“I cleaned it for you. Save you some time. It's for chowder, right? The Fraziers' clambake?' Sonny probably knew the social plans of every inhabitant on the island for the holiday just from the orders that had been placed.
“Yes, and I'l be peeling potatoes until midnight. I've been dreading cleaning al this fish. You are truly a godsend. What would I ever do without you?”
Sonny grinned. 'Let's not find out.' They sat for a while looking at the boats moored in the cove. There were some beautiful yachts from farther down the coast. From behind Barred Island in the distance, one of the windjammers sailed into view.
“Is it the Victory Chimes?' Pix asked.
Sonny nodded. 'Funny to think these were work-boats, hauled lumber, whatever else was traded. Now they're hauling rich tourists who want to experience the good old days—cramped sleeping quarters and plenty of hard work to sail the things. Me, I'd like to take one of those cruises Kathie Lee advertises. That would be some good time.”
Pix laughed and asked if he'd heard what the weather was going to be for the next couple of days.
“Same as it's been. Good for vacations and good for me; not so good for the crops or fires. Heard they had a big one up to Baxter State Park,' Sonny observed.
“My garden is going to shrivel up and die.' There was that word. Pix had used it on purpose. 'Like Mitchel Pierce.”
They looked at each other.
“If you hadn't have gone out there, no one would ever have found him. Seth was fixing to pour this week.'
“I know. It's scary. Who do you think wanted Mitch out of the way so badly?”
Sonny had to have a theory. He did about most things and he did about Mitch.
“I figure he must have gotten in over his head somehow with the antiques or maybe the cars. He was a trusting soul for a crook and not a real good judge of character. This time, he put his faith in the wrong man.'
“Crook!'
“Come on, Myrtle,' Sonny was virtual y the only person who used her name in everyday conversation. 'The man was running scams up and down the East Coast. Where do you think he got al those fancy cars?”
Mitch had a fondness for vintage sports cars.
“Saved up?'
“Touch one of those fenders and like as not you'd burn your fingers.”
This was food for thought: a stolen-car ring.
“Lot of talk about a car wash place in Belfast that real y laundered the vehicles. Mitch was a regular.”
“And the antiques?'
“Fakes. Don't look so surprised. Just because he could tel a good story and did a nice job for your mother doesn't make him a member of the choir. People are not always al of a piece like you.”
Pix wasn't sure whether this was a compliment or not.
She suspected something in between. Oh, for a bit more intricacy.
“Not that I'm suggesting you change. I like you just the way you are—especial y those long legs of yours' Sonny stood up and eyed them, exposed to ful advantage in Pix's denim shorts. For an instant, they were teenagers again, ready to take off for a picnic on Strawberry Island, a little knol off Prescott's Point. Pix was suddenly acutely aware that Sonny was divorced and her own husband was almost three hundred miles away. She paid for her fish and left with a pleasant sense of having been tempting and tempted.
The fact that she was absolutely and total y in love—and loyal—to her husband made it al the more enjoyable.
At home, she began the mammoth task of cutting and chopping, running what Sonny had said about Mitch through her mind as she alternately was drenched in tears from the onions and splattered fat from the sizzling bacon.
Maybe there would be a chance to talk to Earl in private at the clambake tomorrow. Jil said he was coming, although he'd probably be cal ed away just as they were uncovering the lobsters. There were going to be about fifty people of al ages at the party, and Pix found large gatherings often offered more opportunities for intimate conversation than smal ones. Two people strol ing off to gather driftwood for the bonfire were much less likely to attract anyone's notice than say two people disappearing from a group of eight at a dinner party.
She decided to cal Faith and have her give Sam a book that Pix had about identifying quilts, so that he could bring it up. Sam would never find it himself, and Faith wouldn't stop until she did. Pix was absolutely sure it was in the stack of books by her bed, in with the cookbooks in the kitchen, or down in the basement in a carton waiting for more bookshelves. The quilt looked authentic, yet it was possible that it was a fake. Using the book, she could date it. Which would mean what? That she had been swindled?
The man hadn't said it was an old quilt. Maybe the quilt on Mitchel Pierce's body wasn't old either, but what would that matter? It did somehow, though. She was sure. She took her cleaver and whacked the head off an enormous cod Sonny had missed when he cleaned the fish. She thought of the mice. She thought of Mitch. The cod stared at her, glassy-eyed. She came to her senses. Chowder, rich, fragrant fish chowder. She tossed the head into a pot for stock and beheaded the other cod she found with aplomb.
These were fish, not French aristocrats, and she was definitely not a murderess.
“Anything I can do to help?' Samantha's voice was a welcome alternative to the sound of tumbrels.
“Perfect timing. Could you peel these potatoes?”
“Mother! There are mountains of them,' Samantha shrieked.
“Wel , just do as many as you can and I'l help when I get the onions done and the rest of the fish cut up.”
Samantha had spent the morning at The Pines. She often bicycled over to see her grandmother. They had a very special relationship. Pix wondered what they found to talk about, but they shared a love of the outdoors and it was Ursula who had started Samantha on the first of her many col ections—seashel s at age three.
“Granny's helping me with the mosses,' Sam told her mother.
“I thought you'd given the project up'
“Of course not, after al that work last summer!”
“This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Arlene is otherwise occupied, would it?' Pix was curious to know how Samantha was taking Arlene's defection.
“Not real y. Besides, she and Fred aren't married. She is al owed to go places without him.' Samantha cut the sarcasm in her voice and admitted to her mother, 'It's true, I miss her, but with her job, we wouldn't see each other that much, and she does like to spend time with her boyfriend.
Otherwise, why bother having one?”
Pix decided to change the subject.
“I bought some beautiful quilts this morning antiquing with Jil and Valerie. One is especial y lovely. It's on the couch. Take a break and go look at it.'
“You didn't tel me Valerie was going. I thought it was just Jil ! What did she buy?”
Correctly surmising Samantha meant Valerie and not Jil , Pix gave an account of the morning.
“She has got such perfect taste. We should hire her to do our house.'
“But our house is done.”
Samantha raised an eyebrow, clearly indicating that a decorating scheme that had evolved simply because that was where things had happened to land did not represent interior design in her opinion.
“How about my room, then? We could send her pictures. I'm sure she'd have some great ideas.'
“Some expensive ideas.”
Pix heard it inside her head before it was said: 'Oh, Mother!”
Samantha, happy for an excuse to leave the potatoes, went to look at the quilts.
“The one with the triangles is real y beautiful, Mom. We should hang it on a wal here or at home.'
“That's what I was thinking.' Pix went into the other room and the two of them held the quilt out.
“What's that blue cross on the bottom?' Samantha moved her thumb to indicate the threads.
“I have no idea,' Pix replied truthful y, but something in her voice betrayed her.
Samantha looked her straight in the eye—and where she had picked up this trick, Pix didn't like to think.
