hours for a long time to come.
“Be sure to get shots of the footprints, and we’ll make the casts right away,” he called out to Detective Sullivan. The rest of his men were combing the area for evidence—anything. The knife handle was being dusted for prints.
“You two going to be home today?”
“We are now,” Tom said, and John nodded. He knew what they must be feeling—shock, fear—and this was all before the delayed reaction.
“Did you know him well?”
“Not well, but we knew him,” Tom answered.
And even more about him, Faith finished silently.
She wanted to go home.
After a few more questions, Dunne told them they could leave.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Faith. She knew what he was trying to say and was grateful.
“Thank you.”
The Fairchilds went back up the slight slope into the woods, retracing their own steps—and the path the murderer had taken. There was only one way in and one way out. Joey had come that way, too—and Miss Lora’s class. It had been a busy morning in the bog.
“You get Amy and I’ll get Ben?” Faith suggested.
“No,” Tom said. “I want to stay with you. We’ll get them together.”
They walked quickly away from Beecher’s Bog.
Joey had died on the first warm, sunny day of the year, beneath a cloudless blue sky. The air was filled with birdsongs. Margaret would have known what they were. She’d been alive ten days ago. Joey had been that morning. Their deaths were linked. Faith was sure of it and she knew she had to try to find out before there was another.
The Fairchild family was sitting around their large kitchen table, eating lunch. Amy was in her high chair, feeding herself after a fashion. She’d recently displayed an independent streak when it came to food, grabbing the spoon herself and taking great joy in picking up such things as linguine, one strand at a time, with her tiny fingers. While Faith was happy to note these beginnings that promised a lifelong interest in food, it made feeding Amy in a hurry difficult. Today there was no rush and the toddler was delicately picking out the peas from the chicken potpie with puff-pastry crust that filled her bowl.
Ben had finished his and asked for more.
“Did they move the animal?” he’d wanted to know earlier, as soon as he’d seen his mother.
“They will soon.”
“Then we can go for our walk tomorrow?” It was going to be a while before Faith willingly entered the bog and she’d resorted to that useful catchall, “We’ll see.”
Now, being together felt good. Faith had the feeling that she and Tom had gone through something akin to an earthquake or other disaster. Afterward, you just want to hold on to those closest to you.
Comfort yourself. Feel blessed. She could tell Tom was experiencing the same emotions. His chair was so near Amy’s that she was getting potpie on both their clothes.
Faith wasn’t hungry and had been picking at her food. She was nervous, expecting the phone to ring, or a knock on the door.
The phone was first.
“Faith! My God! I just heard!” It was Pix. “We were finishing the mailing and Ellen Phyfe came bursting in, shouting that Joey Madsen had been murdered in the bog and that you’d found him.”
“How did she find out?” Aleford really was incredible.
“She was in the camera store, and you know they listen to the police band all the time.” Faith did know. The group at Aleford Photo was an interesting crew, who gave new meaning to the term
“I have to take Danny to soccer; then I’ll be right over,” Pix said. “And we didn’t send out the mailing.
It seemed terribly inappropriate, if that’s the right word.”
Faith wasn’t sure
all came to mind. She went back to the kitchen. Tom was cleaning up himself and Amy. Ben was in the backyard on the swings.
“It’s all over town,” she told him.
“Don’t tell me you’re surprised.” He’d missed a spot and she took the wet cloth and wiped his cheek.
“It does change things, though. Pix said they didn’t send out the mailing. Do you think the Deanes are likely to press forward with Alefordiana Estates? Remember, Gus wasn’t too enthused about it.” Gus hadn’t been too enthused about the man his granddaughter had married, either. But that was a long way from murder. Although, two men with violent tempers . . .
“I have no idea,” Tom said. “Bonnie may be so upset that she’ll want to continue even if it doesn’t make the best business sense—in memory of her husband and because there’s no doubt he would have wanted it that way.”
Faith thought about Bonnie and found herself disagreeing with Tom. Bonnie might be upset, but if it didn’t make sense financially, she wouldn’t have any part of it. She wondered how Bonnie had viewed Joey’s scheme. She had been conspicuously absent from all the presentations, but then, she’d just had a baby. This thought was qualified immediately. A woman who closes a deal as she’s going into labor wouldn’t shy away from important meetings after the birth—if she wanted to be there.
“I wonder what Millicent is planning to do? She’s put so much time and energy into fighting Alefordiana Estates. It wouldn’t be like her to abandon the cause, even if the cause is dead.” As she spoke, the last word stuck in her throat. Faith picked Amy up. She was beginning to droop. Sleep, the sweet escape. Faith wished she could crawl in with her daughter.
Pix’s call was just the first, and eventually they had to take the phone off the hook. Faith prepared a brief statement that she gave to the Aleford Police Department, then referred all the newspapers and other media to them. Prudently, she’d called both her parents and Tom’s when it became apparent that the news would spread. She downplayed her role: “Wrong place, wrong time.” Her mother, Jane, had sounded skeptical, “I did hope your last murder would be it, dear”—making Faith feel somewhat like “the bad seed.”
Faith’s sister, Hope, on her way to an important meeting, was more direct. “Can’t you find anything else to do up there? I thought when you started the business again that would take care of things.”
“It’s not a hobby,” Faith had protested. “I’m not deliberately finding bodies!”
“We’ll talk. Got to run.” And Hope was off to crunch some more numbers, and squeeze some individuals, as well.
Late in the afternoon, Tom went out for milk. He returned from the Shop ’n Save with a gallon, some Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk ice cream, and the news that Aleford seemed to have developed a siege mentality overnight. There were very few people in the market and they weren’t lingering.
Even the checkout clerks looked nervous.
“It was weird. People were stocking up the way they do when a big storm is predicted, but there wasn’t any excitement like there is then.” Faith was making lentil stew, more than enough for dinner. She had also felt the need to fill the larder. A few loaves of olive bread were rising on the back of the stove. She’d taken some thick pork chops out that she planned to rub with garlic and rosemary before broiling. As usual, in times of trouble, she turned to substantial food. Garlic always made life seem better.
Pix had come and gone, jumpy as everyone else.
She was picking the kids up rather than letting them walk home from their various practices. Faith had asked
