to Augusta right away. They may also have something in their files about it.'
“Sure,' Pix agreed. She was excited. They were beginning to get somewhere. Maybe.
As Earl got into his car, he cal ed over to her, 'By the way, since you're turning out to be so interested in detective work, how about finding out why my girl is giving me the cold shoulder?”
Pix was sorry to disappoint him. 'I'l try, but I'm sure it's nothing much. You two have been together a long time'
“ `Nothing much,' ' Earl was uncharacteristical y sarcastic. 'Do you think the fact that she had dinner with Seth Marshal last night might mean something? The entire island and half the mainland saw them down at the inn.”
Pix did not have an answer.
Nor did she have an answer shortly thereafter when she spread out the new quilt on her living room floor.
'Where is this mark?”
She looked. Then looked again.
It was gone.
* * *
“I felt like a fool. Fortunately, I thought to get one of Samantha's magnifying glasses and I showed him where the holes were. There had definitely been something sewn there.”
The first thing Pix had done after the police car had pul ed away from the house was cal Faith. She was at work.
“But this proves that the marks mean something.' Faith was excited. 'Why am I stuck down here making blueberry pies and coleslaw, not to mention a cake in the shape of an eagle some patriotic soul has ordered, while you're having al the fun!”
Pix thought of Mitch and the incidents at the camp. It wasn't exactly what she'd cal fun, but Faith tended to view life a bit differently.
“I wish you were here, too. Sam has to leave after the parade. He's got a client coming in early Thursday morning.
It must be someone important, because it's not like Sam to miss the fireworks. Since he's been here, I've realized how nice it is to have another adult around. Samantha is wonderful company, but she's at work or off with her friends.
In fact, I think she's doing too much. She looked terrible at breakfast—as if she hadn't slept a wink, but she says she's fine.'
“Wel , what did you used to tel your mother? Speaking of whom, she certainly qualifies as an adult. Why don't you get her to come over for a while? No, that's not right. That's not what you need.”
Faith knew her so wel , Pix thought. Much as she loved her mother, it would not provide the ease she was seeking.
“Even before we got here, I asked her to come until my brother arrives. I don't like to think of her alone in that big house, but she wants to be on her own, and when we're her age, we'l be exactly the same.'
“I should hope so. Now, back to the quilt. Obviously, nothing else in the cottage was disturbed or you would have said so.'
“Right, and yes, I did leave the door unlocked as usual.
There's nothing of value here, and it's such a nuisance for Samantha to carry a key. I have one with my car keys, but I can't remember the last time I used it”
These New Englanders, Faith thought to herself. The unlocked door represented their trust in humankind and belief in a certain way of life: 'Come in; it's off the latch.'
And she knew Pix would stil keep her doors unlocked even now. What would it take? Faith hoped Pix would never find out.
“I've been doing some detective work for you in between shucking corn for corn pudding and the like. There was an article on quilt making in the paper. You remember that controversy about the Smithsonian's decision to reproduce some of the quilts in their col ection using overseas labor? That's what it's about mainly, however it started me thinking. These new quilts could be made to look old, particularly if they are unmarked. I think the Smithsonian ones have an indelible tag on the back, but a lot of mail-order companies and department stores offer quilts. I doubt they're al labeled so conscientiously. Anyway, I mailed the article to you and you should get it by Thursday.'
“It's pretty easy to spot some of the reproduction quilts, even if they are made by hand, because the stitching is uneven and there are fewer stitches to the inch. Handmade quilts, like the one I got in Pennsylvania last year, have ten to twelve stitches.'
“What about this one? How many does it have?'
“Ten in most places, more in a few others'
“But it could stil be a new one made to look old.'
“Yes, and that's what I have to do now—figure out for sure if it's a fake. Then I can tel Earl to have an expert look at the one the police have. I also thought I might do some more antiquing and see if I turn up any more marked quilts.'
“So what else is going on up there—or should I say down there?”
Pix had patiently explained to Faith her first summer on the island what Down East meant. The term dated from the days when the coastal towns of Maine were part of an active exchange of goods with the port of Boston. Timber, quarried stone, and of course fish were sold to purchase manufactured goods from Massachusetts. The coast curves eastward as it heads north to Nova Scotia and the first landfal a boat encounters is Maine. The windjammers took advantage of the prevailing westerlies, sailing down-wind—before the wind. Therefore, a boat setting sail from Boston to Bangor was headed down-wind, eventual y shortened to 'down east.' Pix made Faith learn it until she was letter-perfect, but although she was sure she had the words right, it had never made a whole lot of sense to Faith.
Up was north and down was south. And Maine was north.
“The clambake was great, but the weather's been much too hot.'
“It's the same here. Thank goodness this place is air-conditioned. It's a relief to come to work. The parsonage may self-ignite, it's so stuffy—even with fans going. Tom's afraid the window frames are too fragile for an air conditioner, but if the heat keeps' up, I wil personal y pay to have the old ones ripped out and new ones put in, never mind the blasphemy. I know God al ows New Englanders to be very cold in the winter and very hot in the summer because they prefer to suffer in this way, but I'm tired of taking the kids to work or to a movie when I want them to cool off!”
Pix felt a twinge of guilt. She was on the Parish Buildings and Grounds Committee, which, among other things, saw to the upkeep of the parsonage. No one had ever raised the notion of air conditioning. The Mil ers had never had it, and Faith was no doubt right—some of Pix's fel ow committee members would definitely classify it as wickedly self-indulgent.
They talked a bit more, then Faith let out a shriek. 'Got to go! Amy's at the pies!”
With a vivid picture of a toddler smeared from head to toe with blueberry pie, gleeful y licking her hands, Pix hung up. She was on her own.
She spread the quilt out on the floor and opened her book, Clues in the Calico by Barbara Bradman. It had been bedtime reading the last few nights. She leafed through it, then set to work. First, she considered the fabric: lots of smal -figured calicos, some shirting material. The abundance of brown-colored triangles indicated a pre-1900 quilt, a time when this was a very popular color. It wasn't used much again until the 1960s and was stil favored. She took her scissors and turned the quilt over, snipping a piece of thread, then pul ing out a few stitches.
With a fine needle, she unraveled it and looked at the strands through Samantha's magnifying glass—Six- ply.
That meant post-1860. She was narrowing the date down.
Maybe the quilt was genuine after al and she had scored a terrific coup. She teased a bit of the batting from between the top and backing and rubbed the fibers between her fingers.
Her heart sank. It was very cleverly done. The thick ness of the batting mimicked what would have been used earlier. But they did not have polyester in the late 1800s. It could be an old top newly quilted. With that optimistic
