Rebecca was looking with an appraising eye out the window at the postmistress's flower garden.
“So, you and Addie had a real turnout last fal . I'm hoping to do the same with Mother at The Pines this summer. We have no idea what's up in the attic"
“Not in the heat, deah," Rebecca said anxiously. "You won't make your mother go up there now."
“Of course not. Only if it cools down." And besides, Pix added to herself, I've never been able to make Mother do much of anything.
“We may find there are things we want to get rid of, too," she continued. "Who did you get to take yours?"
Surely this was subtle and gentle enough. Pix felt a little guilty probing someone in the extremes of grief.
“It was Addie's idea." Typical y, Rebecca was answering some other question. "She had a horror that after she was gone, people would be going through her things. You know what it's like at those auctions.”
Pix did. She'd been to plenty of estate sales where Grandmother's letters to Grandfather were heaped in a box lot with the odd buttonhook and mismatched cups and saucers, but it had never struck her until now how awful this would be if you'd known the people. She resolved to winnow out her own mementos ruthlessly.
“But Addie wasn't planning on having an auction" Pix tried to keep Rebecca going.
“Mitchel Pierce was interested, you can imagine.
Addie met him in the IGA and told him she would sel him some things if he wanted”
It worked.
“What kind of things did he buy?"
“Rubbish. Addie got a good price. Do you know he gave us one hundred dol ars for an old yel ow painted shelf that's been in the barn ever since I can remember? It was fly-spotted and even had a chip out of the top!”
Pix recal ed an article in the paper about the skyrocketing value of country antiques, particularly those with their original paint. It sounded as if the Bainbridges had been wel and truly snookered.
Rebecca's next remark confirmed the impression. "He took al the junk. There were some dirty old blanket chests.
One even had the top off. And he wasn't even interested in our Wal ace Nuttings. I was beginning to think we knew more about antiques than he did.”
Pix pul ed the car alongside the dock into the grassy area that served as their parking area. "Wel , I'm glad to know al this and that you were able to make some money out of it. Did you do anything special with it?”
The last question popped out from she knew not where
—and it was none of her business.
Rebecca didn't seem to mind, answering directly for once. "Oh nothing special. Addie just liked having money.
À heavy purse makes a light heart,' she used to say.”
Along with several thousand others, Pix thought.
Ursula and Gert were waiting on the porch and as soon as they saw the car arrive, Gert ran down the steps to help Rebecca into the house. She was in good hands and Pix left soon after. She decided to head straight for the camp, although the fact that she had rushed out of the house so fast that she hadn't brushed her teeth or properly dressed—she'd thrown on a sweatshirt of Sam's with the sleeves cut off and a pair of shorts over her underwear and was glad she'd remembered this much—was beginning to bother her.
It was lunchtime and she walked into the dining room, where she soon spied Samantha pouring milk for a table of younger campers. She caught her eye and Samantha came straight over.
“Oh Mom, it's so sad! What wil Rebecca do now?
She'l be so lonely."
“Why don't we go outside for a minute. I'm sure it wil be al right.”
Samantha nodded and they walked toward the waterfront. The sails were sparkling white again—the extra sets. The red paint had turned out to be latex and those were being cleaned, so there was no great loss. Apparently it hadn't been the marine paint they used for the waterlines.
Pix was sure that Jim was relieved. It wasn't the money so much as the waste. She put her arm around her daughter's shoulders and they sat down on the dock. Samantha seemed extremely shaken by the news.
“How did you hear?"
“Gert cal ed Dot and she told us. Is it true that the police are there and there's something funny about the way she died?"
“The police are there, but it's not altogether clear whether anything's wrong. She was not in the best shape, avoided getting medical advice, and probably had a mil ion things wrong with her that she didn't know about. You know how short of breath she was. She could barely walk down and back to her own mailbox."
“I know. It's just ... wel , after the other thing, everyone's saying there's a kil er loose on the island.”
Pix drew her daughter close. "We can't leap to con elusions like that. There doesn't seem to be anything to connect the two events at the moment, except that both people died.”
And the quilts. But she didn't want to burden Samantha with that knowledge yet; besides, she was supposed to keep her mouth shut. A word to Samantha meant a word to Arlene, another Prescott, and it would be simpler to print up announcements and drop them from a plane over the entire island.
“It's not only Mrs. Bainbridge. Everything's stil going crazy at camp. There was a dead seagul on the dining room porch this morning when the breakfast crew arrived.
None of the kids saw it, thank goodness. Arlene said it was horrible."
“But these things happen—probably an injured bird who just happened to end up there."
“With its throat cut?”
Now Pix was shivering. Knives. Too many knives. "Are you sure?"
“Yes, and Arlene thinks it's Duncan again. I mean after what we saw—" Samantha stopped abruptly.
“After you saw what?" Pix had to know. This was obviously what Samantha had been keeping from her.
“Mom, I promise I'l tel you, but I can't now. I have to get back. The kids are very jumpy. They swear there's a ghost around, although I think that's some of the older campers trying to scare the little ones."
“How are your two imps?"
“Not exactly happy campers. Kids are so weird, Mom.
One minute everything is fine, the next they're imagining al sorts of gruesome things, especial y these two. I think maybe they are too young to be here. Anyway, al this is going to affect them for a long time. Susannah leaps a foot in the air if someone startles her, and she and Geoff are always off by themselves. At the moment they're feeding each other's fears. I can't even get them to tel their stupid jokes.”
Kids are so weird. The understatement echoed through the long tunnel of maternal memory. You never know, until you're there, Pix thought. Samantha was arriving sooner than her mother had.
“It's Parents' Weekend soon, isn't it? Maybe we should bring them to our house for a day, since they won't have visitors."
“That would be real y great, Mom. They need to be with the dogs”
Pix understood. There was nothing more therapeutic than a good rol in the grass with an overly affectionate golden retriever.
“I've got to go, and I'm sure you want to get home and change" Samantha clearly did not approve of her mother's choice of outfits.
“Honey, I was in a rush. I just grabbed what was on the chair."
“That's al right. I understand." To avoid more hand patting, Pix grasped her daughter's paw firmly in her own and pul ed her to her feet. They walked back toward the car together and were saying good-bye when, as luck would have it, Valerie came out of the director's office, a vision in a short Adrienne Vittadini brightly patterned sheath with a matching scarf tied carelessly around a broad-brimmed chapeau.