The terns were summer people. They were from
'away' and had nested on the islands at their own peril.
The corpse lying here under the sky, was it someone from away, as wel ? Someone unknown and unfamiliar to the island who could vanish without a trace? Vanish as the terns nearly had?
Samantha must surely be at the Hamiltons' house by now.
Think of other things.
It was almost July, but the long hard winter buffeting the island with snow and heavy rains until late April had delayed the already-short growing season even further. And now it was dry. There wouldn't be the traditional fresh peas to go with salmon for the Fourth of July. No one had been able to sow much of anything Memorial Day weekend because the weather had been so bad. Pix imagined what her garden would look like in August: green tomatoes that she'd have to bring back to Aleford to ripen between sheets of newspaper; lettuce; too many zucchini; the eggplant was doubtful—Her pessimistic reverie was interrupted by a loud shout.
“What the hel are you doing here!”
She hadn't heard anyone approach, and it was obviously not Freeman Hamilton, Samantha, or Sergeant Dickinson.
She jumped to her feet and ran in the direction of the shore, with some notion of trying to attract attention from a passing sailboat.
The tethered dogs were barking their heads off. As she raced down the slope toward the beach, her heart pounding with fear and from the exertion, she glanced back at the animals and caught sight of the intruder. It was Seth Marshal , glowering. His long dark hair, heavy mustache, and the anger in his eyes made him look like a pirate from a children's book il ustration.
Pix stopped abruptly and turned around. Her own anger of an hour ago returned ful force, fueled in addition by the fright he had given her.
“What do you mean what am I doing here? How about what the hel you were supposed to be doing here? I thought you were building a house. The foundation isn't even poured!”
Her voice was booming and she was almost face-to-face with him before she col ected herself. Seth Marshal knew when and where the concrete foundation was going to be poured. Seth Marshal had a handy pickup fil ed with shovels and al sorts of other digging equipment. Seth Marshal 's mother was a quilter.
“I didn't know it was you.' He was almost apologizing.
'Don't want people messing around out here.”
“When were you here last?' She wanted some information before she broke the news.
“Look, Pix, I can't afford to turn work down. I told the Fairchilds that when they hired me. I've got to make enough in the spring and summer to last me al year. The Athertons needed some repairs at the camp before they could open and I've been over there the last few weeks. And I've been finishing a cottage for some people on the reach road. But we'l be here every daylight hour from now on. The soil is good and dry. We'l be able to get everything done, even the floor, by the end of the week. The Fairchilds wil have their place before Labor Day. That's a promise.”
Pix heard him with only half an ear, although that half did cause an internal comment of promises, promises, before zeroing in on the matter at hand—literal y. She'd have to watch out. Her mind was running amok. So, Seth claimed not to have been at the site for several weeks. The police could probably tel how long the soda cans and other debris had been around. Without carbon dating, it would be impossible to say when the venerable cement mixer had been set in place.
There was no point in delaying further. She had to tel him. He'd spot it the moment he walked over to the excavation, and he was moving that way.
“There's a dead body buried in the cel ar hole. My dog started to dig it up.'
“What!”
Seth's bushy eyebrows rose clear out of sight, disappearing somewhere into his mane of hair.
Pix was patient. It was a lot to take in. 'The dog was digging at something and when we went to see what it was, it turned out to be somebody's hand. There's a very dead person over there. Wrapped in a quilt.'
“A quilt?' Seth seized on the word, the only one suggestive of normalcy.
“Yes, a patchwork quilt.'
“I don't believe it!”
Pix knew he wasn't referring to the quilt. 'Come and see for yourself.' He fol owed her over to the edge of the pit he and his crew had dug in the spring. There hadn't been anything other than rocks in the ground then.
“Holy shit! It's a hand!”
Pix nodded. It was the third time she'd approached.
The hand was beginning to look familiar.
“We've got to get Earl out here!'
“Samantha was with me and she went to the Hamiltons' for help. They should be here soon.'
“I've got a shovel and a pickax in the truck. You sit out of the way and I'l dig him up. It could be pretty nasty.”
Pix figured Seth would want to take action. Most men usual y did, however she'd been close enough to her friend Faith's sleuthing activities to know that they should leave wel enough alone. Not that she had exactly, but digging the body up would definitely be regarded by the police as tampering with evidence, and she told Seth so.
Without something to do, he seemed visibly shaken and went to the truck for a beer.
“Want one?”
Pix did, but somehow the picture she might present to her daughter, Sergeant Dickinson, and Freeman Hamilton, who would surely not stay home once he learned there was a body on the Point, was a bit unseemly. Not to mention that it would be al over the island that she had been drinking with Seth Marshal while someone lay stone cold only a few feet away. Not by any stretch of the imagination could this be cal ed a wake. At a wake, it was customary at least to know the name of the deceased.
“Do you have anybody new working for you this summer? Anybody who's been missing for a while?”
Seth came and sat down next to Pix on her boulder.
The dogs had long since quieted down and were snoring peaceful y in the afternoon sun.
“You're trying to figure out who it is, right? Wel , I haven't. It's the same crew as last summer, and some from the summer before. The Atherton kid was helping us on the camp work, but I told his folks I couldn't afford to hire him for other work. They were paying him for what he did there. Or didn't do is more like it.'
“Have you heard of anyone missing? Here or on the mainland?”
Seth shook his head. 'Of course, we don't know how long the body's been here, but I haven't heard anything at al , and you know the way news gets around.' Pix continued to pursue her line of questioning.
“I assume the whole island knew you were working out here and had dug the hole for the foundation”
“Yup, it wasn't a secret.'
“But who knew you hadn't poured yet?'
“Probably al the same people, since I've been at the other places instead of here for some time now. But I was planning to pour this week. Not too many people would have known that”
They were getting somewhere.
“Who would have known?'
“Okay now, let me see. I was ordering the lumber for the footings at Barton's and I may have mentioned it then. I told my mother, because she said you would be here soon and if I didn't get going, you'd have my hide, which is true.'
Seth smiled and the pirate was replaced by a mischievous little boy—little boy, despite his thirty-odd years. He'd been one of the island's footloose and fancy-free young bachelors for so long, it was hard to think of his ever settling down—or getting any older. He lived with his parents in Granvil e, the larger of the island's two main towns, Sanpere Vil age being the other. His mother, Serena, was a member of the Ladies' Sewing Circle with Pix's own mother. The Sewing Circle. That tore it. If Serena knew, it might as wel have been listed under 'Coming Events' in The Island Crier.
Smal -town life made criminal investigation nearly impossible. There were rarely any skeletons in anyone's closet, because at one time or another, some friend or neighbor had opened it 'by mistake,' ostensibly looking for
