overflow from the bath the three shared upstairs. In the past, it was dinosaur toothbrush holders and whatever toothpaste manufacturers had dreamed up to entice kids to brush—
sparkles, stars, exotic flavors. Now it was hair gel and hot combs. The towels, while not actual y on the floor, were always in disarray, except for the first five minutes after she put out clean ones.
With her mind torn between a vision of what a home inhabited by two reasonably tidy adults would look like and how dreadful it would be not to find mud-covered cleats in the living room anymore, she wandered toward the big open barn door.
At the front of the store, Valerie was writing a check and arranging to come back later for the dining room set.
She didn't want to stand around and wait while he unearthed it al . When the owner's back was turned, she shot Pix a triumphant glance and winked.
Outside as she looked at the quilts, she softly crowed,
'Golden oak, never restored—perfect condition and everything my client wants, even the lion's paw feet on the table. It's not my taste, but at the moment it's delicious. He said he was happy to get rid of it, wants the room!' She picked up the corner of the Flying Geese quilt to examine the stitching. 'It looks like you made a steal, too, Pix. This is gorgeous. You sure you want to keep it? I have just the place for it. I wouldn't sel this one'
“And neither would I, thank you,' Fix said gleeful y.
Somehow it added to the sweetness of the coup to have a professional's approval—and envy.
“Ladies, the morning is young. Let's get going!”
By lunchtime, they were ready to quit. The shops had begun to merge together into one antique haze. Valerie had picked up some yel ow ware bowls and pitchers.
'These used to go for a song, but now that everyone has a country kitchen, or a modern one that has to be accented with a few old pieces, the prices are up. Stil these were good buys.' Pix did not find her night table. What she did find was an elaborate Victorian wire plant stand perfect for the second-floor landing in her house in Aleford. She might even bow to convention and put a Boston fern in it.
Jil had found several more smal items, including an old dol made from a clay pipe that she knew would appeal to someone. Also a cigar box ful of old hat pins. Her find for the day was an elaborately carved picture frame, a sailor's valentine. The picture was gone, but the wood was in perfect shape.
“Who do you suppose looked out from here,' Valerie mused, 'his sweetheart, his mama? We'l never know”
“Maybe his dog,' Pix suggested. That would have been her choice. She'd see what price Jil put on the frame.
Dusty's face would look perfect surrounded by the intricately carved wood, the same golden honey color as her fur.
They decided to stop for lunch at Country View, a stand on the way back to the island that overlooked a large cow pasture and blueberry fields. The view changed with the seasons, green and yel ow now with a few contented Swiss Browns in clover, their tails swinging like pendulums at the flies. Pix had a sudden image of a chirpy cuckoo emerging from a yawning pink mouth on the hour.
Happily munching fish sandwiches—and the fish was so fresh—Fix realized she'd be up to her elbows in haddock and cod for much of the afternoon. She wasn't going to get any gardening done, but at least the chowder was foolproof. No anxiety there. She'd made it dozens of times before.* And it had to be made the day before so the flavors could blend. If she put it off until the morning, it would stil taste delicious, but at the first bite Ursula would go into her old 'Can you look me straight in the eye and say that?'
routine, asking, 'When did you make this chowder?' She might even cal her Myrtle. It had happened before.
Over their coffee and thick wedges of the pie made at the stand, apple today, Jil brought up the subject of Mitchel Pierce.
“Did you know Mitch, Valerie? It's funny. I hadn't thought about missing him until someone mentioned it at the Sewing Circle yesterday. But he was a part of life here
—both his good and bad sides. And, of course, the whole thing is so disturbing.' Jil did seem to be extremely disturbed. She was picking at the handle of the paper coffee cup, reducing it to shreds. And several of her cuticles were ragged. Pix had never seen her display any nervous gestures. Jil was normal y as imperturbable as a china dol —and just about as easy to read.
“I've met him,' Valerie replied, 'but I didn't know him. I saw him at a few shows and bought things from him once or twice. He sold me that sweet little col ection of fans I had framed to hang in my bedroom. We'd planned on having him down to the house sometime. Jim says he was quite the storytel er. The two of them were friends, but we've been so busy with the move and the house, there hasn't been much time for anyone”
Pix was tempted to tel them about the cross on the quilts and see whether they had any idea what it could mean. Valerie, especial y, might know if this was a common mark on antique quilts. But again, she decided to do as Earl had advised and keep quiet.
“I hate to break up the party. It's been so nice to get away—and with grown-ups, too—but if I don't make the chowder, I real y wil break up a party. Louise is counting on it.'
“I'm taking some of Louel a's pies. I don't dare try to cook any of my southern specialties for Louise.'
“Wel , I'm bringing festive plates and napkins from the store,' Jil said. 'Louise knows the size of my kitchen— and the extent of my culinary expertise. Dinner guests are lucky to get a hamburger. I need Faith to give me a few lessons.”
This was encouragingly domestic, and Pix longed to give Jil a little more of a nudge altar ward. 'There's a wonderful house for sale on the crossroad. The last owners put in a new kitchen and the back has an orchard that slopes down to one of the long inlets from Little Harbor.'
She could picture Jil , rosy-cheeked and smiling, hanging up her wash near the old apple trees, a pie keeping warm on the stove for Earl's return. 'And Faith likes nothing better than teaching people how to cook. Dismal failure though she's been with me, she keeps trying.”
But Jil wasn't biting. 'How could I afford a big house like that? Besides, it's so convenient living over the store”
Pix sighed. Maybe another time.
The first thing Pix did when she got home was spread out the quilt in the living room. It had not diminished in effect, yet she found herself with a definite feeling of unease as she stood looking at it. The blue threads—but what else was nagging at her? It was too cheap. Why had the dealer let it go for so little?
She thought about it al the way over to Sonny Prescott's lobster pound. Sonny dealt in al kinds of marine life, besides those succulent crustaceans. Pix had already ordered the cod and haddock for the chowder. The mixture of the two fish, as wel as the use of slab bacon instead of salt pork gave the Rowe family chowder a distinctive flavor.
They also put in more onions than most recipes cal ed for.
Hearing the car, Sonny stuck his head out the bait shed doorway and yel ed, 'I'm over here' Pix fol owed him in. He'd been close to the only other murder investigation on Sanpere in recent memory and Pix wondered what his thoughts might be on Mitchel Pierce's death. Among others, Mitch had boarded at Sonny's one winter, so he knew Mitch better than most.
“I've come for my fish,' Pix said. The smel of the bait, decomposed herring, was overwhelming, but it didn't bother her. It was one of those smel s you got used to in childhood and never noticed again. She vastly preferred it to al those perfume samples magazines and catalogs were including in their glossy pages with increasing eye- watering and nose-itching frequency.
“Be right there, deah. Got to get this ready for Jeb Sanford.' Sonny supplied fishermen with bait, fuel, and whatever else was needed. In turn, they sold their catches exclusively to him.
While she was waiting, Pix left the shed and sat at the end of the pier, dangling her legs over the side. She'd known Sonny since they were both teenagers and had occasional y 'borrowed' a dinghy from the yacht club to row out into Sylvester Cove to watch the sparkling phosphorescence magical y drip from the oars, a mirror image of the mass of bril iant stars shining overhead. What else Pix and Sonny might or might not have done in the way of canoodling was between the two of them, but they always had a special smile for each other. Sonny came and sat down next to her, the huge package of fish fresh from the boats tied up and set behind him.
