He and Charley had agreed not to tell the Fairchilds Nelson’s other babblings, most of which concerned all the things he planned to do to Faith to get even.
John hitched his chair closer to Faith’s. With Dunne on one side and Tom just as close on the other, she was beginning to feel as if she’d acquired an extremely mismatched set of bookends.
“Between the two of us, we ought to be able to answer Lora’s question, don’t you think?” he said to Faith. She’d had a few pot stickers and that was all she felt like eating for now. Her appetite had deserted her when the police arrived and she’d realized they’d be going over the events of the evening.
“Shall I start?” she asked. He nodded. His mouth was full.
“Nelson Batcheldor was deeply unhappy in his marriage to Margaret. He was also an extremely disturbed person with a distorted view of reality. That meant he didn’t do any of the things another man in his position might have—seek counseling, get a divorce. Instead, he developed a rich fantasy life revolving around getting rid of Margaret and replacing her with his ideal mate. I’m afraid that turned out to be you, Lora,” Faith explained.
“Me! Why did he pick me! And how could he possibly have thought I’d be interested in him? He was old and not exactly what I’d call attractive.” Faith knew what Lora called attractive and she agreed silently. Nelson Batcheldor was not it. Now the old part, that was debatable, especially as the years were passing. The young woman’s reaction had chased away any lingering suspicions Faith had had about her involvement in Nelson’s schemes. He had sounded so definite about their plans, as if they had been spending every spare moment planning their future together.
“He wanted children,” Lillian Deane informed them. “And wasn’t he doing all that carpentry work at the school? He must have seen how gifted you are with them,” Lora’s grandmother said with pride. “The only reason I know how much he wanted to be a father was a remark he made many years ago. I was pushing you in your stroller, Lora.” She paused as the irony of the situation was duly registered by everyone present.
“He stopped me and told me what a beautiful baby you were, which was true. Such lovely soft curls and big blue eyes. ‘You’re a very lucky woman, Lillian,’ he said. ‘I’ll never be a father—or a grandfather. It’s the tragedy of my life.’ I tried to reassure him. Of course, he and Margaret were quite young then. He cut me right off, ‘It’s out of my hands.’ Those were his very words. He smoothed your hair and tucked the blanket around you and left. I remember thinking what a good father he would have made. It’s a shame. I always thought he meant they couldn’t have children.” No one had interrupted Mrs. Deane’s lengthy reminiscence. They weren’t used to hearing so much from her, especially when Gus was around. Faith resolved to get to know the woman better.
“Always thought it was some sort of plumbing problem,” Gus commented. “Didn’t like to pry.”
“Margaret didn’t want children. That was one of the things he held against her,” Faith explained. “But that wasn’t the only thing wrong—the only thing he held against her.”
Nevertheless, Pix, Lillian, and Lora exchanged meaningful glances. Not want children! Faith felt compelled to come to the defense of friends, relatives, strangers who’d decided otherwise.
“Children are not for everyone.”
“Amen,” said Charley. “Now let me get this straight, Lora. He didn’t give you a ring. Didn’t approach you in any way?”
“No, he was rather shy. I don’t think we ever had a conversation about anything except the size of the bookshelves and the weather. No, wait, he was there when my friend came and acted out some stories with the children. He was very impressed by her and came over to talk afterward.”
Faith told them about the Story Lady and her transformation of Lora into Lorelei.
“I can never let her know.” Lora was aghast.
“If it hadn’t been then, it would have been another time. When you were singing ‘Wheels on the Bus’ or reading Love You Forever—that’s a real tearjerker.
Nelson saw his devotion to you as a pure and holy thing. It justified everything else.”
“We had our suspicions that he may have staged his own poisoning, but we weren’t sure how,” John said.
“We’d found some vodka nips with his fingerprints on them in the men’s room trash at St. Theresa’s. Alcohol intensifies the effects of chloral hydrate. But we couldn’t figure out how and when he’d taken the drug itself. He was lucky he didn’t kill himself.”
“It would have been lucky for Joey,” Gus said sternly.
Faith realized she’d have to reveal Joey’s blackmail activities to his in-laws. She wasn’t sure this was the time or place.
“He’d practiced on himself,” she told them, then described the way he’d brought the chloral into the hall.
“A Minuteman for twenty years. It’s hard to fathom,” Gus remarked. Like Millicent, uncharacteristically remaining in the background, Gus believed certain avocations produced unassailable moral fiber.
Before the talk ventured into Joey Madsen’s activities, Faith brought up her question.
“Nelson confessed to sending the letters and cutting the hydraulic hoses on the excavator—and the murders—but he didn’t say anything about the calls.
Did you ask him about them—and the brick through Lora’s window?”
Lora flushed and looked at Brad. He sat up and swallowed hastily. Somehow most of the smoky chow foon rice noodles with beef and peppers were finding their way to his end of the table.
“Hey, I didn’t call you! You made it perfectly clear that you never wanted to hear from me again. Or made it clear to my answering machine, I should say.
And why would I throw a brick through your window? Why would anyone?”
His anger intensified his good looks. A bit of the moors—of Heathcliff—swept into the room.
“That was insensitive of me, I’m sorry. I should have spoken with you in person, but I wasn’t sure I’d go through with it then.”
Gus appeared to be fearing the rekindling of a flame he had considered doused, the ashes raked into the ground. “We’re wandering here. If Hallowell didn’t make the calls, who did?”
Dunne answered. “Nelson again.” He regarded Lora with pity. She was going to have a great deal to work out. “He just wanted to hear your voice.” There wasn’t much to say after that—or rather, there was, but no one wanted to voice the sentiments. It was sad, horrible, scary. Millicent broke the mood.
“So, Gus, what are you going to do about the bog?”
Before Gus could reply, Sam intervened. “You don’t have to answer that, especially not in my nice, peaceful house.”
Everyone laughed. Gus put the tips of his fingers together. He regarded each face in turn. Faith knew what he thought about the project. She wondered what he would say—if anything.
“The bog. The damned bog, as far as I’m concerned. Joey would still be alive. Probably not poor Margaret, but it gave her crazy husband a way to do her in. I’d just as soon never see the bog again or hear about it. But we own it. It’s ours.” Millicent wasn’t one to back down. “I know that, but you don’t have to go through with Alefordiana Estates. There are other options.”
Gus nodded. Lillian was poking him in the ribs.
“Don’t worry, Mother, I’m not going to embarrass you. You’re right, Millicent. We have lots of options, but they’re our options. I don’t mind consulting with you, but not with that group you got up. That’s got to go. Divides the town into warring factions, and we have enough natural divisions.” Gus reached across the table to shake Sam’s hand. “Thank you for your advice and for dinner. This is the first time we’ve been invited to your house.” Pix turned scarlet. “Now, Pix, don’t feel bad. We haven’t invited you to ours, either.