not until she’d figured things out a bit more. Until then, Gus could go on thinking that his granddaughter was up for a role in
With a little time left before she had to pick up Ben, Faith went home and reported in to John Dunne about the meeting at Millicent’s. Amy sat at her mother’s feet, surrounded by puzzles, her favorite toy. She was babbling softly to herself and Faith listened intently for recognizable words. Amy had said
They’d be having mother-daughter talks in no time.
Detective Lieutenant Dunne came to the phone immediately. Faith hated to disappoint him.
“They may be having separate, even clandestine meetings, but if so, it’s only to satisfy Brad Hallowell’s theatrical inclinations. And they were both surprised when they heard about the excavator sabotage.”
“I can’t see Millie shimmying up the boom with a machete in her mouth,” John agreed. He’d been having a good day. They’d checked prints from a particularly grisly homicide with the New Hampshire police after coming up with nothing in Massachusetts.
Bingo, and the arrest had been made an hour ago. The guy was now safely under lock and key.
“How about other POW! members? You said some of them were pretty militant,” he asked.
“The Batcheldors were the most militant, and neither of them was in any shape to disable a steam shovel. I can’t think of anyone else.” She decided the time had come to tell John about meeting Nelson and Margaret in the woods.
After she told him, he asked, “Anything else you’re saving for a rainy day?”
“No—and you did say you only wanted to know about the POW! meetings.”
“You knew what I meant. Anyway, we’ll have a look around Beecher’s Bog and see what we can find.
Nelson Batcheldor is out of the hospital. Might have a word with him about his wardrobe. What about that big donation, the five-hundred dollars. Any ideas?”
“Not really. I think Pix is right and it’s someone in public office who can’t come out and openly support POW! Whoever it is, I don’t see how it’s connected to Margaret’s death or the letter writing. Quite a few people in town are convinced that Joey Madsen wrote the letters and killed Margaret when he found her setting fire to his house—a crime of passion. I’m not convinced.”
“Neither am I,” Dunne admitted.
Amy was losing interest in the puzzles at last and using her mother as a climbing structure.
“I’ve got to go now, but I’ll keep in touch.”
“I know,” John said, and hung up.
Faith put the phone down. She wasn’t holding out on him, but she hadn’t told him about Lora Deane or her own visit to Gus. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with either POW! or Margaret’s murder. Tom would have to take over her duties at POW!’s meeting tonight and report back to Detective Dunne. Given recent events and the imminence of the special Town Meeting, there might be more militancy and, in turn, more suspects. These people seemed so sure. Although Faith believed it was best for the town that the bog be preserved, she could see the other point of view. POW! didn’t.
She put Amy in her car seat and looked past the church to the woods beyond, leading to the bog.
Though it wasn’t harvested anymore, at one time it had been a working cranberry bog. Part of the Beecher’s barn was still standing, their stone walls tumbled but in place, and their old orchard bloomed in the spring. In effect, Joey Madsen would be turfing over a piece of Aleford’s history. The rights of the town versus the rights of an individual. It was a tough call.
The library event was a great success and the head of the endowment campaign told Faith she had already been slipped two hefty checks and received several pledges. “It’s your food, I’m sure. Puts everyone in a benevolent mood,” she’d said. Faith was grateful for her praise but thought it also had to do with the excellent speaker, an eminent historian, who introduced his talk by pointing out the accessibility of libraries in the United States compared with that in other countries and suggesting everyone dig deep into his or her pocket to keep it that way.
When she got home, Tom was waiting up by the fireplace. There were two brandy glasses on the coffee table. Hers was full.
“You always have the best ideas,” she said.
“And here’s another,” he told her, moving from the wing chair to the couch and taking her in his arms.
“There’s nothing like staring into the nonflickering flames of a lifeless fireplace to arouse one’s passion.”
“True, true,” Faith said, sipping her Remy Martin,
“but first tell me what happened at the meeting tonight.”
“This could kill the mood,” Tom warned.
“I doubt it.”
“All right.” Tom had been planning to tell his wife the moment she walked in, anyway. He knew she’d be kicking herself for missing it—and it had been something to miss.
Joey had arrived at the meeting ready for blood. His lawyer wasn’t with him. He walked in, went to the front row, and sat directly facing Millicent. Her face was stony. She called the meeting to order, but before she could ask for a reading of the minutes, Joey jumped up. “You did it at my meeting, so I can do it at yours. Equal time, right? Isn’t that what all you lily-livered liberals believe in? Well, I’ve got my rights and I’m taking them.”
Tom knew why he’d come alone. Madsen was certainly not following counsel’s advice.
Maybe Millicent thought the best way to deal with the situation was to be gracious. Maybe she was just plain curious. In any case, she recognized the irate builder.
“I believe Mr. Madsen has something to say before we begin. Mr. Madsen?”
“Damn right I do. First of all, whoever screwed up my excavator, I’m going to get you. If it takes the rest of my life. Now, for the rest of you, you can hold meetings round the clock and it isn’t going to do you any good. My lawyers have been over the plans a thousand times. There’s
The room was silent. Joey was running out of steam. He left the stage and walked to the doors at the rear of Asterbrook Hall. He turned and shook his fist, repeating his last words. “Nobody does me out of what’s mine. Remember that!”
Faith was listening openmouthed to Tom’s description of the meeting. “What happened after he left?”
“You know Millicent. A class act. She thanked the group for their indulgence and called for the minutes.
The rest of the meeting went fast. I had the feeling people were itching to get out and tell everyone who wasn’t there what had happened. Pix almost had me winded by the time we got here, she was so eager to tell Sam. Oh, and by the way, the Scotts are back.
Louise was looking very determined, so I have the feeling it was her idea more than Ted’s. But you know Ted. If he didn’t think it was safe for them, especially her, to be back, he wouldn’t budge. Millicent read your letter—very good—swore us all to secrecy for some reason. We’re not to reveal the contents, and Louise announced she and Pix would be preparing the mailing tomorrow. I didn’t volunteer you.” Faith’s brandy glass was empty and it was late. It had been a long day—Bridey Murphy, Gus, the library. She was tired—but not too tired.
When you sign up for something, April seems a long way off in September, which is why Faith found herself at the end of a line of preschoolers, all chanting,
“I know a little pussy, who lives down in the lane” in unison. When they got to “He’ll never be a pussy, he’ll always be a cat, ’cause he’s a pussy willow, now what do you think of that!” for the fourth time, she thought she might have a new description of hell. An eternity of Miss Lora’s annual Pussy Willow Walks.
They were on their way into the bog. Faith had on the fisherman’s boots she’d purchased in Maine and the ground squelched beneath them. They’d had more rain during the night, but today was bright and fair.
“It never rains on Pussy Willow Walk days,” Lora told the helper mothers. She didn’t like to call them chaperones—“sounds too much like your Dad insisting on going on your dates,” she’d told Faith once.
Any relative of Lora’s would be getting more than he or she bargained for on the young woman’s dates these days, Faith thought. And how did she manage to look so full of energy and good cheer after weekends of carousing?
The helper mothers—helper fathers appeared only occasionally—were spread out through the line.
Faith, at the front, was supposed to keep watch for low branches and thorny bushes. She trudged along and
