The three climbed down to the woods below and went back to the truck as fast as they could.
“Assholes,' Fred was muttering. 'And Duncan's the worst. After we cal , I want to see what's in that trunk of his.
Obviously, the black stuff was the thing he was wearing. He is real y into it.”
Sensibly, Arlene pointed out that as soon as Earl got the news, he'd be up at the quarry and they'd come running back to the cabin.
“Another time, then,' Fred said.
Samantha wasn't so sure. The day had been fil ed with images of blood—intended images: the gory sails that greeted them in the clear light of the morning and the streaked faces around the flames in the dark of night.
Another time?
She'd have to think about it.
* * *
The next morning Pix was putting away her chowder pot. She must have been more fatigued than she'd thought to have left it on the beach. Louise had dropped it off. As Pix was pushing it up onto the top shelf in the pantry, the lid fel , clattering to the floor and narrowly missing the side of her head. As she put the pot down and bent to retrieve the lid, she discovered a large Tupperware bowl had inadvertently been placed inside. She opened it up and found a few cookie crumbs. A piece of masking tape clearly marked BAINBRIDGE was on the bottom. The two women had brought a number of desserts to the clambake and this must have been an offering Pix had missed. The crumbs smel ed delicious. She washed the bowl out and decided to go to the vil age to drop it off. Norman might be around and she could pick up some more information about fake antiques. She'd also like to get him alone to ask him about Mitchel Pierce. Mitch dealt with museums, and presumably a New York dealer in the know would be familiar with Mitch's name, even if there hadn't been any business transacted between them. She'd try him on Mother's Brewster chair story again, too.
Pix could not shake the feeling there was something that didn't quite ring true about Norman. She was trying hard to be objective about him and knew that a good part of her mistrust had to do with his Big Apple shine. Then too there were few strangers on the island. There were tourists and people who rented cottages for a week or so, but Norman—someone from away—had managed to insinuate himself into everyday island life to an alarming degree.
Why, he'd even been at the Fraziers' clambake! Things, especial y social y, moved slowly on Sanpere and people waited a decent interval, say ten years, before expecting invitations.
Why was Norman here? She knew what was purported. There was that word again. It reminded her of Mitch. 'Purported' activities. Norman and Mitch. Dealers in antiques. Norman had arrived on the island wel before the murder. Where was he at the time?
There was a lot to work into a conversation.
Driving down Route 17 past the turnoff for Little Harbor, she wished Faith were around and resolved to cal her later to talk about these misgivings. Pix turned into the Bainbridges' drive, stopped the car, and got out. The property had once included many acres to the rear and on both sides, but the land had been sold long ago, leaving the farmhouse and barn. The first thing to greet her was the sound of hammering. Curious, she fol owed the noise and sound of hammering. Curious, she fol owed the noise and discovered Seth Marshal and someone obviously working for him inside the barn, replacing a beam.
“Seth!' He dropped his hammer in surprise.
“Now, Pix, I have to keep busy. The police won't let me out there yet'
“But it could be tomorrow. Wel , not the Fourth, but maybe the next day, and you'l be al tied up here!' She was livid. The Fairchild house was becoming a dream one, literal y.
“I told Aunt Addie I would have to stop once I got the go-ahead on another project. Don't worry.' Seth spoke soothingly and tried flashing an ingratiating grin. It made him look more like Peck's Bad Boy than ever and Pix was not mol ified.
“I'l give Earl a cal and see if we can get some idea of how much longer they need. Goodness knows, they should be finished by now. I think you had better plan to start Thursday at the latest.'
“Which means working here tomorrow,' the other man muttered angrily, stopping the rest of his complaint after a glance from the boss.
“Thursday wil be fine. Now, please, remember I want to get started as much as you do.”
Pix certainly hoped so, said as much and good-bye, then walked out into the sunshine and over to the house.
'Aunt Addie' indeed, although she could real y be his aunt, or more likely, great-aunt. The whole island was connected by ties of varying degrees of kinship.
Rebecca answered the door—the back door, of course. A bed of ferns had grown up over the front steps and Pix thought it unlikely that the door with its shiny brass knocker in the shape of an anchor had been opened since James Bainbridge had been carried out in his coffin. It would never have done to take him the back way through the kitchen.
“Who is it?' a querulous voice cal ed out. 'Don't just leave whoever it is standing with their chin hanging out!
Invite them in!”
Rebecca ignored Addie's remarks and reached for the Tupperware bowl.
“Oh, Pix, am I glad to see this. I couldn't remember where I had mislaid it, but I knew I had it at the clambake, because I'd fil ed it with butterscotch shortbread* that morning.”
She had missed something good, Pix thought, stepping into the room. The Bainbridges' shortbread was another of those secret family recipes.
“I'm glad I found it. It was in my chowder pot and I might have put it away without opening it until next year, but the top fel off the pot when I was putting it on the shelf.'
“The Lord works in mysterious ways,' Rebecca said confidently, then led Pix to the front parlor, where Addie was somehow managing to keep herself poised on the slippery horsehair Bainbridge fainting couch. Pix knew that it was a fainting couch because Adelaide had told her once, adding, perhaps unnecessarily, 'not that it has ever been used as one' Oddly enough, today she did seem a bit under the weather. She wore a housecoat that made her look like a large pink-and-orange-flowered tea cozy. Her legs were stretched out and she apologized for wearing her bedroom slippers.
“The heat is something terrible for my circulation; I can't even get my shoes on this morning. I told Rebecca to order the next-biggest size, but she forgot and got the same as always.'
“We could send them back. It wouldn't be any trouble.'
“Wel , it would be for me. What wil I do for footwear while they're gone, I'd like to know?' She kept right on going: 'And there must have been something I et at the clambake that didn't sit right—not that I think for a moment it was your chowder, deah,' she added, looking Pix straight in the eye. The intent was clear. Now was the moment for Pix to confess to buying suspect fish and last year's potatoes. Pix stared right back. Nobody else had suffered from the chowder in the slightest and Addie's indisposition was more than likely a case of overindulgence. Addie was starting to catalog her major symptoms, such as severe diarrhea and stomach cramps, rather graphical y when Rebecca tactful y broke in.
“Fix brought our Tupperware bowl back, the one we thought was lost at the clambake. It was in her chowder pot.”
Adelaide beamed as if she'd recovered the family jewels instead of an airtight storage container. 'It's hard to get good Tupperware nowadays and I won that at one of Dot Prescott's parties when she was sel ing Tupperware. I don't know who's doing it now.”
Pix tried to steer the conversation away from plastics to antiques and Norman.
“It must be interesting having an antiques dealer like Norman Osgood as a guest' The Bainbridges always cal ed their bed-and-breakfast customers 'guests.'
“Oh my, yes, he's been a treat. The stories that man can tel . We sit and laugh for hours.”
Rebecca didn't look quite so merry, and Pix wondered whether she was included in these funfests.
“Is he around now? I had a question I wanted to ask him.'
“No, he's off on one of his jaunts today. Be back in time for the parade tomorrow, he said. What's your question? I'l ask him for you.”
