They laughed.
“I'll bet there is a Tory or two in her closet," Faith said, "Maybe we can find out and blackmail her into telling us what she knows."
“Faith ! My word ! You have been taking this more seriously than I thought. What would Tom say ? " Pix chided mockingly.
“What he always says, `Faith, Faith, Faith,' slowly shaking his head and looking at me with those cocker spaniel eyes. Oh, pardon, golden retriever eyes."
“That's better," Pix propped Benjamin up against one shoulder with a practiced arm and gave a whiff, "Faith, sweetie, give me a diaper—you've got a messy boy here—and while I change him why don 't you heat up the lentil soup in the fridge and add anything that comes to mind ? Maybe if we eat something we'll think more logically.”
The soup was good. Pix could be counted on for certain things, Faith had learned—a terrific chili for a Boston bean and great soups. But then there had been that dinner of chicken covered with pineapple chunks and maraschino cherries. Pix had a fatal tendency to be swayed by the pictures in some women 's magazines.
While they ate, Faith told her about her visit to Eleanor and the dry well it turned out to be. Pix wasn 't surprised.
“I don't think Eleanor would notice a crime even if it were occurring in her own living room. She'd just straighten the antimacassars and put a blanket over the body, presuming whoever it was was taking a short nap."
“Come on, she can't be that out of it," Faith protested.
“Believe me, she is," replied Pix, "and somehow I hope she stays that way. Something unchanging in this wicked whirling world of ours. You know her skirts will never go up or down and if she 's not sitting straight as a ramrod in the third pew from the pulpit on the left-hand side of the church at ten forty-five every Sunday then she's either gone to her Maker on her own or the whole town has been wiped out by an atom bomb or the bubonic plague. I look at her and it gives me strength to cope with my hectic life. At least one person isn 't as crazy as the rest of us.”
Pix was what could be euphemistically referred to as "overextended," Faith reflected. In one month she probably put on the equivalent of a cross country journey chauffering the kids and doing errands. She was unbelievably organized, though. There were lists and notes taped to every surface in the house: "Samantha, don 't forget your flute" and "Danny, there are cookies in the cupboard, enjoy them while you do your spelling words," and so on. Her laundry room had five separate baskets each labeled with someone 's name and standing ready for the clothes as they came out of the dryer. What Faith, and others, did not know was that all this planning and list-making was a cover for Pix 's fundamentally disorganized mind. She was the type of woman who asks herself out loud, "Why did I open this drawer ? " in order to jog her memory to say, " Scotch tape." She knew that without the mnemonics, life would be hopeless. Where her thoughts wandered was not altogether clear ; she could certainly call them back when she needed them, but basically she was a dreamer—night and day. It amused her, and caused an occasional pang of guilt at the deception, that people thought she was so practical and organized. Her husband, Sam, was amused too, but that was because he had observed that over the years she really had become practical and well organized without knowing it. He knew he'd never be able to convince her of that and didn 't try. There wasn 't any point.
While Faith and Pix finished the soup, they discussedthe contents of the tin box. Its existence was not yet common knowledge, but Jenny had immediately called Samantha, her best friend, with news of the find.
“Not the easiest identifications to make," Pix commented. " Can you imagine Charley knocking on doors and asking the man of the house to please drop his drawers ? “
They laughed and turned to talk about domestic trials. Samantha wasn 't talking to Pix, because said mother had humiliated her by picking up Willy Stergis, a sixth-grade boy, on the way to school.
“ Honestly, Faith, you should have seen her ! " Pix laughed. " Her entire seventh-grade body was hunched down in the seat and she wouldn't get out of the car at school until poor Willy had gone in the door. I mean who knows what social suicide she would have committed if any of her friends had seen her. And of course, the fact that I had on my flannel nightgown under my trench coat made matters even worse. All I wanted to do was give Willy a ride. It was chilly last week.”
They went back to the murder and the various blackmail possibilities, but didn't get any further in their speculations. Faith arrived home to put Benjamin down for a nap with no clearer idea of who could possibly have killed Cindy Shepherd than when she started.
Tom came home late in the afternoon. Wednesday was his day at the VA hospital as chaplain. He was always tired after this and sometimes a little depressed. Today was no exception. Faith fed Benjamin, who rewarded her efforts by giving her the raspberry with most of his meal. Then she made an early dinner for Tom and herself. Afterward they sat in front of the first fire of the season to read.
At nine o'clock Faith realized that she was nodding off and Tom was sound asleep. Rousing him and sending him up to bed, she went into the kitchen and made her- self a strong cup of tea. She could get sonic sleep when the case was closed.
She went upstairs and whispered in Tom's unconscious ear that she was going out for some ice cream, a statement that would have astounded him had he been awake, since they had a freezer full of Faith 's own glacés and sorbets.
She eased the car out of the driveway, knowing full well that it would take several belfry bells, or Benjamin 's cry, to awaken Tom, but she thought a little bit of stealth was appropriate to the scene. She wasn 't driving a sleek, fully equipped Aston Martin, but a dull, gray, very dependable Honda. It would have to do.
As Faith suspected, the parking lot at Friendly 's was filled with kids. Some were inside their cars, but, despite the nippy weather, more were sitting on the hoods, the tips of their cigarettes flickering in the dark. Marlboros and Mocha Chip. Great combination.
Faith sauntered over to the take-out window and ordered a small chocolate cone. It was like eating chicken feet in Chinese restaurants. One had to establish one's credentials in order to get the good stuff.
She recognized one of the church youth group members, Becky Sullivan, perched with a couple of other kids on the hood of a car. Faith walked over to them and they instantly ditched their smokes. It was things like this that forcibly reminded Faith she was indeed the minister's wife.
“ Hi," she said, " I got a sudden craving for ice cream. How are things ? “
The kids eyed her with unabashed curiosity. The person who had actually discovered the body !
Faith knew it was no good trying to bullshit seventeen-year-olds, not that she had had much luck with any age group. Even if they bought the ice cream story, they would find it hard to believe a conversation in which Mrs. Fairchild first asked them how school was, then wanted to know by the way who killed Cindy. So she decided to be direct.
“Look, you all know that Reverend Fairchild and I are very close to Dave. We're trying to help him. Dave didn 't kill Cindy, but obviously somebody did."
“You found her, didn't you, Mrs. Fairchild?" one of the girls said.
Faith had expected someone would ask for an eyewitness account, and she went quickly through it all again. She was rewarded by their rapt attention, and while their eyes were still shining and directed at her, she moved smoothly to the matter at hand.
“What I want to ask you is if you ever saw Cindy with someone other than Dave, especially lately. Or maybe she talked about someone with one of you.”