Amy had diverted her mother's attention just as Pix had remembered she hadn't mentioned the incident to Faith.
She'd cal tomorrow. Tel ing Faith what was going on was making things clearer, or, if not clearer, making Pix feel better.
She did cal Sam, to make sure he'd gotten home al right. She missed him more than ever when she hung up.
Final y, she got into bed with the latest issue of Organic Gardening and tried to get interested in mulch. When Samantha did get home, just before the stroke of twelve, Pix cal ed out to her daughter to come say good night.
“Weren't the fireworks awesome? The best ever.'
Samantha had clearly had a good night. Pix felt less worried.
“Truly awesome,' she agreed. 'Whom were you with?'
“Oh, the usual people—Fred, Arlene, their friends. How about you?' Samantha sounded slightly anxious.
Oh no, Pix thought, don't tel me Samantha is starting to worry about poor old Mom. The way I do, a stil - deeper voice whispered.
“We had quite a crowd on the blanket. I was by the library. Jil , the antiques dealer who's at the Bainbridges, some others.' Pix didn't care to get more specific.
Samantha was hoping to be a junior bridesmaid at Jil and Earl's wedding.
“That's nice, Mother.' Her daughter actual y patted her hand. 'Now I see you've got your usual exciting bedtime reading, so I won't keep you from it a minute longer.'
“Don't you patronize me. And where's my kiss!' Pix grabbed Samantha for a hug. Sam had given them al magazine subscriptions last Christmas: Organic Gardening renewed for his wife, Sassy for his daughter, and the Atlantic Monthly for his mother-in-law. There they were in a nutshel .
Pix drifted off to sleep. Maybe this was a new way to categorize people. She'd have to talk about it with Faith—
The New Yorker, obviously. And who else? Valerie Atherton, House Beautiful, without question, and Jim, Boys'
Life. Jil ? Not Modern Bride, not yet anyway.
She thought she was stil thinking about magazines, then realized that dawn was streaking across the sky outside in shades of burnt orange and magenta. The phone was ringing. She grabbed the receiver in a panic. Nobody cal ed this early. It was just over the edge of night.
“Pix, Pix, are you awake?”
It was Mother.
“What's wrong? What's happened? Are you al right?'
Pix ignored the obvious question. Of course she was awake.
“I want you to get over to the Bainbridges as fast as you can. Addie's dead.”
Pix was momentarily relieved. 'Oh dear, Mother, what sad news, yet I suppose with this weather, her age and al that weight, it—'
“Rebecca found her on the floor of her bedroom with an old quilt Rebecca's never seen before wrapped around her—a red-and-white quilt.'
“I'l be there as soon as I can.”
Seven
Once when Mark Mil er had been about nine years old, he had inveigled his mother into trying out the new tire swing at the school playground. Somehow, Pix had gotten her feet caught in the rim and for what seemed like a giddy, reeling eternity was unable to stop or get off. The world whirled around. She was almost sick and momentarily terrified. As she pul ed into the Bainbridges' drive and opened her car door, she felt as if she was back on that swing.
Rebecca opened the door before Pix could knock. The sight of the grief-stricken old lady, pathetic in a worn flannel robe, her gray hair untidily sticking out in clumps around her face, brought Pix soundly back to earth. She put her arms around the woman and hugged her hard. 'I'm sure there's some explanation for al this.
Maybe Addie had a quilt you didn't know about, felt cold, and got up to get it.' It didn't sound especial y plausible, but it was something to say.
Rebecca shook her head. Tears had been fil ing the soft wrinkles of her cheeks ever since Pix had arrived and obviously for a long time before that.
Pix looked around the kitchen. Ever since she'd driven up, she'd had a sense something was wrong besides what was so obviously wrong, and now she knew what it was: No one was around. Where was Earl? Where were the B and B guests? The Bainbridges had countless relatives al over the island. Where were they?
Rebecca fol owed her glance. 'Your mother thought I should cal Earl, but I just couldn't, so she said she'd do it. I couldn't cal anybody except her.”
Ladies like Rebecca and Adelaide did not get involved with the police. Wel , they were involved now. Pix wondered when Rebecca had discovered the body. But first things first. Rebecca appeared to be in shock.
“Let me make you some tea. Are you warm enough?”
It was already stifling hot again, but Rebecca was shivering. Pix took a jacket from one of the pegs inside the door and put it around Rebecca's thin shoulders. From the size, it must have been Addie's.
“Tea.' She managed only the one word and Pix took it as a yes. After a moment, Rebecca finished the thought. 'I was on my way to make our morning cups when I went in to check on Addie. She's been poorly lately and I wasn't sure she was awake or, if she was, whether she'd want any.'
Rebecca sighed heavily. Pix could imagine what would have ensued if her sister-in-law had awakened Addie or brought her a cup of unwanted tea. Yet Addie had been Rebecca's main job in life for so many years, now what was she going to do?
“And there she was, al wrapped up like some kind of parcel. I went over and pul ed that strange quilt down. It was her feet first. Then I found her head and she wasn't breathing.' Rebecca broke down completely and sobbed noisily. What was taking Earl so long? Pix wondered frantical y. She wanted to get Rebecca over to Mother's.
Ursula had obviously cal ed her daughter first so someone would be there to take care of Rebecca, but the best thing of al would be to get her with her old friend. Pix debated waking Norman. He had become so close to the two old ladies. She decided to let Earl handle things and put a mug of tea with lots of sugar in Rebecca's hand. The warmth of the liquid seemed to steady her. She stopped crying to take a few sips.
“Why don't you go up and say good-bye? They'l al be here soon and you won't have a chance”
It was exactly what Pix wanted to do, except she hadn't wanted to leave Rebecca, and it wasn't real y to say goodbye.
“Are you sure you'l be al right?”
Rebecca nodded and patted Pix on the hand. There seemed to be a lot of that happening lately. 'You're a good girl. Now run up quick. I'l be fine here”
Adelaide's bedroom was a large one in the front of the house. Pix darted up the stairs, glad the rag runner was there to muffle her steps. She wasn't sure how many of the rooms were fil ed and she didn't want anyone waking up right now.
She turned the old glass doorknob slowly—Rebecca had already obscured any prints—and went in. At first, the room looked empty. The big old four-poster that had been in the family for generations had obviously been slept in, but no one was there now.
Then she saw the quilt. Rebecca had covered the body again. It was so close to the bed as to be almost underneath. Dark red patches in a spiral pattern stood out sharply against the white muslin background, which, as she bent down, she realized was not completely white. There was a second spiral, the material white, with the tiniest of red dots. Dots like pinpricks.
But there was no sign of any blue thread—in a cross or not.
Pix stood up to steel herself. She looked around the room. There was no sign of a struggle. Addie's comb and brush, along with several bottles of scent, Evening in Paris vintage, were arranged neatly on the embroidered dresser scarf gracing the top of the painted Victorian dresser that matched the rest of the furniture in the room. Her
