Pix had been afraid Addie would say this and was now thankful she'd prepared a mythical inquiry about the best way to take care of an old Sheraton dresser her mother was giving her.
“Just keep it clean with a dust cloth,' Rebecca advised, 'if the wood is not too dry and the finish stil good.'
“And what do you know about the care of valuable antiques, Rebecca Bainbridge? I don't recal too many down in that shack you grew up in.: No, Pix. I swear by Olde English and plenty of it. You can't go wrong there.”
Faith could smel it had been put to good use in the parlor. She looked anxiously at Rebecca. It might have been that Addie had gone too far.
“Your own husband was raised in that `shack,' Addie, and you're lying on Grandmother's couch this very moment.
I guess we had just as many nice things as you did out at the lighthouse.”
Pix was glad to hear Rebecca answering back. It didn't happen very often.
“You couldn't have had many, then,' Addie one-upped her. 'I slept on a cot in the kitchen and there wasn't a decent piece of furniture in the place. The only thing worth any money at al was the light, and that belonged to the government. Now where are my regular glasses? You've gone and fetched the wrong ones, as usual! Can't see a thing with these'
“Those are the right ones. Remember, you put a piece of tape on the frame so we wouldn't get mixed up. There it is, plain as the nose on your face.”
Addie pul ed her glasses off. 'Can't see a danged thing. You must have put tape on both.”
Before the fur could fly any faster, Pix made her farewel s with promises to sit together at the parade the next day. The Bainbridges' lawn sloped agreeably down to Main Street and was a perfect viewing stand.
“And don't forget your mother!' Addie cal ed after her.
As if I would—or could, Pix thought.
After leaving the Bainbridges, she felt a little betwixt and between. Sam was on a long cruise to Swans Island with a sailing buddy and Samantha was stil at work. She thought she might pop in to Jil 's store and pick up a baby sweater made by one of the women on the island that The Blueberry Patch stocked. One of Pix's cousin's children was having a baby, which would make Ursula a great-great-aunt and make Pix a what, a cousin some number of times removed?
Removed. She realized Mitchel Pierce's death had removed her from her normal embedded island feelings.
She had the constant sense that she was on the outside looking in, not because she was from away but because there were things going on she couldn't quite make out.
She had the il usion that if she could only squint hard enough, she'd be able to make out the shapes.
Jil was at the register. The store was empty.
“Hi, Pix,' she said. She had been working on her accounts evidently and now shoved a large ledger under the counter. The cash register was an antique—and not for sale. It had been a fixture in the previous store to occupy the space, a cobbler's shop owned by Jil 's grandfather.
“My cousin's daughter is having a baby soon and I want to send a sweater.'
“Do they know what they are having? I always think that sounds so odd, but you know what I mean?'
“Yes, I do, and they don't, so the sweater had better be white or yel ow.”
After taking a pleasurable amount of time, Pix took her purchase to the front of the shop. It was always fun to buy baby gifts. A few years earlier, she used to toy with the idea of another bundle of joy herself, then remembered al the homework supervision that would entail and opted to wait for grandchildren—a wait she fervently prayed would be a long one.
Earl had come in while she'd been in the back and was buying a paper.
“How are you, Pix?' he asked. 'Quite a business yesterday at the camp. Samantha was great with the kids.
Real y kept them calmed down.'
“Fine, thank you, and thank you for saying that about Samantha. I'l tel her. She's always wanted to go into science, marine biology, but she's so good with people.'
“Maybe she'l figure out a way to combine the two. Now I've got to go pick up something to eat at the IGA or I'l start to get malnutriated.”
Earl looked anything but. Pix smiled. Jil didn't. Hadn't they patched things up yet?
The next exchange made it clear they hadn't. 'So, I'l see you about eight?' Earl asked.
“I'm afraid I can't make it tonight. Maybe another time,'
Jil answered. The time, from her expression and tone, could possibly be wel into the new century.
“Okay' Earl flushed and left quickly.
Pix was tempted to ask what was going on, but Jil did not look as if she'd welcome inquiries into her personal life at the moment. She rang up the purchase and Pix was soon out on the walk planning a dinner party with a few friends, mainly Earl and Jil —soon.
She got into her car and noticed Earl was parked next to her. It was the perfect time to tel him about the mark on the quilt, if he was not too distracted by his own affairs of the heart. But Pix doubted it. Work was work. The notebook would be out in no time, just the way it had the day before at the camp. When they'd arrived, it was the first thing she had noticed. There was Earl standing before the bloody red sails, calmly writing down each and every word.
He was at his car soon, carrying what she knew to be one of the IGA's Italian sandwiches—bologna, salami, and cheese on some sort of large hot dog rol . It also had green peppers and onions if those were to hand and a drizzle of Italian dressing, hence the appel ation.
“Earl, have you got a minute? There's something I've been meaning to tel you. It's probably nothing, yet I thought you should know.”
The notebook came out. He clicked his pen.
Merciful y, they were parked behind the post office.
They might be news, but not big news, particularly if she spoke fast. She explained about finding the mark on the quilt she'd bought—a mark identical to the one on the red-and-white quilt.
“I know you told me. It's a blue cross, right? Like this?'
He drew one on the pad.
“Yes, maybe a bit smal er. I wouldn't have noticed it on the one around the body if the quilt had had more colors.
Then in the one I bought, it just seemed to jump out at me'
“Do you have any idea what it could stand for?'
“It could be some kind of family laundry mark. Both quilts may have come from Sul ivan. I mean, that's where the antiques dealer said the quilt was from, and Mitch was living in Sul ivan when he died. The red-and white one may have been taken from his room.”
Earl agreed. 'That makes sense. Although I'm not sure what kind of link there could be. He hadn't been in his room for some days before he was kil ed, according to his landlady, but she admitted he could have been there one of the times she was out doing errands.'
“There's another possibility. Much as it pains me to realize I may have been duped, I think the quilt I bought could be a fake. The price was suspiciously low. I have a book about dating quilts and I'm going to go through it to try to establish when mine was made. If it's a modern one, as I suspect, the mark could be a way whoever was faking the quilts kept track of which were real and which weren't.”
Earl looked at Pix admiringly. 'Good thinking.
Obviously, we don't want it spread around, but we're pretty sure Mitch was involved with one or more of the antique scams. Unfortunately, he was also involved in some other tricky businesses, so the field is pretty broad' His face fel a bit.
He continued: 'So that's why you were asking al those questions on Sunday.'
“Yes,' Pix admitted.
“Look, I'd like to photograph the mark and see how it matches with the one that was wrapped around Pierce's body. I've got my camera in the trunk. Al right if I come over and take a picture now? I'l be able to send it
