Pix turned down the long dirt road to their house. No matter how often she did this, she always felt an immediate sense of wel -being. The first cove she passed had been posted for red tide this summer and no clamming or worming was al owed. But the cove at the foot of the meadow by their house had always tested out fine. It was il egal to cross private property to get to the shore, though anyone could come by boat and did. She'd see them bent over the mud with their short handled rakes. Clamming and worming were backbreaking work. Digging in the mud for sea worms and bloodworms, freshwater bait, wasn't any better. Eking out a living on Sanpere had never been easy, but it was especial y hard during the current recession. Men and women had to be Jacks and Jilts of al trades. And that brought her back to Mitch again.
Which of his enterprises had led to the grave in the basement? Who had wanted him dead? Someone left with a half-finished or botched job? But they'd be more likely to sue or at least try to get him to complete the work, wouldn't they? She also couldn't see Louel a working herself up to a murderous frenzy over unpaid bil s for baked goods. But then there were people on the island who might get pretty steamed on her behalf, particularly after a night fil ed with too many beers.
Someone had had a reason. When they could figure that out, they'd have the murderer. This was the way she understood it usual y worked in books. Look for a motive.
Who inherits? Who had been scorned? Some event in his past? Something to do with his family? Maybe the whole thing was total y divorced from his shady occupations.
The newspapers played up random craziness, serial kil ers selecting victims at whim. But altogether too much thought had gone into the planning of Mitchel Pierce's death—the location, the timing, maybe even the quilt, Drunkard's Path. Had he been kil ed because he drank too much? Maybe it was insanity, some crazed temperance fanatic?
She pul ed the car to the side of her house. The simple Cape wasn't an old one, but the seasons had worn the cedar shingles so that it looked as if it had been in place for centuries. Pix's garden added to the image. It was fil ed with old-fashioned flowers: delphinium, cosmos, phlox, oxeye daisies, and coreopsis. A combination of fragrances from the old varieties of peonies and the rosa rugosa bushes welcomed her home.
Inside, the cottage had been furnished with castoffs from The Pines, yard-sale finds, and a gem or two from local auctions. These embel ished the myth that it was an old house, as did the Boston rocker needing some new paint and the gently faded chintz slipcovers on the down-cushioned sofa. The braided rugs scattered across the pine floorboards had been made by Pix's grandmother in shades of muted rose, blue, and green. Field guides, knitting projects, sailing charts, and Samantha's tennis shoes were strewn around the living room.
Other than the shoes, there was no sign of Samantha.
She was stil at the movies. Pix decided it was now or never. She had to cal Faith. Having refused Ursula's sherry, she felt justified in pouring herself a scotch, dropped an ice cube in it, and dialed Sam.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Hi, honey, I was going to cal you two tonight. I was just out in the backyard in the hammock. You wouldn't believe how hot it is here!"
“That's
nice,"
Pix
said,
then
realized
the
inappropriateness of her remark. "I mean, that must be terrible.”
“Al right, what's wrong?"
“Samantha and I walked out to the end of the Point today to check on how the house was coming along.... "
“Is Seth doing a good job?"
“He hasn't done much of any job so far, but that's—”
Sam was as indignant as Pix had been earlier and she decided to let him have his say before final y interrupting.
"Darling, we found a dead body on the site. In the excavation, actual y."
“What!”
Pix told him the whole story. It was turning out to be a much-needed dress rehearsal for her star turn with the Fairchilds. Sam agreed to give her fifteen minutes before he went over.
“I know they're both home. I just saw Tom pul in and Faith has been in the yard with the kids al afternoon. They went inside about an hour ago.”
Baths, supper, stories, Faith would be pretty busy. But not too busy to answer the phone.
“Pix! This is great. I didn't think we'd get a report so soon”
Pix took a deep breath and a large mouthful of scotch.
"Is Tom around?"
“Yes, he's reading to the kids in the living room. Why do you ask? Don't tel me. They've screwed something up.
Put something in upside down or left us with no doors!"
Faith was attempting to speak lightly.
“Samantha and I went over this morning to see how things were progressing and one of the dogs dug up a dead body in your basement—or rather, the hand. The police uncovered the rest."
“I can't believe it!" Faith turned away from the phone.
"Tom, get on the extension. Quick!"
“We had trouble believing it ourselves, but ..
“This is going to put us terribly . behind schedule,"
Faith wailed.
From the extension, Tom asked, "What is?"
“Pix found a body buried in our future basement, and I know how the police work. It wil be weeks before they'l let us continue. We may have to get al sorts of new permits and getting the ones we have was like something out of Dickens.”
Pix graciously decided Faith must be in shock. She also decided she needed to get back into the conversation.
“The man who was kil ed was Mitchel Pierce. I don't think your paths ever crossed. He never had a permanent place on the island." Until now, she added silently. "He restored old houses, sold antiques, and tended to move around a lot."
“Isn't he the one who left Louel a Prescott holding the bag?" Faith had become friendly with the baker. "Yes, that was Mitch."
“I can't see Louel a committing murder over a few crul ers, though.”
This time, Tom interrupted.
“How are you and Samantha? It must have been terrifying for you”
Pix felt a warm glow, a combination of Tom and Johnnie Walker.
“It was at first, but we're al right now. Fortunately, the dog only unearthed a hand."
“Oh, Pix"—now it was Faith's turn—"I've been such a jerk, thinking of my own petty concerns when you and Samantha have been through a horrendous day. What can we do? Should I come up?"
“No," Pix and Tom said in unison, Pix adding, "There real y isn't anything you could do, and I know how busy you are getting ready for al those Fourth of July parties.”
The Fairchilds' doorbel rang audibly in the background.
“That's probably Sam," Pix told them.
“Why don't you get it, sweetheart," Faith said. Tom said good-bye and hung up the phone.
“Now, Pix," Faith said sternly, "I know you've seen me get involved in a number of murder cases, but it's not something I recommend, and I think you should stay out of al this as much as possible.”
Pix found herself feeling somewhat annoyed. Who had located Penny Bartlett missing in Boston last year? It hadn't been Faith, but none other than her faithful friend and neighbor. Surely this same friend and neighbor should be able to ferret out a few salient details about Mitchel Pierce's death here on Sanpere, where she knew not only the names and characteristics of al the flora and fauna but the two-legged inhabitants and their habits and habitats, as wel .
“Please, Pix, listen to me. It could be dangerous. I'm sure it's a total coincidence that someone picked our particular cel ar hole, but you can't be too careful.”
It was al Pix could do to refrain from comment, something referring to Faith's possible reactions upon hearing these same words. But Faith had become her dearest friend, and if she was a bit insensitive, a bit self-absorbed, a bit like a steam rol er, other sterling qualities more than made up for it.