“I have a certain image in Aleford. ‘Miss Lora’—she’s so good with kids, never gave her parents or grandparents a moment’s worry. Will make some nice man the perfect little Betty Crocker wife someday. Sure, she’s a bit homely, but some men don’t care about those things.”
All of it was true. Each item had crossed Faith’s mind at some point or been introduced into conversation. There was no doubt—in Aleford’s collective conscious, Lora Deane was Miss Goody Two-Shoes come to life.
“I love to dance. When I went off to college, I discovered that music did something to me, released something, and I felt so free. One of my roommates was really good with makeup and clothes. She encouraged me to get contacts, but I don’t see as well with them as with my glasses. Still, well enough for a date. Well enough to dance.”
“But why the double life? Why not just be who you are all the time?”
Lora appeared to be about to go into her “give me a break” routine, but stopped. She sighed instead.
“First, I would have caught hell at home. My dad was still alive, and he was just like his father. My brothers are the same way. They all actually thought it might be a good idea for me to be a nun when I was deciding where to go to school! Then Dad died so suddenly and everybody was a mess. I couldn’t upset them then.”
“And the money? Weren’t you afraid Gus might not give it to you if he disapproved of the way you were behaving?”
Lora hesitated. She pushed a piece of eggplant that had escaped from the overstuffed sandwich around her plate with a fork.
“Well, yes, that did cross my mind.” She ate the eggplant. “Okay, I thought about it a lot and it didn’t seem fair. He never said anything when my brothers sowed their wild oats, and believe me, it was quite a crop. When I got the money, I used some of it for rent here and I really did use some for tuition. It’s true that I’m working on my master’s.”
Faith was glad to hear it. Miss Lora
“And no one knew about Chandler Street?”
“No. I left a letter in the box where I keep all my important papers in the Aleford apartment—in case I got hit by a car or something.”
There were so many somethings going on lately that Faith thought an explanatory letter showed foresight.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t want to keep deceiving people, especially my grandparents. But I don’t want them to get mad at me, either. My mom won’t care.
She has a whole new life and she’d probably be glad I was having one, too. She used to get a little fed up with being one of the Deanes all the time.”
“And you?”
“I’m proud of the family, but we are pretty old-fashioned.”
It was time for Miss Lora to grow up and become Ms. Lora.
“Why don’t you start by telling them you want to leave the Aleford apartment and move into the city.
Say that you found the perfect place.” Faith didn’t think Lora had to be too precise about when she had found it.
“Then gradually start changing your appearance.
Wear the plum-colored dress, then immediately go back to a jumper the next day. After a while, everyone will have forgotten how you looked before. They might say, ‘Have you cut your hair?’ or ‘There’s something different about you; I can’t quite put my finger on it.’ ” Faith thought she had worked the whole thing out rather neatly.
Maybe not.
“How do you know I have a purple dress? I’ve never worn it in Aleford.”
Faith gave a hasty and abbreviated account of the day the Fairchild family shadowed Ben’s teacher, then suggested dessert.
“I’m not seeing Eduardo anymore. Things were getting too heavy. Maybe I should go back with Brad.
What do you think?”
Faith had a strict rule about giving advice to the lovelorn, and she stuck to it now. The person involved usually ended up blaming you if it didn’t work out, and sometimes if it did. She had the same policy when it came to discussing husbands.
Lora was eating a huge piece of chocolate truffle mousse cake. Faith was drinking espresso with a twist of lemon.
“The only thing we don’t know is who threw the brick.”
“I suppose there has to be some mystery left,” Lora commented complacently. Mrs. Fairchild knew all about her now. It hadn’t been too weird.
They went to see Bridey Murphy, who expressed great delight in the drama of the situation. She’d read about the murders in Aleford and seemed to feel she had played a small role in solving them. Faith wasn’t sure of her reasoning, yet she did not disabuse her of the notion. Bridey was a wonderful lady. Then Lora insisted that they both see her apartment and advise her about window treatments—advice Faith did feel comfortable offering. And she always liked to see where other people lived.
Lora’s apartment was more sparsely furnished than Bridey’s, but bright and cheerful. There were stuffed animals on the bed and in an old rocking chair Lora had painted blue. Combining the animal collection from the two dwellings might pose a serious design problem.
Faith got home about five. After being greeted by her family, somewhat picturesquely engaged in planting a flat of Johnny-jump-ups along the front path, Faith went inside and noticed the light on the message machine was blinking.
It was Brad Hallowell. “Um, this is Brad. Um, Brad Hallowell. Could you give me a call, Mrs. Fairchild?
Faith, I mean? Um, maybe I could come over? Or you could come here—no, that wouldn’t be good. Look, just call me, okay? I want to tell you something.” Apparently, this was the day for true confessions.
Faith dug out the Aleford phone book from the stack in the cabinet next to the phone. Brad had either forgotten to leave his number or assumed that she knew it by heart. She didn’t.
He answered after the first ring.
“Hello, Brad? This is Faith. I got your message.” Never one to mince words, he dispensed with any small talk. “Look, this is kind of embarrassing.” She’d heard that before today, too. Was Brad Hallowell also leading a double life? Maybe he actually hated computers and was secretly holing up in a garret in Cambridge writing his coming-of- age novel in longhand.
“I know I should be telling the police, but . . . well, it’s my mother, and she didn’t mean any harm.” Mother, harm, police. This was getting interesting.
“What has she done?”
“She threw the brick through Lora’s window.”
“Your mother!” Faith couldn’t help herself—her voice rose near a screech.
“After I left the Millers’ last night, the brick thing kept bothering me. I mean, everybody there thought I did it. I guess I was pretty steamed by the time I got home, and Mom was waiting up for me, as usual.” He sounded resigned but not pleased. “I told her all about what had happened to you and also about the brick business. She got terribly upset and told me she’d done it.”
“All because Lora broke up with you?”
“Basically, yes. I had been taking it badly, especially at first. I knew she was mad at Lora and I guess she just kept thinking about it. She was edging a new bed she’d put in the garden and somehow got the idea that heaving a brick at Lora’s house would make her feel better. She didn’t intend to break the window; Mom has terrible aim.”
Faith was pretty sure Mrs. Hallowell’s aim was much better than her son believed. But then, apparently he was willing to believe anything.
“Let me get this straight. Your mother was out putting bricks in her garden in the dark of night and had an extra, so she drove over to Lora’s and let it fly?”
“We have floodlights in the back. Mom often gardens late at night. She likes to hear the crickets.” No more mysteries. Except for a few that would forever surround Mrs. Hallowell.
“She’s outside now; otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to talk. She doesn’t want anyone to know about this, but I
