She had hoped to get some more time alone with Brad Hallowell, so Faith had consumed more tea than she wanted. But finally she had to leave to pick up the kids. Brad showed no intention of following her example. It had been foolish to think they would discuss the inner workings of POW! in front of her, if there were any. Keeping Brad by her side was more likely Millicent showing off and a reluctance to return home on his part.
She stood up to leave and Millicent’s phone rang.
When Miss McKinley excused herself to answer it, Faith sat back down, hoping for a long conversation.
Picking up where they had left off, she had just started to explain to Brad that no, Lora had not sent her and to ask why he’d said it was too late to get back together with such finality, when Millicent came through the doorway. Brad looked relieved. Millicent stood behind her chair, her hands clenched around the back.
There was a grim set to her mouth.
“This is not good news, I’m afraid. Not good for POW! at all.”
“Nelson! Is he dead!” Faith cried.
“No, nothing like that.” Millicent waved her hand dismissively. “Apparently, over the weekend one of the Deanes’ pieces of heavy equipment was vandalized—an excavator. Someone cut the hydraulic hoses on the boom. I gather it’s a very expensive repair.
They’re blaming us, of course.” Millicent seemed extremely conversant with the technical jargon relating to construction work, Faith thought. She did get the idea, though. Person or persons unknown had sliced the things that made the steam shovel lift its load.
Brad leaned forward and pounded the table so hard his computer shook. Millicent looked askance. “And you know the bastards did it themselves! Probably was one that didn’t work anyway and they’re out to collect more insurance money!”
Faith doubted this. Gus Deane did not strike her as the type of man who would cripple the way in which he earned his living. If a machine was broken, he’d fix it. She’d often heard him extol the virtues of owning your own machinery, being your own boss.
But it was getting late. She had to get Ben and Amy.
As she walked back along Main Street, she tried to think what connection this new piece of the puzzle had to the others. Tampering with the steam shovel was an indirect attack on POW!—which would, it was true, be suspected immediately. The letter writer was also attacking the group in writing and for real. Did this mean the same person? At least the latest attack was on an inanimate object.
She’d left Millicent and Brad earnestly discussing POW!’s response—ignore it or issue a statement?
Neither of these two anonymous-letter recipients seemed in the least bit nervous about their own well-being, or perhaps they assumed since Patriots’ Day was over, the threat was gone, too.
Millicent had told them Nelson wasn’t being allowed any visitors. She had called the hospital and she reported, “He’s out of danger and should be at tomorrow night’s meeting.” Faith didn’t let on that Tom had seen him yesterday. Millicent liked to be the bearer of tidings, not the recipient.
Faith crossed the green, avoiding the spot where Nelson had fallen. How did this attack fit into the puzzle? And Margaret, the first death. Had Nelson discovered something about the identity of her killer?
But if he had, he wouldn’t have kept it to himself, would he? Unless it was someone he knew, knew well. Faith felt depressed. Things seemed to be turning out like one of those bargains you picked up at a yard sale—a gorgeous, expensive jigsaw of the cathe-dral at Chartres that, after many hours of hard work, you’d find was missing the last few pieces of the rose window.
The sky was gray and it looked like rain was on the way again. She’d hoped to check out the bog today, maybe taking Pix and the dogs along with the kids.
The weather would make it impossible. Nor could she return to the Chandler Street apartment and make discreet inquiries. Children did not know the meaning of the word
Any question of whether Miss Lora had heard about the latest attack on her family was answered by the teacher’s first words to Faith, whispered furiously after the precaution “Little pitchers have big ears.” And what did that mean, anyway? Faith wondered. “I know you weren’t involved or Reverend Fairchild, but you have
Faith didn’t doubt it. “I was just with Millicent McKinley and Brad Hallowell. They are as shocked and upset as I am. I’m sure POW! didn’t have anything to do with this. Does the construction company have any enemies you can think of? Another company that wanted a particular contract? Or maybe it was kids, too many beers on Patriots’ Day weekend?” Lora stared at Faith in disbelief and forgot to whisper. “Give me a break! POW! is the only enemy we have and the only group nutty enough to do all this.
Besides, a bunch of loaded teenagers would try to start the thing for kicks or spray-paint it.” Faith quickly bundled Ben away, picked Amy up, and tried to reach Tom. He wasn’t in his office and she assumed he must have gone to the hospital to see Nelson.
It wasn’t a day for a walk in the bog, but it was a good day for work. She was not going to be at POW!’s meeting tomorrow, Wednesday night—a meeting that had assumed dramatic proportions. Have Faith was catering dessert and coffee for a library-endowment-fund function. Besides that, there was the
When she opened the door at the company kitchen, she found Niki busy making pastry cream for the following evening. It would fill small tarts topped with raspberries. The former premises of Yankee Doodle Kitchens that Faith had taken over was large and well equipped. She’d added a play area for the kids at one end and had managed to convince Ben that coming to work with Mommy was an extraordinary treat. There were toys and books here he didn’t have at home; plus, he might sometimes get to lick a spoon. Niki held out one to him now.
“Pretty sucky weather,” she commented, glancing out the window at the sheets of rain pouring down.
“Oops, forgot the kids were here. Should say, Pretty inclement today, what ho.”
“What ho,” Faith said. She thought it was pretty sucky weather, too, and wondered if she was one of those people who suffered from light deprivation.
There hadn’t been much sunshine so far this spring.
But then, there were plenty of other things to account for her mood. She took Ben and Amy to their corner, depositing her daughter in the playpen for a nap and settling Ben with his Lincoln Logs. She looked at the two of them and tried to remember what Ben had been like at Amy’s age. Same silken flax-colored hair and same sweet baby smell. It went so fast, too fast. She gave them each a kiss.
“Is Pix coming?” Niki asked when Faith returned.
“No, she has a conference with Danny’s English teacher. It seems he’s adopted the role of class clown and the teacher doesn’t find it amusing. Pix doesn’t, either, but she also thinks he’s bored. If anyone can handle this, Pix can—simultaneous curriculum re-vamping and humble-pie consumption.”
“Speaking of which, what are we serving for dessert Friday night? Have you decided?”
“Yes. A plate of three sorbets: cranberry, apple, and blueberry—New England fruits, garnished with fresh fruit. And since people want something decadent for dessert, even here, those chocolate crunch cookies.
We can do half with white chocolate.”
“Yum,” Niki said. “They’re toothsome, and speaking of toothsome morsels, I saw your Miss Lora at Avalon Saturday night. And she wasn’t wearing a smock.”
A week ago, Faith would have dismissed Niki’s observation, yet now she knew it was entirely possible that Miss Lora was spending her free time dancing at this Boston hot spot and not doing the loopty-loo at home.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I am.” Niki was always sure. “At first, I didn’t recognize her without her glasses and those Mr.
Green Jeans outfits she usually wears, but it was her, or she, whatever. Cool dress, ended just below her ass, Mylar or something shiny. Definitely spandex.” Faith was going to Chandler Street even if she did have to tote her offspring.
Early the next morning, as soon as the kitchen door closed behind Tom and her brood, Faith grabbed a light jacket and got in the car. She followed the same route they had taken on Saturday, slowed now by morning commuters. She turned down Clarendon and started searching the side streets for a parking place.
Every empty space was either resident permit only or a tow zone. Finally, she spotted one on Tremont by the
