was doing there. Joey’s presentation had been the third and last item on the agenda. Brad had certainly not come to hear the Minuteman Cafe’s request for permission to change the color of its awning from green to maroon when it ordered a new one. Nor would he have been interested in Norma Parkington’s spirited reading of the most recent letter from Aleford’s sister city in Iceland, Hafnarfjordur. So far, Hafnarfjordur officials had been to Aleford, but Town Meeting systematically voted down a request for funds for a similar junket by Aleford officials. Said officials did not seem to mind much, although, as Millicent tartly observed, if Aleford were twinned with Paris, France, they’d find the money. She was of the belief that an exchange meant an exchange and Aleford should return the call, albeit at said officials’ personal expense.
Brad must have been at the meeting to hear Joey, but didn’t the young man have better, more interesting things to do with his time? Faith certainly had had at his age, which, after all, wasn’t that long ago. She closed her recipe books and decided to talk to Pix. Pix had grown up in Aleford and was seemingly born with all ten of her capable fingers in various town pies.
Millicent might know who everybody in town was, and their mothers and fathers before them, but Pix knew what they were doing. Faith went to the phone.
“Faith! I’m so glad you called. I was about to call you. Can you come over for a quick cup of coffee? I know you have to pick up the kids soon.”
“I’d love to—and I have something to ask you, too.” Faith wanted to be sure she got equal time. Pix might be her dearest friend, but she could exhibit a single-minded sense of purpose that sometimes prevented getting a word in edgewise.
When Faith arrived at the Millers’ doorstep, it appeared that today might be one of those days. Pix, normally unflappable, was in a quandary about not one but two of her children. The oldest, Mark, had been safely launched, a college sophomore majoring in political science, with his sights set on Washington.
This did cause Pix an occasional twinge. “You don’t think he wants to be president, do you?” she’d asked Faith once. “I would make such a dreadful campaigner. All those speeches and dinners. I don’t know how Rose Kennedy ever did it.” Pix had no doubt that if Mark did aspire to the Oval Office, it was his for the asking. No, today Pix was not worried about finding a pair of pumps that matched her purse in a wardrobe consisting mainly of clogs and denim wraparound skirts. It was Samantha, a high school senior, and Danny, a seventh grader, who were on her mind today.
The Millers’ kitchen had been remodeled when they moved into the Federal brick house many years ago.
The spacious room was geared more to the family’s various pursuits than to food preparation. Faith correctly assumed the stove, refrigerator, and so on were categorized more as “things that go in a kitchen” than “things we want to use.” There was plenty of room to sit and chat—if you removed the hockey skates or quilt Pix was piecing. Pix now worked part-time for Faith, keeping the books and handling the ordering. She had agreed to this employment with the strict understanding that she would not be expected to do any food preparation whatsoever. “I could possibly peel carrots or potatoes,” she’d said, “but then I might do them wrong.” Pix’s kitchen cabinets tended to be stocked with things that had the word
Faith correctly guessed that any conversation about Samantha must involve college. She was right.
“Has Samantha heard from all her schools yet?” Faith had already been through the application process, during which Samantha had winnowed her choices from sixty down to fifteen at her father’s insistence. “We could pay her freshman tuition with what it would cost in application fees if I let her apply everywhere she wants,” he’d told the Fairchilds.
“That’s the problem. She’s heard from every place except Brown and Wellesley.” Samantha was not only an extremely good student, but also something of a softball legend at Aleford High. Little kids asked her to sign autographs after games.
“And?”
“She’s gotten into all of them.” Pix sounded as if she’d just heard that one of the Miller family’s golden retrievers had heartworm—and it didn’t get much worse than that.
“But that’s terrific! Congratulations!”
“Oh well, yes, but how is she going to make up her mind? Coaches are calling her. Her friends keep giving her advice. One day, she’s definitely going to Stanford—which is too far away—the next it’s Bowdoin, because of marine biology.” Unlike her politically minded brother, Samantha’s future constituency consisted of the inhabitants of tide pools.
“I thought she wanted to go to Brown, continue the family tradition.” Pix had gone to Pembroke and her husband, Sam, to Brown. They’d also grown up together in Aleford. Thinking of this, Faith consoled her friend. “At least she’s not involved with anybody, so she can make an independent choice. You and Sam are unique. Most people I know who went to the same schools as their high school honeys had broken up by the end of Orientation Week.”
“Sam and I don’t want to say too much, or too little.
It would be nice if she went to Brown, but only if it’s what
“Knowing Samantha, I don’t think you have to worry about that. Now tell me quickly what’s going on with Danny, because I want you to tell me everything you know about Brad Hallowell.” Pix was immediately diverted, as Faith hoped she might be.
“Brad Hallowell? Why do you want to know about him? What’s going on, Faith?”
Pix looked her friend squarely in the eye. If Faith had ferreted out some new intrigue in Aleford, Pix didn’t want to be left out. Faith had been far away when Pix had solved a murder up on Sanpere Island, off the coast of Maine, last summer. She felt that she had proved herself. If only her family would take up less time and mental energy!
“I can’t go into it yet. It was told to us in confidence. As soon as I can, I will.”
“Hmmm, ‘us,’ you and Tom, I assume. A parishioner? Well, all right. I understand, but I’m afraid I can’t help you too much. You really should be talking to Millicent.”
“Millicent!”
“Yes, Brad Hallowell is POW!’s most loyal follower. You do know what POW! is, right?”
“Preserve Our Wetlands!—I got the leaflet last night as I was leaving the selectmen’s meeting.”
“I thought I saw the back of your head on TV. I wish I had been there in person, but Danny had so much homework, and if I don’t sit with him, it doesn’t get done. I just caught the tail end. Maybe next week.”
Before Faith lost her advantage, she pressed Pix further. “But don’t you know any more about Brad?”
“His parents seem nice. His mother is an Evergreen.” Faith knew this meant a member of the Aleford Garden Club and did not refer to a possibly more exotic pedigree. “I do have the feeling that they regard Brad as someone from another planet. She’s often said things like, ‘I don’t know where he came from.’
Of course, many parents feel this way,” Pix added.
“Then what do you think she means? Has he ever been in trouble—with the police, for instance?”
“Not to my knowledge, but they haven’t lived here all that long, and he was in college until he moved home last year.” Children were doing that with distressing frequency these days, Faith noted. Pix, on the other hand, would greet a returning nestling with a brass band. She still occasionally forgot and set a place for Mark at dinner.
“I think she’s referring to his interest in computers,” Pix commented. “He’s always been some kind of whiz kid, and his company sends him all over the world as a consultant. She told us once that he’s had an eight hundred number since he was nineteen and carries a beeper so if someone needs help with a program they can reach him day or night. He spends all his free time cruising the Internet. Samantha explained it to me.”
Faith did know all about the Internet. Her sister had tried to convince her to hook up and get recipes that way. When Faith had discovered how much it would cost her to learn the secret of foolproof marshmallow rainbow Jell-O, that particular moment’s offering, she politely declined. Although she’d heard a rumor that Julia might be posting her secrets.
So Brad was a hacker. He would certainly know about phones, but then whoever was threatening Lora only had to know how to dial.
