“I'l make them sing À Real Nice Clambake.' Louise always likes that. I think that Carousel was the sum total of her knowledge about Maine before she arrived here. It must have been a shock to find out that bait smel ed and people didn't dance on the wharf.”
Sam went off down the beach in the direction of the fire and Pix started to assemble the stuff they'd brought. She knew the Fraziers hired some of the local kids to help clean up each year, so she didn't feel she had to stay any longer.
Ursula cal ed out to her as she was making the first trip to the car.
“Pix, are you leaving? May I beg a ride? Then I won't have to trouble the Moores"
“Of course you can have a ride. I was planning to look for you. Sam is getting Samantha and they'l start back in his car." As she spoke, husband and daughter came up the path with the rest of the Mil ers' belongings. Sam's song suggestion had been successful and he was singing along from afar: "The vittles we et were good, you bet! The company was the same." His energetic performance contrasted with his daughter's lagging footsteps. She wasn't joining in, not even at her favorite part: "Fitten fer an angel's choir!" Pix was immediately concerned.
“Samantha, are you al right? You look a little wan. I hope you haven't picked up something from one of the campers, al those smal children just loaded with germs.”
Samantha was quick to squelch any notions her mother might have of bed rest and herb tea.
“Mother! I'm fine. There's absolutely nothing wrong No bugs, no microbes of any sort whatsoever.”
But she wasn't fine. Duncan's words continued to haunt her. She hadn't seen him come back to the bead and would be happy never to see him again. She needed to talk to Arlene. If she wasn't home, she might be a Fred's house.
The last thing Samantha wanted was he mother's eagle eye on her. She'd made plans for the evening while she sat staring into the flames of the bon fire, listening to everybody sing. Samantha didn't wan to be watched at al .
Ursula came straight to the point as usual. "What an you up to, darling? Al those questions to Earl about phony antiques. And Mitch sold antiques, among hi other trades.
You're trying to find the answer to his murder, aren't you?”
It was the time-honored parental ploy for asking questions—trapping one's offspring in the car. Short o turning the wheel over to her mother and walking home there was no way for Pix to escape.
“Don't be ridiculous," she lied. "I'm just interested the antiques business. You yourself said it was al àmazing,' if I recal correctly."
“Hmmmm," her mother replied, which left the conversation hanging until Pix could stand it no longer am started talking again—another trick, and one Pix herself had used occasional y to her advantage with her own children.
“Anyway, I don't see how asking a few questions that may or may not relate to Mitchel Pierce's death can hurt anything."
“But it can hurt something—you, or dear Samantha or Sam. We have al assumed the person who did this left the island after the terrible deed, yet it may not be so. I think you need to exercise some caution."
“Stop worrying, Mother. I'm not going to do anything foolish."
“I believe I've heard that before.”
Mother could, in fact, be very irritating. Pix saw her into the house, kissed her good night, and then took great pleasure in driving as fast as she dared up and down the hil s across the island to her own cottage.
Sam was groggily reading the latest issue of The Island Crier by an unlighted hearth.
“Honey," Pix asked immediately, "why don't you go up to bed? And where's Samantha? In her room?"
“Arlene and that pimply-faced boyfriend of hers came to get her for some kind of bonfire at his parents' camp.
You know, where the Ames' are—down near the bridge.
Bert Ames is taking everyone in turns in his outboard to look at the underneath of the bridge by moonlight, al very safe and sound. I said yes and reminded her when curfew rang.”
Sam was feeling mel ow and happy. Pix hated to destroy his mood. She ventured a tentative, "But Samantha did seem tired .. "
“So she'l go to bed early tomorrow night or the night after. Besides, my little chickadee, this gives us a few precious moments alone, a rare thing, you may recal , these last twenty-plus years”
There was something to what the man said. Samantha was young and healthy. And so were her parents.
An hour later, Pix was stretched out next to her sleeping husband. The only sounds she could hear were his heavy breathing, the soft wind in the trees, a far-off bul frog, and her own heart pounding insistently in her ears as she lay in bed wide awake.
Samantha Mil er was not at Fred Ames's parents'
camp. Neither was Arlene or Fred himself. They had put in a brief appearance for appearance's sake—not long enough for a boat ride, to Samantha's regret. She loved seeing the long arch spanning the Reach from al vantage points, especial y gliding underneath through the water, looking straight up. The bridge—Sanpere's connection to the mainland. To the outside world. There were stil some people on the island who wished it had never been built and blamed it for everything from teenage rowdiness to the increase in traffic on Route 17.
“I can't believe he actual y said that!" Arlene was nestled close to Fred in the front of his pickup. Like his nestled close to Fred in the front of his pickup. Like his father, Fred planned to be a fisherman as soon as he graduated from high school next June. Also like his father, he planned to marry his high school sweetheart shortly thereafter. Things looked good. He and Arlene had been king and queen of the junior prom, which virtual y ensured a long and happy life together, Fred believed. If she stil wanted to go to col ege, fine. He didn't care just so long as she went as Mrs. Fred Ames.
Samantha was feeling a lot less frightened now that she'd told Arlene and Fred about the scene with Duncan.
Sitting by the fire at the clambake, she'd decided she had to find out what he was up to. It could be nothing—or it could explain a lot of what had been happening lately. She had a feeling that after the fight with his parents, he wouldn't go home, but would gather his "club" together and do something. Arlene and Fred agreed. Fred had an idea where Duncan might be.
“There's an old cabin in the woods behind the camp that used to be a place counselors went on their days off in the olden times before Jim was the director and figured out it was the perfect place to screw. Maybe used it himself."
Fred laughed. Arlene made a face.
“It's gross enough to think of adults doing it, without having to think of Jim Atherton as a teenager.”
Samantha agreed and asked, "What about the cabin?
Do you real y think Duncan hangs out there? It's pretty near the camp. Wouldn't he want to get farther away?"
“That's what I've heard. Besides, the kid isn't old enough to drive. How far can he go? Though some of his loser friends are older and have cars. But I think he'd pick his own spot, something close to hand, and chances are he'l be there tonight. After what you described, he'd be nuts to go home. Doesn't spend much time in the mansion, anyway. My cousin worked on it and said Duncan's room was pretty cheesy compared to the rest of the place. Smal and no Jacuzzi in the bath."
“Wel , no wonder the boy's disturbed," mocked Arlene, and they al laughed. It occurred to Samantha that she'd never heard Fred talk so much, and what he said made sense. Maybe Arlene knew what she was about.
“We can park on the road and go in the back way. I'm pretty sure I can find it."
“You sound awful y familiar with the cabin yourself, Frederick Ames," Arlene said.