked as a luxury item didn't seem the generous and kindhearted gesture it once had. Local opinion was that Mitch should come back and face the music.
Pix could almost hear what people were no doubt saying now. Wel , old Mitchel is back, but the only music he's facing is harp music, and that might be doubtful.
She added another category for people like Mitch.
The Fairchilds were clearly going to be summer people, arriving for a vacation, pure and simple, leaving only their footsteps behind.
Samantha's employers were a blend, since Jim's family had been coming for such a long time, plus they were now living here year-round. But Valerie's southern accent alone would keep them at arm's length as outsiders for years.
Jil Merriwether drove past Pix on the opposite side of the road. They'd reached the two steep up and down hil s that were so much fun to drive, like a rol er coaster. Jil gave more than the laconic salute—a big smile and a wave. Had she heard about Mitch?
Pix suddenly remembered that Jil had added antiques to her shop. She'd talked about it during the Memorial Day weekend and mentioned that Mitch was one of her suppliers, so she must have known how to get in touch with him. Pix made a note to herself to talk to Jil and try to find out where Mitch had been living.
Jil 's shop was close to the Sanpere Inn, lovingly restored six years ago by its new owners and saved from certain ruin. Mitch had worked on that, too, she recal ed.
The inn sat next to the mil pond, facing the harbor across another smal causeway. In a short time, it had become wel known for its picturesque location and fine cuisine. Jil had quickly noted that its clientele was more interested in nineteenth-century marine paintings and pine chests than in mugs decorated with lobsters or jars of blueberry jam.
She'd been excited about getting into the antiques business and had told Pix she was reading everything she could get her hands on. Pix reminded her not to overlook finds at the dump. A previous enterprise in Sanpere had obtained most of its stock that way when various local people traded up for a matching living room set from Sears, complete with his and her recliners, leaving the old rickety stuff off to one side by the household trash.
Pix turned down the long dirt road to their house. No matter how often she did this, she always felt an immediate sense of wel -being. The first cove she passed had been posted for red tide this summer and no clamming or worming was al owed. But the cove at the foot of the meadow by their house had always tested out fine. It was il egal to cross private property to get to the shore, though anyone could come by boat and did. She'd see them bent over the mud with their short handled rakes. Clamming and worming were backbreaking work. Digging in the mud for sea worms and bloodworms, freshwater bait, wasn't any better. Eking out a living on Sanpere had never been easy, but it was especial y hard during the current recession. Men and women had to be Jacks and Jilts of al trades. And that brought her back to Mitch again.
Which of his enterprises had led to the grave in the basement? Who had wanted him dead? Someone left with a half-finished or botched job? But they'd be more likely to sue or at least try to get him to complete the work, wouldn't they? She also couldn't see Louel a working herself up to a murderous frenzy over unpaid bil s for baked goods. But then there were people on the island who might get pretty steamed on her behalf, particularly after a night fil ed with too many beers.
Someone had had a reason. When they could figure that out, they'd have the murderer. This was the way she understood it usual y worked in books. Look for a motive.
Who inherits? Who had been scorned? Some event in his past? Something to do with his family? Maybe the whole thing was total y divorced from his shady occupations.
The newspapers played up random craziness, serial kil ers selecting victims at whim. But altogether too much thought had gone into the planning of Mitchel Pierce's death—the location, the timing, maybe even the quilt, Drunkard's Path. Had he been kil ed because he drank too much? Maybe it was insanity, some crazed temperance fanatic?
She pul ed the car to the side of her house. The simple Cape wasn't an old one, but the seasons had worn the cedar shingles so that it looked as if it had been in place for centuries. Pix's garden added to the image. It was fil ed with old-fashioned flowers: delphinium, cosmos, phlox, oxeye daisies, and coreopsis. A combination of fragrances from the old varieties of peonies and the rosa rugosa bushes welcomed her home.
Inside, the cottage had been furnished with castoffs from The Pines, yard-sale finds, and a gem or two from local auctions. These embel ished the myth that it was an old house, as did the Boston rocker needing some new paint and the gently faded chintz slipcovers on the down-cushioned sofa. The braided rugs scattered across the pine floorboards had been made by Pix's grandmother in shades of muted rose, blue, and green. Field guides, knitting projects, sailing charts, and Samantha's tennis shoes were strewn around the living room.
Other than the shoes, there was no sign of Samantha.
She was stil at the movies. Pix decided it was now or never. She had to cal Faith. Having refused Ursula's sherry, she felt justified in pouring herself a scotch, dropped an ice cube in it, and dialed Sam.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Hi, honey, I was going to cal you two tonight. I was just out in the backyard in the hammock. You wouldn't believe how hot it is here!'
“That's
nice,'
Pix
said,
then
realized
the
inappropriateness of her remark. 'I mean, that must be terrible.”
“Al right, what's wrong?'
“Samantha and I walked out to the end of the Point today to check on how the house was coming along.... '
“Is Seth doing a good job?'
“He hasn't done much of any job so far, but that's—”
Sam was as indignant as Pix had been earlier and she decided to let him have his say before final y interrupting.
'Darling, we found a dead body on the site. In the excavation, actual y.'
